Frank was remembering the Tara he had known before the war and on his face was a hurt look,a look of tired impotent anger.He loved Suellen,liked her sisters,respected Gerald and had a genuine fondness for the plantation.Since Sherman had swept through Georgia,Frank had seen many appalling sights as he rode about the state trying to collect supplies,but nothing had gone to his heart as Tara did now.He wanted to do something for the O'Haras,especially Suellen,and there was nothing he could do.He was unconsciously wagging his whiskered head in pity and clicking his tongue against his teeth when Scarlett caught his eye.He saw the flame of indignant pride in them and he dropped his gaze quickly to his plate in embarrassment.
The girls were hungry for news.There had been no mail service since Atlanta fell,now four months past,and they were in complete ignorance as to where the Yankees were,how the Confederate Army was faring,what had happened to Atlanta and to old friends.Frank,whose work took him all over the section,was as good as a newspaper,better even,for he was kin to or knew almost everyone from Macon north to Atlanta,and he could supply bits of interesting personal gossip which the papers always omitted.To cover his embarrassment at being caught by Scarlett,he plunged hastily into a recital of news.The Confederates,he told them,had retaken Atlanta after Sherman marched out,but it was a valueless prize as Sherman had burned it completely.
“But I thought Atlanta burned the night I left,”cried Scarlett,bewildered.“I thought our boys burned it!”
“Oh,no,Miss Scarlett!”cried Frank,shocked.“We'd never burn one of our own towns with our own folks in it!What you saw burning was the warehouses and the supplies we didn't want the Yankees to capture and the foundries and the ammunition.But that was all.When Sherman took the town the houses and stores were standing there as pretty as you please.And he quartered his men in them.”
“But what happened to the people?Did he—did he kill them?”
“He killed some—but not with bullets,”said the one-eyed soldier grimly.“Soon's he marched into Atlanta he told the mayor that all the people in town would have to march out,every living soul.And there were plenty of old folks that couldn't stand the trip and sick folks that ought not to have been moved either.And he moved them out in the biggest rainstorm you ever saw,hundreds and hundreds of them,and dumped them in the woods near Rough and Ready and sent word to General Hood to come and get them.And a plenty of the folks died of pneumonia and not being able to stand that sort of treatment.”
“Oh,but why did he do that?They couldn't have done him any harm,”cried Melanie.
“He said he wanted the town to rest his men and horses in,”said Frank.“And he rested them there till the middle of November and then he lit out.And he set fire to the whole town when he left and burned everything.”
“Oh,surely not everything!”cried the girls in dismay.
It was inconceivable that the bustling town they knew,so full of people,so crowded with soldiers,was gone.All the lovely homes beneath shady trees,all the big stores and the fine hotels—surely they couldn't be gone!Melanie seemed ready to burst into tears,for she had been born there and knew no other home.Scarlett's heart sank because she had come to love the place second only to Tara.
“Well,almost everything,”Frank amended hastily,disturbed by the expressions on their faces.He tried to look cheerful,for he did not believe in upsetting ladies.Upset ladies always upset him and made him feel helpless.He could not bring himself to tell them the worst.Let them find out from some one else.
He could not tell them what the army saw when it marched back into Atlanta,the acres and acres of chimneys standing blackly above ashes,piles of half-burned rubbish and tumbled heaps of brick clogging the streets,old trees dying from fire,their charred limbs tumbling to the ground in the cold wind.He remembered how the sight had turned him sick,remembered the bitter curses of the Confederates when they saw the remains of the town.He hoped the ladies would never hear of the horrors of the looted cemetery,for they'd never get over that.Charlie Hamilton and Melanie's mother and father were buried there.The sight of that cemetery still gave Frank nightmares.Hoping to find jewelry buried with the dead,the Yankee soldiers had broken open vaults,dug up graves.They had robbed the bodies,stripped from the coffins gold and silver name plates,silver trimmings and silver handles.The skeletons and corpses,flung helter-skelter among their splintered caskets,lay exposed and so pitiful.
And Frank couldn't tell them about the dogs and the cats.Ladies set such a store by pets.But the thousands of starving animals,left homeless when their masters had been so rudely evacuated,had shocked him almost as much as the cemetery,for Frank loved cats and dogs.The animals had been frightened,cold,ravenous,wild as forest creatures,the strong attacking the weak,the weak waiting for the weaker to die so they could eat them.And,above the ruined town,the buzzards splotched the wintry sky with graceful,sinister bodies.
Frank cast about in his mind for some mitigating information that would make the ladies feel better.
“There's some houses still standing,”he said,“houses that set on big lots away from other houses and didn't catch fire.And the churches and the Masonic hall are left.And a few stores too.But the business section and all along the railroad tracks and at Five Points—well,ladies,that part of town is flat on the ground.”
“Then,”cried Scarlett bitterly,“that warehouse Charlie left me,down on the tracks,it's gone too?”
“If it was near the tracks,it's gone,but—”Suddenly he smiled.Why hadn't he thought of it before?“Cheer up,ladies!Your Aunt Pitty's house is still standing.It's kind of damaged but there it is.”
“Oh,how did it escape?”
