These people not only believed in the sovereignty of their States and their right to withdraw from the Union when they saw fit, but they could not conceive the madness of the remaining States attempting to use force to hold them. They knew, too, that millions of Northern voters were as clear on that point as the people of the South. Their spokesman, Horace Greeley, in _The Tribune_ had said again and again: "If the Southern States are mad enough to withdraw from the Union, they must go. We cannot prevent it. Let our erring sisters go in peace." The people before him believed that Horace Greeley's paper represented the North in this utterance. Davis knew that it was not true. In a flash of clear soul vision he saw the inevitable horror of the coming struggle and determined to tell the people so. The message he delivered was a distinct shock. He not only told them in tones of deep and tender emotion that war was inevitable, but that it would be long and bloody. "We'll lick 'em in two months!" a voice yelled in protest and the crowd cheered. The leader shook his fine head. "Don't deceive yourselves, my friends. War once begun, no man can predict its end--" "It won't begin!" another cried. "You have convinced me to-day that it is now inevitable." "The Yankees won't fight!" shouted a big fellow in front. The speaker bent his gaze on the stalwart figure in remonstrance. "You never made a worse mistake in your life, my friend. I warn you--I know these Yankees. Once in it they'll fight with grim, dogged, sullen, unyielding courage. We're men of the same blood. They live North, you South--that's all the difference." At every station the same scene was enacted. The crowd rushed around his car with the sudden sweep of a whirlwind, and left for their homes with grave, thoughtful faces. By three o'clock in the afternoon he was thoroughly exhausted by the strain. The eager crowds had sapped his last ounce of vitality. The conductor of the train looked at him with pity and whispered: "I'll save you at the next station." The leader smiled his gratitude for the sympathy but wondered how it could be done. At the next stop, the Senator had just taken his position on the rear platform, lifted his hand for silence and said: "Friends and fellow citizens--" The engine suddenly blew off steam with hiss and roar and when it ceased the train pulled out with a jerk amid the shouts and protests of the crowd. The grateful speaker waved his hand in regretful but happy farewell. The conductor repeated the trick for three stations until the exhausted speaker had recovered his strength and then allowed him a few brief remarks at each stop. From the moment the train entered the State of Mississippi, grim, earnest men in groups of two, three, four and a dozen stepped on board, saluted their Chief and took their seats. When the engine pulled into the station at Jackson a full brigade of volunteer soldiers had taken their places in the ranks.