"...conditions in Baltimore forced the train to stop in Gwynns Falls and everybody piled off onto the tight platform as an automobile to circumvent the city was procured. Though the Maryland National Guard would hold at the Monocacy for the entirety of the first two days of fighting, nobody could have known that at the time, and the fear that a Confederate advance force could threaten to attack the B&P line and cut fleeing persons entirely off from escape routes north. Hughes and Root stood side-by-side in the commotion, looking about at the panicked civilians around them, and Hughes would later record in his diary, "I was left stunned by the humanity before me; the fear, the confusion, the shock. This small train station near Baltimore was close enough to the exchange of fire in the Harbor that we could hear the report of gunfire, a battle so close to the city that we could not continue on to Pennsylvania Station. It was the most humbling hour of my life." It was noted by Hughes, Root and countless historians for decades thereafter that the moment was perhaps the nadir of the American Presidency, having fled the capital under bombardment and now waiting to escape to safety while genuinely worried about the risk of capture. Had events in the weeks that followed transpired differently, Hughes' Presidency may well have been remembered as a hapless, humiliating episode. But it was on that platform at Gwynns Falls that the long process to win the war, and salvage his own reputation, began with a short, impromptu address oft overshadowed by that given some weeks later before Independence Hall but perhaps no less important.
A bystander pointed and exclaimed that the President was on the platform. The crowd turned and backed away, somewhat surprised and in awe. Rural Maryland was not exactly Liberal territory, but there was cachet for a man of his stature standing there yet. Hughes, nobody's idea at that time of a stirring orator at the level of his former rival Hearst, looked out over the nervous eyes of his fellow Americans and raised his hat above his head. "Yes, it is indeed I," he called out. "Yesterday, I was the President. Tomorrow, I suspect I will be as well. But today, here, I am just a man standing here with my fellow Americans, stunned and confused and in shock. Today, I am just another man, standing here with his crumpled hat. We can all hear the rolling thunder of cannon fire here in Baltimore, and I suspect most of you heard it this morning in Washington as well. I shall not insult you with empty reassurances; rather, I ask only for your prayers." [1]
The Gwynns Falls Address, also known as "the Crumpled Hat Speech," was short and off the cuff but it did its job. The words were jotted down by a reporter on the platform and reprinted late in the week across the country. It spoke to Hughes' strengths, of moderation and modesty, and captured the shocked mood of Americans very well. The car, as it were, did show up before long, and Hughes and Root were in it and driving the long way on perilous country roads around Baltimore to a depot north of the city where they could take a train to Philadelphia; the harrowing journey out of Washington was, by nightfall, at its end, and Hughes noted in his diary simply, "This is only the beginning. God help us all."..."
- American Charlemagne: The Trials and Triumphs of Charles Evans Hughes
[1] I hate writing speeches