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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 241/927
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Fight
and
fall
back
!
Fight
and
fall
back
!
And
every
retreat
was
bringing
the
Yankees
closer
to
the
town
.
Peachtree
Creek
was
only
five
miles
away
!
What
was
the
General
thinking
about
?
The
cries
of
"
Give
us
a
man
who
will
stand
and
fight
!
"
penetrated
even
to
Richmond
.
Richmond
knew
that
if
Atlanta
was
lost
,
the
war
was
lost
,
and
after
the
army
had
crossed
the
Chattahoochee
,
General
Johnston
was
removed
from
command
.
General
Hood
,
one
of
his
corps
commanders
,
took
over
the
army
,
and
the
town
breathed
a
little
easier
.
Hood
would
n't
retreat
.
Not
that
tall
Kentuckian
,
with
his
flowing
beard
and
flashing
eye
!
He
had
the
reputation
of
a
bulldog
.
He
'd
drive
the
Yankees
back
from
the
creek
,
yes
,
back
across
the
river
and
on
up
the
road
every
step
of
the
way
back
to
Dalton
.
But
the
army
cried
:
"
Give
us
back
Old
Joe
!
"
for
they
had
been
with
Old
Joe
all
the
weary
miles
from
Dalton
and
they
knew
,
as
the
civilians
could
not
know
,
the
odds
that
had
opposed
them
.
Sherman
did
not
wait
for
Hood
to
get
himself
in
readiness
to
attack
.
On
the
day
after
the
change
in
command
,
the
Yankee
general
struck
swiftly
at
the
little
town
of
Decatur
,
six
miles
beyond
Atlanta
,
captured
it
and
cut
the
railroad
there
.
This
was
the
railroad
connecting
Atlanta
with
Augusta
,
with
Charleston
,
and
Wilmington
and
with
Virginia
.
Sherman
had
dealt
the
Confederacy
a
crippling
blow
.
The
time
had
come
for
action
!
Atlanta
screamed
for
action
!
Then
,
on
a
July
afternoon
of
steaming
heat
,
Atlanta
had
its
wish
.
General
Hood
did
more
than
stand
and
fight
.
He
assaulted
the
Yankees
fiercely
at
Peachtree
Creek
,
hurling
his
men
from
their
rifle
pits
against
the
blue
lines
where
Sherman
's
men
outnumbered
him
more
than
two
to
one
.
Frightened
,
praying
that
Hood
's
attack
would
drive
the
Yankees
back
,
everyone
listened
to
the
sound
of
booming
cannon
and
the
crackling
of
thousands
of
rifles
which
,
though
five
miles
away
from
the
center
of
town
,
were
so
loud
as
to
seem
almost
in
the
next
block
.
They
could
hear
the
rumblings
of
the
batteries
,
see
the
smoke
which
rolled
like
low-hanging
clouds
above
the
trees
,
but
for
hours
no
one
knew
how
the
battle
was
going
.
By
late
afternoon
the
first
news
came
,
but
it
was
uncertain
,
contradictory
,
frightening
,
brought
as
it
was
by
men
wounded
in
the
early
hours
of
the
battle
.
These
men
began
straggling
in
,
singly
and
in
groups
,
the
less
seriously
wounded
supporting
those
who
limped
and
staggered
.
Soon
a
steady
stream
of
them
was
established
,
making
their
painful
way
into
town
toward
the
hospitals
,
their
faces
black
as
negroes
'
from
powder
stains
,
dust
and
sweat
,
their
wounds
unbandaged
,
blood
drying
,
flies
swarming
about
them
.
Aunt
Pitty
's
was
one
of
the
first
houses
which
the
wounded
reached
as
they
struggled
in
from
the
north
of
the
town
,
and
one
after
another
,
they
tottered
to
the
gate
,
sank
down
on
the
green
lawn
and
croaked
:
"
Water
!
"
