During all this time, though I had not noticed the two jars (being one of the very few who did not), I was conscious in my bunk that something serious had happened. As a ship's officer went by the cabin, I heard him say: "I'm going to see if the wireless won't work." I have learned since that the Master wanted to send the "S. O. S." out over the sea, and say that he would try to keep his ship afloat until daybreak. Inasmuch as he could not give our position this was but a last chance. I was not so sick that I could not comprehend that much in a flash. But the wireless was entirely out of commission. When the top of the mast went on Saturday night, the antennae had gone overboard with it. The latter had been roughly secured again to the mainmast, but the wind had driven the rain through the cabin and short-circuited the sending apparatus. About this time a man came into the passageway and began stripping the slats from a life preserver rack. He said there was danger of the wireless house on the top deck being swept away, and that he was going to take the men some life preservers. There was much passing to and fro. Putting on raincoat over pajamas, I went out to look things over. In the saloon I found some fifteen or twenty persons grouped about the table, in all manner of attire. All were seated, talking in conversational tones. None had life preservers, though the word had been passed along to put them on and many in other parts of the ship had done so. On the floor was stretched an officer with a bloody bandage on his left eye. When the two big waves struck he had been in the social hall. The sudden list of the ship had catapulted him across the hall toward the open door. He would have gone over the rail, but managed to fetch up against a seat and land unconscious. This is only one of numerous similar incidents. Going down the hall on my side of the ship--starboard--I met perhaps eight or ten officers and no women. Things were flying loose and it was dangerous to be up. There was no sign of panic. Conversation was general and light. Presently a small group struck up Harry Lauder's "I Love a Lassie, a Bonnie Hieland Lassie."