飘-第67章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
CHAPTER XIX
IN THOSE FIRST DAYS of the siege； when the Yankees crashed here and there against the defenses of the city； Scarlett was so frightened by the bursting shells she could only cower helplessly； her hands over her ears； expecting every moment to be blown into eternity。 When she heard the whistling screams that heralded their approach； she rushed to Melanie’s room and flung herself on the bed beside her； and the two clutched each other； screaming “Oh！ Oh！” as they buried their heads in the pillows。 Prissy and Wade scurried for the cellar and crouched in the cob…webbed darkness； Prissy squalling at the top of her voice and Wade sobbing and hiccoughing。
Suffocating under feather pillows while death screamed overhead； Scarlett silently cursed Melanie for keeping her from the safer regions below stairs。 But the doctor had forbidden Melanie to walk and Scarlett had to stay with her。 Added to her terror of being blown to pieces was her equally active terror that Melanie’s baby might arrive at any moment。 Sweat broke out on Scarlett with clammy dampness； whenever this thought entered her mind。 What would she do if the baby started coming？ She knew she’d rather let Melanie die than go out on the streets to hunt for the doctor when the shells were falling like April rain。 And she knew Prissy could be beaten to death before she would venture forth。 What would she do if the baby came？
These matters she discussed with Prissy in whispers one evening； as they prepared Melanie’s supper tray； and Prissy； surprisingly enough； calmed her fears。
“Miss Scarlett； effen we kain git de doctah w’en Miss Melly’s time come； doan you bodder。 Ah kin manage。 Ah knows all ‘bout birthin’。 Ain’ mah ma a midwife？ Ain’ she raise me ter be a midwife； too？ Jes’ you leave it ter me。”
Scarlett breathed more easily knowing that experienced hands were near； but she nevertheless yearned to have the ordeal over and done with。 Mad to be away from exploding shells； desperate to get home to the quiet of Tara； she prayed every night that the baby would arrive the next day； so she would be released from her promise and could leave Atlanta。 Tara seemed so safe； so far away from all this misery。
Scarlett longed for home and her mother as she had never longed for anything in all her life。 If she were just near Ellen she wouldn’t be afraid； no matter what happened。 Every night after a day of screeching ear…splitting shells； she went to bed determined to tell Melanie the next morning that she could not stand Atlanta another day； that she would have to go home and Melanie would have to go to Mrs。 Meade’s。 But； as she lay on her pillow； there always rose the memory of Ashley’s face as it had looked when she last saw him； drawn as with an inner pain but with a little smile on his lips： “You’ll take care of Melanie； won’t you？ You’re so strong。 … Promise me。” And she had promised。 Somewhere； Ashley lay dead。 Wherever he was； he was watching her； holding her to that promise。 Living or dead； she could not fail him； no matter what the cost。 So she remained day after day。
In response to Ellen’s letters； pleading with her to come home； she wrote minimizing the dangers of the siege； explaining Melanie’s predicament and promising to come as soon as the baby was born。 Ellen； sensitive to the bonds of kin； be they blood or marriage； wrote back reluctantly agreeing that she must stay but demanding Wade and Prissy be sent home immediately。 This suggestion met with the complete approval of Prissy； who was now reduced to teeth…chattering idiocy at every unexpected sound。 She spent so much time crouching in the cellar that the girls would have fared badly but for Mrs。 Meade’s stolid old Betsy。
Scarlett was as anxious as her mother to have Wade out of Atlanta； not only for the child’s safety； but because his constant fear irritated her。 Wade was terrified to speechlessness by the shelling； and even when lulls came he clung to Scarlett’s skirts； too terrified to cry。 He was afraid to go to bed at night； afraid of the dark； afraid to sleep lest the Yankees should come and get him； and the sound of his soft nervous whimpering in the night grated unendurably on her nerves。 Secretly she was just as frightened as he was； but it angered her to be reminded of it every minute by his tense； drawn face。 Yes； Tara was the place for Wade。 Prissy should take him there and return immediately to be present when the baby came。
But before Scarlett could start the two on their homeward journey； news came that the Yankees had swung to the south and were skirmishing along the railroad between Atlanta and Jonesboro。 Suppose the Yankees should capture the train on which Wade and Prissy were riding—Scarlett and Melanie turned pale at the thought； for everyone knew that Yankee atrocities on helpless children were even more dreadful than on women。 So she feared to send him home and he remained in Atlanta； a frightened； silent little ghost； pattering about desperately after his mother； fearing to have her skirt out of his hand for even a minute。
The siege went on through the hot days of July； thundering days following nights of sullen； ominous stillness； and the town began to adjust itself。 It was as though； the worst having happened； they had nothing more to fear。 They had feared a siege and now they had a siege and； after all； it wasn’t so bad。 Life could and did go on almost as usual。 They knew they were sitting on a volcano； but until that volcano erupted there was nothing they could do。 So why worry now？ And probably it wouldn’t erupt anyway。 Just look how General Hood is holding the Yankees out of the city！ And see how the cavalry is holding the railroad to Macon！ Sherman will never take it！
But for all their apparent insouciance in the face of falling shells and shorter rations； for all their ignoring the Yankees； barely half a mile away； and for all their boundless confidence in the ragged line of gray men in the rifle pits； there pulsed； just below the skin of Atlanta； a wild uncertainty over what the next day would bring。 Suspense； worry； sorrow； hunger and the torment of rising； falling； rising hope was wearing that skin thin。
Gradually； Scarlett drew courage from the brave faces of her friends and from the merciful adjustment which nature makes when what cannot be cured must be endured。 To be sure； she still jumped at the sound of explosions but she did not run screaming to burrow her head under Melanie’s pillow。 She could now gulp and say weakly： “That was close； wasn’t it？”
She was less frightened also because life had taken on the quality of a dream； a dream too terrible to be real。 It wasn’t possible that she； Scarlett O’Hara； should be in such a predicament； with the danger of death about her every hour； every minute。 It wasn’t possible that the quiet tenor of life could have changed so completely in so short a time。
It was unreal； grotesquely unreal； that morning skies which dawned so tenderly blue could be profaned with cannon smoke that hung over the town like low thunder clouds； that warm noontides filled with the piercing sweetness of massed honeysuckle and climbing roses could be so fearful； as shells screamed into the streets； bursting like the crack of doom； throwing iron splinters hundreds of yards； blowing people and animals to bits。
Quiet； drowsy afternoon siestas had ceased to be； for though the clamor of battle might lull from time to time； Peachtree Street was alive； and noisy at all hours； cannon and ambulances rumbling by； wounded stumbling in from the rifle pits； regiments hurrying past at double…quick； ordered from the ditches on one side of town to the defense of some hard…pressed earthworks on the other； and couriers dashing headlong down the street toward headquarters as though the fate of the Confederacy hung on them。
The hot nights brought a measure of quiet but it was a sinister quiet。 When the night was still； it was too still—as though the tree frogs； katydids and sleepy mockingbirds were too frightened to raise their voices in the usual summer…night chorus。 Now and again； the quiet was broken sharply by the crack…cracking of musket fire in the last line of defenses。
Often in the late night hours； when the lamps were out and Melanie asleep and deathly silence pressed over the town； Scarlett； lying awake； heard the latch of the front gate click and soft urgent tappings on the front door。
Always； faceless soldiers stood on the dark porch and from the darkness many different voices spoke to her。 Sometimes a cultured voice came from the shadows： “Madam； my abject apologies for disturbing you； but could I have water for myself and my horse？” Sometimes it was the hard burring of a mountain voice； sometimes the odd nasals of the flat Wiregrass country to the far south； occasionally the lulling drawl of the Coast that caught at her heart； reminding her of Ellen’s voice。
“Missy； I got a pardner here who I wuz aimin’ ter git ter the horsepittle but looks like he ain’t goin’ ter last that fer。 Kin you take him in？”
“Lady； I shore could do with some vittles。 I’d shore relish a corn pone if it didn’t deprive you none。”
“Madam； forgive my intrusion but—could I spend the night on your porch？ I saw the roses and smelled the honeysuckle and it was so much like home that I was emboldened—”
No； these nights were not real！ They were a nightmare and the men were part of that nightmare； men without bodies or faces； only tired voices speaking to her from the warm dark。 Draw water； serve food； lay pillows on the front porch； bind wounds； hold the dirty heads of the dying。 No； this could not be happening to her！
Once； late in July； it was Uncle Henry Hamilton who came tapping in the night。 Uncle Henry was minus his umbrella and carpetbag now； and his fat stomach as well。 The skin of his pink fat face hung down in loose folds like the dewlaps of a bulldog and his long white hair was indescribably dirty。 He was almost barefoot； crawling with lice； and he was hungry； but his irascible spirit was unimpaired。
Despite his remark： “It’s a foolish war when old fools like me are out toting guns；” the girls received the impression that Uncle Henry was enjoying himself。 He was needed； like the young men； and he was doing a young man’s work。 Moreover； he could keep up with the young men； which was more than Grandpa Merriwether could do； he told them gleefully。 Grandpa’s lumbago was troubling him greatly and the Captain wanted to discharge him。 But Grandpa wouldn’t go home。 He said frankly that he preferred the Captain’s swearing and bullying to his daughter…in…law’s coddling； and her incessant demands that he give up chewing tobacco and launder his beard every day。
Uncle Henry’s visit was brief； for he had only a four…hour furlough and he needed half of it for the long walk in from the breastworks and back。
“Girls； I’m not going to see you all for a while；” he announced as he sat in Melanie’s bedroom； luxuriously wriggling his blistered feet in the tub of cold water Scarlett had set before him。 “Our company is going out in the morning。”
“Where？” questioned Melanie frightened； clutching his arm。
“Don’t put your hand on me；” said Uncle Henry irritably。 “I’m crawling
