“‘P. S.—He has accordingly been executed.’”
“I daresay Sir Henry Clinton was very angry when he read that note?” remarked Eric.
“Yes,” said his brother, “but no doubt it was well for Putnam that Sir Henry never had power to carry out his threat of vengeance upon him.”
“Is that all of the story about him, grandma?” asked Ned Raymond.
“Yes,” she replied, “except that there is a story of a remarkable escape of his from General Tryon’s troops by riding down a flight of stone steps at Horseneck, or West Greenwich, in the town of Greenwich, Conn. He was visiting his outposts there, staying at the house of General Mead. It was the 26th of March, early in the morning, and he was standing before a looking-glass shaving, when he saw in the glass the reflection of a body of red-coats marching up the road from the westward. Though only half shaven, he dropped his razor, buckled on his sword, and, hurrying out, mounted his horse and hastened to prepare his handful of men to oppose the approaching enemy. There were nearly fifteen hundred of the British regulars and Hessians, under Governor Tryon. Putnam had with him only one hundred and fifty men. He arranged them upon the brow of the hill near a church in the village. There he planted a battery composed of two old iron field-pieces, and waited for the coming of the enemy.
“They came up in a solid column, until almost within musket shot; then detachments were broken off and tried to gain the Americans’ flanks. At the same time the British dragoons and some infantry made ready to charge. Perceiving that and noting the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, Putnam ordered a retreat—after some volleys of musketry and a few discharges of the field-pieces. But the enemy was so near that the retreat of the Americans became a rout. The soldiers broke and fled singly to the adjacent swamps, and the general, putting spurs to his horse, hastened toward Stamford, pursued by several of the dragoons.
“About a quarter of a mile distant from Putnam’s starting on that ride is a steep declivity; on the brow of that the road turned northward, and passed, in a broad sweep, round the hill. Putnam, seeing that his pursuers were gaining on him, took a desperate resolve, left the road, and wheeled his horse, while on a gallop, down the rocky height, making a zigzag course to the bottom, and reaching the road again in safety.”
“And did the dragoons follow him, grandma?” asked Ned.
“No,” she said; “it was too perilous for them. They did not dare attempt it. They fired their pistols at Putnam, but did not succeed in wounding him. He rode on in safety to Stamford.”
“Was Putnam good to his soldiers, grandma?” asked Elsie.