It was now midnight, and every one else had retired, while I still continued to listen eagerly to the interesting details given to me by Mr. M. when we were suddenly interrupted by a great tumult of voices, mingled with the sound of bells and the rumbling of fire engines over the pavement. “This is fortunate for you,” said my friend, “fire has broken out in some part of the town, go to it; what you will witness, will teach you more of our habits of order and police, than I could tell you during all the rest of the night.” His advice was hardly necessary, for the moment I had ascertained the cause of the tumult, I began to move towards the door. On the stairs I met George Lafayette, who was hurrying down as eagerly as myself. Once in the street, it was only necessary to follow the crowd in order to arrive at the fire. On our way, our imaginations were excited, and presented this event, unfortunate in itself, as still a fortunate circumstance for us, since it would afford us an opportunity of testifying by our zeal in the midst of danger, how much we were affected by, and grateful for, the infinite kindnesses the citizens of New York had shown us since our arrival. After a long race we reached the extremity of a street, opening on one of the wharves of the East river; here we found the burning house. The fire had caught first in a store-house filled with combustible materials, and had quickly communicated to some neighbouring frame buildings. The flames which blazed up with violence, gave us a fair opportunity to behold the situation of the conflagration, and the surrounding crowd. Five or six thousand persons standing upon the wharves, or mounted upon the masts of vessels, remained still and almost as silent, as if they were at a theatrical exhibition. This silence was only interrupted by the horrible crackling of the rafters, which every moment were tumbling amid the flames, by the monotonous sounds of the engines, and the orders of their directors. To get near the burning house, it was necessary to traverse a great part of the surrounding crowd, which was difficult; but by the light of the fire we were recognized by some one near us, who pronounced the name of Lafayette. This name, repeated from mouth to mouth, was the lucky talisman which opened our way to the desired point. There, in a vast space left free by the crowd, were more than thirty fire engines, some of which only played upon the fire, while the others supplied them with water by means of their long hose. Upon the platform of each of the engines was the director with his speaking trumpet, commanding the twenty men working the engine. When the men belonging to one engine were fatigued, they were instantly replaced by others coming out of the crowd, at the order of the director, who called in a loud voice, “twenty men of such a company, advance;” immediately the number of men demanded rushed to the engine requiring assistance, and the wearied men retired to the crowd where they remained peaceable spectators. In front of the crowd were some police officers, who were distinguished by their long white staves, by means of which they kept order, placing them horizontally before the most impatient, and only allowing those to pass who were called for by the directors of the engines. We then perceived that this calm and obedient crowd were nothing else than the young men enrolled in the engine companies. One of the police officers, who had dined with us in the evening, recognized us, and addressed to us some compliments. “We take a lively interest in the misfortune that demands your presence here,” said George Lafayette, “and should be very happy if our feeble services could be of any utility.” “We thank you,” said the officer, “but you can see for yourselves how little we need assistance; but, however, if you wish to approach nearer to judge of the result of our efforts, follow me.” He conducted us into the midst of the engines, and there we saw with what boldness and dexterity these youthful volunteers devoted themselves to the preservation of their fellow-citizens. We stopped for a moment near the engine which was nighest to the burning house, and offered our services, which were accepted, but in a manner which showed it to be done solely through politeness. In five minutes the two young men returned to reclaim their places, after kindly shaking hands with us. In spite of its violence the conflagration was forced to submit to the skill of the firemen, and we soon perceived that all danger was past. In retiring, we could not refrain from expressing to the police officer, our admiration at the order and quiet which had constantly reigned throughout this great crowd, which a few magistrates[[4]] had sufficed to maintain, without the aid of a single bayonet or uniform, and we were convinced on returning to our hotel, that one such sight as we had witnessed was sufficient to prove the great influence of the habit of order, over a people who are their own legislators.
CHAPTER II.
Departure from New York: journey from New York to Boston: entry at Boston: visit to the University of Cambridge: visit to Charlestown and Bunker’s hill.
We left New York on the morning of the twentieth of August, for Boston, in the state of Massachusetts. At day light several military corps were drawn up in front of the hotel, for the purpose of escorting the general out of the city, where a parting salute was fired from a battery of six pieces of cannon, two of which had been taken from the English at the siege of York-town, in 1781. A great number of citizens on horseback, and in carriages, accompanied us as far as New-Rochelle, where we halted some time, to give the general an opportunity of receiving some of his old companions in arms, who being unable to come to New York, had collected together on his passage, in order once more to see him and take him by the hand.
At Sawpits we met an escort of cavalry, that joined the escort from New York, which wished to continue its service as far as Putnam’s mountain, where the young women of the surrounding villages had caused a triumphal arch to be erected. It was ornamented with the greatest possible taste, and had an inscription upon it which expressed gratitude to Lafayette, and alluded to the daring escape of General Putnam. At the foot of the triumphal arch, I was made to observe the extremely precipitate descent, down which this intrepid man dashed with his horse, to escape the English who were in hot pursuit, but dared not follow him by so dreadful and dangerous a road.
Putnam, before he appeared upon the revolutionary stage, on which he acted a glorious part, had already emerged from the obscurity to which his rustic life seemed to have condemned him. When very young, he had acquired a great reputation among his youthful comrades for strength and intrepidity, by going down into a cave to attack a she-wolf that for many years had been the terror of the neighbourhood. In the year 1755, when thirty-seven years old, he relinquished the plough for the sword, and took the command of a provincial regiment. In the war which broke out in America between France and England, he became, as a partizan leader, the astonishment and admiration of his companions in arms. One man, alone, could then be compared to him, and this one was a Frenchman, named Molang.[[5]] In a rencontre between these two chiefs, Putnam was beaten and taken prisoner; he even owed his life to Molang, who rescued him from the hands of the Indians, who were preparing to burn him; but his reputation did not suffer by this affair, because he had by prodigies of valour and skill, vigorously disputed the victory with Molang.
The news of the battle of Lexington once more caused him to relinquish his agricultural life, which he had long since resumed. His long established reputation soon rallied under his orders a great number of his fellow-citizens, at the head of whom he appeared at the battle of Bunker’s hill. From that time, till the end of the campaign of 1779, when a stroke of palsy forced him to quit the army, he lost no opportunity of proving that he had devoted his life to the cause of liberty. His probity was proverbial, and the following anecdote may give an idea of the inflexibility of his character. An individual named Palmer, a lieutenant in the tory new levies, was discovered in his camp; the English governor Tryon, demanded him as an officer in the king’s service, and threatened Putnam with his vengeance if he did not immediately release him. Putnam answered him by the following note.
“Sir,
“Nathan Palmer, a lieutenant in the king’s service, was taken in my camp as a spy, tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be hanged as a spy.”
“P. S. Afternoon. He is hanged.”