"Yankees?" said Gerald vaguely. "But the Yankees have already been here."
"Mother of God!" cried Scarlett, her eyes meeting Melanie's frightened eyes. For a swift instant there went through her memory again the horrors of her last night in Atlanta, the ruined homes that dotted the countryside, all the stories of rape and torture and murder. She saw again the Yankee soldier standing in the hall with Ellen's sewing box in his hand. She thought: "I shall die. I shall die right here. I thought we were through with all that. I shall die. I can't stand any more."
Then her eyes fell on the horse saddled and hitched and waiting for Pork to ride him to the Tarleton place on an errand. Her horse! Her only horse! The Yankees would take him and the cow and the calf. And the sow and her litter--Oh, how many tiring hours it had taken to catch that sow and her agile young! And they'd take the rooster and the setting hens and the ducks the Fontaines had given her. And the apples and the yams in the pantry bins. And the flour and rice and dried peas. And the money in the Yankee soldier's wallet. They'd take everything and leave them to starve.
"They shan't have them!" she cried aloud and they all turned startled faces to her, fearful her mind had cracked under the tidings. "I won't go hungry! They shan't have them!"
"What is it, Scarlett? What is it?"
"The horse! The cow! The pigs! They shan't have them! I won't let them have them!"
She turned swiftly to the four negroes who huddled in the doorway, their black faces a
peculiarly ashen shade.
"The swamp," she said rapidly.
"Whut swamp?"
"The river swamp, you fools! Take the pigs to the swamp. All of you. Quickly. Pork, you and Prissy crawl under the house and get the pigs out. Suellen, you and Carreen fill the baskets with as much food as you can carry and get to the woods. Mammy, put the silver in the well again. And Pork! Pork, listen to me, don't stand there like that! Take Pa with you. Don't ask me where! Anywhere! Go with Pork, Pa. That's a sweet pa."
Even in her frenzy she thought what the sight of bluecoats might do to Gerald's wavering
mind. She stopped and wrung her hands and the frightened sobbing of little Wade who was
clutching Melanie's skirt added to her panic.
"What shall I do, Scarlett?" Melanie's voice was calm amid the wailing and tears and scurrying feet. Though her face was paper white and her whole body trembled, the very quietness of her voice steadied Scarlett, revealing to her that they all looked to her for commands, for guidance.
"The cow and the calf," she said quickly. "They're in the old pasture. Take the horse and drive them into the swamp and--"
Before she could finish her sentence, Melanie shook off Wade's clutches and was down
the front steps and running toward the horse, pulling up her wide skirts as she ran. Scarlett caught
a flashing glimpse of thin legs, a flurry of skirts and underclothing and Melanie was in the saddle, her feet dangling far above the stirrups. She gathered up the reins and clapped her heels against the animal's sides and then abruptly pulled him in, her face twisting with horror.
"My baby!" she cried. "Oh, my baby! The Yankees will kill him! Give him to me!"
Her hand was on the pommel and she was preparing to slide off but Scarlett screamed at
her.
"Go on! Go on! Get the cow! I'll look after the baby! Go on, I tell you! Do you think I'd let them get Ashley's baby? Go on!"
Melly looked despairingly backward but hammered her heels into the horse and, with a
scattering of gravel, was off down the drive toward the pasture.
Scarlett thought: "I never expected to see Melly Hamilton straddling a horse!" and then she ran into the house. Wade was at her heels, sobbing, trying to catch her flying skirts. As she went up the steps, three at a bound, she saw Suellen and Carreen with split-oak baskets on their arms, running toward the pantry, and Pork tugging none too gently at Gerald's arm, dragging him toward the back porch. Gerald was mumbling querulously and pulling away like a child.
From the back yard she heard Mammy's strident voice: "You, Priss! You git unner dat
house an' han' me dem shoats! You knows mighty well Ah's too big ter crawl thoo dem lattices.
Dilcey, comyere an' mek dis wuthless chile--"
"And I thought it was such a good idea to keep the pigs under the house, so nobody could steal them," thought Scarlett, running into her room. "Why, oh, why didn't I build a pen for them down in the swamp?"
She tore open her top bureau drawer and scratched about in the clothing until the