ghteenth century, there lived in the old historic town of
Salem, Massachusetts, Joseph Putnam and his wife, Elizabeth. They
already had nine children, and, in 1718, a tenth was born to them and
they named him Israel, which means a soldier of God. His career was
destined to be one of the most romantic and adventurous in American
history, but none of his brothers or sisters managed to get into the
lime-light of fame.

Israel himself started in tamely enough as a farmer, having bought a
tract of five hundred acres down in Connecticut. Wild animals had been
pretty well exterminated by that time, but one old she-wolf still had
her den not far from Putnam's farm, and one night she came out and
amused herself by killing sixty or seventy of his fine sheep. When
Putnam found them stretched upon the ground next morning, a great rage
seized him; he swore that that wolf should never have the chance to do
such another night's work; he tracked her to her cave, and descending
without hesitation into the dark and narrow entrance, shot straight
between the eyes he saw gleaming at him through the darkness, and
dragged the carcass out into the daylight. That incident gives some idea
of Israel Putnam's temper, and what desperate things he was capable of
doing when his blood was up.

That was in 1735, and twenty years elapsed before he again appeared upon
the page of history. But in 1755 began the great war with France, and
for the next ten years, Putnam's life was fairly crowded with incident.
Connecticut furnished a thousand men to resist the expected French
invasion, and Putnam was put in command of a company with the rank of
captain. His company acted as rangers, and for two years did remarkable
service in harassing the enemy and in warning the settlers against
lurking bands of Indians, set on by the French. On more than one
occasion, he saved his life by the closest margin. He was absolutely
fearless, and this, together with a clear head and quick eye, carried
him safely through peril after peril, any one of which would have proved
the death of a man less resolute.

He saved a party of soldiers from the Indians by steering them in a
bateau safely down the dangerous rapids of the Hudson; he saved Fort
Edward from destruction by fire at the imminent risk of his life,
working undaunted although the flames were threatening, every moment, to
explode the magazine; a year later, captured by the Indians, who feared
and hated him, he was bou