“I think he was,” Mrs. Travilla answered; “he felt for them in their sore privations and tried to get them help. Lossing tells us that in a letter to Washington, January, 1778, he gives a picture of the terrible suffering his soldiers in the highlands were enduring. He said: ‘Very few have either a shoe or a shirt, and most of them have neither stockings, breeches, nor overalls. Several companies of enlisted artificers are in the same situation, and unable to work in the field.’ Lossing tells us of something similar that occurred at Reading, in Connecticut, the next year—in 1779. The troops, poor fellows, were badly fed and clothed and worse paid, for their small pittance when it came was in the form of Continental money, which was depreciating rapidly. Brooding over their hard lot, and talking the matter over among themselves, they resolved to march to Hartford and demand of the assembly there a redress of their grievances. The second brigade had assembled under arms with that intention, when Putnam learned what was going on. He at once galloped to the encampment, and earnestly addressed them:
“‘My brave lads, where are you going?’ he asked. ‘Do you intend to desert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into the country? Whose cause have you been fighting and suffering so long for? Is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives, or children? You have behaved like men so far; all the world is full of your praise, and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds, but not if you spoil all at last. Don’t you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and that your officers have not been better paid than yourselves? But we all expect better times and that the country will do us ample justice. Let us all stand by one another, then, and fight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut men to run away from their officers.’ That was Putnam’s little speech, and when he had finished the discontented regiments cheered him loudly, then returned to their quarters in good humor, resolved still to suffer and fight for the cause of their country.”
“Poor fellows!” sighed Elsie.
“Did Putnam live till the Revolutionary War was over, grandma?” asked Eric.
“Yes,” she replied; “he died on the 29th of May, 1790, aged seventy-two years. There is an inscription on the marble slab over his grave which says that he was ever tenderly attentive to the lives and happiness of his men and that he dared to lead where any dared to follow. It speaks of how much the country owes to his disinterested and gallant exertions. It speaks of his generosity as singular, his honesty as proverbial, and says that he was one who, with small advantages, slender education, and no powerful friends, raised himself to universal esteem, and to offices of eminent distinction by personal worth and the diligent services of a useful life.”
CHAPTER VIII
“Thank you for telling us about Putnam, grandma,” said Elsie. “I think he was an American to be proud of. Now if you are not too tired, won’t you tell us the story of Jane McCrea? I know a little of it, and would like to know more.”
“I am very willing to tell you the little I know about her,” replied Mrs. Travilla, in her kindly, pleasant tones. “She was the daughter of a Scotch Presbyterian minister, of Jersey City, opposite New York. In that city—New York—lived a family of the name of Campbell. A daughter of theirs and Jennie had become very intimate. Mr. Campbell died at sea and his widow married a Mr. McNeil. He, too, was lost at sea, and she removed with her family to an estate owned by him at Fort Edward. Jane had a brother living near there. Mr. McCrea, the father, was a widower, and when he died she went to live with her brother, and, being so near the McNeils, the intimacy was renewed and she spent much of her time in Mrs. McNeil’s house. Mrs. Jones, a widow with six sons, lived near the McCreas, and one of them, named David, became Jennie’s lover. When the war broke out he and his brothers became Tories, and in the autumn of 1776 David and his brother, Jonathan, went to Canada, and when Burgoyne collected his forces at St. Johns, at the foot of Lake Champlain, David and Jonathan Jones were among them. Jonathan was made captain and David a lieutenant in the division under General Fraser, and at the time we are speaking of they were with the British army near Sandy Hill. Jennie’s brother was a Whig, and prepared to remove to Albany; but Mrs. McNeil was a staunch Loyalist, a cousin of General Fraser, and intended to remain at Fort Edward. Jennie was at Mrs. McNeil’s, and lingered there even after it was known that the British were near, and her brother had sent her repeatedly urgent requests to join him where he was—five miles farther down the river, and be ready to flee when necessity should compel. But she lingered, probably with the faint hope of seeing her lover again. At last her brother sent a peremptory order for her to join him, and she promised to go down to the spot where he was in a large bateau, which was expected to leave with several families the next day.