I can not but say, there has been more delay in the march of the troops than I think necessary; and I could wish that in future my orders may be immediately complied with, without arguing upon the propriety of them. If any accident ensues from obeying them, the fault will be upon me, not upon you.
I can not but say, there has been more delay in the march of the troops than I think necessary; and I could wish that in future my orders may be immediately complied with, without arguing upon the propriety of them. If any accident ensues from obeying them, the fault will be upon me, not upon you.
Death, defeat, a reprimand—all within one short month—might have affected a stouter heart than Old Put's. But was there ever a stouter one?
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Care sat lightly on Israel Putnam, who never went about looking for trouble, nor gave it more than a scant welcome as a guest. Possessed of sturdy common sense, an unblemished character, and a conscience "void of offence," Old Put did not long harbor the hasty words of Hamilton, nor dwell upon the tacit reprimand of his chief. He still sat astride his "hobby-horse," as Hamilton had contemptuously termed his desire for descending upon New York, and as soon as the latter had departed with the reenforcements for Washington, he resolved to take a look at the city, anyway. Taking some of his men down the east bank of the Hudson, he himself reconnoitered to a point within three miles of the enemy's outpost, and went to New Rochelle with the intention of invading Long Island. The British got wind of his intent, and hastily left their forts, having no relish for a brush with their dreaded enemy.
Although accused to Washington of being very lenient to Tories and other disaffected persons, Putnam knew how to be severe on occasion, and in reprisal for the repeated outrages committed by Governor Tryon's murderous marauders, he destroyed by fire several residences of noted loyalists, and fell upon Colonel DeLancey's infamous "Cowboys," taking seventy-five prisoners, including the Tory officer himself, who was drawn out from beneath a bed, where he had taken refuge at the approach of Putnam's scouts.
Washington himself had given Putnam the idea of descending upon New York, some time before; but circumstances had changed, and along with them the need for this diversion. Having satisfied himself with this reconnoitering expedition, however, Old Put went back very amiably to his post in the Highlands, and proceeded to carry out his commander's instructions respecting the selection of a new fort for the defense of the Hudson. In January, 1778, we find him at West Point, directing the men of Parson's brigade where to break ground—frozen ground, at that, with snow two feet deep above it—for the first fort at the picturesque post on the Hudson since become historic. It was subsequently named Fort Putnam, either after Old Put himself, or his cousin Rufus Putnam, whose great natural talents as an engineer were subsequently availed of here, as they had been before Boston, at Dorchester Heights.
About mid-February, Putnam wrote to Washington, who had been constantly and urgently pressing him to complete the work without delay, that "the batteries near the water, and the fort to cover them, are laid out. The latter is, within walls, 600 yards around, 21 feet base, 14 feet high, the talus two inches to the foot. This I fear is too large to be completed by the time expected." Even his placid disposition was by this time slightly ruffled at the scarcely veiled distrust of his capabilities by his chief, who had veered about with the wind blowing from New York, and seemed to trust him no longer. His letter begins stiffly: "The state of affairs now at this post, you will please to observe, is as follows," and after this business has been stated, he goes on to give some of the reasons for delay. One of his regiments was at White Plains, "under inoculation with the smallpox. Dubois's regiment is unfit to be ordered on duty, there being not one blanket in the regiment. Very few have either a shoe or a shirt, and most of them have neither stockings, breeches, or overalls.... Several hundred men are rendered useless, merely for want of necessary apparel, as no clothing is permitted to be stopped at this post."
No complaint was made, but merely a statement of facts; for Putnam must have known that many of the soldiers under his commander were at that very time half starved and half naked at Valley Forge. The day after writing this letter to Washington, having secured permission for a brief furlough, General Putnam went home to attend to private affairs which demanded his attention. He had applied for this leave of absence two months previously, but before receiving it had attended to the exigent matter of fortifying West Point, like the good soldier that he was.
Since he last left home much had happened to distract and break him down, including the loss of his wife by death, and the loss of Washington's friendly support, through no fault of his own. He was deeply grieved over the change in the commander's attitude toward him, as well as puzzled to account for it, knowing full well that he had done nothing to incur his displeasure, now so plainly manifested, not alone to General Putnam but to others.
The change was probably due to their radical differences of temperament, habits of life and education. While Washington the soldier recognized the sterling qualities of Old Put, the veteran fighter, yet Washington the aristocratic planter shrank from contact with Putnam the blunt, and at times perhaps uncouth-appearing, farmer. Writing about that time, a surgeon in the American army said: "This is my first interview with this celebrated hero, Putnam. In his person he is corpulent and clumsy, but carries a bold, undaunted front. He exhibits little of the refinements of a well-educated gentleman, but much of the character of the veteran soldier."
This was not the style of soldier that the Commander-in-Chief liked to have about him, and he allowed his personal prejudices to pervert his judgment.
"What shall I do with Putnam?" he breaks out in a letter to Gouverneur Morris. "If Congress mean to lay him asidedecently, I wish they would devise the mode."
"It has not been an easy matter to find a just pretense for removing an officer from his command" (he writes to Chancellor Livingston on the 12th of March, 1778) "where his misconduct rather appears to result from want ofcapacitythan from any real intention of doing wrong...." Livingston had written complaining of Putnam's "imprudent lenity to the disaffected, and too great intercourse with the enemy"—or, in other words, that he had not persecuted the people Livingston disliked, and had shown generosity to the foe when in distress. Yet he felt compelled to add: "For my own part, I respect his bravery and former services, and sincerely lament that his patriotism will not suffer him to take that repose, to which his advanced age and past services justly entitle him."
But Congress did not, fortunately, share the views of these white-fingered, thin-skinned gentlemen, to whom a man's personal appearance was vastly more than his distinguished services. They held, with the doughty hero of many battles himself, that, as a soldier's duty in war was to fight, it mattered not so much how he fought, nor in what garb, so long as he won the victories. As to lack of capacity, and being responsible for the loss of Forts Clinton and Montgomery, the court of inquiry, which sat in the spring of 1778, entirely vindicated him, holding that they fell, "not from any fault, misconduct, or negligence of the commanding officers, but solely through the want of an adequate force under their command to maintain and defend them."
Who was responsible for the lack of that "adequate force" none knew better than the Commander-in-Chief, who had withdrawn Old Put's veterans on six different occasions and compelled him to clothe the skeleton ranks with raw militia, so that it ill became him to write (in his letter to Livingston): "Proper measures are taking to carry on the inquiry into the loss of Fort Montgomery, agreeable to the direction of Congress, and it is more than probable, from what I have heard, that the issue of that inquiry will afford just grounds for the removal of General Putnam."
But the "issue of that inquiry" was in favor of Putnam, who demanded not only a court of inquiry, but a trial by court-martial, "so that my character might stand in a clearer light in the world." For, as he justly observed in a letter to Congress, "to be posted here as a publick spectator for every ill-minded person to make remarks upon, I think is very poor encouragement for any persons to venture their lives and fortunes in the service."
General Putnam received notice of this court of inquiry and of his suspension from command pending its proceedings, as he was returning from Connecticut, in March; but the month of July had arrived, the battle of Monmouth fought, and General Lee's court-martial had been ordered, before he was reinstated. Then Washington rather grudgingly gave him command of the right wing of the grand army, at White Plains, near or on Chatterton Hill, where he had vainly tried to reenforce McDougall, in the fierce fight that took place there not quite two years before. The three armies were then collectively of "greater strength than any force that had been brought together during the war," consisting, says Major Humphreys, of sixty regular regiments of foot, four battalions of artillery, four regiments of horse, and several corps of State troops. "But, as the enemy kept close within their lines on York Island, nothing could be attempted."
Putnam was afterward sent across the Hudson, where, notwithstanding the prejudices alleged against him in that region, where he had formerly commanded, he was retained until the army was ordered into winter quarters. These quarters were finally located in his own State, and were admirably chosen for the purpose at that time, which was to hold the troops together until the spring campaign should open. "The site for the winter cantonment became an important question," writes Charles B. Todd, a talented son of Connecticut, and an authority on her history, "and was long and anxiously debated. Many of the general officers were for staying where they were in the Highlands. Putnam pronounced in favor of some central location in western Connecticut, where they could protect both the Sound and the Hudson, and especially Danbury, which was a supply station, and which had been taken and burned by the enemy the year previous. General Heath's brigade had been on guard in Danbury during this summer of 1778, and while visiting him Putnam had no doubt discovered the three sheltered valleys formed by the Saugatuck and its tributaries which lie along the border line of what was then Danbury (now Bethel) and Redding. These valleys, open to the south, are warm, sunny, well watered, and in that day were well wooded, and so defended by dominating hills and crags, that a handful could hold them against an army. They were but three days' march from the Highlands."
Putnam himself superintended the laying out of the three camps, one for each valley, where, in log huts similar to those erected at Valley Forge the winter previous, the soldiers were quartered. Here the Army of the North, consisting of two brigades of Continental troops, two of Connecticut, one brigade from New Hampshire, with artillery and cavalry, wore away the long and weary winter of 1778-'79. There were two major-generals, including Putnam as commander-in-chief, and five brigadiers, so it will be seen that the cantonment was one of great importance.
"Putnam pilgrims" should by all means refresh their patriotism by a visit to the site of that winter camp in western Connecticut, for it has been carefully preserved by the State, which has laid out a magnificent park, erected a monument, restored some of the huts, and collected every relic available of that noble Army of the North. The house which Old Put occupied that winter, as headquarters, was on Umpawaug Hill and is still pointed out, while at a little distance stands the one-time residence of Joel Barlow, the Revolutionary poet, who, with Major Humphreys, Putnam's aide-de-camp and later his biographer, enlivened the camp that winter. From the summit of Gallows Hill, where General Putnam hung a spy, and had a deserter shot to death, one may see the sites of the original camps, the only visible remains of which are rude piles of stones, the ruins of the "chimney-backs."
In or near the camp preserved within the park, General Israel Putnam once performed a deed which some have called his greatest act. "Greatest if measured by results, and most typical of him. Who is not thrilled with the poem of Sheridan's ride—turning a panic-stricken army, and snatching victory from defeat; and here, near a century before, Putnam rode after a deserting army and brought them back to victory ... a victory over themselves."
These remarks refer to the defection of the Connecticut troops, that winter, who, half starved and half frozen in their narrow quarters, "badly fed, badly clothed, and worse paid," resolved to march to Hartford, lay their grievances before the General Assembly, and demand redress at the point of the bayonet.
"Word having been brought to General Putnam," says Major Humphreys, who was present, "that the second brigade was under arms for this purpose, he mounted his horse, galloped to the cantonment, and thus addressed them: 'My brave lads, whither are you going? Do you intend to desert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into the country? Whose cause have you been fighting and suffering so long in—is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives or children? You have behaved like men so far—all the world is full of your praise—and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds; but not if you spoil all at last. Don't you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and that your officers have not been any better paid than yourselves? But we all expect better times, and that the country will do us ample justice. Let us all stand together, then, and fight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut men to run away from their officers!'"
"Word having been brought to General Putnam," says Major Humphreys, who was present, "that the second brigade was under arms for this purpose, he mounted his horse, galloped to the cantonment, and thus addressed them: 'My brave lads, whither are you going? Do you intend to desert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into the country? Whose cause have you been fighting and suffering so long in—is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives or children? You have behaved like men so far—all the world is full of your praise—and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds; but not if you spoil all at last. Don't you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and that your officers have not been any better paid than yourselves? But we all expect better times, and that the country will do us ample justice. Let us all stand together, then, and fight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut men to run away from their officers!'"
The gallant general's rude eloquence prevailed, the men saw their error, were indeed ashamed of it; they listened with attention, presented arms, as their beloved commander rode along the line to the din of the drums, and about-faced for camp, which they did not desert again during the winter. "Thus was a great and mighty battle fought and won. A battle fought with the British far away. A battle fought with hunger, want, cold, and banishment from home. A battle fought in the wilderness, where most of the world's greatest battles are fought."[3]
[3]From an historical address by Prof. George A. Parker, of Hartford, Conn., on the occasion of the visit of the famous Putnam Phalanx to Putnam Park and Camp, June 17, 1903.
[3]From an historical address by Prof. George A. Parker, of Hartford, Conn., on the occasion of the visit of the famous Putnam Phalanx to Putnam Park and Camp, June 17, 1903.
This episode of the winter camp of 1778-'79 forms a fitting prelude to another feat performed by Old Put, this time a physical one, which, while not so worthy of renown, perhaps, as the great moral victory he achieved over his men, has brought him greater fame. Both taken together absolutely refute the insinuations of his enemies, to the effect that he had suffered a decline of mental, moral, or physical force. Washington wrote, commending him for his action in suppressing the mutiny; and as for the feat now to be mentioned, it may be said to speak for itself. In fact, it has been speaking, now, for a century and a quarter, since it is that famous ride down the stone steps of Horseneck Height to which reference is made.
It took place one morning in the last week of February, toward the close of the long winter's vigil at Redding. Putnam and his men were out as soon as the sap in the trees was flowing, and long before, in fact, keeping watch upon and trying to check the operations of the notorious Tryon and his crew. It chanced that he met the British, fifteen hundred strong, when on a visit to his outpost at Horseneck, now "Putnam's Hill," in Greenwich, Conn. Having but one hundred and fifty men and two old iron guns, which latter he had posted "on the high ground by the meeting-house," he was obliged to retreat. Ordering his men to seek shelter in a near swamp, Old Put waited till the British dragoons were almost within sword's length of him, when he put spurs to his horse and dashed over the brow of the hill, zigzagging down a rude flight of seventy stone steps set into the precipitous declivity.
The dragoons dared not follow after this intrepid horseman, but they sent a flight of bullets, one of which passed through his hat. Arrived on level ground he made no halt until he had reached Stamford, where he collected a force of militia in short order, with which he turned upon Tryon, compelling him to retreat, and chasing him to his lair, capturing forty prisoners and retaking a large amount of plunder.
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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 oursmy beast Respeacts to your Lady and sistors and Litel soon.I am dear sir with the greatest respects your most obed and humbel SarvantIsrael Putnam.
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.
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]
[4]Livingston's Life of Israel Putnam. An exhaustive work, by a conscientious and painstaking author.
[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.
Statue to General Putnam at Brooklyn, Connecticut.
To the memoryofIsrael Putnam, Esquire,Senior Major-General in the ArmiesofThe United States of AmericaWhoWas born at SalemIn the Province of MassachusettsOn the seventh day of JanuaryAD. 1718,And diedOn the twenty-ninth day of MayAD. 1790.PASSENGERIf thou art a SoldierDrop a Tear over the dust of a HeroWhoEver attentiveTo the lives and happiness of his MenDared to leadWhere any Dared to follow;If a Patriot,Remember the distinguished and gallant servicesRendered thy CountryBy the Patriot who sleeps beneath this Monument;If thou art Honest, generous & worthyRender a cheerful tribute of respectTo a ManWhose generosity was singularWhose honesty was proverbialWhoRaised himself to universal esteemAnd offices of Eminent distinctionBy personal worthAnd aUsefull 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 leadWhere any dared to follow. In their needMen 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 forgetThat 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 partIn those old days, draw lessons from his fame,And hope and strength from Israel Putnam's name."
THE END.