Leading From the Front

He was a man who could have had it easy. Enoch Poor had built a comfortable life for himself in Exeter, New Hampshire. He was a skilled craftsman, a successful shipbuilder, and a respected merchant. He had a wife he loved, children he cherished, and a business that provided for his family and neighbors alike. But when the call to arms came, when the fires of rebellion lit up the colonies, Poor didn’t stay in his shop carving dovetail joints. He picked up a musket and answered the call, and for the next five years he led thousands of men through snow, mud, hunger, sickness, and battle in a fight for independence. And then, in 1780, he died under circumstances so murky and controversial they’re still being debated today. What is clear, though, is that Enoch Poor was one of the best men Washington ever had.

Born on June 21, 1736 (Old style) in Andover, Massachusetts, Poor came from sturdy stock. His father had fought in the 1745 expedition to take Louisbourg from the French, and Enoch followed in his footsteps, enlisting in the French and Indian War. He served in Nova Scotia, took part in the expulsion of the Acadians, and saw firsthand what imperial war looked like. After the war, he came home, resumed his trade as a cabinetmaker, and promptly fell in love. Martha Osgood was her name. Her father didn’t approve. So Enoch did what any determined New Englander would do. With the help of a slave named Brewster, he eloped with Martha, hauling her down a ladder from her locked bedroom window. They married, moved to Exeter, and made peace with the old man later. It’s the kind of story that sets the tone for who Poor was. Stubborn. Principled. Quietly brave.

By the 1760s, he’d turned his skills into a thriving business, building ships in Exeter. But he wasn’t just thinking about profit. Poor was an early supporter of the American cause. He was out in front opposing the Stamp Act in 1765, serving on local committees enforcing boycotts on British goods. When Lexington and Concord ignited the war, Poor volunteered to raise a regiment. He was wealthy enough to sit it out, but he stepped forward, took command of the 2nd New Hampshire Regiment, and helped ready fire ships and coastal defenses in case the British came for Portsmouth.

His unit first saw serious action at the Siege of Boston and was soon sent north in the doomed invasion of Canada. After that misadventure collapsed, Poor brought the survivors of his regiment back to Ticonderoga, regrouped, and by the winter of 1776 was with Washington in Morristown. In 1777, Congress promoted him to brigadier general. He’d earned it.

Poor’s military record reads like a roll call of Revolutionary turning points. He commanded at Saratoga, where his brigade helped flank British lines and break the center of General Burgoyne’s army. It was Poor’s men who fired the first volley at Bemis Heights, shattering a British bayonet charge. He was at Valley Forge, Monmouth, and led men in the Sullivan Expedition through Iroquois territory. At every point, he was respected by his men, trusted by his superiors, and honored by Lafayette and Washington.

By 1780, Poor was attached to Lafayette’s elite light infantry, stationed in New Jersey. And then, suddenly, he was dead.

Officially, the cause was typhus, or as the journals of the time said, a “putrid fever.” Lieutenant Jeremiah Fogg, who was with him to the end, wrote that the fever was cruel and unrelenting. General Washington ordered a full military funeral, one of the most elaborate of the entire war. A mahogany coffin. A horse with empty boots reversed in the stirrups. A procession of generals. A band playing a funeral dirge. Lafayette himself was there, alongside Washington. It was a moment of solemn dignity and deep respect. And yet… there’s a shadow hanging over that grave.

Because there’s another story, whispered through family records and echoed by a few contemporary observers, that says Enoch Poor didn’t die of a fever. He died in a duel.

The story goes that Poor had ordered a forced march that pushed his men beyond exhaustion. A subordinate officer, Major John Porter, snapped and told Poor that he would challenge him if not for his inferior rank. Poor, taking it as a challenge anyway, agreed to a duel. They fought. Poor was shot and died two days later. Washington, knowing that dueling was illegal in the army and scandalous to boot, supposedly covered it up. The official record became typhus. The truth, if there is one, was buried with the man.

Whether it was fever or a fatal bullet, the loss was real. Washington said Poor was a man who had every claim to the esteem and regard of his country. Lafayette, on his grand return to America in 1824, visited Poor’s grave in Hackensack, New Jersey, and turned away, visibly moved. “Ah,” he said, “that was one of my generals.”

There’s something haunting about Poor’s story. He did everything right. He answered the call. He fought with honor. He led men through fire and winter. And in the end, he died far from home under circumstances no one can agree on. His statue stands now in Hackensack near the courthouse, a quiet sentinel to a man who gave everything and expected nothing.

You won’t find Enoch Poor in many textbooks. He’s not up there with Greene or Knox or Lafayette. But he should be. His life reminds us that liberty isn’t just declared. It’s built, marched, bled, and sometimes died for, by men whose names don’t always make the headlines. Men like Enoch Poor, who traded his tools for a sword and led from the front until the end.