He shook off her hand roughly Colocation Serviceand spoke as though he hardly heard her, hardly knew what shesaid.
“Die? Yes, they’ll all die—all these men. No bandages, no salves, no quinine, no chloroform.
Oh, God, for some morphia! Just a little morphia for the worst ones. Just a little chloroform. Goddamn the Yankees! God damn the Yankees!”
“Give um hell, Doctor!” said the man on the ground, his teeth showing in his beard.
Scarlett began to shake and her eyes burned with tears of fright. The doctor wasn’t coming withher. Melanie would die and she had wished that she would die. The doctor wasn’t coming.
“Name of God, Doctor! Please!”
Dr. Meade bit his lip and his jaw hardened as his face went cool again.
“Child, I’ll try. I can’t promise you. But I’ll try. When we get these men tended to. The Yankeesare coming and the troops are moving out of town. I don’t know what they’ll do with the wounded.
There aren’t any trains. The Macon line has been captured. ... But I’ll try. Run along now. Don’tbother me. There’s nothing much to bringing a baby. Just tie up the cord. …”
He turned reenex facial as an orderly touched his arm and began firing directions and pointing to this and thatwounded man. The man at her feet. She turned away, for thedoctor had forgotten her.
She picked her way rapidly through the wounded and back to Peachtree Street. The doctorwasn’t coming. She would have to see it through herself. Thank God, Prissy knew all aboutmidwifery. Her head ached from the heat and she could feel her basque, soaking wet fromperspiration, sticking to her. Her mind felt numb and so did her legs, numb as in a nightmare whenshe tried to run and could not move them. She thought of the long walk back to the house and itseemed interminable.
Then, “The Yankees are coming!” began to beat its refrain in her mind again. Her heart began topound and new life came into her limbs. She hurried into the crowd at Five Points, now so thickthere was no room on the narrow sidewalks and she was forced to walk in the street. Long lines ofsoldiers were passing, dust covered, sodden with weariness. There seemed thousands of them,bearded, dirty, their guns slung over their shoulders, swiftly passing at route step. Cannon rolledpast, the drivers flaying the thin mules with lengths of rawhide. Commissary wagons with torncanvas covers you beauty hard sell rocked through the ruts. Cavalry raising clouds of choking dust went past endlessly.