p. 7 | Adventures of Putnam by Prof. Charles Morris

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 22, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 42.

Adventures of Putnam

By Prof. Charles Morris

CHAPTERS IN UNITED STATES HISTORY.* NO. 3.

Adventures of Putnam.

Putnam's Early Career—At Fort Edward—The Indian Ambush—Disobedience of Orders—The Result—The Burning Barracks—How Putnam Saved the Magazine—Putnam a Prisoner—Indian Barbarity—Saved from the Stake—Exchange at Montreal—Meets His Captor Again.

THE French and Indian War, while the most important event in the history of the American colonies, had nothing immediately to do with the history of the United States of America. It had much to do with it in its consequences, but we are here concerned only with those consequences, not with the events of the war itself. It had, however, its direct bearing upon the history of the great republic in introducing to the world some of the leading personages to whom that republic owed its origin. With the first public services of two of these, Benjamin Franklin and George Washington, we have already dealt. A third revolutionary character first sprang into notice during the French and Indian War. Israel Putnam, a man distinguished for boldness and daring, the hero of Horseneck in the Revolution, and of equally desperate deeds in the earlier war. The history of America has no romance surpassing that of Putnam's life, and we propose to tell here some of the events of his early career.

The romance of the war gathered largely around the mountain-girled, island-studded Lake George, one of the most beautiful bodies of water in the Atlantic States. Here was Fort William Henry, the scene of a memorable Indian massacre. Here was Fort Ticonderoga, the scene of a disastrous battle, and of the later striking exploit of Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain boys. The story of the vicinity of this picturesque lake is laden with romantic incident, and in this story Israel Putnam played a prominent part.

It was Indian warfare with which he had to deal, warfare conducted with all the cunning and treachery in which the dusky warriors of the American woods were such adepts. After the massacre at Fort William Henry,

and the concentration of the English forces at Fort Edward, on the headwaters of the Hudson, Major Putnam, in command of a corps of rangers, occupied an outpost on a small island near the fort. It was a location well suited for adventure, and adventure came.

A party had been sent into the neighboring forest to cut timber, for the purpose of strengthening the fort. They were guarded by a body of fifty soldiers, who were stationed on a narrow ridge, with a morass on one side and a creek on the other. Behind them lay the fort; before them the forest. As day was breaking one morning, a soldier who was stationed as a sentinel on the edge of the morass, saw in the misty light what seemed a flight of birds coming up from the leafy hollow. Over his head flew several of these objects, and at length one of them seemed to cling to a neighboring trunk. The drowsy sentinel opened his eyes wide in alarm. The bird was winged and pointed. It flew from an Indian bow. Below him lay an ambush of savages, who were trying to pick him off with an arrow without giving the alarm.

The gun of the sentinel instantly rang out its warning note, and, as if awakened by the sound, a host of lurking savages sprang up from bush and dale, and rushed fiercely on the unarmed laborers, shooting and tomahawking all within reach. The soldiers hastened to the rescue, but found themselves in the face of such numbers that the whole party was in danger of being cut off. A messenger was sent in all haste to General Lyman, at the fort. But the aid asked for was not sent. The cautious commander, thinking that the whole French and Indian army was upon him, hastily drew in his outposts, closed the gates, and left the wood-cutters and their support to their fate.

Fortunately Putnam, from his island, heard the musketry. His scouts brought him word of the danger of Captain Little and his men. In an instant the gallant major plunged into the stream, calling to his men to follow. They did so in all haste, and in a few minutes the rangers were hurrying past the walls of the fort towards the distant forest. General Lyman stood on the parapet. "Halt!" he cried. "Come into the fort. The enemy is in overwhelming force. We can spare no more men."

For once in his life Putnam disobeyed the orders of his superior. Muttering a vague reply, and waiting for no further order, he dashed on. Brave men were struggling for their lives with the savage foe. It was no time for prudence or delay. A few minutes brought the rangers to where the regulars were holding their ground with difficulty.

"They will shoot us down here," cried Putnam. "Forward, and rout them from their ambush."

Into the morass the party boldly charged, and soon found themselves face to face with the concealed foe. So sudden and fierce was their charge that the Indians, surprised in their turn, broke and fled in sudden panic, hotly pursued by the revengeful rangers. Many of them fell, and the chase was kept up for miles into the forest.

Putnam returned by no means easy in mind. He had openly disobeyed orders, and expected at the least a reprimand, possibly a court martial. Fortunately, General Lyman proved a man of sense. He saw that alarm had carried him too far, and was wise enough to meet the party with hearty praise, and to forget that Putnam had been guilty of a flagrant disregard of military duty. He doubtless remembered that this insubordination had saved him from the awkward charge of exposing a party of brave men to destruction.

An excitement of different character occurred shortly afterward, one in which the energy, promptness and decision shown by Major Putnam have become historically famous. The barracks within the fort took fire, and burned so furiously that they were soon past saving. Only twelve feet away stood the magazine stored with 300 barrels of gunpowder. The garrison was in a state of panic, little of service was being done; the fort and all within it were in imminent peril.

Putnam saw the flames and smoke from his island outpost, and hastened to the fort. It took him scarce a minute to organize a line of soldiers from the barracks to the river, each with a basket. Mounted on a ladder, he received the water as it came and poured it on the flames. He suffered severely while doing so. So intense was the heat that the mittens he wore were quickly burned from his hands. He called for another pair, dipped them into the water, and continued to fight the fire.

"Come down," cried the colonel. "It is too dangerous there. We must try some other means."

"There are no means but to fight the flames inch by inch," replied Putnam. "A moment's delay might be ruinous."

Despite his utmost efforts the fire spread. Only a few thin boards lay between the garrison and destruction. But Putnam worked with unflagging energy. His fearlessness gave courage and activity to the soldiers.

"If we must be blown up, we will all go together," said the colonel heroically.

Finally the rafters of the barracks fell in, the heat decreased, the timbers of the magazine, drenched with a continual stream, were saved from the flames; the danger was at an end.

But the indomitable Putnam was in a pitiable state. He had fought the fire for an hour and a half, and was seriously scorched and blistered by the heat. On pulling off the second pair of gloves the skin of his hands came with them. Several weeks passed before he recovered from the effects of the frightful exposure. But he had saved the fort and all within it, and had such solace in his pain as the heartfelt thanks and attentions of officers and men alike could give.

There is one further adventure of the gallant Putnam to relate. It is a thrilling example of the barbarity with which the Indians treated their captives. Putnam had the misfortune to be taken prisoner by his savage foes, and very narrowly escaped death at their hands.

In August, 1758, he and Major Rogers, while out on a scouting expedition, fell into an ambuscade of French and Indians. During the fight that followed his gun missed fire, and he was taken prisoner by a powerful Indian. He was disarmed and bound to a tree, while his captor returned to the fight.

Putnam's position was now one of great peril. As the battle continued the tree to which he was bound stood between the lines, and the bullets of both parties flew past him. The tree was frequently struck, and more than one ball pierced his clothes. In the end the provincials triumphed. But they failed to rescue Putnam. His captor untied him and forced him to accompany the retreating party. After they had gone some distance the most of his clothes were taken from him, he was loaded heavily with the packs of the wounded, and his wrists were tied very tightly behind him. Thus they walked for miles through the woods before the party halted to rest.

By this time Putnam was in a pitiable state. His shoes had been taken from him, and his feet were badly bleeding. His hands were so swollen with the tightness of the cord that the pain was intolerable. Afterward the Indian who had captured him, and who had been absent with the wounded, came up and expressed himself as indignant at his cruel treatment. He gave him a pair of moccasins, and seemed disposed to treat him kindly. Unluckily for Putnam, his captor was obliged to return to the wounded, leaving him in the hands of the other Indians. They resumed their barbarity, one of them striking him with a tomahawk and cutting a deep gash in his cheek. They purposed to burn him alive, stripped him of his remaining clothes, and bound him to a tree, and heaped fuel around him, and set it on fire. Fortunately, before the flames could spread far, a sudden shower poured downward through the trees, extinguished the fire, and dampened the fuel. The rain had no sooner ceased than efforts were made to kindle a flame again. The wet wood resisted, but at length the flames caught, and slowly made their way around the fatal circle. The captive soon felt the scorching heat, and moved his body to escape the pain, an evidence of nervousness that was greeted with exulting yells by the savage crew.

The last moment of the brave Putnam seemed at hand. He strove to bear the pain calmly, and to bring his thoughts to bear on higher things than those of earth. Luckily relief was at hand. At the critical moment a French officer burst through the exulting band, kicked the blazing brands aside, and with a quick stroke of his knife, set the prisoner free. It was Molang, the leader of the French, whom an Indian had told of the horrid purpose of his companions. With a severe reprimand to the savages, Molang led the prisoner away, and kept him by his side till he could restore him to his captor. This savage treated him with kindness, gave him some soaked biscuits to eat, his mouth being in such a state that he could not masticate food. But he took extraordinary care to prevent his escape. The next night the party reached Ticonderoga, where the sufferings of the captive came to an end. He was subsequently sent to Montreal, and was included in an exchange, the French supposing him from his pitiable condition to be old and useless. Had the French known the man they held, he would certainly have continued in custody till the end of the war.

Putnam afterward met his Indian captor at Montreal. The savage was delighted to see him, and treated him with the utmost hospitality. He met the old chief once more in the Pontiac War. He was now on the English side, and the ancient captor and prisoner now marched in amity side by side, the best of friends.