Twelve of the most independent companies, and yet the most vigilant and best disciplined of all, were composed of backwoodsmen who had come on foot from four to eight hundred miles. A little later, five Indians came to Cambridge to help fight for liberty. They were welcomed cordially and entered the service. It is probable that every little company marched to Cambridge under its own colors, but of course there was no flag representing the colonies as a whole.
Immediately after the battle of Bunker Hill, Major-General Israel Putnam took up his stand on Prospect Hill. One month later he called together all the troops under his command, and read them the statement issued by the Continental Congress which declared just why the colonies had had recourse to arms. The chaplain made an address and a prayer, at the end of which the troops responded, "Amen." Then there was unfurled a scarlet standard, which it is said John Hancock had just presented to General Putnam and his men in recognition of their bravery at Bunker Hill. Tradition says this standard bore on one side the motto of Connecticut, "Qui transtulit sustinet," and on the other a pine tree and the motto of Massachusetts, "An Appeal to Heaven."
It is a little strange that the Massachusetts colonists did not put the likeness of an elm on any of their banners, for so much of their history was associated with the "Liberty Elm." A few flags on both land and sea were inscribed "Liberty Tree," but no exercise of the imagination can make the pictured tree look in the least like an elm. Under the Liberty Elm of Boston the meetings of the Sons of Liberty were held, as has been said, and here it was that the resolutions were adopted which resulted in dropping three hundred and forty chests of tea into Boston Harbor. The Liberty Tree of Charleston, South Carolina, was a beautiful live-oak. It is said that under this tree Christopher Gadsden, even before the Stamp Act, ventured to speak of the possible independence of the colonies. Here, as in Boston, the patriots came together to discuss the way to liberty, and with hand clasped in hand solemnly promised that when the hour for resistence should come, they would not be found unready. There is something refreshing in the thought of all the free, open-air discussion that went on under the Liberty Trees. There was no stifling of thought in closed rooms with bolted doors. Every new idea, daring as it might be, was blown upon by the free winds of heaven. Naturally, the British commanders hated these trees and thoroughly enjoyed destroying them whenever they had opportunity. The Boston tree was cut down even before the battle of Lexington. In 1780 Sir Henry Clinton cut down the live-oak in Charleston, piled its severed branches over the stump, and set fire to them. Even the iron-girt Liberty Pole of New York was cut down by the red coats in 1776. It is little wonder that Thomas Paine's poem on the "Liberty Tree" was so roundly applauded. This closes:—
"But hear, O ye swains,—'tis a tale most profane,
How all the tyrannical powers,
Kings, Commons, and Lords, are uniting amain,
To cut down this guardian of ours.
From the East to the West, blow the trumpet to arms,
Through the land let the sound of it flee,
Let the far and the near all unite with a cheer,