would overtake him; what should he do? He was on the top of the
hill near the Episcopal Church, there was a curve in the road
ahead, and a precipice at the side, with some rough stone steps
up which people sometimes climbed on foot on Sundays, to the
church, from the lower road at the bottom of the hill.

Putnam struck spurs into his horse and dashed around the curve at
full speed. The instant he was out of sight he wheeled and put
his horse over the precipice down the steep rocks. The dragoons
came galloping around the corner and, not seeing him, stopped
short in astonishment. Before they discovered him again, he was
halfway down to the lower road. They sent a bullet after him
which went through his beaver hat and he turned, waved his hand
in a gay good-bye, and rode on to Stamford. It is said that
General Tryon afterward sent him a suit of clothes to make up for
the loss of his hat.

That same year he had a stroke of paralysis which disabled him so
that he could never again take part in the war. He lived at home
in retirement until his death on May 19, 1790. Perhaps no brave
deed in his life was quite as brave as the cheerful and resolute
way he met this hard blow near its end. He did not die as he
would have liked, in the roar and thunder of battle; he was laid
aside and the war went on without him. But after the first bitter
disappointment, he regained his courage and good spirits, and no
one heard him complain. People gathered about him and his last
days were honored in his own home. When the war ended in 1783,
Washington wrote him a letter which he counted as one of his
greatest treasures.