“At this moment,” he rehearsed, “eighteen meetings such as this are being held in eighteen towns—New York, Baltimore, New Orleans, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Salt Lake, Denver, Omaha, Portland, Spokane, St. Louis, Cleveland, Minneapolis, Milwaukee—these and the others are holding meetings like this. You know how each meeting is to take action and transmit that action to-night to each of the other meeting places. I ask you: what is it that this meeting is going to do? And Mr. Chairman, I make you a motion.” The hall was so silent that it seemed drained of breathing: so electric with listening that it seemed drained of thought. “Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, ay, and Ladies, for I deem you fully worthy to have a share in these deliberations,” said he, with a magnificent bow. “I move you, that, Whereas our government in its wisdom has seen fit to withhold itself from the great drama of the world’s business for a length of time not to be tolerated by a great mass of its citizens: and, Whereas, since the destruction of the steamship _Fowler_, a merchant vessel, belonging to the United States and sailing neutral waters, three days have elapsed without action on the part of the government thus outraged past all precedent in conduct toward neutral nations—save only one nation!—That now, therefore, we here assembled, citizens of the United States, do voice our protest and demand of our government that if within the week no adequate explanation or apology shall be forthcoming from the offending power, we do proceed without further delay to declare war against that power. “And I further move you that it be the sense of this meeting that we hereby petition for immediate mobilization of our army. “And I further move you that, on the carrying of this motion, a copy of it be telegraphed to the President of the United States, and to the Chairmen of the eighteen similar meetings held in the United States this night, in the common name of liberty and humanity.” The hall became a medley of sound with but one meaning. Men leaped to the seats, to the rails of balconies, shouting. The thing they had wanted to have said had been said. The fire that had been smouldering since early in the war, that had occasionally blazed in public meetings, in the press, in private denunciation, had at last eaten through the long silence to burn now with a devouring flame, and the people gave it fuel. A dozen men and women there were who fought their way forward, and stood on the platform, appealing for silence. One by one these tried to speak. To each the hall listened until it had determined the temper of the speaker: then, if it was, as it was from several, a passionate denunciation of the policy, groans and hisses drowned the speaker’s voice. And if it was a ringing cry of “Patriots of the world, show your patriotism in the cause of the stricken world and of this offended nation!”—the fury of applauding hands and stamping feet silenced speech no less.