Nannie and I sat at a table at the Ebbitt House next to that of General Sherman. As we went in to dinner that day, General Sherman stretched out his hand to Nannie, saying, "Mrs. Mills, I want to congratulate you." Nannie diplomatically replied, "What for?" though she knew well. "Why, you are going to Paris. The President detailed your husband as military attaché to the Paris Exposition today." Nannie replied, "I thank you, General Sherman." General Sherman then stated in his frank and noble way, "Don't thank me, Mrs. Mills; I had nothing to do with it."
These details show Nannie was my inspiration. She approved of every move made in the matter and was more elated than I at the result.
We sailed in March, 1878, on a Cunard steamer. My insurance policy required that I obtain permission to visit a foreign country, but at the offices of the Knickerbocker I was told that the company would issue such a permit only if I agreed to forfeit my policy should I enter any city in which there was an epidemic. I told them to "go to," that I would live longer than their company, and surrendered my policy, on which I had paid eleven assessments.
Within three years their company went into bankruptcy, and I am still living!
We had an uneventful passage, although very distressing to Nannie on account of sea-sickness. During a two weeks' stop in London we visited Nannie's relatives, Mrs. Langworthy, at Guys House, Maidenhead, near Windsor Castle. The Langworthys were delightful people and our acquaintance a very agreeable experience, although it began in a rather embarrassing way.
Neither of us had much experience in "high society," or had the money to flourish in it. We carried to Guys House no other clothing than that in our traveling bags. At the depot, a great retinue of lackeys clad in knee breeches, and coach and baggage wagon apparently waited for some great personage. But Mr. Edward Langworthy, the son, introduced himself, and asked for our luggage, when we rather shamefacedly confessed that we had only our two valises.
We were dressed simply, like most Americans, but we had America's courage, and met the situation without much chagrin. The Langworthys dressed for dinner, but we had to make the best of what we had. We had a bedroom lit by candles and without fire, although it was March and the weather very cold.
In the ante-room the next morning I saw a large washtub in the middle of the bare floor, two-thirds full of water, and a chair containing some towels and soap. I remarked, "Nannie, look at that. Do they expect us to bathe in that cold room in that cold water? I will not do it."
Nannie replied, "Well, I am too proud to have them think we do not wash," and, seizing the soap, she made a lot of lather and sprinkled water on the floor to leave conclusive evidence that we really were civilized.