Instead of following, O’Neil turned and went below.  He found that the water was knee-deep on the port side of the deck where his animals were quartered, which showed that the ship had listed heavily.  He judged that she must be much deeper by the head then he had imagined, and that her nose was crushed in among the rocks.  Until she settled at the stern, therefore, the case was not quite hopeless.

His appearance, the sound of his voice, were the signals for a chorus of eager whinnies and a great stamping of hoofs.  Heads were thrust toward him from the stalls, alert ears were pricked forward, satin muzzles rubbed against him as he calmed their terror.  This blind trust made the man’s throat tighten achingly.  He loved animals as he loved children, and above all he cared for horses.  He understood them, he spoke their language as nearly as any human can be said to do so.  Quivering muscles relaxed beneath his soothing palm; he called them by name and they answered with gentle twitching lips against his cheek.  Some of them even began to eat and switch their tails contentedly.

He cursed aloud and made his way down the sloping deck to the square iron door, or port, through which he had loaded them.  But he found that it was jammed, or held fast by the pressure outside, and after a few moments’ work in water above his knees he climbed to the starboard side.  Here the entrance was obstructed by a huge pile of baled hay and grain in sacks.  It would be no easy task to clear it away, and he fell to work with desperate energy, for the ship was slowly changing her level.  Her stern, which had been riding high, was filling; the sea stole in upon him silently.  It crept up toward him until the horses, stabled on the lower side, were belly-deep in it.  Their distress communicated itself to the others.  O’Neil knew that his position might prove perilous if the hulk should slip backward off the reef, yet he continued to toil, hurling heavy sacks behind him, bundling awkward bales out of the way, until his hands were bleeding and his muscles ached.  He was perspiring furiously; the commotion around him was horrible.  Then abruptly the lights went out, leaving him in utter blackness; the last fading yellow gleam was photographed briefly upon his retina.

Tears mingled with the sweat that drained down his cheeks as he felt his way slowly out of the place, splashing, stumbling, groping uncertainly.  A horse screamed in a loud, horribly human note, and he shuddered.  He was sobbing curses as he emerged into the cool open air on the forward deck.

His eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, and he could see something of his surroundings.  He noted numerous lights out on the placid bosom of the bay, evidently lanterns on the life-boats, and he heard distant voices.  He swept the moisture from his face; then with a start he realized his situation.  He listened intently; his eyes roved back along the boat-deck; there was no doubt about it—­the