For the
Provincials had strictly obeyed Putnam's orders, to pick off the men in
handsome coats. He himself was touched to the heart.
"Oh, my God, what carnage!" he cried, as he saw his former friends and
comrades fall before the withering blast. Seeing several of his men
aiming their pieces at the only officer remaining unhurt, he darted
forward and struck up their muskets, exclaiming: "For God's sake, lads,
don't fire at that man! I love him as I do my brother." It was Major
Small, a former companion of the Indian wars, who owed his life to
Putnam's intervention, and who afterward tried to requite the
favor--though vainly--when brave Warren fell, by entreating him to
surrender.
The sword with which Old Put struck up the muskets of his men was always
visible in the thickest of the fight, waving in air, descending with
resounding whacks--the flat of it--upon recreant soldiers' shoulders;
held threateningly against the breast of cowardly artillerymen, when,
their cartridges proving inadequate, they were about abandoning their
guns.
The little field-pieces were too puny to do much harm, but they counted
for something, Putnam said, as he tore a cartridge in pieces and,
ladling the powder and canister into the gun, aimed and discharged it
into the advancing ranks of the foe, with effect.
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