SEEING BOSTON

It was before the War for Independence. A country boy in rough homespun clothes was walking along the streets of Boston. He was staring at the shop signs and windows. It was his first visit to the big city. He had never seen such interesting things before. The boy was Israel Putnam, the son of a farmer.

A city boy, much bigger than Putnam, saw him wandering about staring curiously at everything. He thought that it would be safe to bully such a raw-looking boy. Stepping up to Putnam, he began to make fun of his coarse clothes and his awkward walk.

Putnam stood it as long as he could, for though he was known as a fighter at home, he never provoked a quarrel. But now, as he saw a crowd gathering which seemed to enjoy his humiliation, his blood rose. He turned on the big boy, and gave him such a drubbing that the crowd cheered with delight. The boy slunk off, and Putnam walked away and had no more annoyance.

That was the kind of boy—and man too—Israel Putnam was; slow to anger; but when once roused by injustice, nothing could hold him back.

THE FIGHT WITH THE WOLF

Israel Putnam grew older, married, and went to live in Connecticut. He had a stock farm.

One winter, wolves began to kill his animals. There was a she-wolf, particularly fierce and ravenous, who had lost the toes of one foot. She attacked and devoured animals for miles around.

During a single night Putnam lost seventy fine sheep and goats, besides having many lambs and kids badly torn. In the morning he found around the fold the tracks of the she-wolf’s toeless foot.

Putnam and some of his neighbours traced her to a cave about five miles away. Then they returned home.

The next morning they started out with dogs, guns, and brimstone. The dogs chased the wolf into her cave, but came running out again torn and yelping. Putnam and the men built a fire in the cave-entrance. They threw on brimstone which gave out choking fumes. They threw on straw which made a thick smoke. But there were no signs of the wolf. All was quiet in the cave.

It grew to be nearly ten o’clock at night. Putnam tried once more to make his dog enter the cave, but he would not stir. Putnam, then, asked his negro man to go in and shoot the beast. But the black man, shivering with fright, refused to crawl in.

Putnam grew angry. In spite of all that his neighbours could say, he threw off his coat and lighted a torch. Then, tying a rope around his legs, he gave the end to his friends, saying when he signaled to pull him out.

In he went, headfirst, holding the lighted torch before him. Stooping, he groped his way into the body of the cave. The torch made a dim circle of light; all the rest of the den was in terrifying darkness. Silence like death was around him.

He cautiously proceeded onward to an ascent. As he was slowly climbing it on hands and knees, he discovered the glaring eyeballs of the she-wolf just in front of him. Startled at the sight of the flaming torch, she gnashed her teeth and gave a sullen growl.

Putnam kicked the rope, and his friends, who were listening with painful anxiety and who heard the growling of the beast, pulled him out so quickly that his shirt was stripped over his head and his body was badly cut.

After he had adjusted his clothes, he loaded his gun with buckshot. Then holding the torch in one hand and the gun in the other, he entered again. This time the wolf assumed a still more fierce and terrible aspect, howling, rolling her eyes, and snapping her teeth. Then she dropped her head between her legs making ready to spring.

At this moment Putnam raised his gun and fired.

Stunned by the noise and suffocated with smoke, he felt himself being jerked backward out of the cave. His friends had heard the shot, and were pulling the rope.

He rested a few moments in the fresh air, while letting the smoke dissipate. Then in he went a third time.

The wolf lay stretched on the floor as if asleep. He put the torch to her nose to make sure that she was dead. Then he took her by the ears and kicked the rope.

His friends, with loud cheers, drew him out, and the wolf with him.

FROM PLOUGH TO CAMP

Israel Putnam did not stay on his farm. When the French and Indian War broke out, he enlisted. He served as major. He had many thrilling escapes from Indians. Once he was captured and tortured by savages, but was rescued by the French.

After many years’ service, he resigned and went back to his farm. When the news of the Battle of Lexington reached him, he was ploughing. He left his plough in the field, and unyoked his team. Then, in his old farm-clothes, he sprang on a horse and galloped off to Governor Trumbull for orders.

“Go,” said the Governor, “to the seat of action.”

“But my clothes, Governor!” exclaimed Putnam.

“Oh, never mind your clothes,” answered he, “your military experience will be of service to your countrymen.”

“But my men, Governor! What shall I do about my men?”

“Oh, never mind your men,” said he, “I’ll send your men after you.”

So without waiting to change his soiled farm-clothes, Putnam put spurs to his horse and in a single day rode all the way to Cambridge.

He attended a council of war held by the Americans, returned to Connecticut, raised a regiment, and went back to Cambridge in time to take part in the Battle of Bunker Hill. There on Prospect Hill he unfurled the new Banner of Connecticut, which, as a cannon fired a salute, was seen to rise and unroll itself to the wind.

When Washington, appointed by Congress to be Commander-in-Chief, arrived at Cambridge, and saw the redoubts that had been cast up by Putnam and his men, he said to Putnam:—

“You seem, General, to have the faculty of infusing your own spirit into all the workmen you employ.”

Washington had brought with him a commission from Congress, making Israel Putnam a Major-General.

HE MADE WASHINGTON LAUGH

General Putnam once had the honour of making Washington laugh heartily.

It was during the Siege of Boston.

There was a traitor in camp. No one knew who he was. A strange woman—a spy—had delivered a letter, intended for him, to the wrong person. It was laid before Washington. It was in cipher. Washington ordered the woman to be arrested, but she was gone.

Not long after, as Washington was standing in the upper window at Headquarters, he saw the oddest sight.

It was stout “Old Put” himself, in all his regimentals, mounted on his horse, proudly cantering up to Headquarters. Behind him, seated on his saddle-bow and hanging on like grim death, was a very fat woman. “Old Put” had captured the spy.

Washington burst into a hearty laugh. He hurried to the top of the stairs, just as “Old Put” escorted the fat woman into the hall. Washington, as gravely as he could, called down, in his severest tones, that unless she confessed everything, a halter was waiting for her.

She confessed immediately, and the traitor in camp was found.

A GENEROUS FOE

Israel Putnam was brave, bluff, and honest, and he was also compassionate.

During the French and Indian War, the enemy’s wounded lay dying and neglected on one of the battle-fields.

After the fierce fighting was over, Putnam himself hurried out onto the field, to tend the poor fellows. He gathered them together into one place. He gave them what food and drink he could get. He furnished each with a blanket. Under one badly wounded French sergeant, he placed three blankets, and laid him in a comfortable position against a tree.

Gratefully, the suffering man squeezed his hand, while Putnam said reassuringly:—

“Ah! depend upon it, my brave soldier, you shall be brought to the camp as soon as possible, and the same care shall be taken of you as if you were my brother.”

At the Battle of Princeton a Scotch Captain of the British Army was desperately wounded in the lungs and left for dead. Putnam found him in great pain, with no surgeon, and without any friend to cheer him. He had him supplied with every comfort and the best of care.

One day, when Putnam was visiting him, the Scotchman said:—

“Pray, sir, what countryman are you?”

“An American,” answered Putnam.

“Not a Yankee!” exclaimed the Scotchman.

“A full-blooded one,” replied Putnam.

“I’m sorry for that!” rejoined the Scotchman with an oath. “I did not think there could be so much goodness and generosity in an American, or, indeed, in anybody but a Scotchman!”

Thanks to Putnam’s friendly Yankee care, the Scotchman recovered.

PUTNAM NOT FORGOTTEN!

When General Putnam, full of years and honours, retired from the Army, Washington wrote him a letter telling him that he was entitled to full pay till the close of the War, and afterward to half-pay. The letter was cordial and warm, and in it Washington said:—