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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 237/927
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They
waved
their
handkerchiefs
and
cried
gay
good-bys
to
him
;
but
Maybelle
,
gripping
Scarlett
's
arm
,
whispered
:
"
Oh
,
the
poor
old
darling
!
A
real
good
rainstorm
will
just
about
finish
him
!
His
lumbago
--
"
Uncle
Henry
Hamilton
marched
in
the
rank
behind
Grandpa
Merriwether
,
the
collar
of
his
long
black
coat
turned
up
about
his
ears
,
two
Mexican
War
pistols
in
his
belt
and
a
small
carpetbag
in
his
hand
.
Beside
him
marched
his
black
valet
who
was
nearly
as
old
as
Uncle
Henry
,
with
an
open
umbrella
held
over
them
both
.
Shoulder
to
shoulder
with
their
elders
came
the
young
boys
,
none
of
them
looking
over
sixteen
.
Many
of
them
had
run
away
from
school
to
join
the
army
,
and
here
and
there
were
clumps
of
them
in
the
cadet
uniforms
of
military
academies
,
the
black
cock
feathers
on
their
tight
gray
caps
wet
with
rain
,
the
clean
white
canvas
straps
crossing
their
chests
sodden
.
Phil
Meade
was
among
them
,
proudly
wearing
his
dead
brother
's
saber
and
horse
pistols
,
his
hat
bravely
pinned
up
on
one
side
.
Mrs.
Meade
managed
to
smile
and
wave
until
he
had
passed
and
then
she
leaned
her
head
on
the
back
of
Scarlett
's
shoulder
for
a
moment
as
though
her
strength
had
suddenly
left
her
.
Many
of
the
men
were
totally
unarmed
,
for
the
Confederacy
had
neither
rifles
nor
ammunition
to
issue
to
them
.
These
men
hoped
to
equip
themselves
from
killed
and
captured
Yankees
.
Many
carried
bowie
knives
in
their
boots
and
bore
in
their
hands
long
thick
poles
with
iron-pointed
tips
known
as
"
Joe
Brown
pikes
.
"
The
lucky
ones
had
old
flintlock
muskets
slung
over
their
shoulders
and
powder-horns
at
their
belts
.
Johnston
had
lost
around
ten
thousand
men
in
his
retreat
.
He
needed
ten
thousand
more
fresh
troops
.
And
this
,
thought
Scarlett
frightened
,
is
what
he
is
getting
!
As
the
artillery
rumbled
by
,
splashing
mud
into
the
watching
crowds
,
a
negro
on
a
mule
,
riding
close
to
a
cannon
caught
her
eye
.
He
was
a
young
,
saddle-colored
negro
with
a
serious
face
,
and
when
Scarlett
saw
him
she
cried
:
"
It
's
Mose
!
Ashley
's
Mose
!
Whatever
is
he
doing
here
?
"
She
fought
her
way
through
the
crowd
to
the
curb
and
called
:
"
Mose
!
Stop
!
"
The
boy
seeing
her
,
drew
rein
,
smiled
delightedly
and
started
to
dismount
.
A
soaking
sergeant
,
riding
behind
him
,
called
:
"
Stay
on
that
mule
,
boy
,
or
I
'll
light
a
fire
under
you
!
We
got
to
git
to
the
mountain
some
time
.
"
Uncertainly
,
Mose
looked
from
the
sergeant
to
Scarlett
and
she
,
splashing
through
the
mud
,
close
to
the
passing
wheels
,
caught
at
Moses
'
stirrup
strap
.
"
Oh
,
just
a
minute
,
Sergeant
!
Do
n't
get
down
,
Mose
.
What
on
earth
are
you
doing
here
?
"
"
Ah
's
off
ter
de
war
,
agin
,
Miss
Scarlett
.
Dis
time
wid
Ole
Mist
'
John
'
stead
ob
Mist
'
Ashley
.
"
