13 Weeks

13 Weeks

Grey clouds form on the western horizon as the fifteenth day ends. Over the stern, white fleecy clouds stand immovable in the blue sky. Over the box, great clouds are crossing our path. Above the horizon, the clouds are darkening until they become a bluish-black color. The approaching clouds appear as a back mountain on a rainy day without the greenery from trees and grass, dark and foreboding.

Wind picks up and the order to 'haul sheets' is given. Lines are lashed around the sails as sailors toss lines from one to another. In an amazing beautifully choreographed dance, the sails are pulled quickly and sailors descend to the next level and repeat the process. The bow rises sharply to pursue the stars only to dive into a deep bowl raising white foam spray over the bow. Sailors thoroughly soaked raise fists and hurl epithets at the rising wind.

The ship groans loudly, rising and falling with increasing rapidity and depth. Screams are emitted as the ship rolls widely to one side, passengers certain it will capsize. Prayers flow, the ship seems to be lying on its side about to slide into the depths of the Atlantic ocean. Somehow the ship rights itself only to slide onto its opposite side and the terror is exacerbated as the ship is bandied about by an enormously powerful force.

Terrifying hours pass agonizingly slow as screams and squeals are joined by the unmistakable sound of people being seasick. Darkness conceals the sight of the bunks' occupant discharging their previous meal on deck. Will this storm ever end? It does with surprising suddenness. Violent bouncing of the ship turns into gentle up and down motion with a sensation of sliding down a hill. The sun shined brightly and the seas are not calm, yet not violent as they were minutes ago. Sails are put out and pick up the wind as the ship gains speed.

"Ah, sir! Mr. Hanson! Sir! Sir! Mr. Hanson!" The sailor at the helm raises his voice and points straight ahead with alarm.

The second officer, now in charge of the ship, stares in the direction the helmsman points, and his jaw drops. A black churning wall of clouds is fast approaching. "PULL IN THE SHEETS!" He bellows too late. Before the sailors get more than a few feet up the rope ladders, the ferocious storm slams into and spins the ship. Walls of water many feet high smash into the ship. The ship almost stands vertically on its stern before dropping with a bang and shuddering into a swale. Loud cracks and crashes come from above, thuds as if an enormous fist is slammed into the tiny vessel. The ship bounces wildly buffeted by severe winds, leaning sharply to one side as it spins, reversing that spin several more times. More crashes and shrill whistling is heard as rain and seawater pound the deck above us. The ship sways rapidly as she moves toward an upright position and begins to slide sideways down the swale as passengers handing on for dear life grab the side of their bunks, they and the ship at the mercy of the tremendous storm.

The creaks and groans of the ship must surely mean it will soon be torn apart. How long can this small wooden vessel survive this incessant pounding?

The storm rages on for hours as we and the ship are battered by nature's most brutal force. The ship stands on end again climbing up a giant swale. I find it impossible to stand as the ship thrashes about. Saltwater, rainwater, vomit, and excrement slosh about the compartment, and my mouth is squeezed tightly to prevent the taste from further nauseating me. Eternity does have an end!