The storm was the worst he could have imagined. Waves were so high he couldn’t see over them, and the lightning was like a waterfall of light in the distance. For one of the few times in his life, he was genuinely frightened that he was going to die. As the waves washed over him, the boat took on a will of its own. He was just along for the ride. There were times when the engine sputtered like it was ready to give up as the water pounded the boat, but each time it caught again and propelled the craft forward.

A flicker of light from the fireworks in the sky revealed a giant wave rushing toward him that must have been at least thirty feet high. The boat was foundering because of the water that had spilled inside and surely this wave would be the final straw. It hit like a giant fist. The boat pitched backward and he had to hold on with both hands to keep from being washed overboard. The boat teetered of turning over. The wheel was spinning out of control.

He was terrified and wanted to scream, but when he opened his mouth, water rushed in. He had to find the life raft. He searched frantically in the darkness until he grasped it—only to remember that it had to be manually inflated. For nearly thirty minutes he blew into the small hole until the small raft assumed its size. The task kept his mind off what was happening to the boat. He had to have the life raft because the boat wasn’t going to make it! He clutched it as though his life depended on it and thought that if there was a God, now would be a good time for Him to appear.

The bilge pump in the cabin had long ago been unable to keep up with the water and its force had knocked over the cabin door. Bales of marijuana were now floating on the deck. He tried vainly to push them back toward the hatch with his foot. The boat kept trying to turn sideways to the waves and he was too exhausted to fight; feeling as alone as he’d ever been in his life.

The engine strained to push the Sea Ray through the high waves, now coming at him in a stampede of water. He just waited for the one who would turn him over and end the misery. Sometimes the boat would be on top of a wave and leave nothing underneath him, then the boat would drop into a trough where all he could see was water around him. He felt like he was going to pass out, fought it, but there were moments he couldn’t remember when water stung his face.

And then mercifully, there was nothing as he wrapped his body around the wheel and waited for death to come.

He wasn’t sure how long the storm had been raging, though it must have been at least ten hours because daylight was beginning to show. His eyes were heavy and he was barely awake when he realized that the winds had receded and the waves were no longer pummeling him. Had he had miraculously survived? He took the respite, as brief as he expected it to be, to push the remainder of the marijuana bales into the cabin. Nausea had overcome him and he threw up over the side.

Thirty minutes passed before he accepted that the storm was gone, and with the brightened sky he saw that he was somewhere between Haiti and Cuba, which meant that Great Inagua wasn’t far. The humidity had become oppressive, and he could feel what energy that remained draining out of him. He looked at the compass to make sure he was still on course, leaned back in the seat, and fell asleep.