The storm is unlike anything I have ever seen. There are two oceans around me: one angry and swelling, ready to flip our ship over, while the other rains down upon the deck, a continuous downpour from a thousand waterfalls.
Crew members are washed from side to side and yells of terror remain silent through the claps of thunder. Pale faces are illuminated by streaks of lightning that reveal frightened faces of the bravest men. We are all mice, cowering from the monstrosity of the storm.
But there is one exception. Ulysses, with a face of cast iron, makes his way across the deck. A mighty wave crashes upon us, and for a moment there is nothing. Just the rushing of water, filling my nose, mouth, everywhere. A salty taste slices my tongue. Suddenly it is gone.
In the darkness, no one exists. I am floating in a raging yet invisible sea, I cannot watch, but I can hear the stormy winds and feel the brute force of the ocean, throwing my body about like a rag doll. Then a streak of lightning once again lights the world, and Ulysses is lit up in a series of ferocious flashes, each time nearer to the top of the mast. His arms carry him on, conquering the storm as he has so many lands and seas. He covers the final metres and unhook the sails just as a huge mountain of water cascades upon us. The white sheets are gone, as we would have been if the sails had remained attached to the boat.
Now safe, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait in the darkness until the horizon arrives and the storm recedes.