It took place one morning in the last week of February, toward the close
of the long winter's vigil at Redding. Putnam and his men were out as
soon as the sap in the trees was flowing, and long before, in fact,
keeping watch upon and trying to check the operations of the notorious
Tryon and his crew. It chanced that he met the British, fifteen hundred
strong, when on a visit to his outpost at Horseneck, now "Putnam's
Hill," in Greenwich, Conn. Having but one hundred and fifty men and two
old iron guns, which latter he had posted "on the high ground by the
meeting-house," he was obliged to retreat. Ordering his men to seek
shelter in a near swamp, Old Put waited till the British dragoons were
almost within sword's length of him, when he put spurs to his horse and
dashed over the brow of the hill, zigzagging down a rude flight of
seventy stone steps set into the precipitous declivity.
The dragoons dared not follow after this intrepid horseman, but they
sent a flight of bullets, one of which passed through his hat. Arrived
on level ground he made no halt until he had reached Stamford, where he
collected a force of militia in short order, with which he turned upon
Tryon, compelling him to retreat, and chasing him to his lair, capturing
forty prisoners and retaking a large amount of plunder.
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