Lost In Shangri-La Part 12

Eager to return to the base camp, Walter wrote in his journal that he didn't see the natives as he left camp. But before she started down the trail, Margaret searched for Wimayuk Wandik, the man she called Pete. She found him weeping at their departure along with his men.

"Some of us could have wept, too," she wrote in her diary.

Unknown to Margaret and the other outsiders, the natives had given them a parting gift. When Wimayuk and his clansmen understood that the visiting spirits intended to walk out of the jungle toward the valley, the people of Uwambo communicated with their allies. They bestowed another maga maga-a declaration of safe pa.s.sage-along the intended route.

As she fell into line for the march, Margaret glanced back over her shoulder at the campsite. She took one last look at the sweet potato garden that had been her salvation after the crash; the place where she, McCollom, and Decker were spotted by Captain Baker in his B-17; the jungle "hospital" where her gangrene was treated and her legs were saved by Bulatao and Ramirez. Her final vision of the place: the pyramidal tent they left behind, with the American flag flying above it.

DURING THE MONTH they spent in the little camp near the Mundi River, the survivors and paratroopers had repeatedly offered extra food to the natives. They found no takers, not even for a taste. McCollom tried everything: rice, canned beef, a chocolate bar. "We'd break off a bite and eat it," he said. "They wouldn't touch it." they spent in the little camp near the Mundi River, the survivors and paratroopers had repeatedly offered extra food to the natives. They found no takers, not even for a taste. McCollom tried everything: rice, canned beef, a chocolate bar. "We'd break off a bite and eat it," he said. "They wouldn't touch it."

When the visitors broke camp, the natives gathered the food left behind and placed it in a cave. "n.o.body knew what the food was," said Tomas Wandik. "The people were afraid of it, so they put it all in one place and it became sacred objects. Pigs were killed and their blood was sprinkled on it in a purification ceremony." The natives planted a bamboolike tree near the entrance to the cave, to mark it as a place of magic. They also conducted a blood-sprinkling ceremony along the path the spirits followed down the mountain.

Although he wouldn't eat their food, Wimayuk Wandik accepted McCollom's offer of a machete with a rope tied through a hole in the handle. Chopping wood was daily, time-consuming work, and the blade-by all indications the natives' first exposure to a metal tool-was prized for slicing through trees faster than any stone ax or adze. At first, Wimayuk returned the gift every morning, only to be rea.s.sured on a daily basis that the ax was his to keep. When McCollom left, Wimayuk kept the machete for good.

Although Wimayuk, Yaralok, and others were sorry to see the spirits leave, not everyone in Uwambo was unhappy. "Some people were getting mad at Wimayuk because he was going in with the spirits too much," said his son Helenma. "They said, 'Take that machete back!' " Some of the objectors' anger might have stemmed from the paratroopers erecting their tents in the middle of the community garden. "They destroyed the sweet potato and taro," he said.

Throughout the spirits' stay, a consistent pacification effort involved cigarettes. "They loved them," Margaret wrote, "but they were always terrified by matches or cigarette lighters. So we used to light cigarettes from our own and hand them over to Pete and his men." She noted that "Pete" became a Raleigh man.

After the spirits left, Wimayuk climbed to the top of the Ogi ridge. He used the machete McCollom gave him to chop up pieces of the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special wreck for tools and building supplies. One piece became part of a village fence. It remained in use for more than six decades after the crash. wreck for tools and building supplies. One piece became part of a village fence. It remained in use for more than six decades after the crash.

In the months that followed the spirits' departure, the people of Uwambo returned to the rhythms and routines they'd followed for untold centuries. They raised their pigs and sweet potatoes, they tended to their villages and their families, and they resumed their wars with their enemies. One difference was that when they told their children the Uluayek legend, now it included the tale of Yugwe, Meakale, Mumu, Mua, Pingkong, Babikama, and the other spirits who came from the sky.

It would take a few years, but just as the legend had prophesied, the spirits' return indeed marked the beginning of the end of the lives they'd always known.

WITH OVERLOADED PACKS on their backs, Kotex pads on their shoulders, and no clear route to follow, the survivors and the paratroopers began the treacherous trek from the jungle campsite toward the base camp. on their backs, Kotex pads on their shoulders, and no clear route to follow, the survivors and the paratroopers began the treacherous trek from the jungle campsite toward the base camp.

"It was up and down and crevice to crevice," Walter recalled. "We had to go across the creek that went down the mountainside for a long ways. We had to crisscross that a half-dozen times because it was the only way that we knew exactly how to keep our bearings as to where the h.e.l.l we were going."

Margaret set out feeling strong and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with confidence. As they walked single-file through the rain-slicked jungle, she felt like one of the troops. She kept up as they crawled over fallen logs, edged along a precipice "that fell away into a bottomless gorge," and hopped from one tree stump to another. But a half hour into the hike, Margaret found herself struggling to catch her breath. Her thoughts flashed back to the nightmare journey after the crash, crawling and inching her way down the mountainside and through the stream.

"I thought I was well and strong, much stronger than Sergeant Decker, who still looked gaunt and ill," she wrote in her diary. She discovered otherwise. "The steady, rhythmic infantry pace set by the paratroopers was too much for me."

"Please, stop!" she called to Walter. "I've got to rest."

"Me, too," Decker said, much to Margaret's relief. She felt certain that if she hadn't called a halt, Decker would have continued silently and stoically until he dropped.

Walter noted in his journal that the lack of native bearers and the needs of the "two patients" slowed his intended pace. But he added: "Hats off to Sergeant Decker and Corporal Hastings. They are both showing great spirit."

Three hours into the first day of their trek, they stopped to pitch camp for the night. The early hiatus gave the medics time to re-dress Margaret's and Decker's wounds. It also spared them from being caught in the nightly rains. Quickly a little camp emerged: Margaret got a pup tent of her own, McCollom and Decker shared another, a few paratroopers crammed into a third, and the rest hung jungle hammocks from trees.

The next morning, they were up early and back on the trail shortly after eight o'clock. Walter described the day's route as "plenty rugged, straight up and down." Margaret's right thigh ached terribly from muscle cramps-"Corporal Hastings was really hurting today, but she is game," Walter wrote-so they slowed again.

When the supply plane pa.s.sed overhead and they established a radio connection, Walter told Major Gardner about the absence of natives who could be put to work as bearers. He speculated that the natives didn't like the outsiders pa.s.sing close to their villages.

"Are they hostile?" Gardner asked.

"I doubt it very much," Walter answered. "But we're all set on that score. Don't worry. We have plenty of ammunition, but we're not expecting anything. They are very peaceful and very friendly. As long as we stay away from their women and their camote patches, we'll be all right."

Later that day, several natives from a village along the way proved willing to lug the trekkers' bedding and bedrolls. By the time the hikers made camp in the mid-afternoon, Walter had achieved his goal of a ten-mile day. "Our main trouble is water," he wrote in his journal. "There is plenty around, but G.o.d only knows where in this jungle."

Walter didn't want anyone to know it, but he'd wrenched his left ankle while hopscotching from rock to rock. "My main concern was Maggie and the other two survivors, Ken Decker and Mac," Walter recalled. "So I wasn't paying attention and I stepped on this rock, which was covered with moss. I slipped badly and got a pretty bad sprain out of it, which lasted a long time." It swelled to nearly twice its normal size, so he asked Doc Bulatao to apply a tight wrapping. The pain continued, but at least Walter could stay on it. "We are rolling too well to hold up the progress for me," he wrote in his journal. "So 'Bahala Na.' I'll go with it."

The survivors, paratroopers, and tribesmen rest during their trek from the jungle to the valley campsite. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) Margaret's throbbing leg eased, and she grew stronger each day. By Sunday, June 17, their third day on the trail, Walter proclaimed that she had the makings of a first-rate infantry soldier. He wrote in his journal: "My hat's off to Corporal Hastings, Sergeant Decker and Lieutenant McCollom. Lots of spirit and great people. Corporal Hastings deserves plenty of credit and I don't mean maybe."

Margaret noted the change in her diary, writing that she felt "like a million dollars." But now that her strength had returned, she had a new concern: unwanted suitors.

"One of the natives we instantly named 'Bob Hope,' " she wrote. "He had a ski nose just like his namesake. Unfortunately, our Bob developed a terrific crush on me. His idea of courts.h.i.+p was to hang around and leer at me hour after hour." Margaret's discomfort at the attention deepened into frustration when the paratroopers teased her about her new love interest. It only got worse.

"Suddenly Bob had a rival," she wrote. "A young native who must have been in his teens was smitten, too. His idea of wooing a girl was to pick up a stick and throw it at her. Obviously, I was expected to throw it back. He was like a pup." Eventually the amorous natives backed off, and the march continued.

On the morning of Monday, June 18, the ragged little band cleared the gap between two mountains that Walter called "the saddle." They followed a winding path alongside the muddy Pae River and broke for lunch. After two more hours of marching, the three paratroopers who'd remained at the base camp-Sergeants Sandy Abrenica, Roque Velasco, and Alfred Baylon-spotted them and came running up the trail. Walter beamed at the sight of men he called "the best d.a.m.n field soldiers in the world."

As the supply plane flew overhead to herald their arrival in the valley, the three survivors jumped up and down and waved. At the controls was the chief planner himself, Colonel Elsmore, with the AP's Ralph Morton sitting beside him in the c.o.c.kpit.

Five weeks after they left Hollandia, Margaret, McCollom, and Decker finally got a firsthand look at Shangri-La.

"Surely the followers of Moses when they came upon the Promised Land saw a sight no more fair," Margaret wrote in her diary. "It was a beautiful, fertile land, ringed by the giant peaks of the Oranje Mountains. A copper-colored river wound through the valley's green length. It was our our Promised Land, too." Promised Land, too."

When the survivors settled down, they learned that Elsmore had a surprise in store.

Chapter 22

HOLLYWOOD

WHEN MARGARET HEARD that the supply plane carried a surprise, she was certain her admirers...o...b..ard would drop a few cases of beer for a base camp arrival party. She was right, in a way. The beer had, in fact, been dropped-back at the jungle campsite, after they'd left. "And there it lies today," she wrote in her diary. "Two fine cases of American beer to greet the lucky Robinson Crusoe or Trader Horn who stumbles on them. The natives will never touch it." that the supply plane carried a surprise, she was certain her admirers...o...b..ard would drop a few cases of beer for a base camp arrival party. She was right, in a way. The beer had, in fact, been dropped-back at the jungle campsite, after they'd left. "And there it lies today," she wrote in her diary. "Two fine cases of American beer to greet the lucky Robinson Crusoe or Trader Horn who stumbles on them. The natives will never touch it."

The surprise did, however, have something to do with alcohol.

AFTER BRIEFLY SURVEYING the base camp, Walter heard one of his men calling him to the walkie-talkie. The radioman on the 311 told him the supply plane carried a filmmaker who planned to make a doc.u.mentary about life, death, the natives, and the rescue effort. The filmmaker had slipped into a parachute harness and was preparing to jump when Walter made contact with the plane. the base camp, Walter heard one of his men calling him to the walkie-talkie. The radioman on the 311 told him the supply plane carried a filmmaker who planned to make a doc.u.mentary about life, death, the natives, and the rescue effort. The filmmaker had slipped into a parachute harness and was preparing to jump when Walter made contact with the plane.

"This guy ever make a jump before?" Walter asked.

"No."

Worried, Walter learned that a fellow 1st Recon paratrooper back in Hollandia had given the filmmaker a half-hour verbal lesson on the basics of avoiding certain death.

"For Christ's sake," Walter said, "tie a rope on his ripcord!" At least then, if the man froze in fear in midair, the chute would open and he'd have a fighting chance.

The survivors and paratroopers watched as the plane swooped through the valley with an open jump door, but no sign of the promised filmmaker. Another pa.s.s, and still no movement to the door. Finally, on a third pa.s.s over the base camp, a large figure appeared unsteadily in the opening, camera equipment strapped to his body. He lurched through the jump door, out into thin air. A puffy white canopy blossomed above him as he floated toward the valley floor.

As they watched, the paratroopers sensed a problem. The chutist was oddly limp.

By her own admission, Margaret knew next to nothing about parachuting. Still, she knew enough to brand the jumper "a rank amateur."

"He swung in a vast arc from one edge of the chute to the other," she told her diary. "We were terrified that he would swing all the way over, spill the air out of his chute and plummet to earth."

Walter and his men yelled frantically to the human metronome dangling above them.

"Pull your legs together!"

"Check your oscillation!"

"Pull on your risers!"

No response.

Margaret joined the chorus, repeating the paratroopers' expert shouted advice, all of which went unheeded by the falling, swinging, apparently lifeless man.

Somehow, the parachute held its air. The parachutist landed, spread-eagled on his back, in a clump of tall briar bushes some distance from the base camp. Fearing that he was dead or seriously wounded, several paratroopers raced through the high valley gra.s.ses to his aid. First to reach him was Sergeant Javonillo.

After a momentary inspection, Javonillo popped up from the bushes-"looking as if he'd seen a ghost," Margaret wrote. He called to Walter.

"Captain, sir?" Javonillo said. "This man is drunk!"

McCollom arrived in the bushes moments after Javonillo and confirmed the diagnosis: "Drunker than a hoot owl."

When they pulled the man out of the thicket, Walter took stock of the filmmaker in his midst. After confirming the diagnosis of alcohol-impaired descent, Walter radioed a wry message to the departing supply plane: "The valley is going Hollywood-and fast."

Walter had no idea how right he was.

THE p.r.o.nE, BESOTTED man in the shrubbery was Alexander Cann, a das.h.i.+ng forty-two-year-old adventurer who'd taken an unlikely path from respectability to Shangri-La. man in the shrubbery was Alexander Cann, a das.h.i.+ng forty-two-year-old adventurer who'd taken an unlikely path from respectability to Shangri-La.

Alexander Cann. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) Born in Nova Scotia, Alex Cann was the eldest child of a prominent banker named H. V. Cann and his wife, Mabel Ross Cann, whose father was a member of the Canadian House of Commons. Mabel Cann died when Alex was young. When the boy was seven, H. V. Cann moved the family from Canada to Manhattan, where in 1914 he helped to launch the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. The family spent seven years in the United States before returning to Canada, when H. V. Cann became a top executive with the Bank of Ottawa.

Alex Cann attended the Royal Naval College of Canada, then returned to New York to study structural engineering at Columbia University. His timing couldn't have been worse: when the Great Depression struck, new building stopped, which made structural engineers as unnecessary as stockbrokers.

Adding to his misfortune, he proceeded to gamble away his sizable inheritance on poker. "He was very roguish, my father, and hopeless about money," said his daughter and namesake, Alexandra Cann, a London literary agent.

But being broke didn't mean he didn't have a.s.sets. Tall, dark, and hazel-eyed, deep-voiced, handsome, and powerfully built, funny, cultured, and charming, the well-bred young Alex Cann drifted west to Hollywood, where those qualities retained great value despite the Great Depression. Worried about sullying his family's good name, he took the stage name Alexander Cross-literally a cross between his surname and his mother's maiden name, Ross.

In no time, Alexander Cann/Cross found his way into small movie roles. In 1936 he won parts in half a dozen studio movies, including roles as a watchman in Fury Fury, a Spencer Tracy film directed by Fritz Lang; as a detective in Smart Blonde Smart Blonde with Glenda Farrell; and as a crew member in with Glenda Farrell; and as a crew member in China Clipper China Clipper, starring his drinking buddy Humphrey Bogart. His acting run stretched into 1937, including a part playing a prison guard in the movie San Quentin San Quentin, again starring Bogart. He moved up the Hollywood food chain by landing roles with more lines, playing characters with actual names, such as Bull Clanton in the 1937 western Law for Tombstone Law for Tombstone. His star kept rising, as he won the role of bad guy Black Jack Carson in the Hopalong Ca.s.sidy series of films starring William Boyd and Gabby Hayes.

But just when the actor Alexander Cross began to hit his stride, his real-life alter ego Alexander Cann disproved the old Hollywood adage, "Any publicity is good publicity."

On March 28, 1937, the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times featured a can't-miss "Hey, Martha!" story on page one, headlined "Actor Confesses Theft of Gems at Palm Springs." The story explained that a "film character actor" whom police identified as Alexander Howard Cross Cann had confessed to stealing a diamond bracelet and a bejeweled ring from Alma Walker Hearst, the beautiful ex-wife of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst Jr. The story went on to describe possibly the worst-planned jewel heist in history. featured a can't-miss "Hey, Martha!" story on page one, headlined "Actor Confesses Theft of Gems at Palm Springs." The story explained that a "film character actor" whom police identified as Alexander Howard Cross Cann had confessed to stealing a diamond bracelet and a bejeweled ring from Alma Walker Hearst, the beautiful ex-wife of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst Jr. The story went on to describe possibly the worst-planned jewel heist in history.

Cann, a ladies' man who'd met the former Mrs. Hearst a month earlier in Sun Valley, Idaho, attended a small gathering at her Palm Springs home ten days before the Times Times story ran. Late in the evening, the party moved to downtown Palm Springs. Somewhere around one in the morning, Cann doubled back to Alma Hearst's home and pocketed her jewels. Later that day, Cann walked into a Hollywood p.a.w.nshop and sold the gems, which were valued at more than $6,000. He negotiated a terrible deal, collecting just $350. story ran. Late in the evening, the party moved to downtown Palm Springs. Somewhere around one in the morning, Cann doubled back to Alma Hearst's home and pocketed her jewels. Later that day, Cann walked into a Hollywood p.a.w.nshop and sold the gems, which were valued at more than $6,000. He negotiated a terrible deal, collecting just $350.

"In his confession," the Times Times story said, "Cann ... told the officers he had been losing heavily in horse race-betting, and was hard pressed financially when he took the jewelry. He also said he had been drinking at the time of the theft." story said, "Cann ... told the officers he had been losing heavily in horse race-betting, and was hard pressed financially when he took the jewelry. He also said he had been drinking at the time of the theft."

When Alma Hearst noticed her jewelry missing, she provided police with a list of her servants and guests. Investigators focused quickly on Cann, and a deputy sheriff called his home. Cann admitted the crime over the phone and told the officer where to find the jewels, which were recovered from the p.a.w.nshop and returned to their owner. At the officer's insistence, Cann went to Palm Springs and turned himself in. He was charged with burglary and hauled off to jail.

With her jewels in hand, Alma Hearst decided that she'd had enough of the attention and of Alex Cann. The following day, the Times Times ran a second story reporting that charges against Cann would be dropped if he made rest.i.tution. Netting only $350 turned out to be a small bit of good luck; it was relatively easy for Cann to repay. ran a second story reporting that charges against Cann would be dropped if he made rest.i.tution. Netting only $350 turned out to be a small bit of good luck; it was relatively easy for Cann to repay.

An officer quoted Alma Hearst as saying: "n.o.body likes to prosecute a friend. But when people do such things, they must expect to pay."

Before the story-and Cann-disappeared, the wire services had a field day. Newspapers far from Hollywood ran headlines such as "Host's Jewels Are Stolen by Thespian." Even The New York Times The New York Times couldn't resist a story about a Hearst and a heist. couldn't resist a story about a Hearst and a heist.

As Alexander Cross, in 1939, Cann appeared in one more Depression-era film, The Human Bomb The Human Bomb. He played the t.i.tle character-an unnamed bomber. The role was a fitting coda to Alex Cann's Hollywood years; his arrest blew his movie career to smithereens.

Cann shrugged it off as best he could and kept moving. By the end of 1941, he'd been married and divorced three times, though he hadn't yet fathered any children. With no spouse, no dependents, and no immediate prospects, he returned to his roots and joined the Royal Canadian Navy. But his fortunes didn't change.

En route to the South Pacific, Cann's troop s.h.i.+p was struck by a j.a.panese torpedo that blew him into the water. He survived, but with a broken back that would pain him the rest of his life. In 1943, while recuperating in Australia, Cann washed up regularly in local nightclubs. A convivial drinker and gifted storyteller, he'd tell tales of his Hollywood days. "He managed to convince several people that he knew a great deal more about filmmaking than he did," said his daughter.

Through his nightclub connections, Cann learned that the Dutch government-in-exile in London needed correspondents and filmmakers for its newly created Netherlands Indies Government Information Service, an agency whose aim was to counter n.a.z.i propaganda and keep Dutch concerns on the world stage.

Based on Cann's exaggerated claims of filmmaking expertise, and also, presumably, on the limited military use for a forty-year-old sailor with a broken back, the Canadian Navy "loaned" Cann to the Melbourne-based Australia section of the Netherlands Information Service, as the agency was known. He gained the t.i.tle "War Correspondent and Cinematographer," acquired a 35mm camera, and used his charm and Canadian accent to cadge hard-to-get film from the U.S. Army Signal Corps.

Cann threw himself into his new role, fearlessly covering combat throughout the Philippines and the Borneo campaign. During the Allies' October 1944 invasion of Leyte, in the Philippines, Cann found himself aboard the heavy cruiser HMAS Australia Australia when it came under fire from a j.a.panese dive-bomber. The j.a.panese plane, a model known to the Allies as a "Betty," slammed full-speed into the when it came under fire from a j.a.panese dive-bomber. The j.a.panese plane, a model known to the Allies as a "Betty," slammed full-speed into the Australia, Australia, mortally wounding the captain and the navigator and killing or mortally wounding twenty-eight others. Numerous accounts declared it the first successful kamikaze attack of the war. But as an eyewitness and a survivor, Cann challenged that claim. A week after the attack, he told a reporter for The a.s.sociated Press that the pilot was already dead when the plane struck the s.h.i.+p. "The j.a.p Betty came through a terrific barrage, out of control and with smoke already pouring out," Cann told the reporter. mortally wounding the captain and the navigator and killing or mortally wounding twenty-eight others. Numerous accounts declared it the first successful kamikaze attack of the war. But as an eyewitness and a survivor, Cann challenged that claim. A week after the attack, he told a reporter for The a.s.sociated Press that the pilot was already dead when the plane struck the s.h.i.+p. "The j.a.p Betty came through a terrific barrage, out of control and with smoke already pouring out," Cann told the reporter.

By that point in his life, Cann had survived gambling away his inheritance, three divorces, an arrest as an actor turned jewel thief, a torpedo attack that broke his back, and a j.a.panese plane cras.h.i.+ng into his s.h.i.+p. In that light, an uncontrolled, drunken skydive into Shangri-La seemed an almost predictable next step.

When the news stories by Walter Simmons, Ralph Morton, and other reporters spread word about the survivors, the paratroopers, and the Stone Age tribe in Shangri-La, Alex Cann decided to try his luck once more. He flew from Melbourne to Hollandia on June 17. The next morning he hitched a plane ride over the crash site before returning to the Sentani Airstrip to request a parachute. He received a few pointers from a captain in the 1st Recon named Isaac Unciano, but Cann apparently spent his brief lesson joking around. Unciano best remembered Cann for promising "six quarts of whisky and a party" if he returned safely.

"He knew it was obviously dangerous," said his daughter. "But he wanted to go in, so my father volunteered. He'd never parachuted in his life. They offered to train him but he said, 'No thanks, I'll only do this once. If I don't jump, push me.' "

CANN NEVER PERSONALLY confirmed the drunken jump story, but he came close. In an account distributed by The a.s.sociated Press, he wrote: "I don't know whether I jumped or was pushed at the 'go' signal, but I was busy shooting pictures on the descent after the chute opened. Then I landed unhurt, flat on my back in some bushes." confirmed the drunken jump story, but he came close. In an account distributed by The a.s.sociated Press, he wrote: "I don't know whether I jumped or was pushed at the 'go' signal, but I was busy shooting pictures on the descent after the chute opened. Then I landed unhurt, flat on my back in some bushes."

After Javonillo and the others untangled him, Cann put a dent in the camp's aspirin supply, then found himself propped up at a dinner of Filipino-style chow mein and fried potatoes. When Cann sobered up enough to talk, Walter inquired how he ended up in the valley anaesthetized.

"I drank a full fifth of Dutch gin before I jumped," Cann said, according to Walter.

"Why'd you do that?" Walter asked.

"I didn't want to hesitate."

Walter considered that explanation and rendered a verdict: "You ought to be a paratrooper."

Later, Major Gardner asked Walter via walkie-talkie whether Cann was hungover. Walter answered: "He says he'll never do that again-at least not until another story comes along."

When Cann regained the ability to focus, he got his first good look at Margaret Hastings. His eye for a beautiful woman was unaffected by his crash landing. Cann asked Walter to relay a message to the AP's Ralph Morton: "Corporal Hastings is the most magnificent survivor that I have ever seen."

He added: "To the boys in the rescue party, she is known as the Queen of Shangri-La." Asked about the royal t.i.tle, Margaret finally responded: "I am ready to go, and will give up my crown at any time."