The journalist wrote that “the great leader of this secret clan rides once more” and was “calling his own to follow him again.” He imagined the ghosts of Confederate soldiers and Klansmen rising from their graves at Elmwood Cemetery and floating down to Forrest Park. Listen closely, he told his readers. That’s not a gust of wind — it’s the swearing of oaths by hooded Klansmen. That’s not a “rumble of thunder” — it’s the stamping of horses shrouded in white.