The prisoner’s column straggled along the road All afternoon. Jack Ellyat marched in it numbly. He was stiff and sore. They were going away from the battle But they could still hear it, quaking, The giant stones rolled over the grumbling bridge.

Some of the prisoners tried to joke with the guards, Some walked in silence, some spoke out now and then, As if to explain to the world why they were there.

One man said, “I got a sore heel.” Another said, “All the same the Tenth Missouri’s a damn good regiment.” Another said, “Listen, boys, don’t it beat all hell? I left my tobacco behind me, back in the tent, Don’t it beat all hell to lose your tobacco like that?”