As I looked over the gunwale at the rise and fall of the ocean, I was reminded of my home and the fells of the Dales. The captain had lashed himself the the wheelhouse. From this vantage point he poured a stream of venomous language at the three sailers who fought the control of ships wheel to maintain steerage way on the Maid of Whitby. For as long as the ships rudder and tackle held, there was hope that we might made some landfall on the coast of Norway. But in the ‘Maids’ hold the rats drowned.
Footnote: The colours of the stone work in the prompt photo, are a spitting image of a local property called Norway House. In my part of the world a living was made trading via the Baltic and North Seas.