That battle of the first day was a minor battle As such are counted. That is, it killed many men. Killed more than died at Bull Run, left thousands stricken With wounds that time might heal for a little while Or never heal till the breath was out of the flesh. The First Corps lost half its number in killed and wounded. The pale-faced women, huddled behind drawn blinds Back in the town, or in apple-cellars, hiding, Thought it the end of the world, no doubt. And yet As the books remark, it was only a minor battle. There were only two corps engaged on the Union side, Longstreet had not yet come up, nor Ewell’s whole force, Hill’s corps lacked a division till evening fell. It was only a minor battle. When the first shot Clanged out, it was fired from a clump of Union vedettes Holding a farm in the woods beyond the town. The farmer was there to hear it⁠—and then to see