飘

　the　hills；　came　upon　them；　the　Southern　troops　were　waiting　for　them；　entrenched　behind　breastworks；　batteries　planted；　bayonets　gleaming；　even　as　they　had　been　at　Dalton。
　When　the　wounded　from　Dalton　brought　in　garbled　accounts　of　Old　Joe’s　retreat　to　Resaca；　Atlanta　was　surprised　and　a　little　disturbed。　It　was　as　though　a　small；　dark　cloud　had　appeared　in　the　northwest；　the　first　cloud　of　a　summer　storm。　What　was　the　General　thinking　about；　letting　the　Yankees　penetrate　eighteen　miles　farther　into　Georgia？　The　mountains　were　natural　fortresses；　even　as　Dr。　Meade　had　said。　Why　hadn’t　Old　Joe　held　the　Yankees　there？
　Johnston　fought　desperately　at　Resaca　and　repulsed　the　Yankees　again；　but　Sherman；　employing　the　same　flanking　movement；　swung　his　vast　army　in　another　semicircle；　crossed　the　Oostanaula　River　and　again　struck　at　the　railroad　in　the　Confederate　rear。　Again　the　gray　lines　were　summoned　swiftly　from　their　red　ditches　to　defend　the　railroad；　and；　weary　for　sleep；　exhausted　from　marching　and　fighting；　and　hungry；　always　hungry；　they　made　another　rapid　march　down　the　valley。　They　reached　the　little　town　of　Calhoun；　six　miles　below　Resaca；　ahead　of　the　Yankees；　entrenched　and　were　again　ready　for　the　attack　when　the　Yankees　came　up。　The　attack　came；　there　was　fierce　skirmishing　and　the　Yankees　were　beaten　back。　Wearily　the　Confederates　lay　on　their　arms　and　prayed　for　respite　and　rest。　But　there　was　no　rest。　Sherman　inexorably　advanced；　step　by　step；　swinging　his　army　about　them　in　a　wide　curve；　forcing　another　retreat　to　defend　the　railroad　at　their　back。
　The　Confederates　marched　in　their　sleep；　too　tired　to　think　for　the　most　part　But　when　they　did　think；　they　trusted　Old　Joe。　They　knew　they　were　retreating　but　they　knew　they　had　not　been　beaten。　They　just　didn’t　have　enough　men　to　hold　their　entrenchments　and　defeat　Sherman’s　flanking　movements；　too。　They　could　and　did　lick　the　Yankees　every　time　the　Yankees　would　stand　and　fight　What　would　be　the　end　of　this　retreat；　they　did　not　know。　But　Old　Joe　knew　what　he　was　doing　and　that　was　enough　for　them。　He　had　conducted　the　retreat　in　masterly　fashion；　for　they　had　lost　few　men　and　the　Yankees　killed　and　captured　ran　high。　They　hadn’t　lost　a　single　wagon　and　only　four　guns。　And　they　hadn’t　lost　the　railroad　at　their　back；　either。　Sherman　hadn’t　laid　a　finger　on　it　for　all　his　frontal　attacks；　cavalry　dashes　and　flank　movements。
　The　railroad。　It　was　still　theirs；　that　slender　iron　line　winding　through　the　sunny　valley　toward　Atlanta。　Men　lay　down　to　sleep　where　they　could　see　the　rails　gleaming　faintly　in　the　starlight。　Men　lay　down　to　die；　and　the　last　sight　that　met　their　puzzled　eyes　was　the　rails　shining　in　the　merciless　sun；　heat　shimmering　along　them。
　As　they　fell　back　down　the　valley；　an　army　of　refugees　fell　back　before　them。　Planters　and　Crackers；　rich　and　poor；　black　and　white；　women　and　children；　the　old；　the　dying；　the　crippled；　the　wounded；　the　women　far　gone　in　pregnancy；　crowded　the　road　to　Atlanta　on　trains；　afoot；　on　horseback；　in　carriages　and　wagons　piled　high　with　trunks　and　household　goods。　Five　miles　ahead　of　the　retreating　army　went　the　refugees；　halting　at　Resaca；　at　Calhoun；　at　Kingston；　hoping　at　each　stop　to　hear　that　the　Yankees　had　been　driven　back　so　they　could　return　to　their　homes。　But　there　was　no　retracing　that　sunny　road。　The　gray　troops　passed　by　empty　mansions；　deserted　farms；　lonely　cabins　with　doors　ajar。　Here　and　there　some　lone　woman　remained　with　a　few　frightened　slaves；　and　they　came　to　the　road　to　cheer　the　soldiers；　to　bring　buckets　of　well　water　for　the　thirsty　men；　to　bind　up　the　wounds　and　bury　the　dead　in　their　own　family　burying　grounds。　But　for　the　most　part　the　sunny　valley　was　abandoned　and　desolate　and　the　untended　crops　stood　in　parching　fields。
　Flanked　again　at　Calhoun；　Johnston　fell　back　to　Adairsville；　where　there　was　sharp　skirmishing；　then　to　Cassville；　then　south　of　Cartersville。　And　the　enemy　had　now　advanced　fifty…five　miles　from　Dalton。　At　New　Hope　Church；　fifteen　miles　farther　along　the　hotly　fought　way；　the　gray　ranks　dug　in　for　a　determined　stand。　On　came　the　blue　lines；　relentlessly；　like　a　monster　serpent　coiling；　striking　venomously；　drawing　its　injured　lengths　back；　but　always　striking　again。　There　was　desperate　fighting　at　New　Hope　Church；　eleven　days　of　continuous　fighting；　with　every　Yankee　assault　bloodily　repulsed。　Then　Johnston；　flanked　again；　withdrew　his　thinning　lines　a　few　miles　farther。
　The　Confederate　dead　and　wounded　at　New　Hope　Church　ran　high。　The　wounded　flooded　Atlanta　in　train…loads　and　the　town　was　appalled。　Never；　even　after　the　battle　of　Chickamauga；　had　the　town　seen　so　many　wounded。　The　hospitals　overflowed　and　wounded　lay　on　the　floors　of　empty　stores　and　upon　cotton　bales　in　the　warehouses。　Every　hotel；　boarding　house　and　private　residence　was　crowded　with　sufferers。　Aunt　Pitty　had　her　share；　although　she　protested　that　it　was　most　unbecoming　to　have　strange　men　in　the　house　when　Melanie　was　in　a　delicate　condition　and　when　gruesome　sights　might　bring　on　premature　birth。　But　Melanie　reefed　up　her　top　hoop　a　little　higher　to　hide　her　thickening　figure　and　the　wounded　invaded　the　brick　house。　There　was　endless　cooking　and　lifting　and　turning　and　fanning；　endless　hours　of　washing　and　rerolling　bandages　and　picking　lint；　and　endless　warm　nights　made　sleepless　by　the　babbling　delirium　of　men　in　the　next　room。　Finally　the　choked　town　could　take　care　of　no　more　and　the　overflow　of　wounded　was　sent　on　to　the　hospitals　at　Macon　and　Augusta。
　With　this　backwash　of　wounded　bearing　conflicting　reports　and　the　increase　of　frightened　refugees　crowding　into　the　already　crowded　town；　Atlanta　was　in　an　uproar。　The　small　cloud　on　the　horizon　had　blown　up　swiftly　into　a　large；　sullen　storm　cloud　and　it　was　as　though　a　faint；　chilling　wind　blew　from　it。
　No　one　had　lost　faith　in　the　invincibility　of　the　troops　but　everyone；　the　civilians　at　least；　had　lost　faith　in　the　General。　New　Hope　Church　was　only　thirty…five　miles　from　Atlanta！　The　General　had　let　the　Yankees　push　him　back　sixty…five　miles　in　three　weeks！　Why　didn’t　he　hold　the　Yankees　instead　of　everlastingly　retreating？　He　was　a　fool　and　worse　than　a　fool。　Graybeards　in　the　Home　Guard　and　members　of　the　state　militia；　safe　in　Atlanta；　insisted　they　could　have　managed　the　campaign　better　and　drew　maps　on　tablecloths　to　prove　their　contentions。　As　his　lines　grew　thinner　and　he　was　forced　back　farther；　the　General　called　desperately　on　Governor　Brown　for　these　very　men；　but　the　state　troops　felt　reasonably　safe。　After　all；　the　Governor　had　defied　Jeff　Davis’　demand　for　them。　Why　should　he　accede　to　General　Johnston？
　Fight　and　fall　back！　Fight　and　fall　back！　For　seventy　miles　and　twenty…five　days　the　Confederates　had　fought　almost　daily。　New　Hope　Church　was　behind　the　gray　troops　now；　a　memory　in　a　mad　haze　of　like　memories；　heat；　dust；　hunger；　weariness；　tramp…tramp　on　the　red　rutted　roads；　slop…slop　through　the　red　mud；　retreat；　entrench；　fight—retreat；　entrench；　fight。　New　Hope　Church　was　a　nightmare　of　another　life　and　so　was　Big　Shanty；　where　they　turned　and　fought　the　Yankees　like　demons。　But；　fight　the　Yankees　till　the　fields　were　blue　with　dead；　there　were　always　more　Yankees；　fresh　Yankees；　there　was　always　that　sinister　southeast　curving　of　the　blue　lines　toward　the　Confederate　rear；　toward　the　railroad—and　toward　Atlanta！
　From　Big　Shanty；　the　weary　sleepless　lines　retreated　down　the　road　to　Kennesaw　Mountain；　near　the　little　town　of　Marietta；　and　here　they　spread　their　lines　in　a　ten…mile　curve。　On　the　steep　sides　of　the　mountain　they　dug　their　rifle　pits　and　on　the　towering　heights　they　planted　their　batteries。　Swearing；　sweating　men　hauled　the　heavy　guns　up　the　precipitous　slopes；　for　mules　could　not　climb　the　hillsides。　Couriers　and　wounded　coming　into　Atlanta　gave　reassuring　reports　to　the　frightened　townspeople。　The　heights　of　Kennesaw　were　impregnable。　So　were　Pine　Mountain　and　Lost　Mountain　near　by　which　were　also　fortified。　The　Yankees　couldn’t　dislodge　Old　Joe’s　men　and　they　could　hardly　flank　them　now　for　the　batteries　on　the　mountain　tops　commanded　all　the　roads　for　miles。　Atlanta　breathed　more　easily；　but—
　But　Kennesaw　Mountain　was　only　twenty…two　miles　away！
　On　the　day　when　the　first　wounded　from　Kennesaw　Mountain　were　coming　in；　Mrs。　Merriwether’s　carriage　was　at　Aunt　Pitty’s　house　at　the　unheard…of　hour　of　seven　in　the　morning；　and　black　Uncle　Levi　sent　up　word　that　Scarlett　must　dress　immediately　and　come　to　the　hospital。　Fanny　Rising　and　the　Bonnell　girls；　roused　early　from　slumber；　were　yawning　on　the　back　seat　and　the　Risings’　mammy　sat　grumpily　on　the　box；　a　basket　of　freshly　laundered　bandages　on　her　lap。　Off　Scarlett　went；　unwillingly　for　she　had　danced　till　dawn　the　night　before　at　the　Home　Guard’s　party　and　her　feet　were　tired。　She　silently　cursed　the　efficient　and　indefatigable　Mrs。　Merriwether；　the　wounded　and　the　whole　Southern　Confederacy；　as　Prissy　buttoned　her　in　her　oldest　and　raggedest　calico　frock　which　she　used　for　hospital　work。　Gulping　down　the　bitter　brew　of　parched　corn　and　dried　sweet　potatoes　that　passed　for　coffee；　she　went　out　to　join　the　girls。
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