by Senan Molony
Then came the explosions, she said. The big vessel quivered, careened slowly to starboard and sank to her deep ocean grave. The nervous stress of the hours in the lifeboats among the ice cakes, the sobbing of the women in the boats of the little fleet and then the life-giving sight of the Cunarder Carpathia as she loomed up in the morning’s mist all made a deep impression on Miss Mulvihill.
‘It was about 11.45,’ she said. ‘I was just in bed and was just getting to sleep. Then came a heavy jar. I lay still for several minutes, not knowing what was the matter. Then I slipped on a heavy coat over my nightgown, pulled on my shoes and went out into the passage.’
Fighting in steerage
‘The people were rushing up the stairways, and way down in the steerage I could hear the women and men shrieking and screaming. The women called for their children. The men cursed.
‘Then I hurried back to my room, stepped up on the washstand and took down a life-belt. This I adjusted about me and then hurried out into the passage.
‘At the top of the passage I met a sailor with whom I had become acquainted on my passage across. I later learned that his name was Robert Hickens [Hichens] of Southampton, Eng. I asked him what the matter was.
‘“There is no danger, little girl,” he replied to me. “We have hit an iceberg.”
‘“We’re lost; we’re lost,” I cried, but he took me by the arm and told me to follow him. Some of the Italian men from way down in the steerage were screaming and fighting to get into the lifeboats. Capt. Smith stood at the head of the passageway. He had a gun in his hand.
‘“Boys,” he said, “You’ve got to do your duty here. It’s the women and children first, and I’ll shoot the first man who jumps into a boat.”’
Priests brave to the last
‘There were two Catholic priests aboard. They were coming to America from Ireland. After we got off, I was talking with Eugene Ryan [sic], a boy from my home town in Athlone, and he told me the priests were among the men on the Titanic as the vessel was sinking and administered the last rites of the church. And they stuck to it, too, until the water was up about their knees.
‘To go back, my sailor friend told me to follow him and he would try to get me into a lifeboat. We climbed up bolts and cleats until we got to the next deck. Nearly every woman had left the ship then, I guess, and only two boats remained.
‘Beside me there was a family named Rice, consisting of the father and mother and six children. The father was not permitted to leave the ship, but the mother and her six children could leave if they wished. The mother was crying and weeping. She wouldn’t go into the lifeboat and leave her husband to perish. “I can’t go and leave my husband,” she cried to the officers. “Let him come with me, oh please let him come with me,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to live if he can’t come, there will be nobody to earn bread for my little children,” she wailed. But the officers wouldn’t let the father go. “I’ll stay with my husband then,” the woman cried. I saw her clinging to her husband and children just before I left the vessel. That was the last I ever saw of her. The whole family went down together.
‘Only two boats remained. One of these pushed off. I stood directly over the other. “Jump,” said the sailor. I jumped and landed in the boat. Then a big Italian jumped and landed on me, knocking the wind out of me.
‘We pushed off among the ice cakes. It was a beautiful starry night. You could see the poor Titanic sinking. She was surely going down. The women in the boats were screaming. They cried for their husbands. Every once in a while a cake of ice would crash into our boat. The men on the Titanic were all gathered about the rail. They were singing. It sounded like “Nearer, My God, to Thee”.’
Fascinated by sight
‘The Titanic was going down slowly, yet surely. I had marked in my mind’s eye two portholes on the vessel. I watched the water come to them, pass them and swallow them up from sight. I was fascinated.
‘Then the lights on the Titanic began to glimmer and go out. A few minutes later there were two heavy explosions. The big vessel quivered and seemed to settle. Then she leaned over on the other side a little and slowly sank to her grave. I think I heard the band playing.’
Miss Mulvihill stopped. Her hand trembled and her whole frame shuddered. Her sister stroked her brow and sought to calm her. ‘But it was a good ship – a good ship,’ stammered Miss Mulvihill insistently. ‘And they went down bravely. They were good to us – good to us,’ she sobbed.
‘There, there, dear, calm yourself,’ murmured her sister soothingly.
After a pause of a few minutes, Miss Mulvihill continued.
Pull away from ship
‘The sailors rowed hard, thinking the suction from the big vessel would pull us down. But the explosions threw the water away from the vessel so the small boats were able to get away all right.
‘Then began the long vigil for the rescuing ship. All night we bumped among the ice cakes, out there on the Atlantic. From 11 o’clock until about an hour later – that is, I think it was an hour, although it seemed but an instant to me, we had fought and struggled on the Titanic. From midnight until dawn the next morning we wept and moaned on the face of the ocean.
‘All the boats that had left the port side of the vessel had clustered together, and all the boats that had left the starboard side clustered in another little bunch, a little distance away.
‘It was awfully cold. The water every once in a while slapped up over the bow of the boat and covered us with spray. None of us had on more than nightclothes, with a scant covering over those.’
Star shine over all
‘The sailors silently pulled their oars, the oarlocks creaked, the ice bumped against us. We could hear the women in the other cluster of boats sobbing and crying for their husbands. And the stars shone bright above.
‘Dawn was just breaking when I saw a light way off in the distance. I spoke to the nearest sailor about it, and asked if it possibly could be a vessel coming to help us. He said it must be a ship’s light, but someone spoke up and said it was probably a boat’s light.
‘Then two big green lights broke through the mists above it, and we knew it was a ship coming to rescue us. We cheered and cheered and cheered. Some cried. I just sat still and offered up a little prayer.
‘Slowly the mist cleared and the big boat pushed toward us. This was about 5 o’clock in the morning. From then until 8 we drifted about, waiting for the Carpathia to pick us up. It was bitter cold, and the only thing I can remember very distinctly about those hours is a white cake of ice, which bumped and bumped and bumped against the boat near me. I watched it, and once I remember, I laughed when another cake of ice pushed between it and the boat. I think I must have been ill then.’
Great kindness shown
‘At about 11 o’clock the Carpathia took us aboard. Everybody was so kind to us. They had hot whiskey and brandy for all of us. They wrapped us up in blankets and gave us food. A physician came and visited all of us. Then the other passengers let us sleep in their bunks. Everybody was kind, and everybody helped us.
‘After that night – Tuesday, was it – the Carpathia’s captain told us we were obliged to look out more for ourselves. The First-Class passengers aboard the Titanic had First-Class accommodation on the Carpathia, as near as possible. I was in the Third Class, because I decided on the spur of the moment to visit my sister here and it was impossible to get anything else until June, so far ahead were the passages booked.
‘So we herded in the steerage until we crept up New York harbour. I sent a wireless message off to my mother in Ireland to reassure her.
‘You see, I had lived for the last few years with my sister, Mrs Norton, here in Providence. Last Labour Day I went back to Ireland to attend the wedding of my sister, Kittie. I intended to stay over there longer, but one day last week, Friday it was, I think, I was returning from a funeral in my home town at Athlone, when I passed the steamship company’s ticket office.
Gets ticket for
death boat
‘I went in and bought my passage for America without saying a word to anybody. Then Friday I told my [family? Illegible] that I was going back to America to my sister, and was going to Queenstown the next morning to go aboard the boat.’
‘Oh, Bert, why couldn’t you have told them?’ interrupted Mrs Norton, addressing her sister by a familiar name. ‘Bert’ laughed.
‘She didn’t know I was coming at all on this boat, my sister didn’t; I was going to surprise her,’ she said.
‘No, we didn’t know she was aboard at all until Henry read her name among those saved in the Evening Bulletin Tuesday night,’ said Mrs Norton.
‘Henry?’ it was asked.
‘Yes, Henry Noon – he is her sweetheart,’ responded Mrs Norton. ‘He was reading the list of those on the boat when his eye came upon Bert’s name. He nearly fainted. Then he rushed over here to my house – he lives at 76 Lisbon Street – and told my husband and me that Bert was on the Titanic.
‘So yesterday my husband and Henry went over to New York to wait for the Carpathia to come in.’
Plenty of aid offered
‘Yes, and they were so kind to us in New York,’ Miss Mulvihill hastened to say. ‘We were met down the bay by tugs and all kinds of vessels. The officers told us they were newspapermen and we mustn’t talk to them then. And then at the dock we were met by lots and lots of people who wanted to help us. There were priests and sisters and doctors. They gave us food and clothing and medicine.’
She laughed. ‘See that hat over there? That was given to me in New York and I wore it over here to Providence.’ The hat was a light pearl grey felt.
‘When I got onto the dock,’ resumed Miss Mulvihill, ‘I met Henry and Mr Norton and they rushed me over to the Grand Central Station and took me to Providence.’
‘She was hysterical on the train,’ explained Mrs Norton. ‘She kept thinking of the disaster and the scenes she had witnessed. She laughed and cried and threw her arms about her.’
‘I nearly swooned with joy,’ continued Miss Mulvihill, ‘when I got off the train here in the Providence station and saw my sister.’
‘The doctor told her she must eat sparingly and only of liquid foods,’ said Mrs Norton. ‘He said he wouldn’t let her go to sleep right away for fear that during her sleep she would review the scenes of the disaster, and upon waking, would not be in her right mind.’
Dreamed of disaster
‘It was a funny thing,’ said Miss Mulvihill. ‘There was a boy named Eugene Ryan from my town who was with us. When we left Queenstown he told us that he had dreamt that the Titanic was going to sink. And every night we were at sea he told us he had dreamt that the Titanic was going down before we reached New York. On Monday night just before he went to bed, he told us the Titanic was going to sink that night. It was uncanny.’
Miss Mulvihill is 24, an apple-cheeked Irish lass, with bright blue eyes, which yesterday were deeply ringed with suffering, privation and terror.
Bertha’s hometown newspaper, the Westmeath Independent, reported in their edition of the same day on the other side of the world:
Cablegram received today 3.40 – ‘Providence R.I. – Mrs Martin Mulvihill, Coosan, Athlone. Bertha safe – Mary’. Mary is her sister.
A few days earlier, the newspaper had been optimistic in a piece entitled ‘Local Passengers’:
Amongst the list of survivors issued on Thursday evening are the names of Marsala Daly and Bertha ‘Malliedell’. This latter is probably a blundering attempt at Mulvihill and hopes are entertained that other Athlone passengers may be among the survivors.
Miss Bertha Mulvihill, of Coosan, was crossing to the States for the second time. She had spent six years in America and came home last August to spend the winter with her friends. She was going back to get married, and for this event she had made very elaborate preparations by bringing with her a large amount of furniture, etc. She has lived to enjoy the home, but she must be satisfied with Yankee furniture since all her luggage and effects are buried deep in the Atlantic. There was great relief and joy in Athlone and Coosan when it was made known she had escaped.
While she was at home she made a host of friends, who were greatly relieved by news of her escape. She was a most amiable and energetic lady, of a bright and lively disposition, liked and appreciated by all who know her. Among her other accomplishments, she was an expert swimmer.
(Westmeath Independent, 27 April 1912)
Miss Bertha Mulvihill of Coosan, Athlone, one of the survivors of the Titanic, has sent a letter to her sister, written on board the Carpathia, in the course of which she relates her experiences and how she was saved: ‘I had a prayer-book, a watch and a little money in my pocket,’ she says. ‘But all the rest went down. I never saw such a sight as when the Titanic struck the iceberg.
‘She broke in two. The scene was awful. The picture I had of Robert Emmet has gone down with the ship … I had an oar in the small boat and it warmed me and kept me from sticking to the ship.’
Miss Mulvihill intends coming back to Ireland in the autumn.
(The Cork Examiner, 4 May 1912)
Grim humour: another survivor and her patriot picture
It went down and she said ‘good-bye Robert’
Miss Bertha Mulvehill [sic], one of the survivors of the Titanic disaster, has written to her sister at Coosan. Her letter – written on board the Carpathia – betrays the grimmest of humour. The text of the letter is as follows:
On board the Cunard RMS Carpathia
Dear Maud
Experience is great … I am fine and dandy – never better. What time did you hear of the dreadful disaster?
I AM SO GLAD I WAS IN IT. I shall never forget it. We are just in New York. Having a jolly time. Don’t worry. How is father? Nothing like a bit of life. Don’t worry for me. I am O.K. We lost 2,472 passengers and saved 710. I was a hero to the last. We were picked up after eight hours by a ship bound for Naples, everyone was very good to us, and then transferred to the Carpathia. The passengers on the Carpathia gave us clothes. I had a prayer-book, a watch and a little money in my pocket. All the rest lost. I never saw such a sight as when the dear old Titanic sank. She broke in two pieces. The scene was awful … Don’t think me mad for being so happy to witness the sight … I am with a jolly crowd in this old ship [the Carpathia] … I am awfully happy – like the night I was born – never felt happier in my life. I have nothing to worry … I can imagine, mother dear, that when you heard the news you felt for your lost daughter, but she is the safest one you have got. I shall be a millionaire when I arrive in New York. I shall go back this summer, it may be on my honeymoon, but let’s keep that quiet. My watch was saved, but a picture I had of Robert Emmet has gone down. ‘Good-bye Robert’, said I as the ship went down. Poor lad, he was drowned. Sarah Curran, I am sure, felt terribly sorry at being left alone … Pray for me, I am so happy; console all my friends. There is no place like the sea … I am writing this in a hurry, for I want my supper … The little Summerhill girl went down, unless she is picked up by another ship that we don’t know of … we struck the iceberg at ten minutes to twelve and the ship sank at two. We were launched in small boats at one … I am a d--il or an angel – I don’t know which … Tell Pat I had his pen in my petticoats, and that it gave me fifty sticks in my legs …
(Westmeath Independent, 4 May 1912)
Bertha undoubtedly appears to be in clinical shock and trauma from the above letter, even confabulating a double transfer to a Naples ship and then onto the Carpathia. In fact, the Carpathia was bound for Naples.
Report of the American Red Cross (Titanic Disaster) 1913:
No. 322. (Irish.) Girl, 22 years of age, returning from a visit to relatives, suffered very severely from shock and exposure, and it is feared, may be permanently disabled. She lost clothing and jewellery valued at $665 and $140 in cash. Relatives are unable to give financial assistance. ($950)
Niece Maura Fox, who was born on 1 December 1911
, to Bertha’s sister Kitty, maintained that Bertha’s trip home to Ireland was to tell her parents that she intended to marry Henry Noon. Maura adds that Bertha chose to return on the Titanic having heard about the maiden voyage of such an impressive ship:
She just had to be on that ship. She was very adventurous. She jumped onto a lifeboat and landed awkwardly and then someone jumped on her back. In latter years Bertha suffered from back pain because of the injury picked up on that night.
She jumped off the ship wearing an old frieze coat over her nightdress and with a sock on her head. She also clung to a tattered damp bible which she had recently been given by my father.
It also appears the picture of Robert Emmet had been acquired having seen a play about the dashing Irish rebel during her trip home, performed by an amateur cast that included many family friends of the Mulvihills.
Bertha filed the following schedule of losses as part of a class action in the US District Court:
One trunk, new – $15; One suit case, new – $12; One leather hand bag and one mesh bag – $30; One case of photographs and portraits – $30; Two costumes, tailor made suits – $70; Four dresses – $65; Two hats – $45; Eight sets of underwear, crocheted and embroidered – $100; Sundries, shoes, stockings, gloves, umbrellas, hatpins – $150; Jewellery, diamond pin, lockets, bracelets, two rings, brooches – $200; Two toilet sets – $35; One manicure set, sterling silver – $70; Baskets and linen – $150; Sofa pillow – $40; Table linen – $25; Books – $15; Albums – $10; Cut glass, butter dishes, fruit dishes, etc. – $100; Silver ware – $75; Four suit lengths – $65; Souvenirs – $100; Weather guide, barometer – $5; Crocheted collars – $45; Irish linen waists – $50; Pieces of hand embroidery – $100; Money in hand bag $140; Two brass candlesticks – $12; Amethyst Rosary beads – $10; Other small articles, valuable papers and receipts. Total $1,774.
Bertha married her sweetheart, Henry Noon, a master welder with Brown & Sharpe, a short time after the tragedy. They had a daughter, Helen, who died four days before Christmas 1928 at the age of just nine. Four other children lived to adulthood.
