It was impossible to get farther than Philadelphia that day. The next morning, on taking my seat in the train, I recognized the gentleman directly behind me as the Hon. Caleb Cushing. I did not accost him, not caring to meet acquaintances just then, and, moreover, I had no reason to think that he knew me, for although we were born in the same town,—Newburyport, Mass.,—he was a distinguished public man when I was a boy.
The route from Philadelphia to New York was by the way of Camden to South Amboy, and thence by steamboat. The latter was a ferry boat with room for teams on each side of the engine. There were no teams on board, and, as I had been sitting for some time, and now that we were nearing New York where I was likely at any moment to meet an acquaintance, I was a little nervous, I walked about the lower deck. In doing so I met Mr. Cushing face to face. He was passing the time in a similar manner. I lifted my cap, as I would to any superior officer, or public man. Immediately Mr. Cushing stopped and said:
"Good morning, Mr. Huse, you are with the South, I understand."
For the moment I was staggered, but quickly calling to mind that Mr. Cushing had been chairman of the Charleston Democratic Convention which nominated John C. Breckenridge for President, I replied:
"Yes, sir, what chance do you think the South has?"
"What chance can it have?" he said, "the money is all in the North; the manufactories are all in the North; the ships are all in the North; the arms and arsenals are all in the North; the arsenals of Europe are within ten days of New York, and they will be open to the United States Government, and closed to the South; and the Southern ports will be blockaded. What possible chance can the South have?" There was nothing for me to say in reply, and I probably did the best I could have done under the circumstances. Looking him squarely in the eye, I lifted my cap and said: "Good morning, Mr. Cushing." I never saw him afterwards.
On landing at the Battery, I gave my baggage checks to an expressman, taking his receipt and telling him to hold the baggage till called for. As it might be very important not to be recognized, I took the precaution to leave no trail by my baggage, which was taken to Liverpool later by one of the young men who had been my carriage companion from Baltimore. I went at once to the Bank of the Republic, where I was to find letters which would enable me to obtain money for my voyage.
I was told to call for Mr. S——, the cashier of the bank. On his coming to the window, I asked if he had any letters from Montgomery. His face immediately showed real fear. Opening a door near by, he said, "Come in," and I found myself in the bank parlor. He immediately locked the door, pulled down the window shades and then asked, "Now what is it?"
In the brief time occupied in drawing down the shades, etc., I determined what to do, and replied,—
"I see, Mr. S., that you are much agitated by my visit, and I will not further compromise you by giving you my name; but if you have any letters from Montgomery, which you do not recognize, will you be good enough to send them around to Trenholm Brothers, in Pine Street."