When at last the inept Abercrombie had sacrificed the lives under his command to the number of two thousand or more, and became convinced that he could not take Ticonderoga that way, he was seized with panic and ordered a retreat. As the Rangers under Putnam were the first in the assault, so they were the last to retire, being obliged to protect the retreat of the main army, and remained till dusk on the edge of the forest, where they maintained a continuous fire, to prevent pursuit. With but one-third as many soldiers as Abercrombie brought to the attack, Montcalm did not feel like pursuing the retreating foe, but contented himself with the great victory—a victory won not so much by the valor of his men as by the incompetency of his chief opponent.
Had the advice of Putnam, Rogers, and others of the Provincials been sought and accepted, much of this loss of life might have been averted, for though themselves fighting with great courage, doggedly and against all hope, they were averse to a direct assault without the cannon, with which a breach might have been opened into the fort. But the cannon reposed at the lake-side, whither retreated the defeated soldiers, with such haste that they were enabled to embark that very night, leaving their dead and many of their wounded in the forest where they lay. A few days before, after the first engagement, Major Rogers, of the Rangers, having been sent to bring off the dead and wounded of the enemy, had cruelly despatched the latter, to the horror not only of his confrère, Major Putnam, but of the British officers who became cognizant of the fact.
CHAPTER VIII
A PRISONER AND IN PERIL
The good fortune with which Major Putnam had been favored during three years of fighting a wily and treacherous foe, suddenly deserted him when, in the month of August, 1758, he found himself confronted by an Indian warrior of herculean frame, during a skirmish near Fort St. Anne. He and Major Rogers had been sent out by Abercrombie to ascertain the whereabouts of a war party which was committing depredations between Fort Edward and the lakes. The timid general was very much afraid of an attack in force by the victorious Montcalm, and constantly on the watch.
One morning, as the Rangers were proceeding through a dense thicket, with Putnam's Provincials in front, they ran into an ambush which the wary Marin, the French partizan fighter, had prepared, by posting his men in a semicircular position across the trail. Suddenly the air was rent with yells and reports of firearms, and several Provincials fell in their tracks. Putnam, taken unawares, yet as always cool and collected, gave orders to return the fire, and sent word back for support, which in the confusion incident to the sudden attack was not promptly forthcoming. Forging ahead, he was confronted by an Indian chieftain, a giant in size, against whose breast he at once placed the muzzle of his fusee, which—as those primitive flintlocks were likely to do in an emergency—missed fire. The savage then had him at his mercy, and brandishing his tomahawk above his head compelled him to surrender, when he tied him to a tree, and then left him to mingle in the fight again. As the Rangers rallied to battle it happened that the tree to which Putnam was bound came directly between the fires of both parties, and as the bullets flew thickly around our hero's position was not by any means an enviable one. Some of the balls passed through the sleeves and skirt of his coat, and in this perilous position he remained for more than an hour, unable either to move a limb or even his head.
No attention was paid to him, except that now and then a savage would approach, and seeing him there helpless and a conspicuous mark would throw a tomahawk at his head, to see how near he could come to this living target without inflicting a fatal wound. An equally savage Frenchman also approached, and aiming his fusee at his breast, would have put him out of his misery had it not missed fire. This enraged the scoundrel so that he gave Putnam a blow on the jaw with the butt-end of his musket which nearly finished him, and then left him alone.
The battle waged unevenly for a while, but was finally decided in favor of the Provincials, and the French and Indians hastily gathered their prisoners together and fled northward toward Ticonderoga. Putnam's captor stripped him of his coat and waistcoat, socks and shoes, then after binding his wrists together he loaded him with as many packs as he could pile upon his shoulders, and giving him in charge of another Indian, left him to attend to the wounded.