Said, in what terms, to the soul of Shepherd Heyward, Both born slave, both freed, both dead the same day. What do the souls that bleed from the corpse of battle Say to the tattered night? Perhaps it is better We have no power to visage what they might say.

The firing now was constant, like the heavy And drumming rains of summer. Twice Brown sent Asking a truce. The second time there went Stevens and Watson Brown with a white flag. But things had gone beyond the symbol of flags. Stevens, shot from a window, fell in the gutter Horribly wounded. Watson Brown crawled back To the engine house that was the final fort Of Brown’s last stand, torn through and through with slugs.