The fire of patriotism burned within his breast. He slept in the room which his great ancestor had occupied in his youth. He sat by the window through the moonlit nights, and carved a wooden sword, thus feeding the consuming flame. On one side he cut this motto:-- "NOT TO BE DRAWN WITHOUT JUSTICE; NOT TO BE SHEATHED WITHOUT HONOR." Upon the other side, giving vent to his pent-up soul, were these words:-- "DEATH TO TRAITORS!" He brooded upon his disappointment by day and dreamed of it at night. He made one more effort. No questions were asked; he was accepted, and became a soldier. He was intelligent, manly, courageous, and temperate. His drink was cold water. Calmly and deliberately he bade farewell to his aged parents and his young sister and brother, turned from the dear scenes of home and childhood, hallowed by ever fragrant memories, buckled on his knapsack, and took his place in the ranks. When mortally wounded he refused to leave the field, but cheered his comrades in the fight. In his last letter, written to his sister, dated on the eve of battle, he wrote:-- "I left home to help defend a Constitution that was second to none in the world, a flag which every nation on earth respected; and if I am to die, I shall be happy to die in the service of my country." The boy-soldier was gone from the ranks, but his spirit was there, an all-animating presence. When the battle began in the morning, I was at Hagerstown. It was ten miles to the field, but though so far, the cannonade seemed very near. It rolled along the valley and rumbled among the mountains. The people left their breakfasts, and climbed the hills and steeples to behold the battle-cloud. The women were pale, and stood with tearful eyes, forgetting their household cares. A ride directly down the Sharpsburg pike would have taken me to the rear of Lee's army. It would be a new and interesting experience to witness the fight from that side. I started down the pike, my horse upon the gallop. A mile out of town I met a farmer. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To see the battle." "You will run right into the Rebels if you keep on." "That is what I want to do. I want to see the battle from their side." "Let me advise you not to go. I was in their clutches yesterday. They threatened to take me to Richmond. They stole my horse and my money, and I am glad enough to get clear. Let me advise you again not to go. You had better go down to Boonesboro', and see the battle from our side." It was good advice, and I was soon upon the Boonesboro' road. I came across a Rebel soldier lying at the foot of an oak-tree. He was weak with sickness, worn down by long marches, and had dropped from the ranks. He belonged to Longstreet's corps. He was too weak to speak. His breathing was short and quick and faint. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken. Two kind-hearted farmers came and took him into a house.