ur deeds; but not if you spoil all at last. Don't
you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and
that your officers have not been any better paid than yourselves?
But we all expect better times, and that the country will do us
ample justice. Let us all stand together, then, and fight it out
like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut
men to run away from their officers!'"

The gallant general's rude eloquence prevailed, the men saw their error,
were indeed ashamed of it; they listened with attention, presented arms,
as their beloved commander rode along the line to the din of the drums,
and about-faced for camp, which they did not desert again during the
winter. "Thus was a great and mighty battle fought and won. A battle
fought with the British far away. A battle fought with hunger, want,
cold, and banishment from home. A battle fought in the wilderness, where
most of the world's greatest battles are fought."[3]

[Footnote 3: From an historical address by Prof. George A. Parker, of
Hartford, Conn., on the occasion of the visit of the famous Putnam
Phalanx to Putnam Park and Camp, June 17, 1903.]

This episode of the winter camp of 1778-'79 forms a fitting prelude to
another feat performed by Old Put, this time a physical one, which,
while not so worthy of renown, perhaps, as the great moral victory he
achieved over his men, has brought him greater fame. Both taken together
absolutely refute the insinuations of his enemies, to the effect that he
had suffered a decline of mental, moral, or physical force. Washington
wrote, commending him for his action in suppressing the mutiny; and as
for the feat now to be mentioned, it may be said to speak for itself. In
fact, it has been speaking, now, for a century and a quarter, since it
is that famous ride down the stone steps of Horseneck Height to which
reference is made.

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