Below deck, crew members suffered from seasickness. In the galley, the motion pulled tables from their hinges.
But the high-stakes battle played out in the engine room.
Fighting rising water in the ungodly hot compartment, second mate Matt Sanders frantically opened and closed a series of valves that pumped water from different areas of the ship.
All the while, he kept an eye on the boat's critical generators and engines to make sure they remained dry. As the day wore on, desperation rose with the water level -- from ankle-deep to knee-deep.
The pumps were vital to saving the ship. But debris was killing the pumps.
Wood chips and sawdust from the dirty floor were floating in the rising water and clogging the pumps. They had to be shut off constantly to clear the strainers. Scornavacchi and Adam Prokosh used trash bags -- and their bare hands -- to scoop debris.
In its own way, the Bounty fought against the storm, too. The pounding of the hull against the ocean sounded to engineer Chris Barksdale like a "couple of thousand pieces of wood rubbing up against each other."
One violent roll tossed the seasick Barksdale across the engine room -- gashing his arm. Another sent the captain flying into a table, injuring his back. Yet another slammed Prokosh, fetching a colander from the ship's galley to strain debris, into a wall, injuring a vertebra, cracking three ribs and separating a shoulder.
Claudene Christian put Prokosh on a mattress and made sure he was as comfortable as possible.
At 4 p.m., by most accounts, 4 feet of seawater covered the engine room. Electrical equipment snapped and popped, short-circuiting in the water. Walbridge admitted what they all feared: They were losing the battle.
As the scramble to pump water off the ship grew more desperate, deckhand Mark Warner smashed the engine room door open so he could move a portable gasoline powered pump up to the deck.
But the pump wouldn't work. According to testimony, no one had been trained to use it.
Around 7 p.m., one of the ship's two generators failed.
By 8 p.m. the crew started gathering emergency supplies -- food rations, drinking water, lifejackets, even diving masks -- in case they had to abandon ship. Jessica Hewitt turned to Drew Salapatek . If the ship goes down, she said, don't lose me.
Efforts to alert the Coast Guard became an exercise in trial and error.
The ship's high frequency radio: no response.
Bounty's satellite phone: no response.
Finally, electrician Doug Faunt rigged a ham radio to send and receive e-mail. They e-mailed Bounty's home office, which in turn contacted the Coast Guard at 9 p.m. The crew learned a Coast Guard C-130 search aircraft was heading toward the Bounty.
About an hour later, the second generator died, plunging the boat into darkness.
Sometime after midnight, Walbridge called the crew together in the navigation shack. By then, his question -- What went wrong? -- must have seemed like a moot point. They were exhausted after their losing battle. They needed to focus on how they were going to safely abandon ship.
Water in the engine room measured more than 6 feet deep.
With the engines dead, Bounty was at the mercy of the forces of nature 100 miles off North Carolina -- in wind gusts estimated at 100 mph and seas as high as 30 feet.
Walbridge said the Coast Guard planned to launch rescue helicopters around 6 a.m., weather permitting. If they could hold off abandoning ship, he told the crew, perhaps they wouldn't be in the water too long.
He ordered the crew to don their emergency Gumby suits.
Warner and Anna Sprague helped shipmates -- including the seriously injured Walbridge -- put on the bulky, buoyant suits. Warner could tell the captain was in pain.