Harvell. Putnam, six feet four and hailing from Middlesex, was said to be a grandson of the old general, Israel Putnam; Harvell was known as the Big Kentuckian, a man six feet two in height, weighing over two hundred pounds, and with hair long on his collar; he was a remarkable figure as he bore an enormous flag adorned with “a large white star in a blue field--the lone star of Canada.” The “lone star” is evidently poetic license; the flag bore the ordinary two stars and crescent, as described by those of each side. Those who had chief honour in routing this band were Captain Sparkes and his company, who, uniformed in scarlet, were little inferior to regulars. The patriots aimed at the bits of bright colour, but in their trepidation fired too high, and the balls went whistling overhead; in a moment their own ranks were broken, and the hundred under the pear trees dispersed in disorder, as Captain Sparkes and his men came over an intervening fence to let them taste the bayonet. The huge figure of the lone star standard-bearer made surprising time considering his own weight and the cumbersome colours, which trailed behind him on the ground. “A hundred dollars to whoever shoots the standard-bearer,” shouted Mr. Jimmy Dougall in great excitement, and more than one bullet tried for the reward. Nothing but the gift of second sight can let one account for the difference between the patriots’ tale of the Windsor affair and the somewhat less hysterical loyalist one. The latter chronicle says Harvell died at once, as indeed he had every right to do; the former, which credits him with being a veritable Davy Crockett, brave, honest, impulsive and kind-hearted--very probably all true--says that he dropped on one knee and fired at his pursuers; that the fire was not returned, as no doubt they were anxious to secure alive so handsome and formidable a foe. When his ammunition was exhausted he drew a bowie knife, “or more properly speaking, tremendous butcher cleaver,” from his collar, which he brandished menacingly. This act brought the order to fire; he was far too formidable in appearance to be allowed to live, and he fell retaining his hold on his staff. The enemy approached, says the patriot historian, and demanded surrender. “Never!” said this modern Fitz-James; “I have sworn never to fly mine enemy, and never to surrender my neck to be broke upon the scaffold. Come on--come one, come all!” At any rate, to Ensign Rankin belonged the honour of capturing the flag; that seems the one point upon which there is unanimity of opinion. Many of the actors in this tragicomedy of invasion and war shed their stage properties as they fled, parting company with arms, accoutrements, ammunition, even clothing.