J Jackson's head-quarters. L Ledges with breastworks. M Miller's. P Poffenberger's. T Toll House. R Rebels attacking Sedgwick's flank.
The road running north from the church in the Hagerstown turnpike. That running northeast from the church leads to Hoffman's farm. The narrow way in the woods where Jackson established his head-quarters, is a farm-road.]
In Dana's line is the Nineteenth Massachusetts. It fought at Fair Oaks, Savage Station, White-Oak Swamp, Glendale, and Malvern. Its ranks have been sadly thinned. A great many brave men have fallen, but those who survive emulate the deeds of their comrades. They remember one who fell in front of Richmond,--a descendant of a glorious Revolutionary sire, the patriot Putnam, relative of the young officer,--Lieutenant Putnam, who fell mortally wounded at Ball's Bluff. He was born where the old General played in his childhood, before he became a rifle-ranger fighting the Indians in the dark forest bordering Lake Champlain. They could not forget Robert Winthrop Putnam, the frail and feeble boy. He was but sixteen years old when the flag was insulted at Sumter. His whole soul was on fire. He resolved to enlist. The surgeons would not accept him, he was so weak and slender. Again and again he tried to become a soldier, but was as often rejected.
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:--
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:--