Into a wetter July and the Confederates, fighting desperately

around the entrenched heights, still held Sherman at bay, a wild

gaiety took hold of Atlanta. Hope went to their heads like

champagne. Hurrah! Hurrah! We're holding them! An epidemic of

parties and dances broke out. Whenever groups of men from the

fighting were in town for the night, dinners were given for them

and afterwards there was dancing and the girls, outnumbering the

men ten to one, made much of them and fought to dance with them.

Atlanta was crowded with visitors, refugees, families of wounded

men in the hospitals, wives and mothers of soldiers fighting at the

mountain who wished to be near them in case of wounds. In

addition, bevies of belles from the country districts, where all

remaining men were under sixteen or over sixty, descended upon the

town. Aunt Pitty disapproved highly of these last, for she felt

they had come to Atlanta for no reason at all except to catch

husbands, and the shamelessness of it made her wonder what the

world was coming to. Scarlett disapproved, too. She did not care

for the eager competition furnished by the sixteen-year-olds whose

fresh cheeks and bright smiles made one forget their twice-turned

frocks and patched shoes. Her own clothes were prettier and newer

than most, thanks to the material Rhett Butler had brought her on

the last boat he ran in, but, after all, she was nineteen and

getting along and men had a way of chasing silly young things.

A widow with a child was at a disadvantage with these pretty

minxes, she thought. But in these exciting days her widowhood and

her motherhood weighed less heavily upon her than ever before.

Between hospital duties in the day time and parties at night, she

hardly ever saw Wade. Sometimes she actually forgot, for long

stretches, that she had a child.

In the warm wet summer nights, Atlanta's homes stood open to the

soldiers, the town's defenders. The big houses from Washington

Street to Peachtree Street blazed with lights, as the muddy

fighters in from the rifle pits were entertained, and the sound of

banjo and fiddle and the scrape of dancing feet and light laughter

carried far on the night air. Groups hung over pianos and voices

sang lustily the sad words of "Your Letter Came but Came Too Late"

while ragged gallants looked meaningly at girls who laughed from

behind turkey-tail fans, begging them not to wait until it was too

late. None of the girls waited, if they could help it. With the

tide of hysterical gaiety and excitement flooding the city, they

rushed into matrimony. There were so many marriages that month

while Johnston was holding the enemy at Kennesaw Mountain,

marriages with the bride turned out in blushing happiness and the

hastily borrowed finery of a dozen friends and the groom with saber

banging at patched knees. So much excitement, so many parties, so

many thrills! Hurrah! Johnston is holding the Yanks twenty-two

miles away!

Yes, the lines around Kennesaw Mountain were impregnable. After

twenty-five days of fighting, even General Sherman was convinced of

this, for his losses were enormous. Instead of continuing the

direct assault, he swung his army in a wide circle again and tried

to come between the Confederates and Atlanta. Again, the strategy

worked. Johnston was forced to abandon the heights he had held so

well, in order to protect his rear. He had lost a third of his men