ON THE SIDE OF HIS COUNTRY
Ready and willing was Putnam--of that there is no doubt. Too willing,
some of his enemies declared, when in September, 1774, news coming from
Boston that American blood had been shed, without waiting to verify the
report, he started out to alarm the country. This proved a false alarm,
and he was strongly censured by those who had not kept a close watch on
happenings in Boston; but he defended himself so sturdily that his
critics were silenced. Two things were proved by this false alarm: that
the people were ready to be aroused on the slightest provocation, for
they filled the highways and flocked by thousands in the direction of
Boston; again, that the British intended to stay where they were, for
they extended their fortifications. Both sides were warned, and the
lines of demarcation began to be visible where before they had seemed
hardly to be distinguished, between loyalists and patriots. It was now
either for England or for America, even the common people felt, while
the leaders, like Israel Putnam, saw in the closer approach of warlike
preparations only the fulfilment of their predictions.
The very next month, October, 1774, the militia of Putnam's State were
ordered to provide themselves with an increased supply of powder,
bullets and flints for their muskets. More vigorously than ever now he
applied himself to the training of the sturdy militia; hoping for
continued peace, perhaps, but preparing for nothing less than war. When
war broke finally, with the first blood shed at Lexington, it found the
minutemen of New England better prepared than their enemies believed,
and when the news of this epoch-making event reached Israel Putnam, this
great exemplar of the minutemen proved a model worthy their emulation.
The messenger with the doleful tidings found him plowing in the field
back of his house at Brooklyn Green. His son Daniel was with him
driving the oxen, and when the patriot had gathered the full meaning of
the news he left the boy to unyoke the team, and himself hastened to his
barn, where he saddled and mounted his best horse and started out to
arouse the country again, as he had done seven months before. He had no
doubts this time as to the truth of the rumor, for it had come direct
and contained its own confirmation on its face.
The British, eight hundred strong, had left Boston for Concord, where
they hoped to find some military stores. Encountering a small body of
militia at Lexington, Major Pitcairn, in command of the British
soldiers, called out to them to throw down their arms and disperse; but
as they did not do so he ordered his men to fire, killing eight of the
sturdy Americans, who even then did not run away, but joined themselves
to other minutemen now assembling, and again came in contact with their
foes at Concord Bridge. Just how many were slain the first message did
not accurately report; but it was enough that blood had been shed, and
it mattered not whether that blood was from ten men or a thousand.
The die was cast, the moment for armed resistance had arrived, and
Israel Putnam tarried not for details, but sped straight for the home of
Governor Trumbull, at Lebanon (the same who was afterward known as
"Brother Jonathan"), and receiving from him mandatory permission to
proceed to the scene of strife, hastened back to Brooklyn, arriving at
his tavern home late in the afternoon. He had already been in the saddle
for hours, as the news reached him between eight and nine in the
morning, but before sunset the tireless warrior was again on horseback
and galloping for Cambridge and Concord. He probably had received
refreshment, food and drink at intervals, but he had not stopped to
change his working clothes for better, and went off on both long rides
in the farmer's frock which he wore when plowing in the field behind his
house.
Though the Putnam mansion at Brooklyn Green is no longer in existence,
the great trees that stood in front of it in his time still cast their
grateful shade upon its site, and the walled field, sloping toward a
verdant meadow, may be seen by the visitor, much as it lay to the sun on
that lovely morning in April, 1775, when the farmer-patriot was
peacefully running his furrows.
The distance to Cambridge was nearly ninety miles, yet Putnam covered it
in an all-night's ride, going pretty much over the same ground he had
traversed when, a young man of twenty-two, he had taken his wife and
child to their new home in Connecticut. Thirty-five years had elapsed
since the young pioneer had made his first venture in the world, ten of
which he had passed in fighting for the King against whose soldiers he
was soon to lead his fellow countrymen in war. Trained to fight the
battles of Britain, yet those ten years of experience in warfare with
the Indians were to prepare him for a wider, vaster field. He must now
have felt this, his patriot friends must have believed it, for their
eyes were turned expectantly toward Israel Putnam, as soon as the first
blood was shed at Lexington and Concord.
See that sturdy figure, hurrying on horseback over the rough roads,
through the darkness of the night, toward the goal of duty! The British
had marched out of Boston at night, on the eighteenth of April, their
purpose and their route foretold by Paul Revere (who, by the way, was in
the campaign at Lake George, if not a comrade of Israel Putnam at that
time). At or near daybreak of the nineteenth, at Lexington, the shots
were fired "heard round the world"; at noon the British were in retreat
from Concord, where they had been routed by the minutemen, and by night,
exhausted, disgraced, defeated, they had reached Charlestown, under the
escort of Lord Percy and his 1,200 reenforcements, where they were
protected from the enraged militia by the guns of the fleet.
With such celerity traveled the news, that Putnam heard it on the
morning of the twentieth; and with such celerity traveled Putnam, that
he was at Cambridge _on the morning of the twenty-first_, and that same
day at Concord, wonderful as may seem the feat performed by gallant
horse and rider.
In the custody of the Connecticut Historical Society, at Hartford, the
original of the following letter may be found, which attests to Putnam's
arrival at Concord on the twenty-first, and to the use he made of his
time:
Concord, April 21, 1775.
Col. Williams, Sir
I have waited on the com'tee of the Provisional Congress and it is
there Determination to have a standing Armey of twenty-two thousand
Men from the New England colonys of wh'h it is soposed the coloney
of Conecticut must raise Six Thousand and beg they would be on
Parade at Cambridge as Speedy as may be with conveniency together
with Provisions and Sufficiency of amonition for there own use, the
Battle hear is much as represented at Pomfrett--Except that there
is more killed and a Number taken Prisoners--The accounts are at
Present so confused that it is Impossible to assertain the number
exact. Shall inform you of the Prossedings from Time to Time as we
have New occurencys.
mean Time I am Sir yr very Humble Servt
Israel Putnam.
N.B. The Throop of Horse is not Expected to come on till further
notice.
Sir. Being in hast and cannot write Disire a copy of this to be
transmitted to Governor Trumble.
A true copy, Ebenezer Williams.
Pomfret, April 22, 1775.
In the Lexington-Concord fight, the first engagement between British and
native Americans, the former lost two hundred and seventy-three, and the
latter about one hundred, in killed and wounded, twenty-three towns
being represented among the wounded and slain. "It was not a great fight
in itself, but it was great, and even grand, in its consequences. On
that day a nation was born. Then the American learned for the first time
how to stand and fight for their own liberties."
The rallying minutemen flocked to the scene of the encounter, springing
to arms without a thought of consequences, rising to the defense of
their homes as one man, and within a week there were sixteen thousand
men investing the demoralized enemy at Boston. Their alacrity in
assembling at the common rendezvous has been a matter of wonder ever
since, for nearly all marched on foot, without the assistance of horses
or steam. The writer of these lines had an ancestor who was foremost
among those minutemen hurrying to the defense of liberty, and who, it is
a tradition in his family, ran nearly all the way from Beverly, twenty
miles distant, with his flint-lock on his shoulder. Hence, as all were
equally prompt in leaping at the enemy's throat, Putnam's remarkable
feat was not at the time considered extraordinary.
In a few days our hero was at home again, having been called to Hartford
by the legislators, who were desirous of consulting with their most
experienced warrior, and bestowed upon him the rank and title of
brigadier-general. All these events took place within the space of a
week's time, and before another week had passed Brigadier-General Putnam
was in headquarters at Cambridge, occupying a house which stood within
the present grounds of Harvard University. General Artemus Ward, of
Massachusetts, was commander-in-chief of the forces, having been
commissioned by the Provincial Congress; but Putnam was the greater
favorite with the soldiers, in whose vocabulary (to paraphrase a saying
common at the time) "the British were the Philistines, and Putnam, the
American Samson, a chosen instrument to defeat the foe."
It is a matter of record that General Ward relied upon the advice of his
old friend, with whom he had fought, under Abercrombie, at Ticonderoga,
and kept him always within call at headquarters. Had he followed his
advice more closely, however, it would have been better for their sacred
cause, as was shown in the crucial test at the battle of Bunker Hill,
when Putnam's repeated requests for reenforcements were at first denied,
then so hesitatingly granted that they proved of small avail.
To Putnam, then, and not to Ward, the officers and men of the assembled
militia looked for advice and encouragement. They were quite naturally
doubtful as to the result of their hasty action, and as most of them had
never been under fire they were timid and even down-hearted. But Putnam
was continually engaged in arousing both their patriotism and their
hopes. When General Warren asked him (wrote Putnam's son Daniel, many
years later) "if 10,000 British troops should march out of Boston, what
number, in his opinion, would be competent to meet them, the answer was,
'Let me pick my officers, and I would not fear to meet them with half
that number--not in a pitched battle, to stop them at once, for no
troops are better than the British--but I would fight on the retreat,
and every wall we passed should be lined with the dead!'"
"Our men," the General said on another occasion, "would always follow
wherever their officers led--I know this to have been the case with
mine, and have also seen it in other instances." And as Putnam's record
had long since proved that he always led, and asked no man to approach
nearer the foe than he himself was willing to go, the soldiers were
enthusiastic for "Old Wolf Put," the fighter, though lukewarm in their
feelings toward the commander.
They did not admire the methods Putnam employed to keep them out of
mischief--these raw and undisciplined militia, accustomed to do as they
liked and to take orders from no man--for he kept them actively employed
all the time. "It is better to dig a ditch every morning, and fill it up
at evening, than to have the men idle," said Old Put, and though the men
grumbled the results soon showed that he was right.
What they also needed more than anything else was confidence, and, in
order to inspire that, he paraded some two thousand of them through
Charlestown over the hills soon to become world-famous, and right in
sight of the enemy. He did this several times, and on one occasion took
with him his son Daniel, who wrote of it afterward: "I felt proud to be
numbered among what I then thought to be a mighty host destined for some
great enterprise."
Daniel was then only fifteen years of age, yet he performed a man's
work, proving himself worthy of his parentage, and was his father's
aide-de-camp and companion. During the progress of the battle at Bunker
Hill he acted as the guard and defender of a British refugee's wife and
family, and stoutly did his duty, boy that he was.
Perhaps the highest tribute paid to Putnam's prowess was the offer of
his old-time friend and comrade, General Gage, the British
commander-in-chief, to pay him a large sum of money, and secure him a
major-generalcy in the British army, if he would desert the "rebel"
cause and come over to that of the King. Putnam spurned this offer, of
course, as did sturdy Colonel Stark, another comrade of the Indian wars,
and several others. He was all the more active, if possible, in seeking
out the enemy's weak points and in attempts to reduce his supplies.
An opportunity offered, some time in the last week of May, both to annoy
the enemy and gain substantial recompense for a somewhat hazardous
adventure. Several hundred sheep and cattle were in pasture on Hog and
Noddles islands (the latter now East Boston), and as it was feared that
the British might secure them before the Colonials did, a small force
was sent to drive them to the mainland. It was sent by Putnam, whose
great and burning desire for a "brush" with the enemy was now about to
be gratified, and as a party of marines on guard over the live-stock
fired on the Americans, Putnam hastened to their rescue with a larger
force.
A British sloop and schooner then joined in the fight; but the Colonials
turned their single cannon upon the craft, and soon disabled the larger
vessel, which drifted ashore and, after the crew had been either shot or
driven away, was set on fire. In this engagement ten or fifteen British
were killed and wounded, but no Provincial lost his life, though two or
three of Putnam's men were wounded. They fought with great spirit,
wading in water from knee to waist deep, and not only brought off all
the live-stock in safety, but also took away the guns, rigging and sails
of the schooner, as well as some clothes and money left by the sailors
in their flight. This brisk engagement gave the raw soldiers just the
confidence they needed, and they returned in high spirits to their camp.
"I wish we could have something of this kind to do every day," remarked
Putnam to Ward and Warren, as he reached his headquarters, where they
were waiting for him to appear. "It would teach our men how little
danger there is from cannon-balls; for though they have sent a great
many at us, nobody has been much hurt by them." He was wet from head to
foot, and covered with mud to his waist; but he did not mind that at
all, and was as hilarious as a boy just let out from school.
The British were greatly chagrined at this second defeat, the first
engagement after the Concord-Lexington fight, but at an exchange of
prisoners, conducted, on the one hand, under Putnam and Warren, and on
the other under Majors Small and Moncrief, the sixth of June, no ill
feeling was shown. Putnam and Small (whose life the former was
instrumental in saving at Bunker Hill, and who were old
companions-at-arms), embraced, and one eye-witness said, kissed each
other, in the excess of their joy at meeting; yet less than two weeks
later they were opposed in a fight to the death.