It or given aid and comfort to it were not allowed to vote, had no

choice in the selection of their public officials and were wholly

under the power of an alien rule. Many men, thinking soberly of

General Lee's words and example, wished to take the oath, become

citizens again and forget the past. But they were not permitted to

take it. Others who were permitted to take the oath, hotly refused

to do so, scorning to swear allegiance to a government which was

deliberately subjecting them to cruelty and humiliation.

Scarlett heard over and over until she could have screamed at the

repetition: "I'd have taken their damned oath right after the

surrender if they'd acted decent. I can be restored to the Union,

but by God, I can't be reconstructed into it!"

Through these anxious days and nights, Scarlett was torn with fear.

The ever-present menace of lawless negroes and Yankee soldiers

preyed on her mind, the danger of confiscation was constantly with

her, even in her dreams, and she dreaded worse terrors to come.

Depressed by the helplessness of herself and her friends, of the

whole South, it was not strange that she often remembered during

these days the words which Tony Fontaine had spoken so passionately:

"Good God, Scarlett, it isn't to be borne! And it won't be borne!"

In spite of war, fire and Reconstruction, Atlanta had again become

a boom town. In many ways, the place resembled the busy young city

of the Confederacy's early days. The only trouble was that the

soldiers crowding the streets wore the wrong kind of uniforms, the

money was in the hands of the wrong people, and the negroes were

living in leisure while their former masters struggled and starved.

Underneath the surface were misery and fear, but all the outward

appearances were those of a thriving town that was rapidly

rebuilding from its ruins, a bustling, hurrying town. Atlanta, it

seemed, must always be hurrying, no matter what its circumstances

might be. Savannah, Charleston, Augusta, Richmond, New Orleans

would never hurry. It was ill bred and Yankeefied to hurry. But

In this period, Atlanta was more ill bred and Yankeefied than it

had ever been before or would ever be again. With "new people"

thronging in from all directions, the streets were choked and noisy

from morning till night. The shiny carriages of Yankee officers'

wives and newly rich Carpetbaggers splashed mud on the dilapidated

buggies of the townspeople, and gaudy new homes of wealthy

strangers crowded in among the sedate dwellings of older citizens.

The war had definitely established the importance of Atlanta in the

affairs of the South and the hitherto obscure town was now known

far and wide. The railroads for which Sherman had fought an entire

summer and killed thousands of men were again stimulating the life

of the city they had brought into being. Atlanta was again the

center of activities for a wide region, as it had been before its

destruction, and the town was receiving a great influx of new

citizens, both welcome and unwelcome.

Invading Carpetbaggers made Atlanta their headquarters and on the

streets they jostled against representatives of the oldest families

in the South who were likewise newcomers in the town. Families

from the country districts who had been burned out during Sherman's

march and who could no longer make a living without the slaves to

till the cotton had come to Atlanta to live. New settlers were

coming in every day from Tennessee and the Carolinas where the hand

of Reconstruction lay even heavier than in Georgia. Many Irish and

Germans who had been bounty men in the Union Army had settled in

Atlanta after their discharge. The wives and families of the

Yankee garrison, filled with curiosity about the South after four

years of war, came to swell the population. Adventurers of every

kind swarmed in, hoping to make their fortunes, and the negroes

from the country continued to come by the hundreds.

The town was roaring--wide open like a frontier village, making no

effort to cover its vices and sins. Saloons blossomed overnight,

two and sometimes three in a block, and after nightfall the streets

were full of drunken men, black and white, reeling from wall to

curb and back again. Thugs, pickpockets and prostitutes lurked in

the unlit alleys and shadowy streets. Gambling houses ran full

blast and hardly a night passed without its shooting or cutting

affray. Respectable citizens were scandalized to find that Atlanta

had a large and thriving red-light district, larger and more

thriving than during the war. All night long pianos jangled from

behind drawn shades and rowdy songs and laughter floated out,

punctuated by occasional screams and pistol shots. The inmates of

these houses were bolder than the prostitutes of the war days and

brazenly hung out of their windows and called to passers-by. And

on Sunday afternoons, the handsome closed carriages of the madams

of the district rolled down the main streets, filled with girls in

their best finery, taking the air from behind lowered silk shades.

Belle Watling was the most notorious of the madams. She had opened

a new house of her own, a large two-story building that made

neighboring houses in the district look like shabby rabbit warrens.

There was a long barroom downstairs, elegantly hung with oil

paintings, and a negro orchestra played every night. The upstairs,

so rumor said, was fitted out with the finest of plush upholstered

furniture, heavy lace curtains and imported mirrors in gilt frames.

The dozen young ladies with whom the house was furnished were

comely, if brightly painted, and comported themselves more quietly

than those of other houses. At least, the police were seldom

summoned to Belle's.

This house was something that the matrons of Atlanta whispered

about furtively and ministers preached against in guarded terms as

a cesspool of iniquity, a hissing and a reproach. Everyone knew

that a woman of Belle's type couldn't have made enough money by

herself to set up such a luxurious establishment. She had to have

a backer and a rich one at that. And Rhett Butler had never had

the decency to conceal his relations with her, so it was obvious

that he and no other must be that backer. Belle herself presented

a prosperous appearance when glimpsed occasionally in her closed

carriage driven by an impudent yellow negro. When she drove by,

behind a fine pair of bays, all the little boys along the street

who could evade their mothers ran to peer at her and whisper

excitedly: "That's her! That's ole Belle! I seen her red hair!"

Shouldering the shell-pitted houses patched with bits of old lumber

and smoke-blackened bricks, the fine homes of the Carpetbaggers and

war profiteers were rising, with mansard roofs, gables and turrets,

stained-glass windows and wide lawns. Night after night, in these

newly built homes, the windows were ablaze with gas light and the

sound of music and dancing feet drifted out upon the air. Women in

stiff bright-colored silks strolled about long verandas, squired by

men in evening clothes. Champagne corks popped, and on lace

tablecloths seven-course dinners were laid. Hams in wine, pressed

duck, pate de foie gras, rare fruits in and out of season, were

spread in profusion.

Behind the shabby doors of the old houses, poverty and hunger

lived--all the more bitter for the brave gentility with which they

were borne, all the more pinching for the outward show of proud