Orderlies galloping past, and a rumor of somewhat a-brewing:
Crouching of soldiers in gray, at the rear, in the underwoods’ flicker,—
Charge? we shall charge by and by? then a pipe of Virginia tobacco!
Over their heads as they lie, by the trunks of the fallen trees pillowed,
Jesting and resting an hour, come showering the boughs of the saplings.
Crouching of soldiers in blue, at the front, by the walls and the fences,
Waiting a charge—will they charge? and the brown fingers lock on the musket;
Sharply a rifle-gun bolt rips up the ground underneath him.
There in the field on the slope is a bellow of suffering cattle,
Out by the farmgate yonder, a tangle and mangle of horses;