“Tell her, Johnson,” the steward relates, “that I played the game straight and that no woman was left on board this ship because Benjamin Guggenheim was a coward. Tell her that my last thoughts were of her and the girls.”
Guggenheim, according to Johnson, lit a cigar and sauntered up to the boat deck to help load the lifeboats. He afterward returned to the main deck and was engulfed with the ship.
“Mr. Guggenheim was one of my charges,” said the steward anew. “He had his secretary with him. His name was Giglio, I believe, an Armenian, about twenty-four years old. Both died like men.
“When the crash came I awakened them and told them to get dressed. A few minutes later I went into their rooms and helped them to get ready. I put a life preserver on Mr. Guggenheim. He said it hurt him in the back. There was plenty of time and I took it off, adjusted it, and then put it on him again. It was all right this time.
“They wanted to get out on deck with only a few clothes on, but I pulled a heavy sweater over Mr. Guggenheim’s lifebelt, and then they both went out.
“They stayed together and I could see what they were doing. They were going from one lifeboat to another helping the women and children. Mr. Guggenheim would shout out, ‘Women first,’ and he was of great assistance to the officers.
THERE WAS GREAT EXCITEMENT.
“Things weren’t so bad at first, but when I saw Mr. Guggenheim about three-quarters of an hour after the crash there was great excitement. What surprised me was that both Mr. Guggenheim and his secretary were dressed in their evening clothes. They had deliberately taken off their sweaters, and as nearly as I can remember they wore no lifebelts at all.
“‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
“‘We’ve dressed up in our best,’ replied Mr. Guggenheim, and are prepared to go down like gentlemen.’ It was then he told me about the message to his wife and that is what I have come here for.