Gone with the Wind (50 page)

“Around here?” cried Scarlett. “You know mighty well the Yankees will never get this far!”

“Kennesaw is only twenty-two miles away and I'll wager you—”

“Rhett, look, down the street! That crowd of men! They aren't soldiers. What on earth…? Why, they're darkies!”

There was a great cloud of red dust coming up the street and from the cloud came the sound of the tramping of many feet and a hundred or more negro voices, deep throated, careless, singing a hymn. Rhett pulled the carriage over to the curb, and Scarlett looked curiously at the sweating black men, picks and shovels over their shoulders, shepherded along by an officer and a squad of men wearing the insignia of the engineering corps.

“What on earth…?” she began again.

Then her eyes lighted on a singing black buck in the front rank. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, a giant of a man, ebony black, stepping along with the lithe grace of a powerful animal, his white teeth flashing as he led the gang in “Go Down, Moses.” Surely there wasn't a negro on earth as tall and loud voiced as this one except Big Sam, the foreman of Tara. But what was Big Sam doing here, so far away from home, especially now that there was no overseer on the plantation and he was Gerald's right-hand man?

As she half rose from her seat to look closer, the giant caught sight of her and his black face split in a grin of delighted recognition. He halted, dropped his shovel and started toward her, calling to the negroes nearest him: “Gawdlmighty! It's Miss Scarlett! You, 'Lige! 'Postle! Prophet! Dar's Miss Scarlett!”

There was confusion in the ranks. The crowd halted
uncertainly, grinning, and Big Sam, followed by three other large negroes, ran across the road to the carriage, closely followed by the harried, shouting officer.

“Get back in line, you fellows! Get back, I tell you or I'll—Why, it's Mrs. Hamilton. Good morning, Ma'm, and you, too, sir. What are you up to inciting mutiny and insubordination? God knows, I've had trouble enough with these boys this morning.”

“Oh, Captain Randall, don't scold them! They are our people. This is Big Sam, our foreman, and Elijah and Apostle and Prophet from Tara. Of course, they had to speak to me. How are you, boys?”

She shook hands all around, her small white hand disappearing into their huge black paws and the four capered with delight at the meeting and with pride at displaying before their comrades what a pretty Young Miss they had.

“What are you boys doing so far from Tara? You've run away, I'll be bound. Don't you know the patterollers will get you sure?”

They bellowed pleasedly at the badinage.

“Runned away?” answered Big Sam. “No'm, us ain' runned away. Dey done sont an' tuck us, kase we wuz de fo' bigges' an' stronges' han's at Tara.” His white teeth showed proudly. “Dey specially sont fer me, kase Ah could sing so good. Yas'm, Mist' Frank Kennedy, he come by an' tuck us.”

“But why, Big Sam?”

“Lawd, Miss Scarlett! Ain' you heerd? Us is ter dig de ditches fer de w'ite gempmums ter hide in w'en de Yankees comes.”

Captain Randall and the occupants of the carriage smothered smiles at this naïve explanation of rifle pits.

“Cose, Mist' Gerald might' nigh had a fit w'en dey tuck me, an' he say he kain run de place widout me. But Miss Ellen she say: ‘Tek him, Mist' Kennedy. De Confedrutsy need Big Sam mo' dan us do.' An' she gib me a dollar an' tell me ter do jes' whut de w'ite gempmums tells me. So hyah us is.”

“What does it all mean, Captain Randall?”

“Oh, it's quite simple. We have to strengthen the fortifications of Atlanta with more miles of rifle pits, and the General can't spare any men from the front to do it. So we've been impressing the strongest bucks in the countryside for the work.”

“But—”

A cold little fear was beginning to throb in Scarlett's breast. More miles of rifle pits! Why should they need more? Within the last year, a series of huge earth redoubts with battery emplacements had been built all around Atlanta, one mile from the center of town. These great earthworks were connected with rifle pits and they ran, mile after mile, completely encircling the city. More rifle pits!

“But—why should we be fortified any more than we are already fortified? We won't need what we've got. Surely, the General won't let—”

“Our present fortifications are only a mile from town,” said Captain Randall shortly. “And that's too close for comfort—or safety. These new ones are going to be farther away. You see, another retreat may bring our men into Atlanta.”

Immediately he regretted his last remark, as her eyes widened with fear.

“But, of course, there won't be another retreat,” he added hastily. “The lines around Kennesaw Mountain
are impregnable. The batteries are planted all up the mountain sides and they command the roads, and the Yankees can't possibly get by.”

But Scarlett saw him drop his eyes before the lazy, penetrating look Rhett gave him, and she was frightened. She remembered Rhett's remark: “When the Yankees push him out of the mountains and onto the flatter land, he'll be butchered.”

“Oh, Captain, do you think—”

“Why, of course not! Don't fret your mind one minute. Old Joe just believes in taking precautions. That's the only reason we're digging more entrenchments…. But I must be going now. It's been pleasant, talking to you…. Say good-by to your mistress, boys, and let's get going.”

“Good-by, boys. Now, if you get sick or hurt or in trouble, let me know. I live right down Peachtree Street, down there in almost the last house at the end of town. Wait a minute—” She fumbled in her reticule. “Oh, dear, I haven't a cent. Rhett, give me a few shinplasters. Here, Big Sam, buy some tobacco for yourself and the boys. And be good and do what Captain Randall tells you.”

The straggling line re-formed, the dust arose again in a red cloud as they moved off and Big Sam started up the singing again.

“Go do-ow, Mos-es! Waa-ay, do-own,

in Eee-jup laa-an!

An' te-el O-le Faa-ro-o

Ter let mah—peee-pul go!”

“Rhett, Captain Randall was lying to me, just like all the men do—trying to keep the truth from us women for fear we'll faint. Or was he lying? Oh, Rhett, if there's no danger, why are they digging these new breastworks? Is the army so short of men they've got to use darkies?”

Rhett clucked to the mare.

“The army is damned short of men. Why else would the Home Guard be called out? And as for the entrenchments, well, fortifications are supposed to be of some value in case of a siege. The General is preparing to make his final stand here.”

“A siege! Oh, turn the horse around. I'm going home, back home to Tara, right away.”

“What ails you?”

“A siege! Name of God, a siege! I've heard about sieges! Pa was in one or maybe it was his Pa, and Pa told me—”

“What siege?”

“The siege at Drogheda when Cromwell had the Irish, and they didn't have anything to eat and Pa said they starved and died in the streets and finally they ate all the cats and rats and even things like cockroaches. And he said they ate each other too, before they surrendered, though I never did know whether to believe that or not. And when Cromwell took the town all the women were—A siege! Mother of God!”

“You are the most barbarously ignorant young person I ever saw. Drogheda was in sixteen hundred and something and Mr. O'Hara couldn't possibly have been alive then. Besides, Sherman isn't Cromwell.”

“No, but he's worse! They say—”

“And as for the exotic viands the Irish ate at the
siege—personally I'd as soon eat a nice juicy rat as some of the victuals they've been serving me recently at the hotel. I think I shall have to go back to Richmond. They have good food there, if you have the money to pay for it.” His eyes mocked the fear in her face.

Annoyed that she had shown her trepidation, she cried: “I don't see why you've stayed here this long! All you think about is being comfortable and eating and—and things like that.”

“I know no more pleasant way to pass the time than in eating and er—things like that,” he said. “And as for why I stay here—well, I've read a good deal about sieges, beleaguered cities and the like, but I've never seen one. So I think I'll stay here and watch. I won't get hurt because I'm a noncombatant and besides I want the experience. Never pass up new experiences, Scarlett. They enrich the mind.”

“My mind's rich enough.”

“Perhaps you know best about that, but I should say—But that would be ungallant. And perhaps, I'm staying here to rescue you when the siege does come. I've never rescued a maiden in distress. That would be a new experience, too.”

She knew he was teasing her but she sensed a seriousness behind his words. She tossed her head.

“I won't need you to rescue me. I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“Don't say that, Scarlett! Think of it, if you like, but never, never say it to a man. That's the trouble with Yankee girls. They'd be most charming if they weren't always telling you that they can take care of themselves, thank you. Generally they are telling the truth, God help them. And so men let them take care of themselves.”

“How you do run on,” she said coldly, for there was no insult worse than being likened to a Yankee girl. “I believe you're lying about a siege. You know the Yankees will never get to Atlanta.”

“I'll bet you they will be here within the month. I'll bet you a box of bonbons against—” His dark eyes wandered to her lips. “Against a kiss.”

For a last brief moment, fear of a Yankee invasion clutched her heart but at the word “kiss,” she forgot about it. This was familiar ground and far more interesting than a military operation. With difficulty she restrained a smile of glee. Since the day when he gave her the green bonnet, Rhett had made no advances which could in any way be construed as those of a lover. He could never be inveigled into personal conversations, try though she might, but now with no angling on her part, he was talking about kissing.

“I don't care for such personal conversation,” she said coolly and managed a frown. “Besides, I'd just as soon kiss a pig.”

“There's no accounting for tastes and I've always heard the Irish were partial to pigs—kept them under their beds, in fact. But, Scarlett, you need kissing badly. That's what's wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.”

The conversation was not going the way she wanted it. It never did when she was with him. Always, it was a duel in which she was worsted.

“And I suppose you think you are the proper person?”
she asked with sarcasm, holding her temper in check with difficulty.

“Oh, yes, if I cared to take the trouble,” he said carelessly. “They say I kiss very well.”

“Oh,” she began, indignant at the slight to her charms. “Why, you…” But her eyes fell in sudden confusion. He was smiling, but in the dark depths of his eyes a tiny light flickered for a brief moment, like a small raw flame.

“Of course, you've probably wondered why I never tried to follow up that chaste peck I gave you, the day I brought you that bonnet—”

“I have never—”

“Then you aren't a nice girl, Scarlett, and I'm sorry to hear it. All really nice girls wonder when men don't try to kiss them. They know they shouldn't want them to and they know they must act insulted if they do, but just the same, they wish the men would try…. Well, my dear, take heart. Some day, I will kiss you and you will like it. But not now, so I beg you not to be too impatient.”

She knew he was teasing but, as always, his teasing maddened her. There was always too much truth in the things he said. Well, this finished him. If ever, ever he should be so ill bred as to try to take any liberties with her, she would show him.

“Will you kindly turn the horse around, Captain Butler? I wish to go back to the hospital.”

“Do you indeed, my ministering angel? Then lice and slops are preferable to my conversation? Well, far be it from me to keep a pair of willing hands from laboring for Our Glorious Cause.” He turned the horse's head and they started back toward Five Points.

“As to why I have made no further advances,” he pursued
blandly, as though she had not signified that the conversation was at an end, “I'm waiting for you to grow up a little more. You see, it wouldn't be much fun for me to kiss you now and I'm quite selfish about my pleasures. I never fancied kissing children.”

He smothered a grin, as from the corner of his eye he saw her bosom heave with silent wrath.

“And then, too,” he continued softly, “I was waiting for the memory of the estimable Ashley Wilkes to fade.”

At the mention of Ashley's name, sudden pain went through her, sudden hot tears stung her lids. Fade? The memory of Ashley would never fade, not if he were dead a thousand years. She thought of Ashley wounded, dying in a far-off Yankee prison, with no blankets over him, with no one who loved him to hold his hand, and she was filled with hate for the well-fed man who sat beside her, jeers just beneath the surface of his drawling voice.

She was too angry to speak and they rode along in silence for some while.

“I understand practically everything about you and Ashley, now,” Rhett resumed. “I began with your inelegant scene at Twelve Oaks and, since then, I've picked up many things by keeping my eyes open. What things? Oh, that you still cherish a romantic schoolgirl passion for him which he reciprocates as well as his honorable nature will permit him. And that Mrs. Wilkes knows nothing and that, between the two of you, you've done her a pretty trick. I understand practically everything, except one thing and that piques my curiosity. Did the honorable Ashley ever jeopardize his immortal soul by kissing you?”