Jack Ellyat found himself back behind somebody’s tent After a while. He had been out in the woods. He remembered scrouging against a too-porous tree For a day or a number of minutes while he jerked A rattling ramrod up and down in a gun. But they couldn’t stay in the woods⁠—they had to come back. They had called him “Bull Run Jack” but they had to come back, Bailey and all the rest. He had come back with them, But that was different⁠—that was all right for him. This red-colored clang of haste was different for him. Bailey and all the rest could run where they liked. He was an old soldier. He would stay here and fight.