All the troops, too, had gone except about
four thousand under General Putnam, who stayed to keep order, and
look after the removal of the last of the stores. When the attack
came these were very nearly caught. For the regiment who ought
to have guarded the landing place, and have kept the enemy from
advancing until Putnam could retire, ran away as soon as they saw
the red coats.
In vain their officers tried to rally them; panic had seized them,
and they fled like frightened sheep. In the confusion Washington
rode up. He was a man of fiery temper, and now when he saw his men
show such a lack of courage in the face of the enemy he lost all
control. Dashing his had upon the ground, and, drawing his sword,
he bade them cease their cowardly retreat. But even Washington
could not rally the fleeing men. Then his wrath and despair knew no
bounds, and spurring his horse, he rode alone towards the enemy.
Death, he felt, was better than such shame. But one of his officers,
dashing after him, seized his bridle and turned him back to safety.
Meanwhile Putnam was making frantic efforts to gather his men and
march them off to Harlem Heights. It was a day of violent heat,
and as the men struggled on, laden with their baggage, their breath
came short, and the perspiration trickled down their faces. Every
moment they expected to be attacked in the rear.
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