With that Waverley-streak that was so strong in the South. They also called him one of Davis’s pets, One of the tin Westpointers that Davis favored Above good politicians and courtesy colonels. The Richmond Enquirer didn’t think so much of him, His soldiers thought rather more. Only this can be said. He caught Grant napping in some strange flaw of skill Which happened once and did not happen again. And drove his unprepared, unwatchful brigades Back almost into the river. And in the heat Of seeing his lines go forward, he bled to death From a wound that should not have been mortal. After which, While the broken Union stragglers under the bluff Were still howling that they were beaten, Buell came up, Lew Wallace came up, the knife half-sunk in the wound Was not thrust home, the night fell, the battle lagged. The bulldog got the bone in his teeth again