A wild, dismal, tremulous cry came
out of a throat near me. It grew and spread to a mighty roar and
then such a shout went up to Heaven, as I had never heard, and as I
know full well I shall never hear again. It was like the riving of
thunderbolts above the roar of floods - elemental, prophetic,
threatening, ungovernable. It did seem to me that the holy wrath of
God Almighty was in that cry of the people. It was a signal. It
declared that they were ready to give all that a man may give for
that he loves - his life and things far dearer to him than his life.
After that, they and their sons begged for a chance to throw
themselves into the hideous ruin of war.
I walked slowly back to the office and wrote my article. When the
Printer came in at twelve I went to his room before he had had
time to begin work.
'Mr Greeley,' I said, 'here is my resignation. I am going to the war.'
His habitual smile gave way to a sober look as he turned to me, his
big white coat on his arm. He pursed his lips and blew
thoughtfully.
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