Who was the Commander at Bunker Hill? / With Remarks on Frothingham's History of the Battle

by Samuel Swett

The only other instance in the author’s book of Putnam’s being disobeyed, to make good his allegation that such cases existed, is that of Capt. Callender of the Artillery. If any thing could be more wonderful than the author’s mistaking one hill for another, when both have been before his eyes from his birth, it would be his adducing this case as one of disobedience, or a case of any kind to disprove that Putnam was the commander. And it is quite as extraordinary that he should refer to a newspaper for the facts in Calender’s case, when he had before him a complete statement of them in the report of a committee to the Massachusetts Congress; a report from which he has extracted only five words, saying that Putnam ordered Callender to go back, though it is so important in a description of the battle, and especially for the fame of Gen. Putnam, that any historian who neglects it commits a most unfortunate mistake. This committee say, “We applied to Gen. Putnam and other officers, who were in the heat of the engagement, for further intelligence. Gen. Putnam informed us, that, in the late action, as he was riding up Bunker Hill, he met an officer in the train, drawing his cannon down in great haste; he ordered the officer to stop and go back; he replied, he had no cartridges; the general dismounted, and examined his boxes, and found a considerable number of cartridges, upon which he ordered him back; he refused until the general threatened him with immediate death; upon which he returned up the hill again, but soon deserted his post, and left the cannon.” Now, this is the strongest case imaginable, not of disobedience, but compulsory obedience. Callender obeyed Putnam to the letter, as the committee say; he deserted his post afterwards. And we ask the author whether this conduct of Putnam was that of a volunteer. But allow the author to make his own case regardless of facts.[5] Suppose Callender disobeyed Putnam, and that it was for this he was condemned, instead of cowardice only, as he was, this imaginary case would be worse than the real one for the author and his argument; it would give us the sentence of the court-martial to prove that Putnam was his commander. As if purposely to declare he did not think any thing relative to Putnam deserving of ordinary care or attention, he says, “This report states Callender was riding down the hill,” when there is not a syllable of the kind. The author has racked his fancy to discover other objections to Putnam’s having the command, that are as groundless as the foregoing. He objects, that, if Putnam had been the commander, he would have boasted of it in his letter to the town of Cambridge, in which he claims the merit of having saved that place from the incursion of the enemy, after the battle, by erecting fortifications on Prospect Hill. In the first place, the argument proves too much: it would prove that he was not the commander in the battle at Chelsea; for he does not mention that in his letter; and he had more reason to boast of that, than of Bunker Hill Battle, to the people of Cambridge, who would have thanked him for nothing in regard to the latter. It was he who, with Prescott, had urged on that battle for the good of the country, but at the imminent risk of Cambridge, and brought on them the very danger to which he alluded. But he had a better reason for not mentioning either of those battles. He was not a braggadocio. The author’s next objection is, that Putnam did not at the time publicly claim to have been the commander. Putnam claim the honor of the command, when all the world at that time agreed in attributing it to the martyred Warren! “Putnam’s generosity was singular;” “he was generous almost to a fault.” Was he the man to pluck from the bloody brow of Warren the crown of honor, for the nominal command of Bunker Hill Battle?—from Warren, whom he adored as a patriot, and loved as a friend and brother; who had just stood by his side at the cannon’s mouth at Chelsea and Bunker Hill? In the bosom of his family, he declared the bare idea was abhorrent to him. In that sanctuary, however, he did not hesitate to declare that he was the commander.

The author represents President Stiles as stating, in his Diary, 20th June, as one among various rumors from camp, that Gen. Putnam took possession of the hill the night before the battle; and that Stiles, on 23d June, after receiving additional information from those who had seen Gen. Putnam, enters in his Diary “that Putnam was not on the hill at the beginning.” The author has no right to introduce the second entry to contradict the first, because he knows that, if it does so, it is false; for he has stated himself that Putnam was present at the beginning of the intrenchment. For the same reason he cannot adduce it to prove Putnam was not present at the beginning of the battle. But there is no contradiction between these entries: both of them are true. President Stiles was not a man to contradict himself; his meaning is perfectly clear; he is speaking of the 17th June, and says Putnam was not present at the beginning, that is, the beginning of the contest by the enemy’s cannonade at daylight. But who would imagine, that, instead of any rumors, as the author calls them, on which Stiles makes his first entry, Stiles says not one syllable of any rumor? So far from it, he states expressly and distinctly that William Ellery, the leading man of Rhode Island, and well-known signer of the Declaration of Independence, had just shown him a copy of a letter from Gen. Greene at Roxbury, second to no one in the army except Washington, and a copy of another letter from the Committee of Supplies [of R. Island at Roxbury]; and that Gen. Greene said, Gen. Putnam took possession and intrenched on Bunker Hill, Friday night, 16th inst.; “and that Gen. Ward said, the enemy’s loss was three times as great as ours.” “Greene,” Styles says, “seemed to doubt this at first; but, from after-inquiry, and considering that Putnam fired from the trenches, and that it was said the dead of the enemy covered an acre of ground, Gen. Greene seemed rather to credit the estimate.” The Chamber of Supplies says, “The king’s troops attacked Gen. Putnam, who defended himself with bravery, till overpowered and obliged to retreat.” Now, these accounts alone settle the whole question of Putnam’s command for ever. Instead of being base metal to be stigmatized as rumors, they are sterling gold, and stamped at the highest mint in America.

We have gone through the objections of the author to Putnam’s claims, as we did through his positions in favor of Prescott’s, and demonstrated them all to be groundless. We repeat that we have done this with the greatest repugnance, not only from our personal respect for the author, but because we may be suspected of doing so from rivalry. But the author will bear us witness, that we did all in our power beforehand to render his history as perfect and correct as possible, for the very purpose of avoiding the necessity of writing again on the subject. Whence his invincible prepossession against Putnam’s claims it is useless to inquire; but he acknowledges the assistance of a number of gentlemen, who, as well as he and myself, belong to Massachusetts; and we must all acknowledge our natural and instinctive preference and partiality in favor of an officer of our own Commonwealth. This is fearful odds against Putnam; but, in his long warfare for his country, he came off triumphant in many a desperate conflict while living; and his hard-earned reputation may suffice to gain him one victory more, though he is dead. In the fable of the lion painted by man, the lion complains that man is the painter instead of himself. Putnam, the lion of Connecticut, might well complain that we men of Massachusetts are drawing a picture of him in Bunker Hill Battle. But happily for the moral of that fable, three other lions of Connecticut, Stiles, Dwight, and Whitney, have done the same; and their picture of him is much more life-like than Frothingham’s.

We are delighted to discover, at last, something amusing in one of the author’s mistakes, to relieve this dry and dolorous discussion. He says, Putnam had the command of a regiment, because he was complimented with the empty title of colonel of a particular regiment, or rather the regiment was complimented by bearing the name of the nominal colonel according to the etiquette and fashion of that day. But this gave the nominal colonel no more right of command over it, than my signing myself the author’s humble servant gives him a right to call on me for menial service. The regiment, in these cases, had a full compliment of officers in command, exclusive of the nominal colonel. The King of Prussia paid the same compliment to the King of France, by making him a colonel of one of his regiments; and even the Virgin Mary was appointed by Louis XI. the colonel of a regiment.

We are at a loss to account for the author’s hallucination: perhaps, being an antiquarian, he has adopted the odd notion of our ancestors, that some men are born for perdition, whose good deeds are filthy rags, and all efforts to save them useless; in fact, that Putnam was one of those culprits described in our common-law code as outlaws, who wear wolves’ heads, “caput lupinum,” and whose brains it is the duty of every one to beat out. He seems to imagine, that the head of the wolf Putnam slew in the cavern may by some legerdemain have been transferred to his shoulders; and it must be acknowledged there are some who appear to be of that opinion.

Putnam was a large, strong, muscular man, with an open, bold, determined countenance, and a large head, with full broad forehead and brain, proclaiming prodigious power and energy of mind to govern and direct, and passion to impel. As a farmer-boy, born and brought up in Essex, Massachusetts, one of the most enlightened counties in America, he must have partaken of the universal cultivation around him, though his schooling was confined to a few winter weeks annually. Before the Revolution, he had been many years in the army, in continual desperate battle on the continent and in the West Indies, and fought his way up from captain to a colonelcy. For particular accounts of him, we refer to the biographies, eulogies, and histories that mention him. Frothingham has given us the flattering eulogies on him by Gen. Reed, than whom a more intelligent officer was not under Washington. The late eminent scholar, John Pickering, sent us an eulogy upon him, from the English Annual Register, which he thought was written by the great Edmund Burke. Gen. Dearborn says, “The universal popularity of Putnam at the commencement of the Revolution was such as can scarcely now be conceived, even by those who then felt the whole force of it.” Gen. Burbeck says, “He was the great gun of the day.” President Dwight, and no one knew him better, says he was “a man whose generosity was singular, whose honesty was proverbial; a hero who dared to lead where any dared to follow.” But Washington has stamped on Putnam the fiat of fame. The first moment he met him on Prospect Hill, he paid him a flattering compliment, “that he inspired every man under him with his own energy and spirit;” and he pronounced various eulogies on him up to the moment of bidding him his last farewell. Their mutual confidence and friendship were uninterrupted, except for an instant, when Washington thought Putnam was desirous of doing more than his share of the fighting. Washington called for part of the troops of Putnam, who waited to entreat permission to head them first against New York, as he had before against Boston. Washington, though his military sternness was as gigantic as all his other good qualities, rebuked him with more forbearance than he ever exhibited on a similar occasion. He was more severe on Hamilton for a slight want of punctuality, when he said to him, “You must change your watch, or I must change my Aid.”[6]

But the appointment of Putnam as Brigadier-General by Connecticut, and Major-General by the Federal Congress, over the heads of many most respectable officers, would prove, without any of these notices, that no other officer could have been selected as the commander of the battle, as he had been on three very conspicuous occasions before. If commander there was, he must have been the commander; and “that there was, all nature cries aloud.” Since the world began, in all history or natural history, there never was a battle known without a commander. It is the instinct of all animated nature, insect, animal, or man; from the bee to the buffalo, from the Indian savage to Gen. Taylor. Milton’s battles of the angels were fought under Michael and Satan as the commanders.

Our next incontrovertible proof that Putnam was the commander is founded on the fact, that the army at Cambridge was regularly organized and consolidated under Ward, Warren, Putnam, and other officers in regular gradation, without any distinction in regard to the colonies whence the troops came. The author acknowledges, if this was the fact, that Putnam was the commander; we take him at his word, and will make this so clear, that he who runs may read. The question is one of fact only, as regards both the army and Gen. Putnam; whether the army was, in fact, a consolidated and organized body, and whether Putnam was commander of the battle de facto. Whether all this was technically legal and constitutional is a question as abstract and useless as that other of the author’s, whether Putnam had any right to command Prescott; and more hopeless: it is almost on a par with that of free agency, or the origin of evil. It would be as preposterous to deny that Putnam was the commander, even if the army was not a legal one, as for British historians to have denied that Washington was the commander in the battles he fought, because they said he was not a legal commander, and Gen. Howe said he was no General, only Mr. &c.; though he found to his sorrow, that Washington and Putnam both were generals, and out-generalled him,—Putnam at Bunker Hill, and Washington ever afterwards. There is poor encouragement for any one to enter into this question of the legality of the organization of the army, when Pres. Adams, sen. and Judge Tudor failed under it so egregiously. They both jumped into this quickset hedge, and the author shuts his eyes and follows them. The result is, Pres. Adams doubts whether any one was authorized to command the troops of all the colonies; and whether any one, except the old militia Gen. Pomeroy, a volunteer with no command over an individual in Cambridge, had a right to command the troops of Massachusetts. Judge Tudor doubts with him. The author is positive that the army was one of allies only, and Putnam a mere volunteer. Putnam was no more a volunteer than the whole army at Cambridge was a volunteer army, or than the governments of the colonies who sent the troops there were volunteer governments; and they were in fact mere governments de facto, without constitutions, or conventions to form any. New Hampshire, rather the worst off in this respect, had two separate governments,—the royal, under the very popular and conciliatory Gov. Wentworth; and the rebel, under a convention; and both were in operation for a month after the battle. But just as much legality and constitutionality as there was in these governments, so much there was in the consolidation and organization of the army under Gen. Ward. The facts were perfectly well known to all three of the colonies, and their tacit consent and approbation was as binding on them as if it was expressed by their regular enactments enrolled and recorded.

The author omits, in his extracts from Adams’s letter, far the most interesting and important part of it, as it regards the subject, and especially Putnam’s claims. Adams thinks his objections to the legality of the army extend to it, and to Washington, when he took command. Now, this fortunately gives us the conclusive authority of Washington, to show that all these legal subtleties are of no practical importance. Adams doubts whether the army was sufficiently organized to authorize Washington to try by courts-martial the delinquents in the battle. But Washington did not hesitate a moment to cut this Gordian knot. He brought Mansfield, Gerrish, Scammans, and all other delinquents, before courts-martial; and made Gen. Greene, of Rhode Island, the president of them, as if for the express purpose of declaring his opinion, that this colonial question did not affect in the slightest degree the organization of the army, or the authority and liabilities of the officers. Our author labors to make out an argument against Putnam’s command, by showing that there was more legality and intimacy in the connection of the New Hampshire troops with the rest of the army, than in that of the troops from Connecticut. So complete was the union of the Connecticut troops with the rest of the army, that Putnam could not obtain Ward’s permission to take the Connecticut regiment to Charlestown the night before the battle, though he strenuously urged it. The most he could obtain was two hundred of them; and they were placed under the command of Prescott, who had likewise a company from New Hampshire (Capt. Dow’s) under his command. Could any thing be more conclusive as to the consolidation of the army? We have the pay-rolls of New Hampshire to prove, that her troops were adopted and paid by her from the first moment they went to Cambridge. On the side of Connecticut this union was not only expressed by the manner in which their officers were detailed for duty by Ward; but he placed under the immediate command of Putnam, Patterson’s Massachusetts and Sargent’s New Hampshire regiments, in addition to one from Connecticut, at Inman’s Farm, the most exposed and important outpost of the army.[7] And the very important action was fought, and the victory achieved, under the command of Putnam, the 27th of May, at Chelsea. On the 13th May, all the troops at Cambridge marched under the command of Putnam to Charlestown, and defied the enemy under the very muzzles of their guns. Lieut-Col. Huntington writes to Gov. Trumbull from Cambridge, 27th April: “Gen. Ward being at Roxbury, Gen. Putnam is commander-in-chief at this place.” Now, how is it conceivable, that the author, after narrating these three striking cases of Putnam’s command over all the troops, and after this overwhelming evidence of the complete coalescence of these troops, should a few days after, when Putnam appears again with the army at Bunker Hill, turn to the right about face, like lightning, and deny that he could possibly command, because it was an army of allies?