Storm-ridden

There were stories told of how on dark and storm-ridden nights some solitary traveller would find a strange companion walking by his side, a silent companion whose footsteps kept pace with his own, who, at the loneliest bend of the road, would suddenly turn and show him a dazzling vision as of the very Face of God.

The endless night crawled on, until at last the first streak of mournful gray showed very faintly in the storm-ridden sky […]

1963, Wallace Fowlie (translator), What I Believe by François Mauriac (1962), New York: Farrar, Straus & Co., Part IV, p. 47, When one has passed through the storm-ridden sea and reached the harbor, it is unsuitable to preach to those who are still struggling or who have just begun to struggle.