For three years the Federal government had been trying to impose alien ideas and an alien rule upon Georgia and, with an army to enforce its commands, it had largely succeeded. But only the power of the military upheld the new regime. The state was under the Yankee rule but not by the state’s consent. Georgia’s leaders had kept on battling for the state’s right to govern itself according to its own ideas. They had continued resisting all efforts to force them to bow down and accept the dictates of Washington as their own state law.
Officially, Georgia’s government had never capitulated but it had been a futile fight, an ever-losing fight. It was a fight that could not win but it had, at least, postponed the inevitable. Already many other Southern states had illiterate negroes in high public office and legislatures dominated by negroes and Carpetbaggers. But Georgia, by its stubborn resistance, had so far escaped this final degradation. For the greater part of three years, the state’s capital had remained in the control of white men and Democrats. With Yankee soldiers everywhere, the state officials could do little but protest and resist. Their power was nominal but they had at least been able to keep the state government in the hands of native Georgians. Now even that last stronghold had fallen.
Just as Johnston and his men had been driven back step by step from Dalton to Atlanta, four years before, so had the Georgia Democrats been driven back little by little, from 1865 on. The power of the Federal government over the state’s affairs and the lives of its citizens had been steadily made greater and greater. Force had been piled on top of force and military edicts in increasing numbers had rendered the civil authority more and more impotent. Finally, with Georgia in the status of a military province, the polls had been ordered thrown open to the negroes, whether the state’s laws permitted it or not.
A week before Scarlett and Rhett announced their engagement, an election for governor had been held. The Southern Democrats had General John B. Gordon, one of Georgia’s best loved and most honored citizens, as their candidate. Opposing him was a Republican named Bullock. The election had lasted three days instead of one. Trainloads of negroes had been rushed from town to town, voting at every precinct along the way. Of course, Bullock had won.
If the capture of Georgia by Sherman had caused bitterness, the final capture of the state’s capitol by the Carpetbaggers, Yankees and negroes caused an intensity of bitterness such as the state had never known before. Atlanta and Georgia seethed and raged.
And Rhett Butler was a friend of the hated Bullock!
Scarlett, with her usual disregard of all matters not directly under her nose, had scarcely known an election was being held. Rhett had taken no part in the election and his relations with the Yankees were no different from what they had always been. But the fact remained that Rhett was a Scalawag and a friend of Bullock. And, if the marriage went through, Scarlett also would be turning Scalawag. Atlanta was in no mood to be tolerant or charitable toward anyone in the enemy camp and, the news of the engagement coming when it did, the town remembered all of the evil things about the pair and none of the good.
Scarlett knew the town was rocking but she did not realize the extent of public feeling until Mrs. Merriwether, urged on by her church circle, took it upon herself to speak to her for her own good.
“Because your own dear mother is dead and Miss Pitty, not being a matron, is not qualified to—er, well, to talk to you-upon such a subject, I feel that I must warn you, Scarlett, Captain Butler is not the kind of a man for any woman of good family to marry. He is a—”
“He managed to save Grandpa Merriwether’s neck and your nephew’s, too.”
Mrs. Merriwether swelled. Hardly an hour before she had had an irritating talk with Grandpa. The old man had remarked that she must not value his hide very much if she did not feel some gratitude to Rhett Butler, even if the man was a Scalawag and a scoundrel.
“He only did that as a dirty trick on us all, Scarlett, to embarrass us in front of the Yankees,” Mrs. Merriwether continued. “You know as well as I do that the man is a rogue. He always has been and now he’s unspeakable. He is simply not the kind of man decent people receive.”
“No? That’s strange, Mrs. Merriwether. He was in your parlor often enough during the war. And he gave Maybelle her white satin wedding dress, didn’t he? Or is my memory wrong?”
Things are so different during the war and nice people associated with many men who were not quite— It was all for the Cause and very proper, too. Surely you can’t be thinking of marrying a man who wasn’t in the army, who jeered at men who did enlist?”
“He was, too, in the army. He was in the army eight months. He was in the last campaign and fought at Franklin and was with General Johnston when he surrendered.”
“I had not heard that,” said Mrs. Merriwether and she looked as if she did not believe it either. “But he wasn’t wounded,” she added, triumphantly.
“Lots of men weren’t.”
“Everybody who was anybody got wounded. I know no one who wasn’t wounded.”
Scarlett was goaded.
“Then I guess all the men you knew were such fools they didn’t know when to come in out of a shower of rain—or of minie balls. Now, let me tell you this, Mrs. Merriwether, and you can take it back to your busybody friends. I’m going to marry Captain Butler and I wouldn’t care if he’d fought on the Yankee side.”
When that worthy matron went out of the house with her bonnet jerking with rage, Scarlett knew she had an open enemy now instead of a disapproving friend. But she did not care. Nothing Mrs. Merriwether could say or do could hurt her. She did not care what anyone said—anyone except Mammy.
