I can tell you what I know.
I know that there was a horrible storm. The dream took place on a brig that was sailing on a vengeful ocean. The swells were the largest any of us had ever seen, some easily the size of our ship -- if not bigger. But that was all apparent to the eye, what I knew, in the way that you innately know things in dreams, is that the sea was angry.
I could feel her down to my very bones, and indeed her rueful emotion permeated through the entire crew; it cut into our souls. Every face was a solemn ghostly white. Our bodies were exhausted and sopping from our feeble attempts to master Her will. She sent the waves pounding against the hull a fitful desperation. To me, the feeling I got from her was that of a scorned lover, and at the same time, that of someone who was stuck in a difficult position. She lashed out in blind pain-filled passion, but it also felt as if she was running from some thing, and the best reprieve was by taking the "fight" reaction against our ship.
My position on the ship was a little less clear. I can tell you that I was far from a Captain, and definitely not an officer. But men thought well of me, and would follow me if I asked. There was also that inherent dream-knowledge which told me I had much more skill than that of the lowly sailor. Were I to guess my position, I'd say I was a Boatswain.
If I were a believer in auras, I would say that there were two being felt. The ocean's was powerful and overwhelming. It was the green-blue flame like Saint Elmo's Fire. It lashed out, it flooded over the decks, over the crew, and dampened our already ebbing flame. Our aura was white, pure white but fading. It was not muddled by any other colour because in that situation, there was nothing to cling to besides memories of good times and blind hope. That hope was rapidly being smothered by the greatness of the sea.
The other thing that was striking was the apparitions on the waves. It seemed as if wolves were rising from the sea and their heads formed the crests of the waves. They would rise and howl then dive back into the ocean. There were whole packs of them, off in the distance, we could see them breach then dive on every wave's crest. The highly superstitious sailors regarded it as the worst of omens, and to be honest, I did as well.
Then it happened. A mammoth wave, one that epics are derived from, came from the darkness off our starboard beam. It was not seen, for all the hands were looking at the wolves off to port. With a deafening crash it plowed into us. Our ship trembled and shuddered. Then my legs wavered under me as the wave lifted our ship with astounding rapidity, the force pulling my body down towards the deck. At the wave's peak we hovered for a moment, then came soaring down. That prior weight turned into weightlessness as we fell into the trough. There the ship was thrown over until her spars were in the water and the masts nearly parallel with the sea. I ran to the foremist shrouds and climbed to the tops'ls (presumably to bring them in so the ship had a chance of righting herself). I looked aft and saw two topmen on the mainmist doing the same. The ship felt heavy and bogged down, as if some invisible hand was holding her, but even that hand was straining to pull her under. Then there was a shift, we could feel the ship under us change and come alive. With the sails in, she began her roll back! I knew what was coming up in the rigging, I knew the momentum would try and throw me, so I held on tight and wrapped my arms in the lines closest to me.
Then in a flash the mast swung back upright, the force was dizzying, but all the while my eyes stayed open, staring aft. It was to my horror that I saw the topmen on the mainmist were less fortunate and with a terrible force they were flung from their lofty duty. I saw the splashes in the bulk of a nearby wave, I pointed to them with my both my arms, while wrapped around the foremist. I felt that if I could just keep pointing, if I could keep sight of them, that they would be ok. The deckhands below saw me pointing, and starting pointing themselves, but the next wave came and swept the men away.
Back down on deck, the crew was clearly broken. Those topment must have been favourites on the ship. The officers just stood on the afterdeck looking dully into the roaring sea. The din and noise of the storm seemed to die away and a silence took the crew. I left them to sulk, and grabbed the wheel. There was safety in sight, a bunch of island nearby would harbour us from the wind, and slowly we began to make our way to them.
Out momentum, when we entered the islands, decreased substantially. There was still quite a current tearing through the islands, and it swept our ship around an island and into a very protected cove. That was miraculous.