Luke Breckinridge, crouched by the Warrentown pike, Saw stuffed dolls in blue coats and baggy trousers Go down like squirrels under the rifle-cracks. His eyes glowed as a bullet ripped his sleeve And he felt well. Armies weren’t such a much Too damn many orders, too damn much saluting, Too many damn officers you weren’t allowed To shoot when they talked mean to you because They were your officers, which didn’t make sense. But this was something he could understand, Except for those dirty stinkers of big guns, It wasn’t right to shoot you with big guns But it was a good scrap except for that⁠— Carried a little high, then⁠ ⁠… change it⁠ ⁠… good⁠ ⁠… Though men were hard to miss when you were used To squirrels. His eyes were narrow. He hardly heard The officer’s voice. The woods in front of him Were full of Kelceys he was going to kill, Blue-coated Kelcey dolls in baggy trousers. It was a beautiful and sufficing sight.

The first blue wave of Burnside is beaten back from the pike to stumble a little way and rally against Porter’s fresh brigade.