THE rich and glorious military history of America is studded with bright names gathered from the dark masses of the timemen who abandoned their humble homes for the tented field, and after a while returned to their homesteads clothed in victory, amid rejoicings and patriotic ovations. Many of these names, of the richer sort too, belong of right to the biography of self-made men. Accident may make a man famous, but it does not make him patriotic. This he owes to a native principle, the product of the soil to which he belongs, and his own large and generous nature. To be more than thousands of his neighbors, to be illustrious in the annals of his country, he must call into play all the self-denial, all the firmness, all the clear-visioned determination of the self-made. Nothing in the world is more natural than patriotism, but nothing in the world is more difficult than being a patriot. We all know something of Israel Putnam. The romantic story of his life is one of the earliest that attaches us to our daring history, and impresses it vividly on our mind. He was born at Salem, in Massachusetts, on the 7th of January, 1718, his fa ther being a farmer. Education in those days was not, as now, within the easy grasp of the aspiring. People in moderate circumstances were unable to command more than the scantiest smattering of knowledge. Life was physical rather than intellectual; men looked to their hands more than their heads. Young Israel learned a few English branches, and then turned his attention to farming. He was blessed with a good constitution, and strengthened it by a hearty participation in all the manly sports of the time. When only twelve years of age he gave an indication of that strength and courage which were his distinguishing characteristics later in life. It happened that he went to the city of Boston on a visit, and, while quietly trudging through the streets with his hands in his pockets and his eyes wide open, attracted the attention of an' impudent city boy, much his superior in age and size. This youth thought it would be capital fun to ridicule the rustic appearance and gait of Israel, and for this purpose followed him through the streets. Israel submitted to his sneers for a short time, and then turned on his tormentor. In a very short time he gave him a complete drubbing. In the twenty-first year of his age Israel was united in marriage to a Miss Pope, of Salem, and immediately afterward removed to Pomfret, in Connecticut, where he purchased a considerable tract of land, and applied himself closely to cultivation. In the enjoyment of home comfort, and in the pursuit of an honest and healthy independence, there is but little in his life during this period which need be recalled in a biography. One little story, however, must be preserved. In those days the neighborhood of Pomfret was greatly infested by wolves. So great were their depredations, that, in a single night, Putnam lost no fewer than twenty sheep and goats, besides having a number of lambs wounded. All sorts of possible means were employed to destroy these voracious robbers, and generally with success; but there was an old she-wolf who defied all the ingenuity of the farmers. She paid her visits every night to the sheepfold, and, after partaking of a hearty supper, retired to her den in a neighboring cavern. On one occasion she had been caught in a trap, and had left a part of her foot behind in order to effect her escape. The mark of the injured foot could be traced after her nocturnal visits, especially if there had been a slight fall of snow, so that every one knew it was this defiant old lady that caused so much mischief every night, and perhaps initiated younger and more timid depredators. Putnam and a few of his neighbors determined to pursue the robber. Without much difficulty they discovered her den. Dogs were sent in, but they soon came forth wounded and howling; no amount of persuasion could induce them to go in again. Straw and brimstone were lighted at the mouth of the cave, but the stifling fumes had no effect on the hearty constitution of the old she-wolf. After continuing their efforts until late at night, they were about abandoning their game, when Putnam proposed that his negro man should descend into the cavern and shoot the wolf. All things considered, it was not at all remarkable that the negro man declined the honor; it is more remarkable that Putnam should have thought it necessary to reproach him with cowardice. Perfectly resolved not to be foiled, Putnam now undertook the dangerous task, against the wish of his friends and neighbors, who remembered how the dogs had been used, and could scarcely expect a better fate for Israel. Stripping off his coat and waistcoat, and placing a rope round his body, so that he might be drawn back at a concerted signal, he entered the cavern head foremost, holding in his hand a torch of lighted birch bark. The aperture of the den, on the east side of a very high ledge of rocks, was about two feet square; thence it descended obliquely fifteen feet, and, running horizontally about ten more, gradually ascended sixteen feet, toward its termination. The sides of the cavern were of smooth solid rocks, apparently divided by some violent convulsion of nature. Its floor and top were also of stone, and when covered with ice in winter, its entrance was extremely slippery. In no place was it three feet wide, or high enough for a man to stand upright. Through this long and perilous cavern Putnam groped his way, creeping cautiously on all fours, and waving his torch, until he was arrested by a sullen and fierce growl. Peering into the darkness, he detected the glaring eyeballs of the wolf, flashing defiance on him from the extreme end of the den. Having thus explored the hunting-ground, he gave the signal, and was dragged out so precipitately by his friends (who, hearing the growl, were quite certain that something very dreadful had happened) that his clothes were torn to rags, and his body sadly lacerated. Undeterred by this little accident, he proceeded to load his musket with nine buck-shot, and then for the second time entered the cave. than before, in spite of her fierce and threatening aspect; still nearer and nearer he crept up to her, until she seemed in the very act of springing; then, with a steady hand and true eye, he discharged the musket full at her head. Stunned by the reper He approached the animal nearer cussion, and almost suffocated by the smoke, he was again drawn forth. He was too anxious to wait long for the result. In a few moments he descended into the cave for the third time, seized the wolf by the mane, and dragged her out. To the delight and exultation of every one, she was quite dead. Putnam was thirty-seven years of age when the war which preceded the American Revolution broke out between France and England. As a farmer, he had distinguished himself by great industry and prudence, resulting necessarily in easy circumstances; it was now that he appeared for the first time on the stage of public life. In 1755 he was appointed captain of a company in Lyman's regiment of provincials, which were among the first troops raised in Connecticut on that occasion. With Major Rogers and his company Putnam traversed the wilderness, to gain information, reconnoitre the enemy's line, capture straggling parties, cut off supplies, and generally do all the mischief in their power. Their immediate object was to obtain a correct knowledge of the situation and condition of the fortifications at Crown Point. A delicate task of this kind required more than mere bravery; it demanded prudence and coolness. Putnam soon perceived that it was impossible to approach the fortifications with his company without great danger of detection by stragglers from the garrison. He proposed, therefore, that he and Rogers should go alone, leaving their troops in some safe shelter until their return. During the evening, they advanced so near the fort that they were able to gain all the information their general needed. Once they were nearly detected; a Frenchman caught hold of Rogers, and, after vainly trying to stab him, shouted out to the guard for assistance. Putnam rushed to the rescue of his companion, and, with a single blow from the buttend of his musket, silenced his captor forever. They made their escape before the guard came up. It was probably owing to the successful issue of this reconnoitring party that Putnam, assisted by Lieutenant Durkee, was intrusted with a similar delicate operation. They were to reconnoitre the enemy's camp at the extension of the industry, prosperity, happiness and well-being of society." Although Thompson proved by these liberal bequests that he remembered and was attached to his native country, he never saw it from the time of his first departure. At one time he was on the eve of returning, but circumstances occurred which prevented his fulfilling the intention. He had one daughter by his first wife, who visited him in England. In the immediate vicinity of Munich is a beautiful ornamental park, with artificial lakes and mountains, and a great variety of splendid trees and flowers. It is a place of recreation, and free to the public, who roam there, and enjoy the fresh breeze and the fine scenery. Thompson caused this park to be laid out and dedicated in the way it is. The people were so thankful for the boon that they caused a monument to be erected in commemoration of Thompson's services in securing it. It has two principal fronts opposite to each other, ornamented with basso-relievos and inscriptions. On one side is an inscription in the German language, of which the following is a literal translation: "Stay, Wanderer. At the creative fiat of Charles Theodore, By Genius, Taste, and Love inspired, Changed this once desert place Into what thou now beholdest." On the opposite side of the monument there is a bust of Count Rumford, and the inscription: "To him Who rooted out the greatest of Public Evils, Relieved and instructed the Poor, And founded many Institutions And strive to equal him In gratitude." |