The mighty craft was filling rapidly. Captain Haskins feared that like the tramp steamer it would founder before the passengers could get into the boats—their frail hope for safety. For himself, he asked no place. He had the spirit of the soldier who expires beside his dying horse, looking fondly at the animal that has borne him so many times in safety, and now gives up his life with his master's.
“For God's sake, come, Quincy!” cried Alice. “For our sake!” and Florence added her entreaties.
Quincy turned and saw a woman with a child by her side. She had made her way from the steerage. She was being deported, for she suffered from trachoma. She had been refused permission to land and join her husband who had stood outside the “pen” and gazed at her and the child. Quincy placed the woman in the boat beside his wife and put the child in its mother's arms.
“Lower away!” came a shrill cry.
“Oh, Quincy, must we part thus?”
Captain Haskins grasped Quincy by the arm.
“Get into the boat, Mr. Sawyer.”
Quincy saw that the boat, filled with women, was already over-loaded.
He turned to the Captain and said: “There is more room here with you.”
Nature's ways are mysterious but effective. A brisk breeze broke the
fog, and the rays of the noonday sun fell upon a placid sea. The boat
containing Alice and Florence was picked up by the Macedonian of
a rival line and the rescued made comfortable. For hours the steamer
cruised about rescuing hundreds of the Altonia's passengers, but some
of the boats were never heard from.