As ominous waves spill across the deck, the crew of the Deliverance is on the verge of dissolving into primal lunacy.

Fools abandon their posts to keep dry, but climbing below deck they fail to shut the hatches. Premonition is too frightened to put his fear in verse. When the rain starts, the old ship is nothing but a sponge, rolling from side to side like an obese, unhappy woman.

- Cut the sails! Hold the helm! – Libero issues commands to the few left to depend on, but when the first report of thunder sounds, even those few seem reluctant to obey.

Even and Odd tag along side the captain, fused like puppets from different plays, only the combined weight of their body keeps them from toppling over to the cold boiling sea:

- Captain! Oh, captain!

Libero doesn’t listen. He finds a phthisical, hydrophobic son of shoemaker and makes him scale the main mast:

- Up, up, my brave! – he says, and the fool leaps to his feet, like a servile dog, only to be, half way up, swept from the ropes by a savage gush of wind.

The storm at its peak, like a dark blanket, threatens


to snuff out the life on the insolent walnut shell probing its power.

- Clove, to the mast! – howls Libero. The pathetic retard barely moves. Libero unbuckles his belt. Poor Clove just pulls his legs under him, expecting to be flogged. Lightning cuts the sky in ribbons.  But the captain only caringly fastens Clove to the base of the mast to save him from being washed overboard.

Then Libero calls out to the face of the storm, to those mock mariners of his hidden in the drenched bowels of the ship:

- Is there no one to do my bidding?

Even would climb but Odd won’t let him, so the only one left to the forsaken commander is crazy Maddick, the Dog of Lust:

- Up you go, Maddick, my loyal son – the sun shines on Libero’s face midst the cruel eye of the storm – shorten the sails before they’re ripped to shreds, I’ll take hold of the helm!

The savage complies with a newfound lucidity.

- Now! – out of nowhere jumps young Rasap, axe in hand, with a ragged band of mutineers close behind at his heels.

- Now! – yells Rasap to the captain – Now you submit or you die!

- Fools! Help me!          - Is the shore really so close?