parapet to inspirit his men, shot and shell hurtling thick around.
There is Israel Putnam--"Old Put" the boys dubbed him. He was no
general, but we forgive his costly blunders at Brooklyn Heights and
Peekskill as we think of him leaving plough in furrow at the drum-beat
to arms, and speeding to the deadly front at Boston, or with iron
firmness stemming the retreat from Bunker Hill. Young Richard Montgomery
might have been next to Washington in the war but for Sir Guy Carleton's
deadly grape-shot from the Quebec walls the closing moments of 1775.
Buried at Quebec, his remains were transferred by the State of New York,
July 8, 1818, to their present resting-place in front of St. Paul's, New
York City, the then aged widow tearfully watching the funeral barge as
it floated past Montgomery Place on the Hudson.

[Illustration: Portrait.]
General Anthony Wayne.

During a four years' apprenticeship under Washington, General Greene had
caught more of his master's spirit and method than did any other
American leader, and one year's separate command at the South gave him a
martial fame second only to Washington's own. In him the great chief's
word was fulfilled, "I send you a general." A naked, starving army, an
empty military chest, the surrounding country impoverished and full of
loyalists--these were his difficulties. Three States practically cleared
of the royal army in ten months--this was his achievement. He retreated
only to advance, was beaten only to fight again. One hardly knows which
to admire most, his tireless energy and vigilance, his prudence in
retreat, his boldness and vigor in attack, his cheerful courage in
defeat, or his mingled kindness and firmness toward a suffering and
mutinous army.

John Stark, eccentric but true, famous for cool courage--how stubbornly,
with his New Hampshire boys, he held the rail fence at Bunker Hill, and
covered the retreat when ammunition was gone! But Stark's most brilliant
deed was at Bennington. "There they are, boys--the redcoats, and by
night they're ours, or Molly Stark's a widow." Those "boys," without
bayonets, their artillery shooting stones for balls, were little more
than a mob. But with confidence in him, on they rush, up, over, sweeping
Baume's Hessians from the field like a tornado. The figure of General
Schuyler comes before us--quieter but not less noble, an invalid, set to
hard tasks with little glory. His magnanimous soul forgets self in
country as he cheerf