Horses and men, Botetort, Halifax, Dinwiddie, Prince Edward, Cumberland, Nottoway, Mecklenburg, Berkeley, Augusta, the Marylanders, The horsemen never matched till Sheridan came. Now the phantom guns creak by. They are Pelham’s guns. That quiet boy with the veteran mouth is Pelham. He is twenty-two. He is to fight sixty battles And never lose a gun. The cannon roll past, The endless lines of the infantry begin. A. P. Hill leads the van. He is small and spare, His short, clipped beard is red as his battleshirt, Jackson and Lee are to call him in their death-hours. Dutch Longstreet follows, slow, pugnacious and stubborn, Hard to beat and just as hard to convince, Fine corps commander, good bulldog for holding on, But dangerous when he tries to think for himself, He thinks for himself too much at Gettysburg, But before and after he grips with tenacious jaws. There is D. H. Hill⁠—there is Early and Fitzhugh Lee⁠—