Mary Marvin's New York Tribune Account

Mary Graham Carmichael Marvin

First-class passenger

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Mrs. D. W. Marvin, of No. 217 Riverside Drive, who was on a honeymoon trip, was prostrated when she reached the pier, as her husband was lost.

"My God, don't ask me too much," she said. "Tell me, have you any news from Dan. He grabbed me in his arms and knocked down men to get me in the boats. As I was put in the boat he cried, 'It's all right, little girl. You go and I'll stay a little while. I'll put on a life preserver and jump off and follow your boat.' As our boat started off he threw a kiss at me. We were in our stateroom when the accident occurred, and when we reached the deck we were in darkness.

"While on the deck, I heard at least ten revolver shots. See, one bullet was fired at my cheek. Here are the powder marks.

"There were fishing boats about the boat, and I think others must have been saved. Dan and I saw them before we went to our room. The men whom I saw were brave, for they pushed aside others when the cowards made for the boats before the women.

"I am not at all sure, but when we pulled away from the Titanic I think I saw Major Butt, whom I knew slightly, standing near where they were loading the boats, with an iron bar or stick in his hand beating back the frenzied crowd who were attempting to overcrowd the lifeboats."

At this point Mrs. Marvin was interrupted by her mother, who burst in.

"Why, why didn't you send a message to us that you were safe?"

"Why, I did, mother, from the Carpathia, just as soon as I could."

"I never got it," sobbed the mother, and the two women threw their arms around each other, and wept for several minutes. After she had regained her composure Mrs. Marvin, talking to her mother, said:

"I don't know why it was, but for some reason on board the Carpathia they wouldn't take any messages telling anything about the wreck. We were told we could send short messages with our names – that was all."

Then, as if recalling something that had entirely slipped her mind in the joy of being ashore, she told one of the most pitiful, and, at the same time, beautiful, stories that was related on the dock. Just as she got into a seat in the lifeboat she said a little French girl, about five years old, was shoved into her arms by someone she did not see.

Mrs. Marvin carried the baby during the five hours she was in the lifeboat, and then cared for her little unknown charge while on the Carpathia. On docking last night she turned the little brown-eyed waif over to Mrs. Irwin, of the women's relief committee.

Mrs. Marvin is only eighteen years old, and was married five weeks ago by the Rev. Henry Cought, of the Harlem Presbyterian Church. Her father-in-law, Henry Norton Marvin, is president of a moving picture concern, and films were taken of the wedding, which the bridge and bridegroom expected to keep as souvenirs. The husband had never seen them.