There was a young doctor there, a surgeon, a really nice-looking fellow for a Yankee; I made him feel ashamed of himself, I tell you.
I told him I had no doubt he had a good mother and sister up at home, and to think of his coming and warring on poor women.And they really placed a guard over the house for me while they were there."This she actually did.With her old empty horse-pistol she cleared the house of the mob, and then vowed that if they burned the house she would burn up in it, and finally saved it by singing "Home, Sweet Home", for the colonel.
She could not have done much better even if she had not been an old maid.
I did not see much of her after I grew up.I moved away from the old county.
Most others did the same.It had been desolated by the war, and got poorer and poorer.With an old maid's usual crankiness and inability to adapt herself to the order of things, Cousin Fanny remained behind.She refused to come away; said, I believe, she had to look after the old place, mammy, and Fash, or some such nonsense.
I think she had some idea that the church would go down, or that the poor people around would miss her, or something equally unpractical.
Anyhow, she stayed behind, and lived for quite awhile the last of her connection in the county.Of course all did the best they could for her, and had she gone to live around with her relatives, as they wished her to do, they would have borne with her and supported her.
But she said no; that a single woman ought never to live in any house but her father's or her own; and we could not do anything with her.
She was so proud she would not take money as a gift from anyone, not even from her nearest relatives.
Her health got rather poor -- not unnaturally, considering the way she divided her time between doctoring herself and fussing after sick people in all sorts of weather.With the fancifulness of her kind, she finally took it into her head that she must consult a doctor in New York.
Of course, no one but an old maid would have done this;the home doctors were good enough for everyone else.Nothing would do, however, but she must go to New York; so, against the advice of everyone, she wrote to a cousin who was living there to meet her, and with her old wraps, and cap, and bags, and bundles, and stick, and umbrella, she started.The lady met her; that is, went to meet her, but failed to find her at the station, and supposing that she had not come, or had taken some other railroad, which she was likely to do, returned home, to find her in bed, with her "things" piled up on the floor.
Some gentleman had come across her in Washington, holding the right train while she insisted on taking the wrong route, and had taken compassion on her, and not only escorted her to New York, but had taken her and all her parcels and brought her to her destination, where she had at once retired.
"He was a most charming man, my dear," she said to her cousin, who told me of it afterward in narrating her eccentricities;"and to think of it, I don't believe I had looked in a glass all day, and when I got here, my cap had somehow got twisted around and was perched right over my left ear, making me look a perfect fright.
He told me his name, but I have forgotten it, of course.
But he was such a gentleman, and to think of his being a Yankee!
I told him I hated all Yankees, and he just laughed, and did not mind my stick, nor old umbrella, nor bundles a bit.You'd have thought my old cap was a Parisian bonnet.I will not believe he was a Yankee."Well, she went to see the doctor, the most celebrated in New York --at the infirmary, of course, for she was too poor to go to his office;one consultation would have taken every cent she had -- her cousin went with her, and told me of it.She said that when she came downstairs to go she never saw such a sight.On her head she had her blue cap, and her green shade and her veil, and her shawl; and she had the old umbrella and long stick, which she had brought from the country, and a large pillow under her arm, because she "knew she was going to faint."So they started out, but it was a slow procession.The noise and bustle of the street dazed her, her cousin fancied, and every now and then she would clutch her companion and declare she must go back or she should faint.
At every street-crossing she insisted upon having a policeman to help her over, or, in default of that, she would stop some man and ask him to escort her across, which, of course, he would do, thinking her crazy.
Finally they reached the infirmary, where there were already a large number of patients, and many more came in afterwards.
Here she shortly established an acquaintance with several strangers.
She had to wait an hour or more for her turn, and then insisted that several who had come in after her should go in before her, because she said the poor things looked so tired.This would have gone on indefinitely, her cousin said, if she had not finally dragged her into the doctor's room.There the first thing that she did was to insist that she must lie down, she was so faint, and her pillow was brought into requisition.The doctor humored her, and waited on her.
Her friend started to tell him about her, but the doctor said, "I prefer to have her tell me herself." She presently began to tell, the doctor sitting quietly by listening and seeming to be much interested.
He gave her some prescription, and told her to come again next day, and when she went he sent for her ahead of her turn, and after that made her come to his office at his private house, instead of to the infirmary, as at first.He turned out to be the surgeon who had been at her house with the Yankees during the war.He was very kind to her.
I suppose he had never seen anyone like her.She used to go every day, and soon dispensed with her friend's escort, finding no difficulty in getting about.Indeed, she came to be known on the streets she passed through, and on the cars she travelled by, and people guided her.
