Chapter XX: A Letter From Annie Pore to Page Allison

_Grantley Grange,_
_Grantley, England._

MY DEAREST PAGE:

It takes such an interminable time to get mail in
these war times that I am afraid my letter will seem
like last year's almanac by the time it reaches you. I
must begin at the beginning and tell you of our
journey across the ocean, but before I plunge into the
lengthy recital I must inform you that I am very happy
in my new home. I could not be anything but happy when
I realize how much better off poor Father is. Of
course the family is in the deepest mourning because
of the death of Uncle Isaac and my cousin Grant, and
there is an air of sadness in the whole village of
Grantley; but everybody is very kind to us and I am
sure I shall soon grow to love my aunts, the Misses
Grace and Muriel Pore. These ladies are older than my
father but they are quite strong and robust and it is
wonderful what they can accomplish in the way of work.

All the women of England are busy at one thing or
another. Women, great ladies who have never done any
form of work before, not even dressed their own hair,
are washing dishes in hospitals or doing other menial
tasks.

Uncle Isaac was a widower, so the aunts have had
entire charge of the housekeeping at Grantley Grange
for many years. I think they are very kind to me in
not looking upon me as an interloper.

Aunt Grace tells me that their father, my grandfather,
bitterly regretted his sternness towards my father and
mother and was willing at any time to make amends, but
my father would never answer his letters. Poor Father
is so sensitive. That has always been his trouble. I
live in constant terror now for fear someone will hurt
his feelings and he will refuse to see people or make
himself miserable. He is to make himself useful and
serve his country by teaching the boys in a school at
Grantley. All of the young teachers have gone to the
front and the nation needs teachers for the boys and
girls. I am so happy that Father is to serve his
country, somehow, and this is, after all, a very noble
service as it is for the future good of the British
Empire.

I know you wonder what I am going to do. I was willing
to nurse if my aunts thought it wise, but was relieved
when they decided that I could be of more use doing
other things that life has already trained me to do. I
know I should fail at the crucial moment as a nurse. I
am so timid and do not seem to be able to shake off
this shyness. It has been decided that I shall go
every day to sing to the soldiers in the neighboring
hospitals. That sounds like very little to do but when
I tell you that I spend on an average of seven hours
a day going to the various hospitals, you will realize
that while it is very little to do, it takes a great
deal of time to do it.

So many of the old estates near here have been turned
over to the Government for hospitals that one can
motor from one to the other in a short time. The
wounded soldiers are very kind to me and express
themselves as liking very much to hear me sing. They
like the American songs, especially the darky songs. I
sang "Clar de Kitchen" to them yesterday and they made
me give them three encores. I thought of the last time
I sang it when we had the circus at Maxton, and I
choked with emotion at the remembrance of all of my
dear friends.

Life at Price's Landing seems very far off and unreal,
although there are times when this life seems to be
the unreal thing and I expect any moment to awaken and
find it all a dream. I remember in my little room over
the store how low the ceiling was, so low over my bed
where it sloped to the dormer window that I could lie
there and touch it with my hand, and many a time have
I bumped my head when I sprang too hurriedly from my
bed. I learned to put up my hand and gauge the
distance before I got up, in that way saving my poor
head many a bump. I find myself now, when morning
comes and the sun peeps in the windows of my great
bedroom, reaching up expecting to touch the low
ceiling of my little room in Virginia. It gives me a
strange sensation, almost as great a shock as when you
take one more step up when you have reached the top of
the stairs.

The ceilings at Grantley Grange are quite as high as
any I have ever seen. Too high for beauty, I think,
but I don't dare say so. My aunts think perhaps there
are more wonderfully beautiful places than the Grange,
but they have never seen them,--except the great show
places, of course. It is very beautiful and the time
may come when I shall feel at home, but I still feel
strange and something of an alien.

Father is as at home as though he had never left
England. I wish all of you could see poor Father in
his proper surroundings. He always was so out of place
in the store. I think he felt irritated all the time
that he was doing what he was doing, but a certain
obstinacy in his character kept him from seeking more
congenial employment. His sisters are very tender with
him and I am hoping that he will begin to show to them
the affection that I am sure he feels.

Now haven't I put the cart before the horse? I
intended first to tell you all about our voyage over,
and then lead up to conditions here, but I have left
the first to the last.

In the first place poor Father was dreadfully seasick
from the moment we got on the steamer, even before we
started. There is something about the smell of
machinery and rigging that makes him very ill. I tried
to persuade him to stay on deck, but he would go to
his stateroom, and there he stayed for the entire
crossing.

I was anxious to see the last of my country. (I
realize now that United States is my country. I
realized it the moment I knew I was to live in
England.) I stayed on deck as we steamed out of the
harbor and kissed my hand good-by to New York's sky
line and the Statue of Liberty. I felt very lonesome
and very far away from all of my dear friends. There
were letters down in my stateroom and I turned to go
get them, when whom should I find at my side but
George Massie? Page, I was never more astonished in
all my life! I was glad, too, very glad. All the
lonesome feeling left me. He told me that you and the
Tuckers knew all about his coming and approved, so
that was enough for me. The ocean did not seem near so
vast nor the sky so high up.

Father was very miserable, so miserable that I had to
call in the ship's surgeon. The doctor made light of
his malady but that did not make it any easier to
bear. I had to nurse him a great deal, and as he
shared his stateroom with another man it was rather
embarrassing for me to go in at night and attend to
poor Father's many wants. In fact, the man objected.

Then it was I decided to tell Father of George
Massie's presence on board. Of course, he had no way
to know my friend was there. He was very angry at
first, but I had sudden courage and told him that we
had not chartered the ship and other passengers had as
much right there as we had, and that Mr. Massie was
going abroad to serve the Allies. I also told him that
George was willing to do anything for him he could,
and would attend to him during the night when I could
not come in his stateroom. Father became reconciled to
George's presence then, and he could hardly have kept
up his anger after the faithful way in which he
nursed him for the rest of the journey.

Of course, he did not have to be nursed all the time
and we had much time on deck. The weather was perfect
and I was not ill one moment. I had a seat at the
captain's table and that dear old man saw to it that I
was bountifully served. He was so kind to me, and to
everyone in fact, but he seemed to think I needed
especial care and my own father could not have been
more attentive to me.

I know that the news of our boat having struck a mine
must have been a great shock to all of my friends. I
am sure that George's cablegram that all was well must
have set your minds at rest, however.

It happened just at dusk after a wonderfully calm day.
The sea had been like a mill-pond all day and the sun
very hot, so hot that we had sought the shade of the
boats on deck. Towards sunset the wind had suddenly
risen and the waves had begun to look very high. Of
course all waves look high to me, as I am fully aware
that I am the most timid person in all the world. It
turned quite cold, so cold that I put on my heavy
coat. We were almost at the end of our journey. I had
everything packed and in order; and at last we had
persuaded Father to dress and come on deck. He had
been much better for days and had been able to retain
nourishment, which meant a return of his normal
strength. He had even ventured down to dinner on that
evening.

We had hoped to arrive in Liverpool by eight o'clock
but we were proceeding very slowly and cautiously as
the danger zone was filled with possible disaster. The
captain assured us that we would land sometime during
the night but he advised all of us to go to bed at the
usual hour. Our voyage had been a very pleasant one. I
had made many friends and was glad to feel that I had
been able to throw off some of the miserable shyness
that has always been such a handicap to me.

For several days we had been wearing life-preservers
by command of the captain. Of course we felt confident
that there was no use in it, but still we had to do
it. George was too big for any of those furnished by
the ship's company, the straps refusing to meet; but I
had pieced out the straps with some stout cotton
cloth.

We were at dinner on that eventful day, all of us
looking very strange and bulky in our safety-first
garb, when suddenly there was an explosion that shook
all of us out of our seats. I was dreadfully
frightened but managed to appear calm for Father's
sake, who because of his recent illness was much
unnerved.

"Get your warm coats and any small hand baggage with
your valuables!" the captain shouted, "and report on
deck immediately."

I tell you we obeyed without any demur! Many of the
passengers hurried up, not going to their staterooms
at all, but Father felt he must get his Gladstone bag
and I had a small satchel all packed, which I took. I
never heard so much shouting in all my life. The women
were screaming and the men shouting. There was only
one child on board, a dear little girl of seven, and
she and I were the calmest ones among the females. I
was frightened at first but a sudden courage came to
me. It may have been because the little girl slipped
her hand in mine. Her mother had fainted and her
husband was carrying her up on deck. The child's name
was Winnie. She was a gentle little thing. We had made
friends the very first day on board and had had many
long talks together. Her mother was ill most of the
time and Winnie and I had time to become very
intimate. When she slipped her hand in mine, I knew
that she expected me to look after her, and then it
was God sent me strength to do it.

The engines stopped the moment we hit the mine and the
boat was listing so that when we got on deck we found
a decided slant, so much so that it was difficult to
walk. The life-boats were being loaded and launched. I
was shocked to see how some of the men crowded in. The
sailors were a rude lot from all the quarters of the
globe, and few of them showed any desire to save
anything but their own skins.

George Massie was everywhere. I was astounded at his
powers of swearing, but he said afterwards that it was
the only way to control people in times like that. He
simply took command of the boats, for which the
captain had no time. The officers were a rather weak
lot and one and all concerned for their own safety.
They say so many of the good seamen have enlisted that
many of the passenger ships are manned by weaklings.
The captain was splendid and did his duty like the
English gentleman he was.

Of course at first we feared it was a submarine that
had hit us. Its being a mine that we had hit made us
much more comfortable. At least, we were not to fall
into the hands of the Germans.

"The ship is sinking so slowly that I can assure you
there is no immediate danger," George had had time to
tell Father and me. "It is safe to wait for the last
boat, so let me help launch these others first and
then I can get into the boat with you. These sailors
are too crazy to trust without a commander."

The captain had determined not to leave the ship until
he was sure there was no chance of saving it. The
chief engineer was to stay with him and several
sailors volunteered. It so happened that they were
able to get into port on their own steam and we might
have stayed safely on board, but of course the chances
were that she would sink and it was deemed wiser for
us to take to the boats.

I wish all of you might have seen Father. He was very
calm and brave after the first shock was over. He was
not strong enough to help much but he was willing to
help, and when the men crowded into the boats leaving
women shrieking for places, he swore with almost as
much fervor as George Massie himself. Do you know,
Page, I know it sounds silly, but I believe I love my
father more and am closer to him since I know he can
swear a little? He swore to some purpose, too, as he
called the selfish men such terrible names that two of
them were actually abashed and got out of the first
boat to give their places to two women.

To make the scene more dismal it had begun to rain,
such a cold, penetrating rain! Poor little Winnie
clung to me and I could hear her praying: "Please God,
save Mamma, and Papa, and me, and Miss Pore, and her
papa, too, and the giant." She always called George
the giant. "Don't let us get drownded dead!"

We got off at last! Winnie and her mother and father
were in the boat with us. That was something George
Massie managed. He saw that the father, Mr. Trask, was
a good, reliable man and could help with the boat, and
he also felt that Mrs. Trask and Winnie would need me,
which they did. There were five other men in the boat
with us and one other woman: a nice old Irish
chambermaid, who never stopped praying a single moment
until we were safe on the high seas in our tiny boat
with the waves dashing all around us and the rain
pouring on us.

I felt much safer on the steamer, although when we
left her she had listed until her decks were at an
angle of forty-five degrees. Of course the wireless
had been busy sending appeals for help but we were
three hours getting any. Mrs. Trask was very ill and
had to lie in the bottom of the boat, where her
husband and Father made her as comfortable as
possible. Winnie sat in my lap and I wrapped her in a
great rug that George had thrown around me. We kept
each other warm under the rug and gave each other
courage, too.

The vessel that picked us up was not very gracious
about it. They had picked up so many shipwrecked
persons since the war began that it was an old story
to them and not at all interesting. It was a fishing
smack and smelled worse than anything I have ever
imagined in the way of odors. Poor Mrs. Trask actually
fainted again from the stench of fish offal.

True to the captain's promise, we did land sometime
during the night, but we were not safely in bed as he
had hoped, but propped up in the foul little cabin of
the fishing smack trying to choke down some vile black
coffee that one of the men, not so hardened to
shipwrecks as the rest, had humanely concocted for us.

This is about all, dear Page! We got to bed when we
reached Liverpool and stayed there for twenty-four
hours. I kept Winnie with me, thereby saving the poor
little thing the agony of seeing her mother die. Poor
Mrs. Trask passed away the day after we landed. She
was not strong enough to stand the shock and exposure.
Mr. Trask is an Englishman and was going home to
enlist and leave his wife and child with his own
people. His wife thought it right but was evidently in
the deepest misery over his decision. Maybe she was
not sorry to die. I am so sorry for him and for the
dear little girl. She is to come to Grantley Grange to
visit me soon.

I can never tell you how splendid George Massie was.
He was so brave and so determined. I did not dream he
could command men as he did. He says it is football
training that made him know what to do and how to do
it. He is going to France next week to join the Red
Cross as a stretcher bearer, I think. I shall miss
him ever so much but know it is right for him to help
if he can. Service is in the air here in England.
There is no more talk of who you are or what you own
or what your ancestors have done. It is: _What can you
do? Then do it!_

It is a tremendous experience to be in the midst of
this war. No one talks anything but war. There are no
entertainments of any sort except the theatres. I
believe they keep them open to cheer up the people.
The fields are full of women; the factories are kept
up by them; the trams and busses are run by them,--in
fact they do anything and everything that men did
before the war.

You remember, do you not, how I was so afraid my
clothes would look poor and mean and out of style?
Well, on the contrary, for once in my life, I am
better dressed than the persons with whom I come in
contact. I am really ashamed to be so much better
dressed than the other girls. It seems so frivolous of
me. I know you can't help smiling to think of what the
others' clothes must be.

I am writing to my dear Tuckers, too, and if you read
their letter and they read yours you can piece
together what my life here is. Please send them on to
Mary Flannagan when you have finished reading them. I
have not time to write another long letter just now.

Besides singing to the soldiers, I am to teach music
to the children in Father's school. You can readily
see how busy I am to be.

I shall never cease to miss my dear friends in
Virginia. Some day I hope to come back to America, but
in the meantime I am going to do my bit here in
England. Please write to me!

Your devoted friend,
ANNIE PORE.