The reason he had applied for transfer to the front, despite his useless arm, was that he realized, as the civilian population did not, the seriousness of the situation.
There were many other men, stumping on wooden pegs, blind in one eye, fingers blown away, one arm gone, who were quietly transferring from the commissariat, hospital duties, mail and railroad service back to their old fighting units.
They knew Old Joe needed every man.
He did not speak and Dr. Meade thundered, losing his temper:
“Our men have fought without shoes before and without food and won victories.
And they will fight again and win!
I tell you General Johnston cannot be dislodged!
The mountain fastnesses have always been the refuge and the strong forts of invaded peoples from ancient times.
Think of—think of Thermopylae!”
Scarlett thought hard but Thermopylae meant nothing to her.
“They died to the last man at Thermopylae, didn’t they, Doctor?” Rhett asked, and his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
“Are you being insulting, young man?”
“Doctor!
I beg of you!
You misunderstood me!
I merely asked for information.
My memory of ancient history is poor.”
“If need be, our army will die to the last man before they permit the Yankees to advance farther into Georgia,” snapped the doctor.
“But it will not be.
They will drive them out of Georgia in one skirmish.”
Aunt Pittypat rose hastily and asked Scarlett to favor them with a piano selection and a song.
She saw that the conversation was rapidly getting into deep and stormy water.
She had known very well there would be trouble if she invited Rhett to supper.
There was always trouble when he was present.
Just how he started it, she never exactly understood.
Dear! Dear!
What did Scarlett see in the man?
And how could dear Melly defend him?
As Scarlett went obediently into the parlor, a silence fell on the porch, a silence that pulsed with resentment toward Rhett.
How could anyone not believe with heart and soul in the invincibility of General Johnston and his men?
Believing was a sacred duty.
And those who were so traitorous as not to believe should, at least, have the decency to keep their mouths shut.
Scarlett struck a few chords and her voice floated out to them from the parlor, sweetly, sadly, in the words of a popular song:
“Into a ward of whitewashed walls Where the dead and dying lay-Wounded with bayonets, shells and balls-Somebody’s darling was borne one day.
“Somebody’s darling! so young and so brave!
Wearing still on his pale, sweet face-Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave-The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace.”
“Matted and damp are the curls of gold,” mourned Scarlett’s faulty soprano, and Fanny half rose and said in a faint, strangled voice:
“Sing something else!”
The piano was suddenly silent as Scarlett was overtaken with surprise and embarrassment.
Then she hastily blundered into the opening bars of
“Jacket of Gray” and stopped with a discord as she remembered how heartrending that selection was too.
The piano was silent again for she was utterly at a loss. All the songs had to do with death and parting and sorrow.
Rhett rose swiftly, deposited Wade in Fanny’s lap, and went into the parlor.
“Play
‘My Old Kentucky Home,'” he suggested smoothly, and Scarlett gratefully plunged into it.
Her voice was joined by Rhett’s excellent bass, and as they went into the second verse those on the porch breathed more easily, though Heaven knew it was none too cheery a song, either.
“Just a few more days for to tote the weary load!
No matter, ‘twill never be light!
Just a few more days, till we totter in the road!
Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!”