"Old Put" the patriot

by Frederick A. Ober

"Bury him," was the laconic answer; and buried he was, in the ditch, while the work on the redoubt went on.

General Putnam was not on the hill when the cannon-fire began, having gone back to camp to change his tired horse for a fresher one; for his gait, says the historian, was always fast and furious. At the first report, however, he pricked up his ears and sent to Commander Ward for another horse; but before his orderly returned, he had procured still another and was already on his way to Charlestown. He had tried to procure for his men not only reenforcements but refreshments, for they had taken with them only one day's rations. In this he was disappointed, General Ward refusing to send over any more men, at that time, believing the British would take advantage of his weakened force to make a direct attack upon the main army at Cambridge. But when, having arrived at the hill, Putnam conversed with Prescott and noted the necessitous condition of the men, he again mounted and in hot haste rode back to Cambridge, with an urgent plea to the commander for assistance. This time it was not refused, and again gallant Putnam rode across Charlestown Neck, at the risk of his life, to take part in the coming conflict.

Meanwhile, there was a great commotion in the British camps, and from their place of vantage on Breed's Hill the patriots could see the gathering soldiers marching for the shore. General Gage had quickly called a council, which instantly decided that the patriots must be dislodged at whatever cost. As the prescient Putnam had foretold, the occupation of a hill so near their lines made their position untenable. They must move out or fight, and not even Putnam believed they would retreat from their snug quarters in Boston town. He knew well what was coming, and was not at all surprised to see, gathering beneath the blazing morning sun of the torrid day that had succeeded to a sultry night, the thousands of redcoats, armed and equipped for battle.

After informing the anxious soldiers on the hill of the promised succor to arrive, Putnam rode along the lines and, casting his eye over the situation, perceived that it would be a grave strategic omission to neglect to entrench the hill in the rear, which was the original object of their advance. As the main redoubt was then practically completed, and the men were resting from their toil, he ordered the entrenching tools to be taken to Bunker Hill, and another work begun which might serve as a "rallying place" in case they were compelled to retreat—as undoubtedly they would be. This entrenchment was begun but never finished, owing to the lack of time. Had it been completed, and had the men been able to avail of its defenses, there might have been a different tale to tell of the final finish at Bunker Hill. But noon had now arrived, the British frigates and floating batteries were by this time not only raining shot like hail upon and around the redoubt, but sending a scathing fire across the Neck, under cover of which barge-loads of soldiers were landing on the peninsula preparatory to an advance.

Noon came, but not the reenforcements which had been promised by General Ward, so General Putnam "seized the opportunity of hastening to Cambridge, whence he returned without delay. He had to pass a galling enfilading fire of round, bar, and chain shot, which thundered across the Neck from a frigate in the Charles River, and two floating batteries hauled close to the shore," wrote one who had conversed with eye-witnesses of this scene. The neck, or narrow passage-way between the Charles and Mystic Rivers, was only about one hundred and thirty yards across and exposed to that terrible cannonade; yet over it flew the reckless rider, coat off, in shirt-sleeves, an old white hat on his head; back and forth he rode, fearless and unscathed. The great painter Trumbull, who produced the celebrated picture of the Battle of Bunker Hill, which has excited the admiration of thousands, represented General Putnam conspicuously placed in that scene, but arrayed in an immaculate uniform, with ruffles and frills, and such like accessories which "Old Put" would have spurned.

Still, the man was there, if not the uniform. His appointment as major-general was dated two days after that memorable 17th of June; but he was then, as brigadier-general, the ranking officer present, until brave Warren appeared upon the scene. The latter was discovered by Putnam just as he was wheeling about after meeting and posting the gallant Colonel Stark and his New Hampshire reenforcements behind the rail fence and grass breastwork, where they gave such a good account of themselves that day. Turning about, he saw the slender figure of the newly-made major-general before him, a sword at his side, but a musket on his shoulder.

"What, Warren, you here?" he is said to have exclaimed. "I am sorry to see you ... but I'm ready to submit myself to your orders."

"No, no, I came only as a volunteer," replied Warren. "Tell me where I can be most useful."

Pointing to the redoubt, Putnam said, "You will be protected there."

"I am not seeking a place of safety," rejoined Warren with warmth; "tell me where the onset will be most furious."