Hellen

Sarah, Charles, and I gathered around Philip and carefully lifted the two crates one at a time. It wasn’t easy. It took all three of us together to lift each one. 

Once the crates were moved, Philip scrambled to a proper postured sitting position rather than the half-asleep position he’d been in previously. 

We heard more shouting coming from the deck as the Continental Navy tried to manage the ropes and the masts in an attempt to keep them from blowing over as a result of the hurricane, which my siblings and I agreed to call Hamlet, which, of course, was Charles’ idea.

“I have a headache,” said Sarah. “I wish they’d quiet down.” She took a seat on one of the crates that we had previously heaved off of our brother. 

Suddenly, all went quiet. There was no swish of the wind, no pounding of raindrops on the window. This could mean just one thing: we’d reached the eye of the storm. 

I quickly ran around the cabin, gathering a bit of rope and tying crates and other large objects to secure spaces, that way they wouldn’t slide around during the remainder of the storm. 

“Let’s try to brace ourselves for the second half,” I said. “We don’t have much left of the pause."

Right after I said it, the ship shook violently as we reached the end of the eye.