_And who in hell made the Corinth road? Horse to leather, man to rope,— Slither, stagger with the load,— Through rain, the mud and darkness grope! Timber the ruts where the freshets run— Dam off the floods; move up, move on,— Live or die, but every gun Must reach the ridge with its caisson! Cover your powder from the wet; Keep hammers clean and barrels dry,— Wipe your pistol and bayonet! Tomorrow watch the Yankees die!_
THIRD VOICE (That of an old army sergeant)
_Privates sleep where the rain pours down! Generals have a bed in town! Hayfoot, strawfoot never knows Whether his gun is loaded or not! Load again and if she blows ... Dead and buried, and soon forgot!_
_Volley fire! That’s what you hear! And that means more than a picket brush! Turn your head away from the rear And set yourself for their first rush! (Load your guns, if you know how, With your fingers stiff with fright! Northern boys from yard and mow, Southern boys from field and plow, God forbid, your time is now!) Dress your line! The guide is right!_
(The sounds of battle rise to a crescendo then fade to the silence of the woods)
_Pray God they never march again Across my farm, tearing the land to bits,— Wheeling their guns and leaving broken men Blasted and burned wherever shell-fire hits! I have the papers now about the fight That rolled across my orchard, ridge and hill! Half of the truth is all they dare to write About what happens when men fight to kill!_
_Now this: “Cleburne advanced across the stream”! Advanced! He met a line that crashed and flamed Not loud enough to cover up the scream, As those in front fell over dead and maimed! Over the fallen who still shrieked and cried, The Mississippi troops moved in the flash Of Sherman’s powder, burning as they died, Meeting the fire with stab and saber slash!_
_“Sherman fell back”! They ran from tree to tree Along the greening ridge, now blue with smoke, Where struggling wounded staggered desperately, Holding torn arms or legs that bent and broke! Fell slowly back through burning oak and beech, Carrying an officer shot through the chest! Behind my orchard bright with blooming peach, “Prentiss took line across the Hornets’ Nest”!_
_Out of the “Sunken Road” men rose to fire Into the faces of advancing men Who found the flaming leaves a funeral pyre,— While those who lived rallied and charged again! Around my little pond they clubbed and fired Until the banks were beaten into mud, Where lay the crying wounded, trapped and mired, Bleeding until the water stained with blood!_