Chapter XLI: Appendix: On Feelings When Death Is Imminent

PRELIMINARY STATEMENT BY O. J. L.

A lady was brought by a friend to call on us at Mariemont during a brief visit to Edgbaston, and I happened to have a talk with her in the garden. I found that she had been one of the victims of the _Lusitania_, and as she seemed very cheerful and placid about it, I questioned her as to her feelings on the occasion. I found her a charming person, and she entered into the matter with surprising fulness, considering that she was a complete stranger. Her chief anxiety seems to have been for her husband, whom she had left either in America or the West Indies, and for her friends generally; but on her own behalf she seems to have felt extremely little anxiety or discomfort of any kind. She told me she had given up hope of being saved, and was only worried about friends mourning on her behalf and thinking that she must have suffered a good deal, whereas, in point of fact, she was not really suffering at all. She was young and healthy, and apparently felt no evil results from the three hours' immersion. She was sucked down by the ship, and when she came to the surface again, her first feeling was one of blank surprise at the disappearance of what had brought her across the Atlantic. The ship was "not there."

I thought her account so interesting, that after a few months I got her address from the friend with whom she had been staying, and wrote asking if she would write it down for me. In due course she did so, writing from abroad, and permits me to make use of the statement, provided I suppress her name; which accordingly I do, quoting the document otherwise in full.

_The Document referred to_

"Your letter came to me as a great pleasure and surprise.
I have always remembered the sympathy with which you
listened to me, that morning at Edgbaston, and sometimes
wondered at the amount I said, as it is not easy to give
expression to feelings and speculations which are only
roused at critical moments in one's life.

"What you ask me to do is not easy, as I am only one of
those who are puzzling and groping in the dark--while you
have found so much light for yourself and have imparted
it to others.

"I would like, however, most sincerely to try to recall
my sensations with regard to that experience, if they
would be of any value to you.

"It would be absurd to say now, that from the beginning
of the voyage I knew what would happen; it was not a
very actual knowledge, but I was conscious of a distinct
forewarning, and the very calmness and peace of the
voyage seemed, in a way, a state of waiting for some
great event. Therefore when the ship was rent by the
explosion (it was as sudden as the firing of a pistol) I
felt no particular shock, because of that curious inner
expectancy. The only acute feeling I remember at the
moment was one of anger that such a crime could have been
committed; the fighting instinct predominated in the face
of an unseen but near enemy. I sometimes think it was
partly that same instinct--the desire to die game--that
accounted for the rather grim calmness of some of the
passengers. After all--it was no ordinary shipwreck, but
a Chance of War. I put down my book and went round to the
other side of the ship where a great many passengers were
gathering round the boats; it was difficult to stand, as
the _Lusitania_ was listing heavily. There seemed to be
no panic whatever; I went into my cabin, a steward very
kindly helped me with a life-jacket, and advised me to
throw away my fur coat. I felt no hurry or anxiety, and
returned on deck, where I stood with some difficulty--
discussing our chances with an elderly man I just knew by
sight.

"It was then I think we realised what a strong instinct
there was in some of us--_not_ to struggle madly for
life--but to wait for something to come to us, whether
it be life or death; and not to lose our personality and
become like one of the struggling shouting creatures who
were by then swarming up from the lower decks and made
one's heart ache. I never felt for a moment that my time
to cross over had come--not until I found myself in the
water--floating farther and farther away from the scene
of wreckage and misery--in a sea as calm and vast as the
sky overhead. Behind me, the cries of those who were
sinking grew fainter, the splash of oars and the calls
of those who were doing rescue work in the lifeboats;
there seemed to be no possibility of rescue for me; so I
reasoned with myself and said, 'The time _has_ come--you
must believe it--the time to cross over'--but inwardly
and persistently something continued to say, 'No--not
now.'

"The gulls were flying overhead and I remember noticing
the beauty of the blue shadows which the sea throws up
to their white feathers: they were very happy and alive
and made me feel rather lonely; my thoughts went to my
people--looking forward to seeing me, and at that moment
having tea in the garden at ----; the idea of their grief
was unbearable--I had to cry a little. Names of books
went through my brain;--one specially, called 'Where
no Fear is,' seemed to express my feeling at the time!
Loneliness, yes, and sorrow on account of the grief
of others--but no Fear. It seemed very normal,--very
right,--a natural development of some kind about to take
place. How can it be otherwise, when it _is_ natural?
I rather wished I knew some one on the other side, and
wondered if there are friendly strangers there who come
to the rescue. I was very near the border-line when a
wandering lifeboat quietly came up behind me and two men
bent down and lifted me in. It was extraordinary how
quickly life came rushing back;--every one in the boat
seemed very self-possessed--although there was one man
dead and another losing his reason. One woman expressed
a hope for a 'cup of tea' shortly--a hope which was
soon to be realised for all of us in a Mine Sweeper
from Queenstown. I have forgotten her name--but shall
always remember the kindness of her crew--specially the
Chief Officer, who saved me much danger by giving me dry
clothes and hot towels.

"All this can be of very little interest to you--I have
no skill in putting things on paper;--but, you know. I
am glad to have been near the border; to have had the
feeling of how very near it is _always_--only there are
so many little things always going on to absorb one here.

"Others on that day were passing through a Gate which was
not open for me--but I do not expect they were afraid
when the time came--they too probably felt that whatever
they were to find would be beautiful--only a fulfilment
of some kind.... I have reason to think that the passing
from here is very painless--at least when there is no
illness. We seemed to be passing through a stage on the
road of Life."

[Footnote 34: See Note C at end of preceding chapter.]