Suddenly the bow lifted high upon a monster wave. Higher, higher, higher it rose, while the stern sank down into a yawning chasm. Simultaneously a huge wave struck us abeam. Down came the bow, and over heeled the steamer upon her side. From below came the nerve-racking bellowing and screaming of the terrified animals as they strove madly to keep their feet. Hoarse shouts came up from the lower decks, where the cowboys were endeavouring to help their charges. Now and then there was a crash as an animal was flung bodily out of its stall across the deck, where it smashed stalls and set other animals loose. Each time the ship rolled I set my teeth, for each swing seemed about to plunge us into the boiling black abyss below. Often my heart seemed to stand still, and I waited for the moment when our devoted band would be hurled into eternity. Presently half-a-dozen of us descended to the stokehold in order to send ashes up to the deck to be spread under the hoofs of the struggling animals. Out of that stifling hole bucketful after bucketful was hoisted until the deck was strewn with _débris_. But the heat of the stokehold and the unusual labour caused the amateur stokers to sicken, and, exhausted and nauseated, we climbed to the deck again and lay there gasping. With morning the storm grew worse. At nine o’clock Captain Raicich determined to heave the ship to, but the plan had to be abandoned, owing to stress of weather. The steamer was compelled to head directly into the wind, which eddied in dizzy concentric circles around a larger circumference. My diary contains the following notes jotted down on the afternoon of October 1st, written mainly in shorthand while I lay ill in my bunk:-- “Good heavens! Another such day and night as we have been having and I believe I shall become insane. Buffeted and tossed about like a feather, careening, rolling, and pitching, the _Siam_ seems ready to take her final plunge. Just now a great wave lifted the bow until it seemed the vessel would stand straight upon her stern; the stern went down and threw us up again with a terrific lift. A wave strikes the bow and races the full length of the vessel, tearing everything loose it can rip from its fastenings. It is sickening. I am writing this in the very midst, the centre, of the worst kind of storm one can encounter at sea. The men are shouting and cursing, the animals pawing and uttering plaintive sounds. “We don’t know where we are. We know we are heading north-east to get away from ragged reefs which lie to the north of Luzon. We are steaming directly in the face of the typhoon and make no progress. The barometer has fallen twelve points since noon. May Heaven have mercy on us!