“Dear Grandfather Of Me, And Everybody At Glenfaba: Here I am at last,
dears, at the end of my Pilgrim's Progress, and the evening and the
morning' are the first day. It is now eleven o'clock at night, and I
am about to put myself to bed in my own little room at the hospital of
Martha's Vineyard, Hyde Park, London, England.
“The captain was quite right; the morning was as fresh as his flattery,
and before we got far beyond the Head most of the passengers were spread
out below like the three legs of Man. Being an old sea-doggie myself, I
didn't give it the chance to make me sick, but went downstairs and lay
quiet in my berth and deliberated great things. I didn't go up again
until we got into the Mersey, and then the passengers were on deck,
looking like sour buttermilk spilt out of the churn.
“What a glorious sight! The ships, the docks, the towers, the town! I
couldn't breathe for excitement until we got up to the landing-stage.
Mr. Storm put me into a cab, and for the sake of experience I insisted
on paying my own way. Of course he tried to trick me, but a woman's a
woman for a' that. As we drove up to Lime Street station there befell--a
porter. He carried my big trunk on his head (like a mushroom), and when
I bought my ticket he took me to the train while Mr. Storm went for
a newspaper. Being such a stranger, he was very kind, so I flung the
responsibility on Providence and gave him sixpence.
“There were two old ladies in the carriage beside ourselves, and the
train we travelled by was an express. It was perfectly delightful, and
for all the world like plunging into a stiff sou'wester off the rocks
at Contrary. But the first part of the journey was terrible. That tunnel
nearly made me shriek. It was a misty day too at Liverpool, and all the
way to Edge Hill they let off signals with a noise like battering-rams.
My nerves were on the rack; so taking advantage of the darkness of the
carriage, I began to sing. That calmed me, but it nearly drove the old
ladies out of their wits. _They_ screamed if I didn't; and just as I was
summoning the Almighty to attend to me a little in the middle of that
inferno, out we came as innocent as a baby. There was another of these
places just before getting into London. I suppose they are purgatories
through which you have to pass to get to these wonderful cities. Only
if I had been consulted in the making of the Litany ['from sudden death,
good Lord, deliver us') I should have made an exception for people in
tunnels.
“You never knew what an absolute ninny Glory is! I was burning with
such impatience to see London that when we came near it I couldn't see
anything for water under the brain. Approaching a great and mighty city
for the first time must be like going into the presence of majesty. Only
Heaven save me from such palpitation the day I become songstress to the
Queen!
“Mercy! what a roar and boom--a deep murmur as of ten hundred million
million moths humming away on a still evening in autumn! On a nearer
view it is more like a Tower-of-Babel concern, with its click and
clatter. The explosion of voices, the confused clamour, the dreadful
disorder--cars, wagons, omnibuses--it makes you feel religious and
rather cold down the back. What a needle in a haystack a poor girl must
be here if there is nobody above to keep track of her!
“Tell Aunt Rachel they are wearing another kind of bonnet in
London--more pokey in front--and say if I see the Queen I'll be sure to
tell her all about it.
“We didn't get to the hospital until nine, so I've not seen much of it
yet. The housekeeper gave me tea and told me I might go over the house,
as I wouldn't be wanted to begin duty before morning. So for an hour I
went from ward to ward like a female Wandering Jew. Such silence! I'm
afraid this hospital nursing is going to be a lockjaw business. And now
I'm going to bed--well, not homesick, you know, but just 'longing a lil
bit for all.' To-morrow morning I'll waken up to new sounds and sights,
and when I draw my blind I'll see the streets where the cars are forever
running and rattling. Then I'll think of Glenfaba and the birds singing
and rejoicing.
“Dispense my love throughout the island. Say that I love everybody just
the same now I'm a London lady as when I was a mere provincial girl, and
that when I'm a wonderful woman, and have brought the eyes of England
upon me, I'll come back and make amends. I can hear what grandfather is
saying: 'Gough bless me, what a girl, though!' Glory.
“P. S.--I've not said much about Mr. Storm. He left me at the door of
the hospital and went on to the house of his vicar, for that is where
he is to lodge, you know. On the way up I expended much beautiful poetry
upon him on the subject of love. The old girlies having dozed off, I
chanced to ask him if he liked to talk of it, but he said no, it was a
profanation. Love was too sacred, it was a kind of religion. Sometimes
it came unawares, sometimes it smouldered like fire under ashes,
sometimes it was a good angel, sometimes a devil, making you do things
and say things, and laying your life waste like winter. But I told
him it was just charming, and as for religion, there was nothing under
heaven like the devotion of a handsome and clever man to a handsome and
clever woman, when he gave up all the world for her, and his body and
his soul and everything that was his. I think he saw there was something
in that, for though he said nothing, there came a wonderful light
into his splendid eyes, and I thought if he wasn't going to be a
clergyman--but no matter. So long, dear!”