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All
that
burning
afternoon
,
Aunt
Pitty
and
her
family
,
black
and
white
,
stood
in
the
sun
with
buckets
of
water
and
bandages
,
ladling
drinks
,
binding
wounds
until
the
bandages
gave
out
and
even
the
torn
sheets
and
towels
were
exhausted
.
Aunt
Pitty
completely
forgot
that
the
sight
of
blood
always
made
her
faint
and
she
worked
until
her
little
feet
in
their
too
small
shoes
swelled
and
would
no
longer
support
her
.
Even
Melanie
,
now
great
with
child
,
forgot
her
modesty
and
worked
feverishly
side
by
side
with
Prissy
,
Cookie
and
Scarlett
,
her
face
as
tense
as
any
of
the
wounded
.
When
at
last
she
fainted
,
there
was
no
place
to
lay
her
except
on
the
kitchen
table
,
as
every
bed
,
chair
and
sofa
in
the
house
was
filled
with
wounded
.
Forgotten
in
the
tumult
,
little
Wade
crouched
behind
the
banisters
on
the
front
porch
,
peering
out
onto
the
lawn
like
a
caged
,
frightened
rabbit
,
his
eyes
wide
with
terror
,
sucking
his
thumb
and
hiccoughing
.
Once
Scarlett
saw
him
and
cried
sharply
:
"
Go
play
in
the
back
yard
,
Wade
Hampton
!
"
but
he
was
too
terrified
,
too
fascinated
by
the
mad
scene
before
him
to
obey
.
The
lawn
was
covered
with
prostrate
men
,
too
tired
to
walk
farther
,
too
weak
from
wounds
to
move
.
These
Uncle
Peter
loaded
into
the
carriage
and
drove
to
the
hospital
,
making
trip
after
trip
until
the
old
horse
was
lathered
.
Mrs.
Meade
and
Mrs.
Merriwether
sent
their
carriages
and
they
,
too
,
drove
off
,
springs
sagging
beneath
the
weight
of
the
wounded
.
Later
,
in
the
long
,
hot
summer
twilight
,
the
ambulances
came
rumbling
down
the
road
from
the
battle
field
and
commissary
wagons
,
covered
with
muddy
canvas
.
Then
farm
wagons
,
ox
carts
and
even
private
carriages
commandeered
by
the
medical
corps
.
They
passed
Aunt
Pitty
's
house
,
jolting
over
the
bumpy
road
,
packed
with
wounded
and
dying
men
,
dripping
blood
into
the
red
dust
.
At
the
sight
of
the
women
with
buckets
and
dippers
,
the
conveyances
halted
and
the
chorus
went
up
in
cries
,
in
whispers
:
"
Water
!
"
Scarlett
held
wobbling
heads
that
parched
lips
might
drink
,
poured
buckets
of
water
over
dusty
,
feverish
bodies
and
into
open
wounds
that
the
men
might
enjoy
a
brief
moment
's
relief
.
She
tiptoed
to
hand
dippers
to
ambulance
drivers
and
of
each
she
questioned
,
her
heart
in
her
throat
:
"
What
news
?
What
news
?
"
From
all
came
back
the
answer
:
"
Do
n't
know
fer
sartin
,
lady
.
It
's
too
soon
to
tell
.
"
Night
came
and
it
was
sultry
.
No
air
moved
and
the
flaring
pine
knots
the
negroes
held
made
the
air
hotter
.
Dust
clogged
Scarlett
's
nostrils
and
dried
her
lips
.
Her
lavender
calico
dress
,
so
freshly
clean
and
starched
that
morning
,
was
streaked
with
blood
,
dirt
and
sweat
.
This
,
then
,
was
what
Ashley
had
meant
when
he
wrote
that
war
was
not
glory
but
dirt
and
misery
.
