I had decided to go through that day to London on the 3 o’clock train and help through the K——’s. McM——, my bed-fellow, had found his friend L——, and as he was in good hands and wanted to rest up a bit he decided to stay. There was no chance of getting K—— up on to a jaunting car, he was suffering too much, so I went out into the street and held up a private motor car, for you couldn’t hire one in Queenstown, and after a few words of explanation the owner came gladly to the hotel and took Mr. and Mrs. K—— to the station.
We had a comfortable trip to Kingstown and got aboard the Irish mail packet for another little trip on the water. We had telegraphed ahead for a cabin, and we got K—— stretched out in one of the berths and made him as comfortable as we could. He slept from sheer exhaustion. Mrs. K—— and I half sat up on the opposite sofa. Shortly the steamer was under way. It was not what you would call a desirable cabin, for it was directly over the engines and they pounded terrifically; I’ll admit that about every throb of the engines went through the pit of my stomach, but finally I dozed off, for I was pretty much “all in.” I must have waked at intervals of ten or fifteen minutes, and on looking out of the corner of my eye at Mrs. K—— I saw one of the most charming pieces of devotion that I have ever witnessed. I am confident she never closed her eyes all night nor did she take them off her husband’s face—she just silently watched. I had slept about an hour, when I went up on deck to see what was doing. In passing through the saloon a weird sight met my eyes and one that I am glad the K——’s did not see. Every man who had been a passenger on the Lusitania was sitting by a table or reclining on a couch, with a lifebelt strapped around him. Many had the original ones from the Lusitania. It was certainly “a gloom.” I went up on deck and that was still more weird. Not a light to be seen; every porthole was heavily curtained and heavy canvas was stretched along the side, and the only thing visible was the masthead light. It was blowing half a gale and we were making 23.8 knots per hour. As I came around the corner from the shelter of the cabin the wind nearly struck me off my feet. The canvas was slatting back and forth with reports like cannon, and I clung to the rail fascinated by this wild dash. Would that the “Lucy” had shown such speed! There was a haze that could almost be called a fog, but no horn was sounded as we tore through the black night. I crawled back to the shelter of the cuddy and there found the second Officer. He was a fine chap and we had a chat in his cabin. That wild dash I shan’t forget for one while!
We arrived on time at Holyhead and I found the stateroom on the train for which I had wired. Clad in that famous pair of Irish pajamas, before the train hauled out of the station I was dead to the world. It must have been just about one o’clock A.M. I knew nothing until quarter to seven, when the attendant told me that we would arrive at Euston in 15 minutes. He brought in a dish of tea and some bread and butter. Ye gods, didn’t that taste good! I had had no food for twelve hours. I asked him for a repeat order. Then I went back in the train and found the K——’s, and they were quite refreshed and told me not to bother with them longer, as they could manage to get in a taxi as soon as they were dressed. They were going to her parents, who live in London.
I left them for a moment saying that I would return and stepped out on the platform. Euston Station at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning is generally not a lively place, and I didn’t think that there would be anyone there, or at least not more than a few people to meet friends. I hadn’t stepped a foot from the door of the coach when I was almost mobbed by a bunch of reporters. Talk of it. Good heavens, I wanted quiet; I didn’t want to be interviewed. I stood perfectly still and never said a word; they must have thought I was tongue-tied. Then a poor old woman pushed her way through and asked me, with tears in her eyes, if I had seen “Johnny Keene.” How could I answer her? From her appearance I judge he must have been a stoker or in the third cabin. I told her as gently as I could that I hadn’t seen him, but many others were coming through in the second and third sections and he might be among them. When the reporters found they couldn’t get anything out of me they cleared out, and I was surrounded by friends and relatives of the passengers, who asked me a dozen questions, but I couldn’t give any cheerful answers. My nerve wasn’t any too good for this ordeal, and I was fast breaking down when a young man pushed through and asked me if I was an American. When I told him “Yes” he said that he was secretary to Ambassador Page, and was there anything he could do for me. I almost fell on his neck with joy, and he took me down to where the Ambassador was standing and introduced me to him. It was a pleasure to hear Ambassador Page say, “What, not the son of the Mr. Lauriat of Boston”! So you see, my father, your name is not without honour in your own city. The Ambassador’s sympathy was warmly expressed, and he was putting me into the Embassy motor car—for I didn’t care where I went as long as I got away from that station platform—when I saw Mr. Walford coming down the platform. I excused myself and stopped him.
I had wired Mr. Walford (our resident London agent) before leaving Queenstown, asking him to meet me if convenient and to have a taxi. I knew that he lived far out in the suburbs, and that if he were not forewarned there would be no way of his getting to the station on Sunday morning. Previously in the day (Saturday) when I had wired him to cable you, I had added the words that I would wire my plans later in the day. This second wire which I sent from Queenstown did not reach him, although he waited at his shop until 8 o’clock Saturday night.
He had decided that if there was any way of getting directly through to London that I would come. So he set his clock for 4 A.M., got up, made himself a cup of tea, and walked from his house to Euston, a distance of 9 miles—that’s some demonstration of friendship!
He insisted that I come to his house, and I certainly wanted to do so, for his home looked better to me than the Hotel Kingsley or the Embassy. I took Mr. Walford back to the Ambassador and introduced him. On explaining the situation to Mr. Page he told me by all means to follow my own wishes.
We arrived at the home in the suburbs and Mrs. Walford was there to give me a hearty welcome. I must have been a “sad sketch” as I walked into their hospitable home. I had no hat, for I hadn’t spent the time to get one at Queenstown and I knew I had one here in London. I hadn’t had a comb in my hair since I got up Friday noon. All my worldly possessions were in a small “brown-paper parcel” tucked under my arm; so even Ben Franklin didn’t have much on me when he struck Philadelphia in the old days, as the story goes.
After breakfast they tucked me into bed with a-big-fat-hot-water-bottle, and after a few hours’ sleep under that hospitable roof I was quite myself again. A hot tub and shave put on the final touches.
Monday morning, despite their kind invitation to stay with them as long as I wished, I felt I ought to take up my abode at the Hotel Kingsley and commence picking up the threads of business, although I knew I should feel pretty much lost when I had not a single memorandum “to get on with.” My small leather case containing all my business papers had gone down with the Lusitania. Think of a “Lauriat” trying to do business without a lot of neat little folders sitting around his desk!