Beside those earnest battle cries.
What wonder if the gaze is dim,
And yonder strangely lingers yet?
The eye that has looked straight at death,
His image may not soon forget!
Unknown.
On the 12th of June, General Grant changed his plan of operations, and started us off for the James river. Our corps crossed the Chickahominy river at Long Bridge, marched southward to the James river, and on the 16th of June, the Army of the Potomac was on the right bank of the James, preparing for a fresh start in another direction. As we went up in front of Petersburg on the 18th of June, we were double quicked across an open field, and made a dash on the Norfolk railroad, where we made a stand.
It was in this charge that our beloved colonel, George L. Prescott, fell mortally wounded, while leading his men. He died the next day, and the whole brigade mourned his loss; he was a brave soldier, and a good man; always kind to his men, he treated them like brothers.
Many a time have I known him to let a sick man have his blanket, and then bunk in with a private who was lucky enough to have such an article. More than once has he slept with me, rolled up in the same blanket, and I always felt that in him I had a true friend. By his kind and generous words and deeds he had endeared himself to the whole brigade, and today many an old veteran reveres his memory, even as I do.
His body was brought home, and buried with his kindred in Sleepy Hollow cemetery, at Concord, Mass. I have visited his grave since the war, and as I stood in the pleasant spot where he sleeps so peacefully, I could but recall the memories of that terrible scene, when he laid his life on the altar of his country.