Creative Writing: The Hero's Journey

“They’re arguing about our sailing time,” replied Mark. “Specifically, why have we not departed already?” Other people added their voices to the argument, excitedly gesturing and complaining.
Amos appeared crossing the companionway to the deck. He positioned himself beneath the steps leading to the bridge. Staring about him, he raised his arms above his head, gesturing for calm. The sight of the steamship company uniform stilled the dissident voices. “This ship cannot sail,” announced Amos. Immediately there was a cry of protest. Amos once more raised his hands. “The captain is not here, yet.” He stated. There were cries of, “Where is he?” “He had to leave, but soon he will return, you must be patient.” The traveler that had started

In the emerging daylight floating debris could still be seen drifting on the surface. The captain maintained speed pushing the drifting flotsam from the tugboat’s bow. It was not long before the first swells of the Bay of Biscay slid beneath them giving their ferry a gentle rise and fall. They overtook a small fishing boat on its way out to start its day’s catch. The Breton fishermen gave a somber wave to the overcrowded tugboat, returned with enthusiasm by the escaping refugees. Later, a small steamer appeared out of the morning mist heading back into the inner bay followed by a returning ferry

“Are they going to be ok?” It was Andre’s question. The captain threw a glance at the E boats and then ran down the stairs and forced his way through the passengers to the engineer. They exchanged quick words, the captain entreating and indicating the nearing fog bank, then he turned and strode back to the bridge. The engineer shrugged and made a short reply to his departing back.
“The engineer says, “’The engines can’t run much longer at this speed,’” translated Mark. He added, “It’s an old boat, It’s surprising that they’ve lasted this long.” More bursts of fire came from the lead E boat. Closer now, finding their mark on the hull. Uttering cries of panic everyone threw themselves on the deck, cowering behind the low bulwarks. Mark raised his head and took the briefest glance, gauging the distance between the E boat and their tug. “A scant hundred yards and probably about the same to the fog bank,” he guessed. His brief look had also sighted a small boat in the distance. It too was hurrying to the shelter of the fog bank. “Must have been the fishing boat that we passed an hour ago,” he