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 ship was deserted. Stepping to the
rail, he observed how low the Nebraska lay and also that her bow
was higher than her stern. From somewhere beneath his feet came a
muffled grinding and a movement which told him that the ship was
seeking a more comfortable berth. He recalled stories of
explosions and of the boiling eddies which sometimes accompany
sinking hulls. Turning, he scrambled up to the cabin-deck and ran
swiftly toward his stateroom.