The passengers, rudely awakened, rushed on deck. Cries and shrieks were soon redoubled, for almost immediately after she was struck the ship stopped, and it became known that water was pouring into the engine-room, extinguishing the fires. There followed a few minutes of indescribable confusion, during which the men held bravely to their posts, until, once more, and for the last time, the captain's voice rang out clear and calm from the bridge: "All hands clear away the boats! Save yourselves! To the boats!" Instantly there was a rush for the boats, one of which was lashed to the ship close to where Helen was standing wringing her hands and calling wildly for her father. Before the boat could be lowered it was filled, but a ship's officer, compassionating the lonely, terrified child, was just about to place Helen in the already heavily-weighted craft, when a woman, who, with a child in her arms, had just managed to scramble in, started up, screaming: "My boy, my boy! He is not here! Save him, oh, save him!" At sound of her voice a delicate, lame boy, between whom and Helen there had been a sort of friendship, pressed forward, but was instantly borne back by the excited crowd. "Help him, I can manage for myself," said Helen, disengaging herself from her would-be deliverer's grasp and pointing to the boy. There was no time for parleying. Crying, "Make way for the women and children," the officer, fancying that Helen also was safe, thrust the lame boy over the ship's side, and the over-filled boat moved away. This half-instinctive act of generosity restored Helen to her presence of mind. The frantic crowd that had surged round her melted away as the boat passed out of sight. She rallied her courage and looked around her, wondering how she could best set about finding her father. At this period the scene was a terrible one. The vessel was sinking fast, and already, where Helen stood, the water was almost up to her knees. Heart-rending cries and pitiful prayers filled the air. Mothers were calling wildly on their children, husbands on their wives, for the heavy mist and darkness added to the horror of the scene, making it difficult for people to distinguish one another. Obtaining no answer to her repeated cries, Helen determined to advance cautiously. Clinging to the bulwarks, stumbling at every step, half drenched with water and benumbed with cold, she scrambled on for some distance. Once or twice she fancied that she heard her father's voice calling her, and replying as well as she was able, she struggled on in the direction from which the sound came. To reach him was her one absorbing desire. She felt certain that his strong arms would save her, that he would not let her perish.