"The foreman mustered most of the men, dividing them into three groups, in charge of himself, the second foreman and 'Doc' Casey. They went below. I followed. "It was hell. The ship was pitching and lurching in a horrible manner. All I could see was a pile of kicking horses, smashed up planks, and the three negroes piled up in one corner. As the ship rolled they slid from side to side. There was nothing we could do. It was madness to attempt anything. The three negroes were dead, their bodies terribly mutilated from the hoofs of the horses. "That night and the following day the ship rode the squall. Then it became calm and we all got busy. Of the twenty-four loose horses below, we had to shoot seventeen on account of injuries. Three others had died from broken necks. The four remaining horses were still alive but hardly had a square foot of hide left on them. I sure pitied them. "The next day the three negroes were buried at sea without a word of prayer. "About four days out of Bordeaux one of the large steam pipes in the lower hold burst. In this hold there were sixty-four horses. The engineer of the ship tried to repair the break, but it was almost worth a man's life to go down there in that hissing and scalding steam. The cries of the horses went straight to my heart. There they were, their bellies heaving, their nostrils red, inflamed, distended, gasping for breath, their feet spread apart and braced to keep them from falling. There would be a trembling of the legs, a few spasmodic attempts to retain their balance, as their bodies sank lower and lower, and this would be followed by a convulsive shiver as down they went with a crash to die on the deck. All we could do was to turn streams of cold salt water into the hold, thus trying to keep the heat down and save as many horses as possible. "Why the engineer did not immediately shut off the steam, I don't know. I noted this fact in my report. It was four hours before he did so; then the two foremen, 'Doc' Casey and myself, followed by twelve other men, went into the hold. I shall never forget the sight as long as I live. Nearly every one of the horses was dead, and those that were still breathing had to be shot. Some of them were practically boiled alive. The weather was hot and it was not long before the rotting bodies made the stench on board unbearable. We had to get those bodies out. Long tackles were rigged up, and a chain was put around the necks of the horses. I worked the winch. The bodies were snaked along the passageways in the hold and up to the hatch. Some of the bodies would not hang together, and it was a common sight to see a dead horse suspended in the air, either by his neck or hind leg, drop suddenly into the hold below, leaving his head or his leg hanging to the tackle.