“STORMY WIND FULFILLING HIS WORD”
FEBRUARY 4th, 1572. It seems almost like a dream, and yet I know it is all true, and we are really in the old moated house in which my father spent some happy years of his boyhood; every room from the ivy-covered turret down to the servants' hall, every nook in the delightfully old-fashioned garden, has its story, and Aunt Ursel knows them all, and never seems to tire of telling them to me and the orphans.
For we are all here, Uncle Jacob and Aunt Freda (as we all call her now). We are very happy, and if father could only be with us, his presence would banish that sad, anxious look I notice so often on dear mother's face, and then I should not have anything left to wish for; but she never complains, and tries to encourage us to be thankful that God not only allows him to take part in the struggle that will, we hope, when it is ended, give religious liberty to thousands of Christians in the Low Countries, but that we have been so wonderfully cared for and kept unharmed in the midst of so many dangers. And so we have; for though our peaceful retreat at the farm was swept away by a flood, and everything Uncle Jacob possessed carried away by the rising waters, we were not, like many of our neighbors, left homeless and destitute.
It was a strange, never-to-be-forgotten experience. We had been having quite a long spell of wild, wintry weather; for some days the waters of the Zuider-Zee had been slowly but steadily rising, and by the end of October it was thought well to collect the cattle from the low-lying pasture lands, and bring them for safety into the outbuildings on the farm. But still we had no thought of danger, though we knew that the field upon which the farm stood lay many feet below the level of the sea. On the 1st of November heavy masses of dark clouds drifted across the sky, and the autumn wind moaned and whistled with a strange, threatening sound. Uncle Jacob and Truyken brought the cattle from the sheds into two of the lower rooms, and we all were together in the topmost story. No one felt like going to bed, though one or two of the youngest of the orphans slept amid all the raging of the storm without.
Uncle Jacob took his well-worn Bible and read such a beautiful psalm; part of it was, I remember, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea: though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah." (Psa. 46:1-31<<To the chief Musician for the sons of Korah, A Song upon Alamoth.>> God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 3Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. (Psalm 46:1‑3).) As I listened I found myself wondering if David had ever listened as we were then listening to the sullen roar of waters, that were every moment rising higher and higher.
With the first gray streak of dawn the crash came. For a few moments we heard nothing but the rush of waters, then the house shook to its foundations, and we knew that the dykes had given way, and the country for miles round was under water; as daylight advanced we saw the roofs of a few scattered homesteads looking like islands in the midst of a great sea.
It was a moment of real peril; we thought that our last hour had come. The children, roused from sleep, clung to us, crying piteously; but we all grew strangely calm and still, as dear old Jacob Anderzon said, “Let us pray." We all knelt, and in very simple words he told God as his heavenly Father of our great danger, and asked Him to do that which would be most for His own glory. I do not know how long we waited after that prayer; to me it seemed a very long time, but mother says she does not think it was more than half an hour. At last we heard the splash of oars; the farm servants had, with great difficulty, and at the risk of their lives, got out the boats, and one by one we made our way through a skylight on to the roof, and were taken off in two boats.
For some hours we tossed about on that wild waste of waters, hardly knowing what to hope for, or what lay before us, for the flood was still rising, and one by one the roofs that had looked so much like little islands were lost to sight. We were chilled to the bone by the bitter wind, and drenched with spray; we had not been able to carry either food or water away with us, the children cried with cold and hunger, and hope seemed almost to have died out of all our hearts, when we saw a ship in full sail coming towards us, though still too far off to decide if she would prove a friend or a foe. If she proved to be a Spanish cutter, it would be better, we all felt, to die where we were than to allow ourselves to be taken prisoners. We strained our eyes in trying to see what colors she carried at her mast-head; but in vain.
At last one of the men who was helping to row cried out, "I have seen that trim little brig before; she is ' The Water Witch.' Her captain and crew are ' Beggars of the Sea,' they will take us on board, we shall yet be saved!" And so we were! We were all taken on board, food and hot drinks given to us, and on finding where we wished to go, the captain changed his plans, sailing round the north coast of Holland to take us to the old home of the Karlzons. Uncle Jacob and his wife are to make their home with us, and we are all very happy about it; for, as mother says, we can never repay the kindness we received from them, or forget how freely when we were homeless wanderers they opened their home and their hearts to us; and now that their little farm and all their worldly goods have been swept away by the flood, we are so glad that though we have only a little, we can share it with those who have lost their all.
No word of murmur or complaint is ever heard from Uncle Jacob. Once, when I heard Truyken ask him if it did not sometimes seem hard, that after so many years of toil everything should have been swept away, he only bowed his head and said, "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:2121And said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord. (Job 1:21).)
The orphans are all with us, and though it is not always easy to provide food for such a large and hungry family, "the blessing of the Lord" seems to make a little go a long way. We have a cow, and as Truyken and Aunt Freda are clever at all kinds of dairy work we have no lack of milk, cheese and butter; we grow our own vegetables, and Uncle Jacob is busy about all manner of occupations in the house and garden, for the old place has been neglected and allowed to get very much out of repair. We often fear he is working far beyond his strength, as we cannot help noticing how feeble he has grown during the last few months; his sight, too, seems to be failing; he can seldom see now to read his long-loved Bible, but many psalms and chapters are stored in his memory, and one or other of us is always ready and glad to read to him.
The other day I was reading to him the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel by John; he listened with a look of deep peace on his face; when I had finished he said, "I often think I am almost at my journey's end. Day by day as the lights of earth grow paler, the light of ' the many mansions ' grows brighter, and my homeward way cannot be a dark one. I have learned to love you, Mayken, almost as dearly as if you had been my own child; but if, before the return of your father, my home-call should come, I am content; for I shall leave you in better care and in safer keeping than his or mine, in that of the Savior-God, who has led me by the right way, who was near me in prison, who will never fail me, nor forsake me.”
Father's letters are still few and far between, but they are so bright and cheerful that their coming always seems to bring a ray of sunshine, no matter how dull or dark the day on which they arrive. He says very little about the hardships of the campaign; the long, weary marches, the cold and hunger often suffered by the prince's troops, for money is very scarce with them, and many who had made high-sounding promises of help failed in the time of their greatest need. Father has been employed by the prince on several missions in the hope of raising money to pay his soldiers, one being to England, where so many of our brethren in the faith have already found peaceful and prosperous homes. But they had scarcely reached the English coast when they were forbidden to land and driven away by order of Queen Elizabeth, though we cannot believe that at heart she is really unfriendly to the Protestant cause, but acted under pressure in consequence of some treaty she had made, or intends to make, with Philip of Spain.
Some victories have, however, been gained, and more than one town in the Netherlands has opened its gates and given a right hearty welcome to the prince and his troops. He has pawned or sold all his own plate and jewels, and never seems afraid to face toil and danger if the cause of freedom is to be served by his doing so. Father writes, that amid all the stormy scenes of camp life the prince still finds or makes time to read his Bible; and his quiet but firm faith in God has been a great help and encouragement to himself and many others.
I sometimes find myself wondering how all this will end. But I am, I think, learning one thing to say from my very heart, "What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." When I see what care God takes that there should be seeds and berries for the birds, and sunshine and dewdrops for the flowers, I feel sure He will not forget His children.
Yesterday was quite an eventful day in our little household. In spite of all the mending and patching that has been done the children's clothes wear out so quickly, that to keep them from being in rags has needed a good deal of time and thought. Mother said one day, "How I wish your Aunt Christiana could see the poor little things! She has a kind heart, and her linen chests are well filled." So it was arranged that mother and Aunt Ursel should visit her in her home at Leyden, which, though not so large or grand as the one she and her husband had been obliged to leave in great haste at Antwerp because my uncle, John von Brock, was known to be one of the friends and supporters of the Prince of Orange, was still very comfortable and nicely furnished.
They returned the next day, bringing Aunt Christiana with them. The sight of the children seemed to touch her deeply, and as their clear young voices joined in their evening hymn, I saw a tear steal quietly down her cheek. When they were in bed, and we sat talking, she said suddenly, addressing my mother, "Constanza, if you would trust me with that blue-eyed boy who sang so sweetly, I should like to take him to bring up as my own child. Since my darling Henrich died, my heart has often seemed empty and hungry for affection, and it will do us good to hear the patter of a child's feet, or the ring of its laugh about the house.”
We were all so pleased and thankful, as we knew not only that it would be a good and happy home for our little Max, but that as both my uncle and aunt were true Christians, he would be wisely and lovingly trained. When told in the morning that he was going to leave us, he cried so long and bitterly that we all felt it would be cruel to force him away.
For a few moments we were all silent, hardly knowing what to say or do; then Bertha, a gentle child of six, nestled close up to her side, and slipping her hand into hers, whispered, "I should like to go with you, but please will you take Bertrand, too?”
Aunt Christiana did not say "No" to the little pleader, and when on the next day she set out for Leyden with her two little charges, we all thought she looked happier than she had done since the death of her only child.