Elsie and Her Loved Ones Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  THE days glided by very pleasantly to the little company at CragCottage, the greater part of them passed by the children in the openair, far enough from the house to make them feel sure of not disturbingEvelyn, even if they indulged in rather loud chat and laughter.

  In the evening, if it were not too cool, they usually gathered upon theporch overlooking the river, and were very apt to be entertained with astory from either Grandma Elsie or Captain Raymond.

  “I’m right glad to be where I can see this grand old Hudson River,”remarked Edward Leland one evening as they sat there. “It is abeautiful stream, and so much happened on it in early days.”

  “What in particular are you thinking of now?” asked his mother.

  “Something I read not so very long ago in Lossing’s Field Book of theRevolution. He tells of things that happened to Putnam nearly twentyyears before that war. He was lying in a bateau on the east side ofthe river above the rapids, when he was suddenly surprised by a partyof Indians. He couldn’t cross the river quickly enough to escape thedanger from their rifles; so the only way to save himself from beingkilled or taken prisoner—which I suppose would have amounted to thesame thing—was to go over those dangerous rapids. It took Putnam butan instant to decide; he steered directly down the current, betweenwhirling eddies and over shelving rocks, cleared them all in a fewmoments, and was gliding along the smooth current below, far out ofthe reach of the Indians’ weapons. They would never have dared to goover those falls as he did, so thought he must have been favored by theGreat Spirit, and that if they should try to kill him with powder andball, that Great Spirit would consider it an affront to him.

  “Putnam was certainly a very brave man,” continued the lad; “Lossingtells of a brave deed of his at Fort Edward. He says that in the winterof 1756 the barracks took fire, and the magazine, which contained threehundred barrels of gunpowder, was only twelve feet distant from theblaze. Men attempted to knock down those barracks with heavy cannon,but failed.

  “Putnam, who was stationed on Roger’s Island, in the Hudson, oppositethe fort, must have seen the fire. He hurried over there, took hisstation on the roof of the barracks, and ordered a line of soldiersto hand him water. He did his best, but could not put the fire out;it drew nearer and nearer to the magazine. Colonel Haviland, seeinghis danger, ordered him down, but he was too brave and perseveringto obey that order; he worked on and would not leave his post untilthe building began to totter as if just ready to fall. Then he jumpedto the ground and put himself between it—the falling barrack—andthe magazine, and poured on water with all his might. The outsideplanks of the magazine were already burned so that there was only athin partition between the fire and the powder; but he did succeed inextinguishing the flames and saving the powder.”

  “But wasn’t he dreadfully burned?” asked Elsie.

  “Yes, his hands and face were,” replied Edward, “and his whole bodymore or less blistered; so that it was several weeks before herecovered from the bad effects of that fight.”

  “He must have been a very brave man,” cried Ned Raymond.

  “He was,” said Grandma Elsie. “Would you all like to hear somethingmore about him and his doings?”

  “Yes, indeed, grandma, if you will be pleased to tell it,” answeredseveral young voices, and at once she began:

  “He was a Massachusetts man; had a fine, large farm, where he paidparticular attention to the raising of fruits and of sheep. There hadbeen a good many wild beasts in that region, but in 1735 all seemed tohave been killed except an old female wolf that for some seasons wenton visiting the farm yards and killing the fowls. Her lair was nearPutnam’s farm, and one night she killed sixty or seventy of his finesheep. Of course, a company was promptly raised to search for and killher. They tracked her to her lair in a cave. It was dark and narrow,but Putnam pursued her into it, shot her at short range and dragged herout in triumph.

  “Twenty years after that, 1755, troops were raised to defend thecountry against the French, and Putnam was given the rank of captain.He became a leading member of the band of Rangers that did much toannoy and embarrass the enemy during the next two years. In 1757 he waspromoted to the rank of major, and after that occurred the two eventsEdward has just given us.

  “In August, 1758, he was taken prisoner by the Indians, after a sharpskirmish, near Wood Creek. The Indians tortured him, and then decidedto burn him alive. They stripped him, bound him to a tree and kindleda fire about him. The flames were searing his flesh when CaptainMolang, a French officer, came rushing through the crowd, scattered thefirebrands, cuffed and upbraided the Indians, and released poor Putnam.”

  “Then did he get away from the Indians?” asked Elsie.

  “He was taken to Montreal and soon afterward exchanged,” replied hergrandma. “Afterward he was promoted to a lieutenant-colonelcy and givencommand of a regiment.

  “The next year he was with General Amherst in his march from Oswegoto Montreal. When going down the St. Lawrence River they found itdesirable to dislodge the French from Fort Oswegatchie; but theapproach to it was guarded by two schooners, the larger one havingtwelve guns, which could have done serious damage to the English boats.Thinking of that danger, General Amherst said: ‘I wish there were someway of taking that schooner.’ ‘All right,’ said Putnam; ‘just give mesome wedges and a mallet, and half a dozen men of my own choosing, andI’ll soon take her for you.’

  “The British general smiled incredulously, evidently not believing thething could be done; but he consented to Putnam’s making the proposedattempt, and in the night Putnam and his little party got into a lightboat and, with muffled oars, rode under the schooner’s stern and drovethe wedges between the rudder and the stern-post so firmly as to renderthe helm unmanageable. They then went around under the bow, cut thevessel’s cable, then rowed quietly away. All that, of course, madethe vessel unmanageable. She drifted ashore before morning and struckher colors; then the other French vessels surrendered and the Englishcaptured the fort.

  “But I shall not attempt to tell the story of the services of Putnam’swhole life,” continued Grandma Elsie. “I suppose what you all careparticularly to hear is of what he did and suffered in and after theRevolution.”

  “Yes, grandma—yes, indeed!” replied several voices, and she continuedher story.

  “In August, 1774, before General Gage had quite shut up the approachesto Boston, Putnam rode over the Neck with one hundred sheep as a giftfrom the parish of Brooklyn. While there he was the guest of Dr.Warren. On the twentieth of the next April came the news of the fightat Concord.”

  “Ah! news didn’t fly so fast then as it does now,” remarked Eric.

  “No, not by any means,” assented his grandma. “Putnam was in the fieldploughing when it reached him. So great was his excitement on hearingit that he left his plough in the furrow, and without waiting to puton his uniform, mounted a horse and rode toward Cambridge, reachingthere at sunrise of the next morning. Later in the same day he wasat Concord; but he was soon summoned to Hartford to consult with theConnecticut Legislature. He returned from there with the chief commandof the forces of that colony, and the rank of brigadier.”

  “He was one of the officers at the battle of Bunker Hill, wasn’t he,grandma?” asked Eric.

  “Yes, he is spoken of as the ranking officer, and it was he who had theearthworks thrown up on the crest of Bunker Hill in the rear, and who,toward the close of the day, conducted the retreat and directed thefortifying of Prospect Hill.”

  “And his rank was soon made still higher by Congress, was it not,grandma?” asked Edward.

  “Yes; in June, 1775, Congress appointed Washington to the chief commandand made Ward, Lee, Schuyler and Putnam major-generals. Putnam wasin command for a time in New York, in Philadelphia and Princeton;afterward he had charge of the defence of the highlands of the HudsonRiver, with headquarters at Peekskill.

  “There took place an occurrence that will no doubt interest you all.
Aman named Edmund Palmer was caught lurking in the American camp andcondemned to death as a spy.

  “The British considered American spies worthy of death, but that thosein the king’s service were not; so Sir Henry Clinton sent up a flag oftruce from New York and a threat to Putnam of signal vengeance shouldhe dare to injure the person of the king’s liege subject, Edmund Palmer.

  “The old general’s reply was brief and to the point. I think I canrecall it word for word:

  “‘_Headquarters_, 7th of August, 1777.

  “‘Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy’s service, was taken as a spy lurking within our lines. He has been tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the flag is ordered to depart immediately. ISRAEL PUTNAM.

  “‘P. S.—He has accordingly been executed.’”

  “I daresay Sir Henry Clinton was very angry when he read that note?”remarked Eric.

  “Yes,” said his brother, “but no doubt it was well for Putnam that SirHenry never had power to carry out his threat of vengeance upon him.”

  “Is that all of the story about him, grandma?” asked Ned Raymond.

  “Yes,” she replied, “except that there is a story of a remarkableescape of his from General Tryon’s troops by riding down a flight ofstone steps at Horseneck, or West Greenwich, in the town of Greenwich,Conn. He was visiting his outposts there, staying at the house ofGeneral Mead. It was the 26th of March, early in the morning, and hewas standing before a looking-glass shaving, when he saw in the glassthe reflection of a body of red-coats marching up the road from thewestward. Though only half shaven, he dropped his razor, buckled on hissword, and, hurrying out, mounted his horse and hastened to preparehis handful of men to oppose the approaching enemy. There were nearlyfifteen hundred of the British regulars and Hessians, under GovernorTryon. Putnam had with him only one hundred and fifty men. He arrangedthem upon the brow of the hill near a church in the village. There heplanted a battery composed of two old iron field-pieces, and waited forthe coming of the enemy.

  “They came up in a solid column, until almost within musket shot; thendetachments were broken off and tried to gain the Americans’ flanks.At the same time the British dragoons and some infantry made ready tocharge. Perceiving that and noting the overwhelming numbers of theenemy, Putnam ordered a retreat—after some volleys of musketry and afew discharges of the field-pieces. But the enemy was so near that theretreat of the Americans became a rout. The soldiers broke and fledsingly to the adjacent swamps, and the general, putting spurs to hishorse, hastened toward Stamford, pursued by several of the dragoons.

  “About a quarter of a mile distant from Putnam’s starting on that rideis a steep declivity; on the brow of that the road turned northward,and passed, in a broad sweep, round the hill. Putnam, seeing that hispursuers were gaining on him, took a desperate resolve, left the road,and wheeled his horse, while on a gallop, down the rocky height, makinga zigzag course to the bottom, and reaching the road again in safety.”

  “And did the dragoons follow him, grandma?” asked Ned.

  “No,” she said; “it was too perilous for them. They did not dareattempt it. They fired their pistols at Putnam, but did not succeed inwounding him. He rode on in safety to Stamford.”

  “Was Putnam good to his soldiers, grandma?” asked Elsie.

  “I think he was,” Mrs. Travilla answered; “he felt for them in theirsore privations and tried to get them help. Lossing tells us that in aletter to Washington, January, 1778, he gives a picture of the terriblesuffering his soldiers in the highlands were enduring. He said: ‘Veryfew have either a shoe or a shirt, and most of them have neitherstockings, breeches, nor overalls. Several companies of enlistedartificers are in the same situation, and unable to work in the field.’Lossing tells us of something similar that occurred at Reading, inConnecticut, the next year—in 1779. The troops, poor fellows, werebadly fed and clothed and worse paid, for their small pittance whenit came was in the form of Continental money, which was depreciatingrapidly. Brooding over their hard lot, and talking the matter overamong themselves, they resolved to march to Hartford and demand of theassembly there a redress of their grievances. The second brigade hadassembled under arms with that intention, when Putnam learned whatwas going on. He at once galloped to the encampment, and earnestlyaddressed them:

  “‘My brave lads, where are you going?’ he asked. ‘Do you intend todesert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into thecountry? Whose cause have you been fighting and suffering so longfor? Is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives, orchildren? You have behaved like men so far; all the world is full ofyour praise, and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds, but notif you spoil all at last. Don’t you consider how much the country isdistressed by the war, and that your officers have not been better paidthan yourselves? But we all expect better times and that the countrywill do us ample justice. Let us all stand by one another, then, andfight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be forConnecticut men to run away from their officers.’ That was Putnam’slittle speech, and when he had finished the discontented regimentscheered him loudly, then returned to their quarters in good humor,resolved still to suffer and fight for the cause of their country.”

  “Poor fellows!” sighed Elsie.

  “Did Putnam live till the Revolutionary War was over, grandma?” askedEric.

  “Yes,” she replied; “he died on the 29th of May, 1790, agedseventy-two years. There is an inscription on the marble slab overhis grave which says that he was ever tenderly attentive to the livesand happiness of his men and that he dared to lead where any dared tofollow. It speaks of how much the country owes to his disinterested andgallant exertions. It speaks of his generosity as singular, his honestyas proverbial, and says that he was one who, with small advantages,slender education, and no powerful friends, raised himself to universalesteem, and to offices of eminent distinction by personal worth and thediligent services of a useful life.”