"Old Put" the patriot

by Frederick A. Ober

But he had regrets only for what he was prevented from doing; not for what he had done. Having recovered somewhat, he entertained hopes—vain hopes—of rejoining the army; but was finally convinced that his active career was ended. Major Humphreys having visited him in May, 1780, by his hand he sent a missive to Washington, informing him of his condition, and ending with this pathetic postscript: "I am making a great effort to use my hand to make the initials of my name for the first time. "I.P."—Israel Putnam."

Washington replied in July, congratulating him on his improved state of health, and four years later, after peace was declared between Great Britain and the United States, he wrote a long and cordial letter, which the old General regarded as one of his most precious treasures. The opening paragraph shows Washington's real and lasting estimate of his former comrade in adversity, and is as follows:

Your favor of the 20th of May I received with much pleasure. For I can assure you that among the many worthy and meritorious officers with whom I have had the happiness to be connected in service throughout this war, and from whom I have had cheerful assistance in the various and trying vicissitudes of a complicated contest, the name of a Putnam is not forgotten; nor will it be but with that stroke of time which shall obliterate from my mind the remembrance of all those toils and fatigues through which we have struggled for the preservation and establishment of the Rights, Liberties, and Independence of our Country.

It was not like Old Put to give up the fight so long as life held out, and by the exercise of his iron will he kept up and about for years. Within less than a twelvemonth from having been disqualified from service on account of his affliction, he paid a visit to his former command on the lower Hudson, where one of his old friends, General Greene, complains, in a letter, that he is "talking as usual, and telling his old stories."

It can not be denied that he was somewhat loquacious, especially in his later years, and those "old stories" were not alone his solace, but the delight of numerous audiences of admiring friends and neighbors. At Major Humphreys's request he retold them, two or three years before he died (1788) and they form the basis of his first biographical memoir. But they were doubtless very stale to those of his hearers who had listened to them again and again, as plainly intimated by General Greene.

As they were mainly about himself and his exploits, and as many of them were of events that happened in the distant past, it is not unlikely that some of them were slightly exaggerated, to say the least. Some others told of Old Put and his doings are perhaps not entitled to credence. Among these latter may be the tales of his dueling days, as, for instance, the story of his challenge by an English officer on parole, who, when he came to the place appointed, found Old Put seated near what appeared to be a keg of powder, serenely smoking his pipe. As the officer reached the rendezvous, Putnam lighted a slow-match from his pipe and thrust it into a hole bored in the head of the keg, upon which were scattered a few grains of gunpowder. Viewing these sinister preparations for the "duel," the Englishman concluded that the best thing he could do was to run away, which he did very promptly. "O ho!" shouted Putnam after him, taking his pipe from his mouth. "You are just about as brave a man as I thought, to run away from a keg of onions! Ha, ha, ha!"

No date is given to this occurrence, nor to another account of the "duel" he didn't fight with a brother officer whom he drove from the field at the muzzle of a loaded musket. In fact, the "field of honor" was not much frequented by Putnam, who preferred the field of battle, where he always gave a good account of himself.

During his declining years he was cheered by the companionship of his children, most of whom were married and settled near him, and being in the enjoyment of a competence, he was vastly better off than the majority of the soldiers who had fought with and under him during the Revolution, for many of them were impoverished.

He preserved his strong will-power and great physical strength to the end of his days, notwithstanding the ravages of disease, and in 1786, four years before he died, performed a journey to his birthplace in Danvers, riding all the way on horseback, though with frequent stops by the way not only for rest, but on account of the people who flocked out to see him and desired to entertain the famous fighter in so many wars.

This was the last of his ventures afield, and henceforth he confined his excursions to visiting the homes of his sons and daughters, and to trips around his farm, though on Sundays and "prayer-meeting nights" he would always be found in the meeting-house at the Green, where he was a regular attendant. It is related that at one of the evening meetings one of his fellow worshipers aroused him, by expressing his own conviction that any person who had ever used profane language could hardly be considered a model Christian. Old Put at once accepted the reproof as intended, for it was well known that in moments of excitement, when carried away by the furore of battle, he had often used words which he would not care to review in print. He detested a coward, and when he met one in retreat he did not hesitate to employ strong language in expressing his opinion. At Horseneck, declared the only witness of his reckless ride down the hill, "Old Put was cursing the British terribly." There was no evading his friend's pointed remarks, so the honest old man rose from his seat and "confessed the failing which he had finally overcome"; but he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "it was enough to make an angel swear at Bunker Hill to see the rascals run away from the British!"[4]