The remainder of the night was a blur to Mark, he couldn’t even remember going below or returning to the wheelhouse that morning. Despite the tumult of the storm however, he felt refreshed and knew he had slept well. The clock said 7:30 and the winds had finally abated. Silently, he thanked God that the captain had felt well enough to take the wheel at the height of the storm. Isaac Marlowe came to relieve him and he suddenly realized that he was hungry, but before he could go below, the crew all gathered around him. “Mark”, spoke up Bartholomew French, “We don’t know how you did it but we want to thank you for getting us through that storm last night, it was terrible, especially between midnight and 6 o’clock, we expected to be in the water any minute.”  Mark smiled, “don’t thank me boys,” he said, “the skipper had the wheel then.”  The silence was deafening as the crew glanced at each other, the younger men paling. Finally Bartholomew spoke again,  “We  didn’t tell you before Mark, but the old man died last night, Isaac found him in his cabin just before midnight, it must have been his heart.”