ble. 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.'

Chapter 38

I worked some weeks before my regiment was sent forward. I planned to
be at home for a day, but they needed me on the staff, and I dreaded the
pain of a parting, the gravity of which my return would serve only to
accentuate. So I wrote them a cheerful letter, and kept at work. It was
my duty to interview some of the great men of that day as to the course
of the government. I remember Commodore Vanderbilt came down to see me
in shirt-sleeves and slippers that afternoon, with a handkerchief tied
about his neck in place of a collar--a blunt man, of simple manners and
a big heart, one who spoke his mind in good, plain talk, and, I suppose,
he got along with as little profanity as possible, considering his many
cares. He called me 'boy' and spoke of a certain public man as a 'big
sucker'. I soon learned that to him a 'sucker' was the lowest and
meanest thing in the world. He sent me away with nothing but a great
admiration of him. As a rule, the giants of that day were plain men of
the people, with no frills upon them, and with a way of hitting from
the shoulder. They said what they meant and meant it hard. I have heard
Lincoln talk when his words had the whiz of a bullet and his arm the
jerk of a piston.

John Trumbull invited McClingan, of whom I had told him much, and myself
to dine with him an evening that week. I went in my new dress suit--that
mark of sinful extravagance for which Fate had brought me down to the
pounding of rocks under Boss McCormick. Trumbull's rooms were a feast
for the eye--aglow with red roses. He introduced me to Margaret Hull and
her mothe