to his son served me as a
letter of credit. Without it, I cannot now see what I could have done.
Ten years after the war, when I met an old friend, he assured me that he
would have had me arrested, had he known my mission while I was in New
York.

When I left the office of Trenholm Brothers, a man on the sidewalk
signaled to another on the opposite side of Pine street, and one of
these men sat opposite me on the ferry-boat. Whether or not they were
shadowing me I never knew. I saw nothing more of them after leaving the
boat, and had no further adventures till I reached Turner's, where
trains stop for supper. In the restaurant, I recognized a number of
friends, and my only prudent course was to go without my supper or seek
it elsewhere. I chose the latter, and got what I could at a bar near by.

I had no baggage--not even an overcoat--and the night was cold. I was in
an ordinary day-coach on my way to Hamilton, Canada. Through trains were
not so frequent then as now, and in Buffalo I had to wait some time,
much of which I passed in seeing the town. While walking in a retired
part of the city, I just escaped meeting an officer of the army whom I
knew, by turning down a cross street.

At Hamilton I purchased clothing for the voyage, and was disappointed to
find that I should have to wait several days for the next steamer from
Montreal; I therefore decided to sail from Portland, but delayed
purchasing my ticket till I could take the last train that would reach
that city in time to board the steamer. This train went only to State
Line on the day it left Hamilton, where I stopped over night. I remember
the place from the fact that, although late in April, I was obliged to
break the ice in my pitcher the next morning, when I started on what
proved to be my last journey in the United States for several years. At
nearly every stopping place on the way to Portland, men in uniform and
fully equipped entered the cars. We were picking up a regiment under
orders for the front.

We finally arrived, and my ship was in sight at anchor. I confess to a
feeling of relief when I stepped on board from the tug, and that feeling
was enhanced when we weighed anchor and the screw began pushing us out
into the neutral territory of the broad Atlantic.

There were few passengers, and the voyage was without incident save one
of no importance except as tending to confirm the theory of transmission
of thought without language. My table-neighbor