"I received your letter May 20, at Fort Edward, from Capt. Putnam's hand.... I have sent you six letters before this. In the last I told you that Capt. Putnam had took out a number of his men and also a number of another company and made up a company of Rangers.... The next day after I wrote to you there was a number of our Connecticut men out at work with a guard, but the Enemy came and fired upon them and captivated four of them.... Capt. Putnam was then out for several days and when he came in he brought a Frenchman which he took near the Narrows."
"I received your letter May 20, at Fort Edward, from Capt. Putnam's hand.... I have sent you six letters before this. In the last I told you that Capt. Putnam had took out a number of his men and also a number of another company and made up a company of Rangers.... The next day after I wrote to you there was a number of our Connecticut men out at work with a guard, but the Enemy came and fired upon them and captivated four of them.... Capt. Putnam was then out for several days and when he came in he brought a Frenchman which he took near the Narrows."
Always active, alert, and good-humored, Captain Putnam was the idol of his men, and easily the most noted of the Provincials. Such was his nature, however, that he paid no attention to what men said of him, but always marched in the road that led to duty. Much like him in his devotion to duty and principle was another of his name, who now appears in this narrative, having come to Fort Edward in a Massachusetts regiment, in which he was a private. This was Rufus Putnam, who achieved a reputation in later years hardly second to that of Israel; in many respects he surpassed him. These two have been called cousins; but, to state their exact relationship, Israel's father and Rufus's grandfather were brothers, or half-brothers. Here is what Rufus Putnam says, in his Memorandum Book of Family Concerns, respecting his American ancestry: ...
"I am the youngest son of Elisha Putnam, who was the third son of Edward, grandson of John Putnam, who settled in Salem in 1634.... I was born the 9th of April, 1738, at Sutton, Massachusetts."
"I am the youngest son of Elisha Putnam, who was the third son of Edward, grandson of John Putnam, who settled in Salem in 1634.... I was born the 9th of April, 1738, at Sutton, Massachusetts."
By this it will be seen that Rufus and Israel Putnam were descended from the same English ancestor, John Putnam; and further, it may be observed, they had many high qualities in common. What concerns us especially, in this connection, is the fact that Rufus Putnam had acquired the habit of keeping a diary, or journal, and he faithfully recorded all the happenings at Fort Edward, after his arrival. He could not but make mention of the most prominent personage there, his distinguished kinsman; though the latter was too busily engaged in fighting and marching to concern himself as to diaries and chronicles.
Soon after arriving at Fort Edward, young Rufus Putnam was sent out scouting with twenty-two men, and encountering some Indians, thirteen of his comrades were killed. "This was the first sight I had of Indians butchering," he writes, "and it was not agreeable to the feelings of a young Soldier, and I think there are few if any who can view such Scenes with indifference."
Few, indeed. But, while realizing to the full the horrors of savage warfare, Israel Putnam's kinsman stuck to his task and did his duty gallantly. His first experience must have been a severe trial, for he says:
"Capt. Putnam then ordered three of us to follow the trale (of the Indians) a mile or more further, and there lie close until quite dark, to observe if any came back; for, said he, 'if they do not embark in there boats to-night they will send a party back to See if they are pursued.' We went back according to order but made no discovery, and here I would remark that Capt. Putnam's precaution Struck my mind very forceably, as a maxim always to be observed whether you are pursuing or pursued by an enemy, especially in the woods. It was the first Idea of Generalship I recollect to have treasured up."
"Capt. Putnam then ordered three of us to follow the trale (of the Indians) a mile or more further, and there lie close until quite dark, to observe if any came back; for, said he, 'if they do not embark in there boats to-night they will send a party back to See if they are pursued.' We went back according to order but made no discovery, and here I would remark that Capt. Putnam's precaution Struck my mind very forceably, as a maxim always to be observed whether you are pursuing or pursued by an enemy, especially in the woods. It was the first Idea of Generalship I recollect to have treasured up."
These two remarkable men had a very similar experience in their youth, for Rufus, like Israel, was deprived of his father by death at an early age, the former at seven, and the latter at eight, and each went to live with his stepfather after his mother had married a second time.
Israel Putnam had been given a major's commission by the Connecticut Legislature, in 1757, and almost every year succeeding he was promoted, until finally he was at the head of the forces of the State. In common with his fellow Provincials, he suffered from the incompetency of the British commanders sent over from England. Crown Point was the objective for assault during several years, and still was not reached until the hearts of all concerned grew heavy with hope deferred. One of the most glaringly inefficient of Britain's generals in America was Lord Loudoun, at this time commander-in-chief of all the forces. Against him was pitted the acute and discerning Montcalm, in command of the French, who, by the destruction of important forts, and check-*mating Loudoun at Louisburg, soon put the latter on the defensive. Instead, then, of carrying the war into Canada, the British Colonials were compelled to rest on their arms while Montcalm himself, taking advantage of the depletion of the forces caused by Loudoun's futile expedition against Louisburg, marched down from Montreal and made a demonstration against the forts to the south of Lake Champlain.
Equally inefficient with Loudoun, the commander-in-chief, and in addition cowardly as well (it would appear from the records of the time), was General Webb, who commanded in the northern department, and who, though he probably had intimation of the French army's approach, allowed himself to be caught in a trap and lost thousands of his men. He was warned by Putnam, who scouted to some purpose in the forest along the lake shore, discovering the approaching hostiles; but he heeded not the warning, and the result was a massacre.
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Up to midsummer of 1757, the British had accomplished nothing of account; the French, also, had little to show for all the marching and counter-marching, fortifying, and skirmishing with their foes. But a decisive blow was to be struck, and by Montcalm, who, having been informed by his spies of the condition of affairs at the lakes, sent an overwhelming force against Fort William Henry, at the south end of Lake George. It happened that a few days before the French army arrived at the lake, Major Putnam, with two hundred men, escorted his commander, General Webb, from Fort Edward to Fort William Henry, his object being to examine into the efficiency of the latter fortification. The fort itself was a poor construction, but it was commandingly situated on ground gently rising from the shore of the lake, and its approaches were defended by felled forest trees forming an immense abattis deemed impenetrable.
With his customary caution, Major Putnam suggested to General Webb that he should be sent down the lake to ascertain if the enemy were approaching, certain inexplicable signs having aroused his suspicions. His commander reluctantly consented, and Putnam took with him eighteen volunteers and proceeded down the lake, but had not gone far before he discovered a company of Frenchmen on an island. These men started out in pursuit of Putnam in his whale-boats, and the latter retreated; but not before he had, with the aid of a telescope, perceived a "large army in motion." He reported to General Webb to this effect, and to his astonishment that cowardly commander ordered him to make no mention of the approach of the French army, though he agreed with Major Putnam that it was destined for the reduction of the fort on the lake. He, moreover, directed him to pledge his men to keep the matter secret from the devoted garrison at Fort William Henry, and to make ready, without loss of time, to return with him to headquarters at Fort Edward.
"But, your Excellency," exclaimed the amazed and indignant Putnam, "I hope you do not intend to neglect so fair an opportunity of giving battle, should the enemy presume to land!"
"What do you think we should do here?" replied the pusillanimous commander; and no other answer would he give to the sub-ordinate who had rashly ventured to expostulate with him. The next day, accordingly, Putnam escorted Webb back to Fort Edward, whence the latter sent letters to the Governor of New York, at Albany, urging him to send the militia to his aid; and also despatched reenforcements to Fort William Henry under Colonel Monroe, who was ordered to assume command of the garrison, until then ignorant of their peril.
There were then about three thousand men at Fort William Henry, with as many more held in reserve at Fort Edward, half a day's march only away. Against the lake fort, however, Montcalm brought an army of eight or nine thousand men, including not only a corps of Canadians, but a "larger number of Indians in a body than had ever before been collected." The French and Indians outnumbered the hapless garrison three to one; but during the week in which they appeared before the fort at Lake George (the first week in August, 1757), Sir William Johnson reached Fort Edward with his Indians and militia from Albany, thus augmenting the total British force considerably. He demanded to be allowed to proceed to Fort William Henry, and was permitted to start out, taking with him, besides his own force, Major Putnam and his company of Rangers. Three miles from the fort, however, this rescuing force was ordered to return, and thus such men as Johnson and Putnam were compelled to remain at Fort Edward and listen to "the report of cannon from Fort William Henry, two or three shots sometimes within a minute or two of one another." Those fateful cannon-shots continued all day long, and day after day, meanwhile, messengers were arriving from Colonel Monroe asking for assistance in most urgent terms. For six days the siege continued, with thousands of soldiers lying inactive at Fort Edward while their brothers-in-arms were in peril of their lives at Fort William Henry, only fourteen miles away. On the morning of the eighth of August the cannon firing ceased, just as the last express from Colonel Monroe arrived stating that he must give up the fort unless at once relieved.
The ammunition of the beleaguered garrison was almost exhausted, many of their cannon were split, some of the soldiers were sick with smallpox, and their losses in killed and wounded amounted to more than three hundred men. The end was inevitable, and it came after General Webb had sent a letter to Colonel Monroe advising him to surrender. This letter was intercepted by Montcalm, who thus knew the exact situation and acted accordingly. He sent the letter to Colonel Monroe, with an urgent demand for surrender, promising him most liberal terms, and the despairing officer, who had gallantly defended the fort to the last, gave in and threw himself upon the mercy of his foe.
The Marquis de Montcalm may have intended to keep his stipulations, which were that the garrison should be protected by an escort of French troops to Fort Edward, and their sick and wounded cared for. Relying upon these terms, they marched out of the fort without arms or baggage, but were no sooner clear of the gates than they were set upon by more than two thousand Indians, excited by the liquor they had discovered and drunk, and frenzied at the prospect of the escape of their foes. Then ensued a sickening scene of slaughter. Then was committed the massacre, which, had Major Putnam's advice been followed, might have been prevented. More than fifteen hundred, men, women, and children, were indiscriminately butchered, despite the promises of the "noble" Marquis de Montcalm, and the Indians reveled in a carnival of blood.
It having been reported that the victorious Montcalm intended to march against Fort Edward next, Major Putnam was despatched with his Rangers to "watch the motions of the enemy," and reached the lake shore soon after their departure. The fort was entirely demolished, he reported to Webb, next day; "the barracks and all buildings were heaps of ruins, the fires still burning, the smoke and stench from which were offensive and suffocating. Innumerable fragments, human skulls, and bones were still broiling, half consumed, in the smoldering flames. Dead bodies, mangled with knives and tomahawks, including those of more than one hundred women, were everywhere to be seen, affording a spectacle too horrible for description."
And this awful occurrence might have been obviated, if, in the first place, Major Putnam's precautions had been adopted and a firm stand made in the face of the enemy; or if, in the second place, the reenforcements so often requested by the commander of the garrison had been sent. Montcalm himself told Major Putnam, when he was a prisoner in Canada, the next year, that when Sir William Johnson with the militia and Rangers set out from Fort Edward one of his runners reported as to their number, "If you can count the leaves on the trees, you can count them."
Believing, then, that a mighty force was advancing against him, Montcalm was on the point of abandoning the siege, when General Webb's order to return saved the situation for the French. Of a truth, the conduct of General Webb, in command of the forces at Fort Edward and Fort William Henry, deserves the execration of the world. Fuming inwardly against their unjustifiable detention, yet so well disciplined as to accept their commander's orders with impassive faces, the soldiers all, Provincials as well as regulars, were compelled to inaction, and thus became in a sense accessories to the blood-thirsty savages who had murdered their friends.
We have no record of any oath that Putnam may have taken, but doubtless one was registered in Heaven, that his comrades should be avenged, for his acts accord with this assumption. He was even more active than before in annoying the enemy and in taking prisoners, both French and Indian; but there is no stain of cruelty affixed to any of his deeds. He fought honorably, without thought of himself, without regard for what Fame might say of him, or the future hold in store. His courage was of the sort that shuts its eyes to the consequences and goes straight ahead, in the path of duty and rectitude.
Soon after the massacre at Fort William Henry, General Webb was relieved of his command and succeeded by General Lyman, an old soldier under whom Putnam had already served. Even old soldiers make mistakes, as will now be shown. Having despatched one hundred and fifty men into the forests adjacent to Fort Edward, to cut timber for strengthening the fortification, General Lyman sent along a company of regulars to protect them against possible attacks by Indians. This was a prudent measure; but the commander had not counted upon the wary nature of the foe. He should have sent out the Rangers, who knew the Indians and their ways and would have provided protection, without a doubt. But there chanced to be a Ranger on duty as a sentinel, and early one morning, before the sun was up, his attention was attracted to a flight of wonderful birds silently winging their way across the sky. Suddenly, one of those "birds" came with great force against the limb of a tree right over his head, where it stuck, and then the sentry saw that those winged messengers were Indian arrows! He lost no time in giving the alarm and the working party began retreating toward the fort. They were promptly attacked by a large body of Indians, who had hoped to kill the sentry without any noise, when the workmen would have been cut off, without a doubt.
The regulars bravely stood their ground and poured a destructive fire into the savage ranks; but the foe was persistent and soon obtained the upper hand. It happened that, as usual, brave Putnam was not far distant from the sound of battle, which he no sooner heard than he hastened in its direction. As he and his men were posted on an island, he and they waded through the water to dry land, and in pressing to the scene of conflict passed near the fort, on the parapet of which stood General Lyman, who, imagining the attack came from the main body of the enemy, had called in his outposts and closed the gates. As Major Putnam and his men dashed past on the double-quick, intent only upon rescuing their friends from the savages, the General ordered them to return, believing that they were needlessly exposing their lives in a vain attempt against an overwhelming force.
For the first time in his military career (but not the last) Putnam refused to obey the orders of his superior officer. Indignant at the mere thought of abandoning his companions-at-arms at such a juncture, he muttered something under his breath (which he afterward said was an apology; but those who knew "Old Put" best thought otherwise) and pushed on, without turning to right or left. And his obstinacy saved the day, for, uniting with the regulars, the Rangers "rushed" the savages from their position and chased them through the forest so long as daylight lasted. Their victory was complete, and when they returned to the fort the gates were no longer closed against them, nor was a reprimand forthcoming from the General, the disobedience of whose orders made Major Putnam more popular than ever.
That Major Putnam's bravery was of the sort requiring no artificial stimulus, and proceeded solely from the promptings of a nature superlative in every sense, was shown in the winter of 1757, when the barracks at Fort Edward were consumed by a fire which threatened and almost reached the powder magazine. Seeing the blaze from his aerie on the island, Putnam attacked the fire as he always attacked the enemy, with impetuosity. He at once took the forefront of danger, nearest to the powder magazine, and, mounted on a ladder, threw upon the raging flames the buckets of water which the soldiers brought him from the river. Enshrouded in smoke, and so near the sheets of flame that a pair of thick mittens was burned from his hands, Putnam heroically toiled to subdue the fire, which was rapidly eating its way toward the magazine, containing three hundred barrels of powder.
His commander at first begged him to descend, but as he was obstinate, he provided him with another pair of mittens which had been dipped in water, and, charmed at his pertinacity and bravery, exclaimed, "Well, if we must be blown up we will all go together!" He then gave orders to the men to redouble their efforts.
The sequel was that Putnam, though at times enveloped in smoke and cinders, maintained his position, even when there was but a charred strip of timber between him and the powder, finally extinguishing the fire and saving the fort. One hour and a-half he had fought the flames. "His legs, arms and face were blistered, and when he pulled off his second pair of mittens, the skin from his hands and fingers followed them." He was a month in hospital, recovering from his terrible burns; but before the winter was over he was off scouting with his beloved Rangers in the vicinity of Ticonderoga.
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The year 1758 was the most eventful in Putnam's life hitherto, notwithstanding the numerous adventures in which he had already been engaged, and which were enough to satisfy the craving of the most ambitious individual. The great event of that year, in which he took part, was the attack made by General Abercrombie on Fort Ticonderoga; and the most dire happening, to him personally, was being made a prisoner by the Indians.
Before proceeding to narrate these occurrences, however, let us take notice of two stirring incidents in his career, which further illustrate his cool daring and his readiness of resource in the face of danger. In the first instance, he was sent by his superior officer to a place known as Wood Creek, in order to make such observations as were possible, and also to intercept any parties of the enemy that might chance to pass that way. With the intuition of a born strategist, he posted his force on the bank of the creek where it jutted boldly into the water, and there constructed a parapet of stone about thirty feet in length, and masked it with young pine-*trees in such a manner that they appeared to be a part of the natural forest growth.
The provisions of the party running short, and a big buck opportunely appearing, Putnam departed from a rule he himself had always insisted upon—of never firing a gun when waiting for an enemy or in the enemy's country, and shot him. The result was as he might have anticipated. He and his men got the deer and replenished their stores; but the wily leader of the Indian hostiles, Marin, heard the report, and came with his men in search of the cause of it. He came at night, so cautiously and silently that some of the canoes which held his men, about five hundred in number, were abreast the fort before the sentinels discovered them.
The creek at this point was scarcely a hundred feet in width, the banks about fifteen or twenty feet in height. A full moon was shining in the heavens, illumining spaces of water here and there, so that the oncoming Indians were plainly visible to the men behind the parapet, there awaiting, with fast-beating hearts, the signal to fire. At a critical moment, one of the nervous soldiers accidentally struck his firelock against a stone, and the sound being heard by the foe, in an instant came the watchword for silence and caution—"Owish." The canoes in the van halted, and the others coming up, they were soon huddled together right in front of the breastwork. This was the moment awaited by Putnam, who gave the signal for his men to fire by setting the example with his own musket.
The plunging fire, directed into the midst of the canoes, committed terrible execution. It was returned by the enemy; but being caught at a disadvantage, and unable to perceive their foes, concealed as they were behind the breastwork, their fire was ineffective. During the whole engagement, which is said to have lasted through the greater part of the night, only two of the Provincials were wounded, none being killed outright.
There were but sixty men in Putnam's party, while the Indians were estimated at not less than five hundred, half of which number were either killed or wounded, it was thought, before daylight came. Perceiving, from the intermittent fire, that it was a small party which had ambuscaded him, Marin, the Indian scout and leader, attempted a landing below the Americans, in order to cut off their retreat. But Major Putnam had anticipated that move, and after sending a detachment to repel the landing party, ordered his men to "swing their packs" and retire up the creek, which they did in good order, leaving their wounded men behind. This act was the one inexplicable occurrence of the affair, for it was not creditable to Major Putnam, nor in accord with his reputation for humanity and tender regard for his men. But the safety of the greater number was considered, in preference to the security of the two wounded men, one of whom, a Provincial of undaunted courage, was set upon and hacked to pieces, after he had killed three of the approaching enemy, as he lay on the ground unable to escape. The other, a friendly Mohawk, was taken prisoner, and Major Putnam afterward saw him in Canada.
On the way back to Fort Edward, Putnam and his men were fired upon by a scouting party of Provincials, who mistook them for Frenchmen; but they were quickly undeceived when the doughty major ordered his men, "in a stentorophonick tone," to advance and give a good account of themselves. Putnam's "stentorophonick" voice—as his original biographer styles it—was well known to all the army, having been heard many times rising above the din of battle, and always in the forefront of the fighting. So the commanding officer of the scouting party recognized it at once and cried out that those approaching were friends. The volley had killed one man only, and "Old Wolf Putnam," enraged, indignant, and yet sarcastic, said to the opposing officer, "Friends or enemies, you all deserve to be hanged for not killing more, when you had so fair a shot!" He had in mind, of course, the numbers he and his men had slain, that night preceding, when six or seven times their own force had fallen before their unerring aim.
Having suffered so considerably at Putnam's hands, the French and Indians, as may be imagined, were constantly on the watch to take their arch enemy at a disadvantage. Not many weeks after the unsuccessful attack upon Ticonderoga—to which allusion will presently be made—it appeared as though the savages were about to accomplish their purpose, for they surprised him, together with a small body of his men, on the left bank of the Hudson, with the river between them and the fort. The party of Indians was too strong to be successfully resisted, it was impossible to cross the river without being shot, while below lay a quarter-mile stretch of rapids through which a boat had never been sent without disaster. But, with his customary promptitude, Putnam ordered his men into their single boat, himself taking the helm, and pushed off just as the savages came within sight of the shore. The disappointed and infuriated Indians sent a shower of balls after the boatmen, but none took effect; though the fugitives seemed doomed to certain death by drowning in the foaming rapids of the river. Calmly taking the helm, Putnam steered the boat through the roaring rapids, avoiding the half-hidden rocks and protruding ledges, and, while the Indians looked on in amazement, in a few seconds brought his charge into smooth water at the foot of the falls. Throughout all this turmoil and danger, he maintained his self-possession, his customary placidity of countenance even; and it is said that after that the Indians looked upon him as more than human and under the special protection of the Great Spirit.
It was the misfortune of the Provincials to become the sport of fate in the shape of inefficient commanders from England, who led them, not only to defeat, but to death by wholesale, in their endeavors to carry out plans insufficiently matured and schemes which would not have received the sanction of military experts at all. One of the most disastrous of defeats was encountered at Ticonderoga, against which General Abercrombie led a force of fifteen thousand men, consisting of six thousand regulars and nine thousand Provincials. Crown Point and Ticonderoga were still the British objectives, along with other posts of greater or less strength, such as Louisburg, Frontenac, and Fort Duquesne. All these last were taken before Crown Point and Ticonderoga yielded; but it was fated that Ticonderoga, which had been seized and fortified by the French in 1755, and which, together with Crown Point, commanded the direct route from the St. Lawrence to the Hudson, should first cost the lives of many men.
On the morning of July 5, 1758, a magnificent flotilla set forth from the southern end of Lake George, consisting of 135 whale-boats and 900 bateaux, laden with soldiers, cannon, and military stores of every description. As it sailed through the Narrows it made a line six miles in length, and was indeed a most imposing spectacle. Sabbath-Day Point was reached about five in the afternoon, and here the soldiers debarked for rest and refreshment, but sailed on again about midnight, reaching the northern end of the lake next morning at dawn. Soon after landing, late in the day, a portion of the army became lost in the forest and while entangled in the wilderness of trees encountered a French force of observation which had been sent to watch their movements at Lake George. This force, likewise lost in the woods, was cut to pieces by the Rangers, only fifty escaping, while nearly three hundred were either killed, wounded, or taken prisoners.
This was the sole success of the expedition, and this cost the lives of many men, including young Lord Howe, who was a great favorite in the army with both regulars and Colonials. He had insisted on forging ahead with Putnam, who, as usual, was in front with his Rangers, and against his urgent remonstrances went with him into the vortex of the fire, where he was killed. The soldiers considered their success on the first day as a foretaste of victory to follow on the morrow; but while Abercrombie delayed his advance for various reasons, Montcalm and his men did herculean work by felling a forest of trees and constructing an impenetrable abatis in front of the fort.
It was this terrible entanglement, composed of thousands of trees with pointed and jagged limbs turned outward, that really prevented the British and Provincials from gaining even the outer works of Ticonderoga, behind which lay not more than thirty-six hundred men under Montcalm. Abercrombie's engineer having reported that the works were unfinished, and might be easily captured if promptly attacked, the British general gave the order for assault, though his cannon had not arrived, and indeed were not used at all.
Not satisfied with one futile assault, in which his men were cut down by hundreds, torn by grape-shot and mangled by cross-fires of musketry, Abercrombie ordered another and another, until the heroic and desperate fighting men were entirely exhausted. Never was there a greater display of courage and senseless devotion to a mistaken sense of duty, than on that day when the fifteen thousand British and Provincial soldiers tried vainly to dislodge one-third their number of Frenchmen from their position at Ticonderoga. And it was all on account of the incapacity of a British commander, whom the home Government had sent out with authority, not only over his own regulars, but Colonial officers whose abilities were vastly in excess of his own. But it was not for these Colonials to question; only to "do and die," and they did all in their power, and died by hundreds, merely that an incompetent commander's whims should be gratified.
When at last the inept Abercrombie had sacrificed the lives under his command to the number of two thousand or more, and became convinced that he could not take Ticonderoga that way, he was seized with panic and ordered a retreat. As the Rangers under Putnam were the first in the assault, so they were the last to retire, being obliged to protect the retreat of the main army, and remained till dusk on the edge of the forest, where they maintained a continuous fire, to prevent pursuit. With but one-third as many soldiers as Abercrombie brought to the attack, Montcalm did not feel like pursuing the retreating foe, but contented himself with the great victory—a victory won not so much by the valor of his men as by the incompetency of his chief opponent.
Had the advice of Putnam, Rogers, and others of the Provincials been sought and accepted, much of this loss of life might have been averted, for though themselves fighting with great courage, doggedly and against all hope, they were averse to a direct assault without the cannon, with which a breach might have been opened into the fort. But the cannon reposed at the lake-side, whither retreated the defeated soldiers, with such haste that they were enabled to embark that very night, leaving their dead and many of their wounded in the forest where they lay. A few days before, after the first engagement, Major Rogers, of the Rangers, having been sent to bring off the dead and wounded of the enemy, had cruelly despatched the latter, to the horror not only of his confrère, Major Putnam, but of the British officers who became cognizant of the fact.
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The good fortune with which Major Putnam had been favored during three years of fighting a wily and treacherous foe, suddenly deserted him when, in the month of August, 1758, he found himself confronted by an Indian warrior of herculean frame, during a skirmish near Fort St. Anne. He and Major Rogers had been sent out by Abercrombie to ascertain the whereabouts of a war party which was committing depredations between Fort Edward and the lakes. The timid general was very much afraid of an attack in force by the victorious Montcalm, and constantly on the watch.
One morning, as the Rangers were proceeding through a dense thicket, with Putnam's Provincials in front, they ran into an ambush which the wary Marin, the French partizan fighter, had prepared, by posting his men in a semicircular position across the trail. Suddenly the air was rent with yells and reports of firearms, and several Provincials fell in their tracks. Putnam, taken unawares, yet as always cool and collected, gave orders to return the fire, and sent word back for support, which in the confusion incident to the sudden attack was not promptly forthcoming. Forging ahead, he was confronted by an Indian chieftain, a giant in size, against whose breast he at once placed the muzzle of his fusee, which—as those primitive flintlocks were likely to do in an emergency—missed fire. The savage then had him at his mercy, and brandishing his tomahawk above his head compelled him to surrender, when he tied him to a tree, and then left him to mingle in the fight again. As the Rangers rallied to battle it happened that the tree to which Putnam was bound came directly between the fires of both parties, and as the bullets flew thickly around our hero's position was not by any means an enviable one. Some of the balls passed through the sleeves and skirt of his coat, and in this perilous position he remained for more than an hour, unable either to move a limb or even his head.
No attention was paid to him, except that now and then a savage would approach, and seeing him there helpless and a conspicuous mark would throw a tomahawk at his head, to see how near he could come to this living target without inflicting a fatal wound. An equally savage Frenchman also approached, and aiming his fusee at his breast, would have put him out of his misery had it not missed fire. This enraged the scoundrel so that he gave Putnam a blow on the jaw with the butt-end of his musket which nearly finished him, and then left him alone.
The battle waged unevenly for a while, but was finally decided in favor of the Provincials, and the French and Indians hastily gathered their prisoners together and fled northward toward Ticonderoga. Putnam's captor stripped him of his coat and waistcoat, socks and shoes, then after binding his wrists together he loaded him with as many packs as he could pile upon his shoulders, and giving him in charge of another Indian, left him to attend to the wounded.
Poor Putnam was soon in a deplorable condition, with hands swollen terribly from the tightness of the ligature, and his feet gashed and bleeding, as he trudged along the trail beneath his enormous burden. He begged the savages to knock him on the head and end his sufferings; but he was soon to experience even more horrible sensations, for, arriving in advance of the main party at the place where they were to camp for the night, the small body of Indians that had him in charge concluded to burn him at the stake! He was suffering terribly from the blow on his jaw, from his swollen hands and mutilated feet, and also from a tomahawk gash in his cheek, so that he cared little what became of him, provided the end came quickly. To be burned alive, however, was a fate that brought a shudder to the frame of even stout-hearted Israel Putnam, and he looked on in horror while his captors stripped him naked, bound him to a tree and piled the dry brush they had gathered for fuel around him in a circle. All the while, as they labored at their fiendish task, they chanted a funeral dirge, which was almost as depressing to their captive as their sinister preparations for his immediate immolation.
"Major Putnam soon began to feel the scorching heat," says his biographer, Colonel Humphreys, who had these details from the chief actor's own lips. "His hands were so tied that he could move his body, and he often shifted sides as the fire approached. This sight, at the very idea of which all but savages must shudder, afforded the highest diversion to his inhuman tormentors, who demonstrated the delirium of their joy by yells, dances, and gesticulations. He saw clearly that his final hour was inevitably come. He summoned all his resolution, and composed his mind, as far as the circumstances would admit, to bid an eternal farewell to all he held most dear.... His thought was ultimately fixed on a happier state of existence, ... the bitterness of death, even of that death which is accompanied with the keenest agonies, was in a manner past, ... when a French officer rushed through the crowd, opened a way by scattering the burning brands, and unbound the victim."
The officer was no other than the redoubtable partizan, Marin, who exerted a wonderful influence over his savage company. He at once sent for the Indian who had captured Major Putnam, who did what he could to make amends for the dreadful treatment the latter had received; but that night, in order to prevent his prisoner from escaping, he stretched his limbs out in the shape of a cross and bound them to four saplings, then placed poles and bushes across his body as it lay on the ground with several Indians at either side, who kept watch the night through.
Arrived at Fort Ticonderoga, Major Putnam had an interview with the Marquis de Montcalm, who ordered him sent to Montreal, whither he was taken without delay, and where he met a brother American, Colonel Peter Schuyler, of New Jersey, who, possessing considerable influence, compelled the Frenchman to treat their prisoner more humanely. The capture of Louisburg, Frontenac and other posts, by the English that year gave them numerous prisoners, which they were not slow to exchange for those in the hands of the French. Thus it came about that the period of Major Putnam's captivity was quite short, for he was in Montreal and Quebec in the last days of August, his exchange was accomplished in October, and in November he was on his way to his home in Connecticut.
If the French had known who it was they held a prisoner in the person of Major Putnam, doubtless they would have been slow to permit his exchange; but Colonel Schuyler kept this information to himself, and when told by the governor that he might select whatever officer he liked to be included in the cartel, he chose his friend.
"There is anold manhere," he said, "who is a Provincial Major, and who wishes to be at home with his wife and children; he can do no good here or anywhere else; I believe your Excellency had better keep some of the young men, who have no wife or children to care for, and let the old fellow go home with me."
This subterfuge availed, and Putnam went along with his friend; but whether the latter was justified in alluding to him as an "old man" is doubtful, as he was then only forty years of age. He had, however, won the sobriquets of "Old Wolf Putnam" and of "Old Put," long before, and doubtless was accustomed to be regarded as elderly, despite his jolly countenance and ever-cheerful disposition.
His kind and affectionate nature was displayed at its best on the journey home, which was long and wearisome, when he took charge of a lady, Mrs. Howe, whose husband had been killed and scalped three years previously. She had been in captivity ever since, and had endured untold outrages from her captors. Her seven children were dispersed, but five of them were recovered, and accompanied her back to her home in New Hampshire. Colonel Schuyler had rescued her from captivity, and Major Putnam constituted himself her protector during the long and toilsome journey, leading her little ones, assisting the sorrowful mother over the rough places, and sharing his meals with the unfortunate family.
What a welcome the hero received on his home-coming, from his loving, constant wife and children! They had heard of his vicissitudes, had almost given him up for dead; but at last he was with them again, and the dismal past was buried. The joy of the family at meeting again was clouded by sorrow, however, for death had entered the family circle since the father and husband's departure. Israel, the eldest son, was there, and the daughters; but the second son was absent, never to return.
On an old tombstone in the graveyard at Brooklyn, Connecticut, is this inscription:
"In Memory of Mr. Daniel Putnam, son of Colo. Israel Putnam & Mrs. Hannah his wife, who died Aug. 8th, 1758, Aged 17 Years."Also of David Putnam, Son of yeabove Colo. Israel & Mrs. Hannah Putnam, who died Nov. 21, 1761, aged 1 month."
"In Memory of Mr. Daniel Putnam, son of Colo. Israel Putnam & Mrs. Hannah his wife, who died Aug. 8th, 1758, Aged 17 Years."
Also of David Putnam, Son of yeabove Colo. Israel & Mrs. Hannah Putnam, who died Nov. 21, 1761, aged 1 month."
The first death, of Daniel, his pet and pride, occurred, it is said, on the very day (August 8, 1758), at the close of which Major Putnam was in direst peril, tied to a tree in the forest, environed by fire and within a circle of whooping, yelling savages. The demise of David, whom he never saw, took place while the father was away on the Amherst expedition, or just before his return from that campaign. Sturdy Israel, the first-born son, had taken charge of the farm while his father was off on his various campaigns—or at least had done his best to do so, and the family had not wanted for provisions during the enforced absences of the head of the family. As he was now a robust young man of nearly twenty, and possessed all the home-loving traits of his father, Israel was considered perfectly competent to carry on the farm at least another season, and in the spring of 1759 his father, now advanced to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, went away again to the wars.
Israel Putnam seemed never to know when he had enough of fighting; or else his sense of duty to the king and his country was paramount to all other considerations else. At all events, one of his bravery and force could not be omitted from the great expedition that General Amherst (who had been sent by Pitt to supersede Abercrombie) was then organizing. In July, 1759, we find him with his command at Lake George, where the second expedition against Ticonderoga set forth, following the route taken by Abercrombie, over the lake to Ticonderoga, which was reached on the 22d. On the 23d, the French officer in command of the fortress suddenly departed down Lake Champlain with nearly all his men; but Amherst did not know it, and kept on with his preparations for bombardment, having his batteries in position before he was made aware, by French deserters, that the place had been abandoned. Soon the powder magazine blew up, having been left by the French with a lighted slow-match attached for the purpose, the barracks caught fire, and Ticonderoga, which had held out so well against British and Provincial assaults, was at last laid low. It was reconstructed, as we know, and served both British and Patriots in the Revolutionary War; but is now in ruins, picturesque and imposing in their decay.
Crown Point was also evacuated by the French, and thus at last the main object of so many months' toil in the wilderness with such woful waste of life and vast expenditure of treasure, was accomplished. While Putnam and his comrades were engaged in restoring the fortifications of Crown Point, they heard the news of British victories on every hand: of the fall of Fort Niagara; and of the storming and capture of Quebec, when, on that fateful thirteenth of September, 1759, Wolfe and Montcalm found death and fame, the former at the hour of victory, the latter in defeat.
Israel Putnam met nearly all the great British commanders, with the possible exception of Wolfe, and had assisted with all his might at the upbuilding of English power in America, so it was not strange that when, later, the Revolution opened, he was looked upon by them more as a friend than an enemy. The next year, when Amherst moved upon Montreal, then the chief, almost sole possession of the French in Canada, Colonel Putnam went along, as a matter of course, and, it is gravely related by his first biographer, he assisted the general at a critical moment and in a very novel way. Two armed vessels of the enemy were likely to cause trouble to the British on the St. Lawrence, and Amherst was anxious to put them out of the way before they could sink his boats. Putnam proffered his services, declaring he could take the vessels in short order.
"How?" asked the General, somewhat amused as well as surprised.
"With beetles and wedges, and a boat-load of men," answered "Put." And, the story goes, he rowed out to the vessels, in the dead of night, drove wooden wedges in behind their rudders, and left them helpless, for when the wind came up they would not answer the helm and were driven ashore, where their crews were easily taken by the English.
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It can not be denied that Israel Putnam was already quite a traveler; but it must be added that he had so far traveled mainly within a circumscribed area. Over and over again this faithful soldier had plodded the trails and military roads, and pushed his way through the swamps, morasses, forests, of the wilderness region of New York, which by the end of 1761 he should have known almost as well as the woodland pastures of his own farm. But he was destined to extend his travels and make a foreign voyage, still in the service of the King of England, whom he had served so long and so well.
He was present at the capitulation of Montreal, one September day, 1760, and had the pleasure of meeting the Indian chief who had taken him prisoner two years previously. He lived near Montreal, at the Indian village of Caughnawaga, where he received his former captive with pride, and was highly delighted to see his old acquaintance, "whom he entertained in his own well-built stone house with great friendship and hospitality; while his guest did not discover less satisfaction in an opportunity of shaking the brave savage by the hand and proffering him protection in this reverse of his military fortunes."
Returning home at the end of the 1760 campaign, Putnam remained on his farm all winter, and the next spring set out again for what proved an uneventful season, with much hard work on fortifications and entrenchments, but no fighting of account. For, so far as the mainland of North America was concerned, the long struggle between France and England was nearly at an end. France had been shorn of her possessions in Canada, and she was losing her islands in the West Indies, where, early in 1762, beautiful Martinique (to become famous as the birthplace of the Empress Josephine, and a rich land of sugar and spices) was captured by the British.
In fact, the theater of war was transferred to the more southern regions of the Caribbean Sea, and the New Englanders took a long breath and congratulated themselves that at last they were at liberty to pursue their callings unmolested. But in this they were somewhat premature, as England was still engaged in fighting, and, no matter where her battles were fought, she seemed to expect the loyal American colonists to furnish soldiers for her wars. Connecticut, Putnam's home State, was again called upon for the same number of able-bodied men she had furnished year by year, and promptly proffered her bone and sinew to fight the wars of King George the Third.
A thousand men, besides fifteen hundred from New York and New Jersey, embarked at the port of New York, in the month of June, 1762, bound for Havana in Cuba, where British regulars were dying by hundreds of pestilence, and sorely needed those colonial reenforcements. On this, his first sea voyage, Colonel Putnam had a rough experience all the way down, and off the north coast of Cuba the transport containing himself and five hundred of his men was wrecked on a coral ledge. "Old Put" was calm and collected, never more so, though unused to life at sea, and preserved strict discipline among his men, thus aiding the mariners in their endeavors to get out rafts and boats, on and in which the entire company finally reached the shore. To his perils by fire, twice incurred, brave Putnam could now add that by flood, thus giving the spice of variety to his various adventures.
"As soon as all were landed," wrote the biographer who knew him best, "Putnam fortified his camp, that he might not be exposed to insult from inhabitants of the neighboring districts.... Here the party remained unmolested several days, until the storm had so much abated as to permit the convoy to take them off. They soon joined the troops before Havana, who, having been several weeks in that unhealthy climate, had already begun to grow extremely sickly. The opportune arrival of the Provincial reenforcement, in perfect health, contributed not a little to forward the works and hasten the reduction of that important place. But the Provincials suffered so miserably by sickness afterward, that very few ever returned to their native land again."
This is all that Colonel Putnam's contemporary, Humphreys, has to say of the most eventful episode of his hero's career, but it seems to the present writer (who has personally investigated the British and Colonial invasion of Cuba "on the spot") that the subject is worthy of more extended notice. The English expedition against Havana was occasioned by the King of Spain, Charles III, having entered into what was known as the "family compact" with Louis XV of France, by which the Bourbons were to support each other against British rapacity and aggrandizement, as they styled it.
England had long looked covetously upon Havana, which the Spaniards themselves called the "Key of the New World," situated at the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico and (in the hands of a strong power) then controlling the seaboard of territory at present comprised in the South Atlantic States of our Union. So she hastened to seize the capital of Cuba, the "Pearl of the Antilles," and early in June, 1762, the surprised and frightened inhabitants were informed that a fleet of sixty ships-of-war had landed more than 20,000 men at the little port of Cogimar, a few miles to the east of picturesque and formidable Morro Castle.
Quickly, then, the Captain-General assembled the "Junta of Defense," composed of men most eminent in military affairs in Havana, and placed before them the situation.[1]They resolved upon a spirited defense, even though their soldiers were insufficiently armed and they had no defensive works save the Morro, then about a hundred years old, and its companion fortress called the Punta, between which two forts lay the deep and narrow entrance to the harbor. This harbor was blocked by some big war-ships, and a chain was stretched across the mouth, but the English did not even essay an entrance, having landed their troops to the east, and first marching upon the Morro from Cogimar and the town of Guanabacao, which they took quite easily, and then sweeping over the Cabañas hills, where the Spaniards later built the vast fortifications which they should have constructed sooner for the defense of their capital city.