"Gentlemen," he replied, "it is a business firm, not a political one. I never heard politics mentioned by either of the partners. I don't know whether they are Republicans or Democrats."
He cheerfully permitted his baggage to be searched by the Minute Men, who, finding nothing objectionable, bade him good-evening. But, just after they left, a mob of Roughs, attracted by the report that an Abolitionist was stopping there, entered the hotel. They were very noisy and profane, crying—"Let us see him; bring out the scoundrel!"
His friend, the merchant, spirited him out of the house through a back door, and drove him to the railway station, whence a midnight train was starting for the North. His pursuers, finding the room of their victim empty, followed in hot haste to the dépôt. The merchant saw them coming, and again conveyed him away to a private room. He was kept concealed for three days, until the excitement subsided, and then went north by a night train.
Secession vs. Sincerity.
One of the clerks at the hotel where I was boarding had been an acquaintance of mine in the North ten years before. Though I now saw him several times a day, politics were seldom broached between us. But, whenever they came up, we both talked mild Secession. I did not believe him altogether sincere, and I presume he did me equal justice; but instinct is a great matter, and we were cowards on instinct.
During the next summer, I chanced to meet him unexpectedly in Chicago. After we exchanged greetings, his first question was—
"What did you honestly think of Secession while in New Orleans?"
"Do you know what I was doing there?"
"On your way to Mexico, were you not?"
"No; corresponding for The Tribune."