In those three words were a gleam of hope: they
opened a path, but through what and to what would it lead? The other
ship, a tramp steamer, which had collided with the _Altonia_ was
already sinking, and in a few minutes went down, bow foremost, only a
few of the crew having escaped in their own boats.
Quincy had been an athlete in his college days. In time of danger,
whether the man be ignorant or educated, one feeling--the instinct of
self-preservation--is paramount. Alice and Florence had stood mute,
helpless. Quincy put an arm about each and sprang to the narrow
doorway. It was blocked by two stout men who fought frantically to
gain precedence.
Quincy placed his wife in front of him, and, with the hand thus
temporarily freed, he grasped one of the men by the collar and threw
him back into the saloon where he was trampled upon by the frenzied
passengers.
Regardless of the consequence of his act, Quincy mounted the stairs
quickly and gained the deck. The boats were being filled rapidly. He
placed his wife and sister in one of them.
Alice cried, "Come, Quincy, there is room here."
"No, Alice, not yet. The women must go first."
"I will not go without you."
"Yes, you will, Alice--and you know why."
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.
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