Meanwhile, on the battlefield, Johnston and Beauregard, Now joined by the dusty Davis, found themselves As dazed by their victory as their foes by defeat. They had beaten one armed mob with another armed mob And Washington was theirs for the simple act Of stretching a hand to the apple up on the bough, If they had known. But they could not know it then. They too saw spectres⁠—unbroken Union reserves Moving to cut their supply-line near Manassas. They called back the pursuit, such scattered pursuit as it was. Their men were tired and disordered. The chance went by While only the stiff-necked Jackson saw it clear As a fighting-psalm or a phrase in Napoleon’s tactics. He said to the surgeon who was binding his wound, With a taciturn snap, “Give me ten thousand fresh troops And I will be in Washington by tomorrow.” But they could not give him the troops while there yet was time. He had three days’ rations cooked for the Stonewall Brigade And dourly awaited the order that never came.