“But, oh, this whole world should rise in praise of Major Butt. That man’s conduct will remain in my memory forever; the way he showed some of the other men how to behave when women and children were suffering that awful mental fear that came when we had to be huddled in those boats. Major Butt was near me, and I know very nearly everything he did. “When the order to take to the boats came he became as one in supreme command. You would have thought he was at a White House Reception, so cool and calm was he. A dozen or so women became hysterical all at once as something connected with a lifeboat went wrong. Major Butt stepped to them and said: ‘Really you must not act like that; we are all going to see you through this thing.’ “He helped the sailors rearrange the rope or chain that had gone wrong and lifted some of the women in with gallantry. His was the manner we associate with the word aristocrat. MAJOR BUTT A MAN TO BE FEARED. “When the time came for it, he was a man to be feared. In one of the earlier boats fifty women, it seemed, were about to be lowered when a man, suddenly panic-stricken, ran to the stern of it. Major Butt shot one arm out, caught him by the neck and pulled him backward like a pillow. His head cracked against a rail and he was stunned. “‘Sorry,’ said Major Butt; ‘women will be attended to first or I’ll break every bone in your body.’ “The boats were lowered away, one by one, and as I stood by my husband he said to me: ‘Thank God for Archie Butt.’ Perhaps Major Butt heard it, for he turned his face toward us for a second. “Just at that time a young man was arguing to get into a lifeboat, and Butt had hold of the lad by the arm like a big brother and appeared to be telling him to keep his head. “I was one of three first cabin women in our collapsible boat, the rest were steerage people. Major Butt helped those poor frightened people so wonderfully, tenderly, and yet with such cool and manly firmness. He was a soldier to the last.” “If anything should happen to me, tell my wife in New York that I’ve done my best in doing my duty.” This was the last message of Benjamin Guggenheim, of the famous banking family, dictated to a steward only a short while before the banker sank to his death with the Titanic. It was not until several days later that the message was received by Mrs. Guggenheim. It was delivered by James Etches, assistant steward in the first cabin of the Titanic, to whom Mr. Guggenheim communicated it. Etches appeared at the St. Regis Hotel and inquired for Mrs. Benjamin Guggenheim. He said that he had a message from Benjamin Guggenheim, and that it had to be delivered in person. Mrs. Guggenheim was in the care of Daniel Guggenheim, whose apartments are at the St. Regis. The steward was admitted, but was not permitted to see Mrs. Guggenheim, who is prostrated with grief. He insisted that he must see her personally, but finally consented to transmit the message through her brother-in-law.