|
|
|
Materials > Readings > Remembrance > Mitchell |
Gone With the Wind
Of all the group that milled about under the trees, girls smiling
excitedly, men talking impassionedly, there was only one who
seemed calm. Scarlett's eyes turned to Rhett Butler, who leaned
against a tree, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He
stood alone, since Mr. Wilkes had left his side, and had uttered
no word as the conversation grew hotter. The red lips under the
close-clipped black mustache curled down and there was a glint of
amused contempt in his black eyes--contempt, as if he listened to
the braggings of children. A very disagreeable smile, Scarlett
thought. He listened quietly until Stuart Tarleton, his red hair
tousled and his eyes gleaming, repeated: "Why, we could lick them
in a month! Gentlemen always fight better than rabble. A month--
why, one battle--"
"Gentlemen," said Rhett Butler, in a flat drawl that bespoke his
Charleston birth, not moving from his position against the tree or
taking his hands from his pockets, "may I say a word?"
There was contempt in his manner as in his eyes, contempt overlaid
with an air of courtesy that somehow burlesqued their own manners.
The group turned toward him and accorded him the politeness always
due an outsider.
"Has any one of you gentlemen ever thought that there's not a
cannon factory south of the Mason-Dixon Line? Or how few iron
foundries there are in the South? Or woolen mills or cotton
factories or tanneries? Have you thought that we would not have a
single warship and that the Yankee fleet could bottle up our
harbors in a week, so that we could not sell our cotton abroad?
But--of course--you gentlemen have thought of these things."
"Why, he means the boys are a passel of fools!" thought Scarlett
indignantly, the hot blood coming to her cheeks.
Evidently, she was not the only one to whom this idea occurred,
for several of the boys were beginning to stick out their chins.
John Wilkes casually but swiftly came back to his place beside the
speaker, as if to impress on all present that this man was his
guest and that, moreover, there were ladies present.
"The trouble with most of us Southerners," continued Rhett Butler,
"is that we either don't travel enough or we don't profit enough
by our travels. Now, of course, all you gentlemen are well
traveled. But what have you seen? Europe and New York and
Philadelphia and, of course, the ladies have been to Saratoga" (he
bowed slightly to the group under the arbor). "You've seen the
hotels and the museums and the balls and the gambling houses. And
you've come home believing that there's no place like the South.
As for me, I was Charleston born, but I have spent the last few
years in the North." His white teeth showed in a grin, as though
he realized that everyone present knew just why he no longer lived
in Charleston, and cared not at all if they did know. "I have
seen many things that you all have not seen. The thousands of
immigrants who'd be glad to fight for the Yankees for food and a
few dollars, the factories, the foundries, the shipyards, the iron
and coal mines--all the things we haven't got. Why, all we have
is cotton and slaves and arrogance. They'd lick us in a month."
For a tense moment, there was silence. Rhett Butler removed a
fine linen handkerchief from his coat pocket and idly flicked dust
from his sleeve. Then an ominous murmuring arose in the crowd and
from under the arbor came a humming as unmistakable as that of a
hive of newly disturbed bees. Even while she felt the hot blood
of wrath still in her cheeks, something in Scarlett's practical
mind prompted the thought that what this man said was right, and
it sounded like common sense. Why, she'd never even seen a
factory, or known anyone who had seen a factory. But, even if it
were true, he was no gentleman to make such a statement--and at a
party, too, where everyone was having a good time.
Stuart Tarleton, brows lowering, came forward with Brent close at
his heels. Of course, the Tarleton twins had nice manners and
they wouldn't make a scene at a barbecue, even though tremendously
provoked. Just the same, all the ladies felt pleasantly excited,
for it was so seldom that they actually saw a scene or a quarrel.
Usually they had to hear of it third-hand.
"Sir," said Stuart heavily, "what do you mean?"
Rhett looked at him with polite but mocking eyes.
"I mean," he answered, "what Napoleon--perhaps you've heard of
him?--remarked once, 'God is on the side of the strongest
battalion!'"
|
|
 |
