Chapter 2
Wade did remember…
The first two years of Wade Hampton Hamilton’s life were quite uneventful and rather hard to remember. Vague feelings of safety surrounded him when he thought of those days, and he had good reason to associate pleasant feelings with that part of his life. For the most part, he was loved and pampered by everyone around him. If he whimpered, Aunt Melly held him gently and rocked him to sleep, and the big, strong arms of Rhett Butler held him on occasion.
Very soon, though, those feelings of security faded away. It seemed as if within days, the people that had once pampered him were suddenly occupied. Ladies that had always spoken softly and moved gracefully were suddenly filled with anxiety. They ran around quickly with stern faces, and sharp voices. The look in their eyes relayed their uneasiness as they darted around, carefully observing strangers and shrieking in the midst of danger.
Whispers began to drift through the air, “The Yankees are headed this way, but they will never break through Johnston’s lines to Atlanta.” Wade’s tiny ears perked. “Did you hear about what the Yankees did in Richmond? I heard that they slaughtered the women and children as they ransacked the city.” Wade scooted himself back into the corner of the room where ladies had gathered by candlelight to prepare bandages. Without being noticed, he sat quietly listening to tales of brave cavaliers fighting the monsters that ravaged through the great Southern states. Wade soon learned more of war, death, and the Yankees than a young child should ever know. Listening to these conversations conjured images in his mind of devilish looking men that would only partake in evil doings. Yankees murdered friends and numerous Southern men. They enjoyed the massacre of women, and laughed when they ran their swords through young, blond-haired little boys.
Late at night, when the women who had been working hard all day, finally fell into bed at night, he would lie awake in his room. He could hear the explosions far in the distance, and when he listened very hard, he could hear the screams of the soldiers as they fell. He could hear the battle cry of the Confederate soldiers as they rushed to meet the Yankee soldiers, swords drawn and pistols loaded. In his mind, he could picture the battle raging just a few miles to the north of Atlanta, seeing the sneers on the Yankee faces as they tried to plow through the Confederate lines. When he closed his eyes, he could see the Confederate soldiers walking into Atlanta, bleeding and wounded. At night his mind screamed with terror, waking from a nightmare filled with Yankees coming toward him to run their sword through his belly, but no one could hear him. He sobbed quietly in his bed, unable to verbalize his fear.
Soon, his nightmare came became reality. Crouching on Aunt Pitty’s porch, Wade peered through the rails to see a vision more horrifying than he had imagined. Soldiers were pouring onto Peachtree Street, holding each other to keep from falling as blood gushed from wounds. As they passed by him, he saw sun scorched faces and bloody, tattered uniforms. Hoarse voices cried, “Water! Can I please have some water?” as his mother and the other women of the house dispensed water as quickly as they could and wrapped wounds trying to stop the bleeding. Blood seemed to flow through the middle of the street as wounded soldiers continued to pour into town. The scorching summer sun beat down on the miserable scene, testing the courage and strength of those caring for the soldiers.
Through the wails of the dying, he heard his mother’s voice, “Go to the back yard, Wade. Go play!”, but he was too terrorized to move. What if there were Yankees in his backyard? His mother was here. She could protect him from the coming destruction. He continued to stare, mesmerized by the scene before him, sucking his thumb as silent tears ran down his face. There was no calming himself as he sat staring bleakly as the sun began to fade deep into the night, always keeping an eye on his mother.
Years later, as he looked back on that day, he remembered his sudden onset of hiccups that sometimes lasted for days. When he became frightened or nervous, he would begin to hiccup, and he could not stop until he calmed down by convincing himself that the nightmare would end and the safety would return. However, the terror of this day did not end. These memories lived in his nightmares until he was a grown man, and the hiccups continued to plague him. Innocence of youth was lost at such a young age, and he felt the sting of adulthood too quickly.
Although the bombing slowed at points, it continued for days. With each shell drop, Wade clung to his mother’s skirts, trembling uncontrollably. He tried desperately to stay silent, but every nerve in his body prickled with terror. Against his will, his throat released whimpers and tiny screams until his mother could take it no longer and she sent him away to nestle himself in a corner, wrapping his tiny arms around himself.
Even Aunt Melly could no longer let him sit on her lap and snuggle. Most days, she stayed in bed, tired, pale, and quiet. He would sneak in at times just to be near her. Her weak voice sang through the room as he heard her say, “Come sit with me, darling, and I will sing to you. Rest with me, dear, for you shall soon have rooms filled with pastries and jams.” She would let him climb onto the bed and lay in her arms as she sang him to sleep. However, as soon as mother came in to the room, she sent him to the backyard to play, without seeing him. Reluctantly, he left after studying her face, chiseled with worry and fatigue. He ran from her presence to his secret hiding place. Under the back porch, he had been exploring one day, and found a small hole. He could barely fit inside, but it was a safe, warm place. He could lie there very quietly and pretend that the bombs were soft, pattering raindrops. The walls were cabinets lined with more food than his young mind knew the names of. He could remember good food, milk, and security. He pictured Aunt Melly rocking him to sleep and his mother’s soft face as she laid him in his crib.
After a few hours hiding in his cave under the porch, he couldn’t stand thinking of the food any longer. He climbed the long steps to the kitchen where the few servants that remained were huddling. He made his way back up the stairs and peered inside Aunt Melly’s room. Although his mind was well developed, his speech was hindered from fright and lack of companionship. “Wade hungry,” were the only words that he could find as he reached his mother and called to her from behind Aunt Melly’s door. He peeked inside to the dark room. He could tell something was terribly wrong. Aunt Melly was lying in the bed with her enormous belly. Mother was talking incessantly about nothing, but when she saw Wade’s shape in the doorway, she started to follow him. Aunt Melly begged Scarlett to stay and sent Prissy to feed him.
After another meal of hominy, he went to his room, feverishly frightened. The bombs were still exploding, seemingly outside his window, Mother could not be reached, and now Aunt Melly was ill. It seemed as if the whole world had come to an end, and although he did not understand his own fleeting mortality, he understood the severity of the situation. He laid there and quietly cried himself to sleep, dreaming of Yankees, trying to fight them alone.
Suddenly, without warning, a screaming voice could be heard below his window. As he listened to his mother hysterically sobbing, Prissy came into his room to try and get him dressed, but he fought her with everything in him. He held to her skirts, hiccupping, refusing to cooperate, listening for his mother’s voice. Scarlett suddenly appeared in the doorway, ordering them downstairs. Behind him, he could see Uncle Rhett’s shadow. He immediately felt calm, knowing that they were no longer alone. As he followed Prissy downstairs his hiccups subsided, and he nestled himself in the wagon beside his Aunt Melly and her new little baby.
Mercifully, he could never remember the events that followed. He laid his head in Prissy’s lap, closing his eyes, and pretending he was in his safe place under the porch. Even at the sound of explosions, he envisioned fireworks and as the flames licked so near that he could feel the heat, he thought of being cuddled near the fireplace at Aunt Pitty’s while Aunt Melly rocked him to sleep. He knew Uncle Rhett was in charge, and though the wagon jolted, the baby cried, and Aunt Melly whimpered, he knew they would be safe.
Sudden
ly, he heard Uncle Rhett’s voice bidding Scarlett goodbye as he left them in the middle of the road to Tara. Wade called to his mother. He knew that his hero had left, and he was alone again. Suddenly his heart began to beat wildly as he saw Uncle Rhett ride into the distance toward the explosions. His mind screamed, “Come back. We need you!” but his voice was not heard above the rain and Rhett continued to ride out of sight.
Ever so slowly, they made the journey to Tara. Wade tried to envision his favorite place under the porch, but it was no use now. No pretending could keep away the gnawing hunger, exhaustion, and fear. Darkness was all around him, threatening of Yankees. His mother raised her voice, “Stop sniveling, Wade Hampton. I cannot take it anymore!” He tried desperately to stop crying as he held onto Prissy’s skirts. He wanted to be a little man. He wanted to be strong and brave for his mother, but his efforts were futile, and with no other warning, he felt his mother’s hand as it stung his cheek. Fear beyond comprehension seized him. He fell completely silent, as his heart broke.
When they finally reached Tara, he followed Prissy inside the house, got a drink of water, and then searched for Aunt Melly. She didn’t hear him or wake up when he crept into her room and crouched in the corner, where he stayed until morning.