The state militia who had gone out so short a time before, resplendent in new uniforms, could hardly be distinguished from the seasoned troops, so dirty and unkempt were they. There was a new look in their eyes.Three years of apologizing, of explaining why they were not at the front was behind them now.They had traded security behind the lines for the hardships of battle.Many oftheir number had traded easy living for hard death.They were veterans now, veterans of brief service, but veterans just the same, and they had acquitted themselves well.They searched out the faces of friends in the crowd and stared at them proudly, defiantly.They could hold up their heads now.
The old men and boys of the Home Guard marched by, the graybeards almost too weary to lift their feet, the boys wearing the faces of tired children, confronted too early with adult problems. Scarlett caught sight of Phil Meade and hardly recognized him, so black was his face with powder and grime, so taut with strain and weariness.Uncle Henry went limping by, hatless in the rain, his head stuck through a hole in a piece of old oilcloth.Grandpa Merriwether rode in on a gun carriage, his bare feet tied in quilt scraps.But search though she might, she saw no sign of John Wilkes.
Johnston's veterans, however, went by with the tireless, careless step which had carried them for three years, and they still had the energy to grin and wave at pretty girls and to call rude gibes to men not in uniform. They were on their way to the entrenchments that ringed the town—no shallow, hastily dug trenches, these, but earthworks, breast high, reinforced with sandbags and tipped with sharpened staves of wood.For mile after mile the trenches encircled the town, red gashes surmounted by red mounds, waiting for the men who would fill them.
The crowd cheered the troops as they would have cheered them in victory. There was fear in every heart but, now that they knew the truth, now that the worst had happened, now that the war was in their front yard, a change came over the town.There was no panic now, no hysteria.Whatever lay in hearts did not show on faces.Everyone looked cheerful even if the cheer was strained.Everyone tried to show brave, confident faces to the troops.Everyone repeated what Old Joe had said, just before he was relieved of command:“I can hold Atlanta forever.”
Now that Hood had had to retreat, quite a number wished, with the soldiers, that they had Old Joe back, but they forbore saying it and took courage from Old Joe's remark:
“I can hold Atlanta forever!”
Not for Hood the cautious tactics of General Johnston. He assaulted theYankees on the east, he assaulted them on the west.Sherman was circling the town like a wrestler seeking a fresh hold on an opponent's body, and Hood did not remain behind his rifle pits waiting for the Yankees to attack.He went out boldly to meet them and savagely fell upon them.Within the space of a few days the battles of Atlanta and of Ezra Church were fought, and both of them were major engagements which made Peachtree Creek seem like a skirmish.
But the Yankees kept coming back for more. They had suffered heavy losses but they could afford to lose.And all the while their batteries poured shells into Atlanta, killing people in their homes, ripping roofs off buildings, tearing huge craters in the streets.The townsfolk sheltered as best they could in cellars, in holes in the ground and in shallow tunnels dug in railroad cuts.Atlanta was under siege.
Within eleven days after he had taken command, General Hood had lost almost as many men as. Johnston had lost in seventy-four days of battle and retreat, and Atlanta was hemmed in on three sides.
The railroad from Atlanta to Tennessee was now in Sherman's hands for its full length. His army was across the railroad to the east and he had cut the railroad running southwest to Alabama.Only the one railroad to the south, to Macon and Savannah, was still open.The town was crowded with soldiers, swamped with wounded, jammed with refugees, and this one line was inadequate for the crying needs of the stricken city.But as long as this railroad could be held, Atlanta could still stand.
Scarlett was terrified when she realized how important this line had become, how fiercely Sherman would fight to take it, how desperately Hood would fight to defend it. For this was the railroad which ran through the County, through Jonesboro.And Tara was only five miles from Jonesboro!Tara seemed like a haven of refuge by comparison with the screaming hell of Atlanta, but Tara was only five miles from Jonesboro!
Scarlett and many other ladies sat on the flat roofs of stores, shaded by their tiny parasols, and watched the fighting on the day of the battle of Atlanta. But when shells began falling in the streets for the first time, they fled to the cellars, and that night the exodus of women, children and old people from the city began.Macon was their destination and many of those who took the trainthat night had already refugeed five and six times before, as Johnston fell back from Dalton.They were traveling lighter now than when they arrived in Atlanta.Most of them carried only a carpetbag and a scanty lunch done up in a bandana handkerchief.Here and there, frightened servants carried silver pitchers, knives and forks and a family portrait or two which had been salvaged in the first flight.
Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs.Elsing refused to leave.They were needed at the hospital and furthermore, they said proudly, they weren't afraid and no Yankees were going to run them out of their homes.But Maybelle and her baby and Fanny Elsing went to Macon.Mrs.Meade was disobedient for the first time in her married life and flatly refused to yield to the doctor's command that she take the train to safety.The doctor needed her, she said.Moreover, Phil was somewhere in the trenches and she wanted to be near by in case……