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 and the answer was, ‘No, but you may straighten me out.’ As his friend, true to the end, was rendering this last service, a bullet pierced his breast, and his dead body fell over the dying. Some of his soldiers offered to carry him off, but his last order was, ‘Do not touch me, move on, men; follow your colors’; and they left him. He was not quite nineteen, and he was breathing his spirit out in suffering, in the darkness of night, amid the roar of musketry and cannon. But he lay by the side of a dear friend, in the steps where his hero leader had fallen, and surrounded by hundreds whom he had helped to raise to be men and fellow-soldiers. There was no one there to receive his last words of affection, but his generous impulses in behalf of his country and his fellowmen were becoming through his blood an element of the nation's life. No stone need mark the place where his bones moulder, for future generations will reverently point to the holy ground where the colonel and two captains of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts were buried with their soldiers.
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