Chapter 37 - Page 2

stood in the crowd, that morning, and
saw what was really the beginning of the war in New York. There
was no babble of voices, no impatient call, no sound of idle jeering
such as one is apt to hear in a waiting crowd. It stood silent, each
man busy with the rising current of his own emotions, solemnified
by the faces all around him. The soldiers filed out upon the
pavement, the police having kept a way clear for them, Still there
was silence in the crowd save that near me I could hear a man
sobbing. A trumpeter lifted his bugle and sounded a bar of the
reveille. The clear notes clove the silent air, flooding every street
about us with their silver sound. Suddenly the band began playing.
The tune was Yankee Doodle. 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. Then he threw his coat in a chair and wiped his eyes
with his handkerchief.

'Well! God bless you, my boy,' he said. 'I wish I could go, too.'