THE DISABLED VETERAN
General Putnam was sixty-one years old at the time of his famous exploit
at Horseneck, and apparently in the full possession of his powers; but,
as it eventuated, this was the beginning of his last campaign, which
actually opened with the removal of the soldiers from Redding to the
Hudson, about the last of May, where Putnam was appointed to the command
of the right wing of the army, with headquarters on the west bank of the
river. Previous to removal, he wrote the following interesting letter to
a friend, Colonel Wadsworth, of Hartford, which the author of this
memoir copied from the original in possession of the Connecticut
Historical Society:
Redding, _ye 11 of May, 1779_.
Dear Sir: On my arrivol to this plas I could hear nothing
of my hard mony and so must conclud it is gon to the dogs we have
no nus hear from head Quarters not a lin senc I cam hear and what
my destination is to be this summer cant even so much as geuss but
shuld be much obbliged to you if you would be so good as to send me
by the teems the Lym juice you was so good as to offer me and a par
of Shoes I left under the chamber tabel. I begin to think the nues
from the sutherd is tru of ginrol Lintons having a batel and
comming of the leator it is said he killed 200 hundred and took 500
hundred what makes me creudit it is becaus the acounts in the New
york papers peartly agree with ours
my beast Respeacts to your Lady and sistors and Litel soon.
I am dear sir with the greatest respects your most obed and humbel
Sarvant
Israel Putnam.
Old Put's anxiety as to his destination having been allayed, he
established his military family at or near Buttermilk Falls, about two
miles below West Point, where, says Major Humphreys, "he was happy in
possessing the friendship of the officers of the line, and in living on
terms of hospitality with them. Indeed, there was no family in the army
that lived better than his own. The General, his second son, Major
Daniel Putnam, and the author of these memoirs, composed that family."
Putnam was probably at this point when, on that dark and stormy night of
the fifteenth of July, "Mad Anthony" Wayne stormed and captured Stony
Point, on the river not far below. This remarkable exploit was not only
the most important event of the year, but, like the battle of Monmouth
of the year previous, almost the only action worthy of note. It had the
effect, probably, of causing the British to withdraw their troops from
along the Sound, where they were engaged in ravaging the seaboard places
of Connecticut; but the post was again taken by the enemy, who, like the
Americans, did not find it worth the while to hold it.
The most important members of Putnam's military family, his son Daniel
and Major Humphreys, accompanied him home on leave of absence, in
November, whence, early in December, the General set out on his return
to the army, which was to winter at Morristown. Soon after leaving
Brooklyn, and while on the road to Hartford, he "felt an unusual torpor
slowly pervading his right hand and foot. This heaviness crept gradually
on until it had deprived him of the use of his limbs on that side, in a
considerable degree, before he reached the house of his friend Colonel
Wadsworth"--the gentleman to whom he had written the letter of the
eleventh of May previous.
Having tried, though vainly, to shake off the terrible torpor and regain
the use of his limbs by exercise, the stricken soldier was at last
compelled to admit defeat and resign himself to the inevitable. He
returned home after a short tarry with his friend, and passed the
remainder of that winter at the farmhouse he had built in his younger
days, surrounded with loving care and affection by his children. At
first disposed to rebel against this stroke that had rendered him
useless while his country still stood in need of his services,
eventually he regained his cheerfulness and gave himself up to the
enjoyment of the home comforts of which for so many years he had been
deprived.
The partial paralysis from which he suffered was premonitory of the
final stroke; but it was eleven years before it came and removed from
earth this stout-hearted man who had given his best years and his best
efforts to battling for his native land. There is no doubt that his
mighty struggles in the several wars--his daylight marches and nighttime
vigils; his tremendous exertions in emergencies like the fire at Fort
Edward, the running of the rapids at Fort Miller; long hours without
rest in the saddle, and in the trenches, with wet and frozen clothing
sometimes unchanged for days--all conduced toward the weakening of that
mighty frame prematurely stricken with paralysis.
But he had regrets only for what he was prevented from doing; not for
what he had done. Having recovered somewhat, he entertained hopes--vain
hopes--of rejoining the army; but was finally convinced that his active
career was ended. Major Humphreys having visited him in May, 1780, by
his hand he sent a missive to Washington, informing him of his
condition, and ending with this pathetic postscript: "I am making a
great effort to use my hand to make the initials of my name for the
first time. "I.P."--Israel Putnam."
Washington replied in July, congratulating him on his improved state of
health, and four years later, after peace was declared between Great
Britain and the United States, he wrote a long and cordial letter, which
the old General regarded as one of his most precious treasures. The
opening paragraph shows Washington's real and lasting estimate of his
former comrade in adversity, and is as follows:
Your favor of the 20th of May I received with much pleasure. For I
can assure you that among the many worthy and meritorious officers
with whom I have had the happiness to be connected in service
throughout this war, and from whom I have had cheerful assistance
in the various and trying vicissitudes of a complicated contest,
the name of a Putnam is not forgotten; nor will it be but with
that stroke of time which shall obliterate from my mind the
remembrance of all those toils and fatigues through which we have
struggled for the preservation and establishment of the Rights,
Liberties, and Independence of our Country.
It was not like Old Put to give up the fight so long as life held out,
and by the exercise of his iron will he kept up and about for years.
Within less than a twelvemonth from having been disqualified from
service on account of his affliction, he paid a visit to his former
command on the lower Hudson, where one of his old friends, General
Greene, complains, in a letter, that he is "talking as usual, and
telling his old stories."
It can not be denied that he was somewhat loquacious, especially in his
later years, and those "old stories" were not alone his solace, but the
delight of numerous audiences of admiring friends and neighbors. At
Major Humphreys's request he retold them, two or three years before he
died (1788) and they form the basis of his first biographical memoir.
But they were doubtless very stale to those of his hearers who had
listened to them again and again, as plainly intimated by General
Greene.
As they were mainly about himself and his exploits, and as many of them
were of events that happened in the distant past, it is not unlikely
that some of them were slightly exaggerated, to say the least. Some
others told of Old Put and his doings are perhaps not entitled to
credence. Among these latter may be the tales of his dueling days, as,
for instance, the story of his challenge by an English officer on
parole, who, when he came to the place appointed, found Old Put seated
near what appeared to be a keg of powder, serenely smoking his pipe. As
the officer reached the rendezvous, Putnam lighted a slow-match from his
pipe and thrust it into a hole bored in the head of the keg, upon which
were scattered a few grains of gunpowder. Viewing these sinister
preparations for the "duel," the Englishman concluded that the best
thing he could do was to run away, which he did very promptly. "O ho!"
shouted Putnam after him, taking his pipe from his mouth. "You are just
about as brave a man as I thought, to run away from a keg of onions! Ha,
ha, ha!"
No date is given to this occurrence, nor to another account of the
"duel" he didn't fight with a brother officer whom he drove from the
field at the muzzle of a loaded musket. In fact, the "field of honor"
was not much frequented by Putnam, who preferred the field of battle,
where he always gave a good account of himself.
During his declining years he was cheered by the companionship of his
children, most of whom were married and settled near him, and being in
the enjoyment of a competence, he was vastly better off than the
majority of the soldiers who had fought with and under him during the
Revolution, for many of them were impoverished.
He preserved his strong will-power and great physical strength to the
end of his days, notwithstanding the ravages of disease, and in 1786,
four years before he died, performed a journey to his birthplace in
Danvers, riding all the way on horseback, though with frequent stops by
the way not only for rest, but on account of the people who flocked out
to see him and desired to entertain the famous fighter in so many wars.
This was the last of his ventures afield, and henceforth he confined his
excursions to visiting the homes of his sons and daughters, and to trips
around his farm, though on Sundays and "prayer-meeting nights" he would
always be found in the meeting-house at the Green, where he was a
regular attendant. It is related that at one of the evening meetings one
of his fellow worshipers aroused him, by expressing his own conviction
that any person who had ever used profane language could hardly be
considered a model Christian. Old Put at once accepted the reproof as
intended, for it was well known that in moments of excitement, when
carried away by the furore of battle, he had often used words which he
would not care to review in print. He detested a coward, and when he met
one in retreat he did not hesitate to employ strong language in
expressing his opinion. At Horseneck, declared the only witness of his
reckless ride down the hill, "Old Put was cursing the British terribly."
There was no evading his friend's pointed remarks, so the honest old man
rose from his seat and "confessed the failing which he had finally
overcome"; but he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "it was enough to
make an angel swear at Bunker Hill to see the rascals run away from the
British!"[4]
[Footnote 4: Livingston's Life of Israel Putnam. An exhaustive work, by
a conscientious and painstaking author.]
In this respect he was no worse than his former Commander-in-Chief,
though he may have been oftener culpable, being so much more excitable
than the phlegmatic Washington.
The final summons came on Saturday, the twenty-ninth of May, 1790, when,
in a lower room of the house he had built nearly fifty years before, the
battle-scarred warrior, life's fitful fever ended, passed peacefully
away to his rest.
Israel Putnam was well prepared to die, declared his pastor in his
funeral sermon, and perfectly resigned to the will of God.
"He had been for years," says Major Humphreys, "in patient yet fearless
expectation of the approach of the King of Terrors, whom he had full
often faced on the field of blood."
On the first day of June the earthly remains of Israel Putnam, attended
by a distinguished company of former comrades and sorrowing friends,
were taken to the Brooklyn burying-ground, and placed in a brick tomb.
Upon the slab of the tomb was carved the lengthy epitaph, printed on the
next page, as composed by Dr. Timothy Dwight, Putnam's former friend and
chaplain in the army, who subsequently became President of Yale College.
[Illustration: Statue to General Putnam at Brooklyn, Connecticut.]
To the memory
of
Israel Putnam, Esquire,
Senior Major-General in the Armies
of
The United States of America
Who
Was born at Salem
In the Province of Massachusetts
On the seventh day of January
AD. 1718,
And died
On the twenty-ninth day of May
AD. 1790.
PASSENGER
If thou art a Soldier
Drop a Tear over the dust of a Hero
Who
Ever attentive
To the lives and happiness of his Men
Dared to lead
Where any Dared to follow;
If a Patriot,
Remember the distinguished and gallant services
Rendered thy Country
By the Patriot who sleeps beneath this Monument;
If thou art Honest, generous & worthy
Render a cheerful tribute of respect
To a Man
Whose generosity was singular
Whose honesty was proverbial
Who
Raised himself to universal esteem
And offices of Eminent distinction
By personal worth
And a
Usefull life.
With the passing of the years, Putnam's tomb in the pleasant little
cemetery in Brooklyn became defaced through the ravages of time and
heartless relic hunters, so the State resolved to erect a more enduring
monument to "Connecticut's hero of the Revolution." This monument was
dedicated June 14th, 1888, nearly a century after the death of the one
it is intended to commemorate, and is in the shape of a beautiful bronze
statue, representing Putnam on his war-horse, beneath the pedestal
supporting which, embedded in the foundation, is a sarcophagus
containing his ashes. It stands near the old church which Putnam helped
to build, and not far distant from the field in which he was plowing
when the call came from Lexington and Concord. Dr. Dwight's original
epitaph is inscribed on the tablets, and a wolf's head in bronze
ornaments the pedestal on each side.
Little now remains to be added, except to call attention to Putnam's
character, eulogies upon which have been delivered by the ablest men of
his time and of the generations after him. This sterling character has
shone resplendent in his deeds, which we have noted; and we may almost
say of him, as of Washington, his great commander, "Whatever good may
at any time be said, it can never be an exaggeration!"
General Putnam, remarked his first biographer, "is universally
acknowledged to have been as brave and honest a man as ever America
produced.... He seems to have been formed on purpose for the age in
which he lived. His native courage, unshaken integrity, and established
reputation as a soldier, were necessary in the early stages of our
opposition to Great Britain, and gave unbounded confidence to our troops
in their first conflicts on the field of battle."
Over his open grave, on that day in June so long ago, were pronounced
the following words, as true now as yesterday, as they will be
henceforth, forever: "Born a hero, whom nature taught and cherished in
the lap of innumerable toils and dangers, he was terrible in battle....
But from the amiableness of his heart, when carnage ceased, his humanity
spread over the field like the refreshing zephyrs of a summer's evening.
... He pitied littleness, loved goodness, admired greatness, and ever
aspired to its glorious summit."
The name of Putnam, as Washington declared, is not forgotten--nor will
be, until time shall be no more.
"He dared to lead
Where any dared to follow. In their need
Men looked to him.
A tower of strength was Israel Putnam's name,
A rally-word for patriot acclaim;
It meant resolve, and hope, and bravery,
And steady cheerfulness and constancy.
And if, in years to come, men should forget
That only freedom makes a nation great;
If men grow less as wealth accumulates,
Till gold becomes the life-blood of our States;
Should all these heavy ills weigh down our heart,
We'll turn to him who acted well his part
In those old days, draw lessons from his fame,
And hope and strength from Israel Putnam's name."
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's "Old Put" The Patriot, by Frederick A. Ober