Liang Jian: I have a canteen

A thunderclap sounded, a sudden downpour began, and a fierce wind blew, making a teeth-grinding sound.

The sound traveled through the wind and rain to people's ears, as if someone were crying out in sorrow.

With each crash of the waves against the keel, a creaking sound of twisting metal came from the unseen depths, like the weary skeleton of a giant beast rubbing against each other.

The deck was sloping at this moment, and the next moment it was a wall that suddenly rose up. The seawater was not waves, but whole blocks of pitch-black solid, crashing in from outside the porthole, instantly extinguishing all light, leaving only a loud splashing sound and water streaks that rose wildly up the glass and then slid down.

The passengers returned to their cabins and strapped themselves to the ship.

At this moment, no one spoke. Speaking was futile, because no one would hear them. All they could do was pray to their gods, hoping to get through this natural disaster safely.

The vibrations of the engine and the roar of the wind and rain filled every inch of air.

Those who didn't make it in time fixed themselves in various positions, some gripping the brass-clad table legs tightly, their backs pressed against the benches embedded in the wall; others pressed their entire body weight against a sliding stool.

Each time the ship tilted sharply, a suppressed scream was ripped out of the throat, only to be crushed by the even greater turbulence.

A woman wrapped in a dark shawl had her eyes closed, her lips moving silently, her fingers pinching a small pendant on her chest until it turned white.

The man beside her stared wide-eyed at the violently flickering gas lamp above them, his pupils contracting and dilating with the fluctuations of the light and shadow, as if his entire being was focused on that fragile flame; if it went out, something else would go out with it.

In the corner, someone finally couldn't hold back and began to retch over the wooden bucket at his feet. The sound was short and painful, and was immediately torn away by the wind.

The outside world is chaotic.

When lightning strikes, a fleeting, ghastly white light cleaves the portholes, illuminating several bloodless faces and the churning, boiling sea ahead. The rain doesn't fall, it lashes horizontally, so dense it makes the air thick and heavy. The wind whistles through the ropes, weaving through every gap, emitting high and low sobs, like an invisible giant wildly playing its tune around the ship.

The boat was once again lifted high by the waves, hovering at a heart-stopping apex, before plunging back down.

Amidst this relentless, recurring, and brutal upheaval, the massive Madeira maintained an almost arrogantly stable course. It sliced ​​through chaos, crushed through abysses, and stubbornly carried the ship's fragile breaths and trembling towards the deeper reaches of the storm, to the outline of that dark island, faintly sketched by lightning.

The bow of the ship.

Raul stood firmly on the deck, his feet seemingly welded to it, even though he wasn't using his hands for support.

And his captain David, who was beside him, was just like him; no matter how big the storm was, they remained unmoved.

A short while later, David's previously steady body swayed, and his feet left the deck. He stumbled several steps before regaining his balance.

"Let's go back to the cabin! There's no point in staying here."

David's voice wasn't loud, but it carried smoothly to Raul's ears amidst the raging storm.

Raul shook his head, the rainwater splashing off his ponytail, then he took a step forward and remained firmly on the deck.

"Old friend, how long has it been since we've experienced a storm like this?"

David paused for a moment, then spoke, "It's been about twenty years, I think. That storm, I believe, was on the Gold Coast of Africa." (End of Chapter)