—Two brothers lay on the field of Fredericksburg After the assault had failed. They were unwounded but they could not move, The sharpshooters covered that patch of ground too well. They had a breastwork to hide them from the bullets, A shelter of two dead men. One had lost his back, Scooped out from waist to neck with a solid shot. The other’s legs were gone. They made a good breastwork. The brothers lay behind them, flat in the mud, All Sunday till night came down and they could creep off. They did not dare move their hands for fourteen hours. —A middle-aged person named Fletcher from Winchester Enlisted in the Massachusetts Sharpshooters. He was a crack-duckshooter, skilful and patient. They gave him the wrong sort of rifle and twenty rounds And told him to join his company. It took him days to find it. He had no rations, He begged bread and green corn and peaches and shot a hog; So got there at last. He joined just before Antietam. He’d never been drilled but he knew how to shoot,