Stand By, Boys!
K. Norel
Table of Contents
Preface
Stand By, Boys! is a true story a story of things that happened when the waves of the North Sea broke through the dikes and flooded much of the Netherlands, in 1953.
Stand By, Boys!
by K. Norel
Copyright, 1955, by
Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company
All rights in this book are reserved. No part may be reproduced in any manner without permission in writing from the publisher, except brief quotations used in connection with a review in a magazine or newspaper.North Beveland, where the story takes place, is an island off the southwest coast of the Netherlands. It is part of the province called Zeeland which means “land of the sea.”
Zeeland is so named because much of it has been taken from the sea. Land that is now beautiful with green pastures and grain was once under the wild waves, part of the bottom of the sea. Even today it lies lower than the sea. It is surrounded by high dikes, which keep the water out.
Little by little, the Netherlanders have taken thousands of acres of land from the sea. After carefully planning what piece of land they shall take, they build the high strong walls which they call dikes. Next, they pump out the water that has thus been surrounded by dikes. When the land is dry, it is ready to be worked into farmland. Such a piece of land, surrounded by dikes, is called a polder.
People who live in a polder must tend the dikes carefully. The sea pounds against the walls day and night, summer and winter. And if the sea should break through, the water will pour down upon the land, washing away houses and barns, and drowning the people.
That is what happened on February 1, 1953. A furious storm blew down from the northwest. It was the time of spring tide; the water was high, and kept rising higher. The wind dashed great waves against the dikes with tremendous force. In spite of all that the people could do, the dikes broke in many places. Whole villages were washed away; nearly two thousand people were drowned, and thousands lost their homes.
Mr. K. Norel visited Zeeland after the storm was over. He saw the flooded polders. He talked with people who escaped the flood. In this book he tells us about the tragedy of the flood, and about the courage of the Netherlanders; he tells how the boys and girls, as well as the men and women, struggled bravely to save their land and to help each other.
A Stormy Saturday
“Let’s see who beats to the top!”
That was Coba. She did not wait for an answer, but was off toward the dike at a run. Her brother Art and his friend Len followed close behind.
They didn’t run far. The dike of North Beveland is steep and slippery. The climbers pulled themselves up towards its top by clutching tall grasses, and had to dig their fingers into the mud to make headway where there was no grass.
Halfway to the top, Art came near catching up with Coba, but he lost his foothold. Len was close behind him, and the two boys slid part way down together. So Coba, tomboy that she was, reached the top first.
“Hurray!” she cried, as she pulled herself erect.
But a violent blast of wind snatched the word out of her mouth and nearly blew her over. Quickly she ducked back into the shelter of the dike. It was the boys, after all, who were first to stand on the top.
Coba crept up after them, and sheltered behind them. But when she looked down at the wild sea and heard the screaming wind and the thundering waves, she could not help shivering. The roaring breakers were dashing against the dike with terrible force. They sent splashes of white foam flying high into the air. Ordinarily, the sea viewed from the dike was gray, if the day was cloudy as now. On a sunny day, there were often little feathery tufts of foam sparkling on green wavelets. But today it was a boiling, churning sea; bits of foam flew up into the children’s faces, and the wind was so strong that they had to lean against it to keep from being blown over. Even Art and Len gasped for breath, and the noise was deafening.
“Let’s go!” Art motioned with his arm, for he couldn’t hear his own voice.
As they scrambled down the thick embankment, the roar of the waves was muffled. But it still echoed in their ears. It had deafened them, and there was a noise in their ears like the flapping of sails in the wind.
“It was beautiful, though!” Art declared.
“Grand!” said Len. But Coba said nothing. “How did you like it, Cobie?” Art asked.
Coba was usually ready with her tongue, but she hesitated to answer. She was busy soiling her handkerchief without getting her hands much cleaner. “I ... I think it was terrible!” she said at last with a shiver.
Art shrugged his shoulders. “What is so terrible about the sea? It’s grand. It’s tremendous. But it isn’t terrible. It’s nothing to shiver about.”
They found their school books where they had left them, in the shelter of a bush, and started back toward town. The boys talked as they walked. Coba was quiet. Every now and then she shook.
“Did you get cold?” Art asked her.
She shook her head. “That isn’t it,” she said.
“What, then?”
“Well ... aren’t you the least bit afraid?” she asked.
“Afraid!” both boys exclaimed at once. “Afraid of what?”
“But suppose the dike should break!”
The boys laughed. Coba was proving herself to be a girl, after all, in spite of her tomboy ways. “The dike can’t break!” Len declared.
“The dikes used to break,” Coba protested.
“That was before they were big and strong,” the boys answered together. “Look at it!” Len added.
Coba glanced up at the wall beside which they were walking. It was truly high and thick and strong. But bits of foam came flying over its top with each wave that broke against it, and Coba said, “It’s high on this side, but on the other side there’s all that water. When you stand on top, there doesn’t seem to be any dike at all.”
“Well, there is one, all right,” Len said with a laugh. “And it’s a good strong one.”
Art, laughing, added, “Let the old breakers come!”
Coba tried to laugh with them about her fears. But she couldn’t quite stop shivering.
As soon as they were in the village, in the protection of the houses, she felt a little more at ease. The pounding of the waves wasn’t quite so near and so loud, and she couldn’t see that spray of foam and water flying over the dike.
Art and Coba picked up their bicycles at school. “See you this afternoon,” Art said to Len as they prepared to ride off.
“I’ll be there at three-thirty,” Len promised.
With the wind behind them, they hardly had to use the pedals. They fairly flew along the little path between the fields. But when they turned the corner, and the wind was against them, it was another matter. Before they had gone ten feet, they had to give up and walk. The wind simply blew them off the path. Even walking was next to impossible. Coba managed to get along by sheltering behind Art. But when he got ahead of her she could not get her breath. She had to stop and turn her back to the wind.
“Wait for me!” she called, but Art did not hear her. The wind blew her voice away, and Art was bending against the storm, fighting his way into it.
Coba tried to follow him. A fierce gust of wind blew icy rain and hail into her face. She had to turn her back to it again. No matter how she tried, she could not face it. The wind kept whipping her breath away, so that she gasped for air. If only Art would wait! She couldn’t make him hear. Sobs began to choke her throat as she stood there with the wind and rain beating wildly against her back.
Suddenly Art was beside her. “Come on, Co! What’s the matter? What are you crying about?”
“I’m not crying! And I am coming! Only don’t go so fast!” She wiped her face with her wet coat sleeve. She did not want to cry, and she wouldn’t admit how terribly frightened she was. She set her teeth.
Art laid the two bicycles at the side of the path, under the bushes. They’d find them Monday morning. The one important thing now was to get home safely.
He made Coba put her hands on his shoulders and walk behind him, the way they often skated in wintertime. And so they set out. But the way home seemed endless. The howling wind ripped at them, the rain and hail beat upon them without mercy. They were dead tired and could hardly make headway.
“Toot toot!”
The auto horn sounding close behind them made Art jump aside, dragging Coba along. But the car stopped. The door swung open, and a boy’s voice called, “Jump in!”
It was Len, with his father. Len had told his father that Coba and Art were on their way home with their bikes, and Mr. Cozynse had exclaimed. “They can’t ride their bikes in this weather! They’ll never make it. We’ll pick them up as soon as I can get away.”
There had been a few matters to tend to first, but there they were, and in the nick of time. Coba and Art climbed in with grateful sighs. The door banged, shutting out the storm. In a moment that endless distance to the farm was covered. They drew up beside the kitchen door.
Coba was the first to jump out. The wind jerked her cap from her head and blew her hair about her face. Mother was waiting in the doorway, and Coba flew into her arms. She hid her face on Mother’s shoulder and gave way to the tears that had long been wanting to come. She had been frightened — terribly frightened — by the storm, but especially by the sea that seemed to all but wash the dike away.
Art followed Coba to the door, and Mr. Cozynse began to back away. But Art’s father called, “Why not stay? We were going to the meeting together this afternoon ... ”
“I haven’t had lunch,” Mr. Cozynse protested.
“Eat with us,” said Mr. De Leeuw, and Art’s mother added a hearty invitation. “There’s plenty of gray peas and pork, with buttermilk porridge for dessert. We’ll never be able to eat it without your help!”
“Well,” Mr. Cozynse admitted with a smile, “I told my wife that if I didn’t come right back she could figure that I was eating at Pleasant Acres, and would go right on to Kortgene from here.”
So there were thirteen about the table that noon instead of eleven — three grown-ups and ten little folk. Coba and Len and Art could hardly be called little folk, though. They were nearly grown up, compared with Lenna, who still sat in a highchair. Bud and Joe were little fellows. Mattie and Trena were not much bigger. And then there were Billy and Dottie, who were about middle-sized.
During lunch, the older folk talked about the storm. When Mr. Cozynse mentioned the fury of the sea, Mother De Leeuw said, “The dike will hold all right, you think?”
Coba pricked up her ears. That was the very question uppermost in her mind. What would Father and Mr. Cozynse say?
“The dike is high and strong. The sea cannot get over it nor through it,” Mr. Cozynse answered.
Art gave Coba a gentle kick under the table, and his eyes said, “Didn’t I tell you?”
But Mother De Leeuw was not entirely satisfied. “North Beveland has been flooded many times,” she said.
Mr. Cozynse was well aware of that. He was alderman and polder administrator. He knew the history of the island in detail. North Beveland had been wiped out twice. In the time of Luther it remained under water for several years, because men were too busy fighting each other to fight the sea. Later it was reclaimed, bit by bit, polder by polder. Two centuries of labor finally restored it to what it had been. Now it was bigger than ever.
“But it has been flooded many times since,” Mother De Leeuw persisted. It was evident that she could not quite overcome her anxiety.
“And it always came on top again,” Mr. Cozynse said cheerfully. “That is according to Zeeland’s motto, you know: ‘struggle and rise again.’”
“It can happen again, then,” said Mother.
“It’s possible, of course. I don’t say that it cannot happen. But just because dikes used to give way, that is no reason to fear that it may happen again. The dikes have never been as strong and solid as they are now.”
Art glanced at Coba once more. His eyes asked, “Did you hear that?” If Mr. Cozynse was so confident, there certainly was no reason to worry.
The storm continued to rage. The windows rattled, and the blinds shook. But there was no reason to fear.
“Flee from the wrath to come” (Luke 3:7).
“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved” (Acts 16:31).
"If We Should Not Meet Again"
After lunch, Mr. Cozynse and Mr. De Leeuw left for the meeting at Kortgene. The little ones went to the barn to play.
A barn is a wonderful place on a rainy day. There are so many dark corners for hiding among the hay, in the stables, under the wagons. Today, with the wind howling around the corners and shaking the clapboards, it was more exciting than ever. In fact, it was a little too exciting for Mattie and Trena. They soon fled to Mother. But the boys played till it grew dark.
Art and Len helped Tunis, the hired man. When they had fed the cattle, they returned to the house. Mother had dinner on the table, but the men-folk were not yet home.
Mother folded her hands for prayer, and the children were quiet. Then the noise of the storm seemed worse. There was no sign of a let-up. The wind howled and screamed louder than ever.
“Dear Lord,” Mother prayed, “please protect the men who are on the sea in the storm. And protect us, too, from harm and danger. We know that we are safe in Thy care ... ”
When she had said “Amen,” Coba blinked away a few tears. She was glad that Mother had prayed thus, but she didn’t want the boys to notice her wet eyes.
After dinner, the little ones were put to bed. Coba settled in a corner with a book. Art and Len set out the checker game. Len was good at checkers, and usually won.
Coba could not keep her mind on the book. She kept hearing the storm. Finally, she put her book down and sat watching the boys. Len made several foolish moves. Was the storm bothering him, too?
But when the game ended, with Art the winner, Len suggested, “Let’s play again.”
They were in the midst of the second game when their fathers came home.
“Ready to go, Len?” Mr. Cozynse asked.
Len begged for time to finish the game, but Mr. Cozynse objected that it would take too long.
Then Len had a bright idea. “Can Art come home with us? We could finish the game at home!”
That seemed all right to Mr. Cozynse, and Art eagerly looked at Mother for her consent. It would be fun to spend a Sunday in town.
“The storm ... ” she said hesitantly. “It’s no weather to go out.”
“That won’t bother us in the car,” said Mr. Cozynse.
Coba wanted to say, “Suppose there should be a flood ... ” but she didn’t. After all, Mr. Cozynse had declared that the dikes could not break; they were strong.
Mother was nodding her consent. Father said, “We’ll see you Monday night. You’ll be coming home after school on Monday.”
“And I’ll see you Monday morning,” Coba said. But when Art turned to Mother, to give her a kiss as he always did when saying goodnight, he was surprised at the way she put her arms around him and held him tight as if he were going on a long trip. She kissed him a second time.
“Would you rather have me stay home, Mother?” he asked, wonderingly. “We’ll see each other Monday, you know.”
“God grant it, my boy,” Mother said, and she still held him.
Mr. Cozynse called from the doorway, “Ready, Art?”
Then Mother let him go. “If we should not meet again, Art,” she said, “then I want you to know that all is well with Mother.”
“But Mother, what do you mean?” Art exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said again, “all will be well. The Lord Jesus has made all things well for me.” She spoke with deep feeling.
Art threw his arms around her neck and clung to her. Now he found it hard to go.
She loosened his hold gently. “Go now, son. Go now. And I hope that we shall see one another again.”
Coba watched it all from her corner. Mother’s strange behavior wakened all her fears once more.
But Mother had calmed herself again. Coba saw her smile a tender, sweet smile, as she patted Art on the shoulder and said, “Run along now, son. Mr. Cozynse is waiting. And have a blessed Sunday!”
Mother and Father and Coba watched from the doorway as the auto rode away. The roar of the motor was immediately lost in the noise of the storm, but Coba watched the lights glide through the darkness. She saw the beams tilt upward as the car passed over the center dike, and then the lights disappeared.
“Come inside, child, and shut the door! It’s cold out there!” Mother called.
Coba obeyed, shivering. Soon afterward she went to bed.
Art slept in Len’s room, in a separate bed. The storm raged just as fiercely in Colynsplaat as at Pleasant Acres. And besides the roaring of the wind, there was the pounding of the waves, for Cozynse’s house was near the dike. Art could not sleep. He lay listening to the powerful blasts of wind, and at the same time thinking of his mother. What a strange parting that had been! It was as if she thought they would not see one another again. Was she afraid of the storm? She need not be. The house at Pleasant Acres was well built and sturdy. The wind surely would not damage it. And as for the sea — Mr. Cozynse himself had declared there was no danger of flood. He should know. It wasn’t surprising that Coba was frightened when she stood on the dike. Coba was a girl. But the polder administrator knew what he was talking about. And Mother — well, she had been upset for a moment, but when she sent him away she was her ordinary self again, cheerful and calm. She had wished him a blessed Sunday.
Art turned over and pulled the blankets up to his chin. The noise of wind and waves gradually dimmed, and he fell asleep.
The Alarm
Art slept until some strange sound wakened him. The storm, of course. The noise of it seemed even worse than last evening. And there was another sound. Art strained his ears to listen. Was it voices snatched up and scattered by the wind? And the clatter of wooden shoes on the pavement? Could it be morning? If it was morning, it must be Sunday, and folks wouldn’t be walking around in wooden shoes.
He snapped on the light. The little clock told him that it was one hour past midnight. Len was sound asleep.
Art decided that he must have imagined the voices and the clatter of wooden shoes. People do not walk the streets at this time of night. He snapped out the light and ducked under the blankets so that the storm would not bother him.
But the next moment he heard footsteps going down the stairs and through the hall toward the front door. The front door slammed shut. Art leaped out of bed and pushed the curtain aside. The street light showed him Mr. Cozynse, dressed in long rubber coat and boots, striding toward the harbor.
The dike! At the thought of possible danger, Art remembered Mother. He saw her again as she had looked when she said goodbye — pale, blinking back a few tears, holding him close. “If we should not see each other again ... ”
He went to Len and shook his shoulder. “Wake up!”
Len turned over sleepily. He had been a little worried in the evening, but he was only sleepy now.
“Your father just went out, and I think there must be danger.”
“Father is a member of the dike watch,” Len muttered. “He always goes out to inspect when it’s high tide.” His eyes fell shut, and his heavy breathing told Art that he was already back in dreamland.
Art crept back into bed. His feet were cold and he was shivering. But the bed was warm. Soon he was asleep again.
Bong! ... Bong! ... Bong! ... Bong! ... Now what was that? Art sat up with a jerk.
Bong! ... Bong! ... Bong! ...
It was the ringing of bells. The wind broke the sound, so that it was loud one moment and almost gone the next. Was it the Sunday morning church bells? There was no sign of daylight. What a strange night! The clanging of the bells amid the roaring of the wind and waves sent the shivers running down Art’s back.
He snapped the light on again. It was two o’clock. That settled it the bells were not church bells; they were an alarm.
He jumped out of bed again, and pushed the curtain aside once more. In every house along the street he saw lights. Doors were open; men were running in the street, running toward the harbor, calling to one another as they hurried along.
The click of the doorknob behind him made Art whirl around. Len’s mother was there, completely dressed. “Boys, you must get up,” she said.
“Is there danger?” Art asked quickly.
Len, startled out of a deep sleep, sat upright. “Did the dike break?” he demanded.
“No, no,” his mother said. “The dike is all right. Father just came back from inspection. But the water is high, and it’s well to be prepared.”
When the boys came downstairs, they found Len’s sisters already there, fully dressed. Mr. Cozynse was gone. Art noticed a strongbox on the table, and guessed that it contained the family’s valuables, ready in case they should have to flee. He shivered, and again recalled his mother as he had last seen her. “If we should not meet again, Art ... ”
Wooden shoes clattered down the street. Voices called back and forth excitedly. More men were hurrying toward the harbor.
Len wanted to go with them. So did Art. They could not stand to stay inside.
Mother Cozynse gave her consent, on condition that they would promise not to go to the dike. They promised to go no farther than the harbor, and to come right home if anything serious should happen.
They ran to the corner, to Front Street. Both sides of Front Street are lined with gnarled old trees, like two rows of soldiers. These stood stiff and unmoved amid the tumult of wind and rain, while Len and Art struggled up the hill, bending low against the storm.
Colynsplaat is higher than the polders of the island. It lies seven feet above normal sea level. The dike which separates it from the sea is seven feet higher. Front Street leads through an opening in the dike, to the harbor and the pier. But the boys soon found that they could not reach the harbor.
The street was barricaded. Heavy planks had been set up across the entire width of the street, closing the opening in the dike, and men were lifting another plank in place to make the barricade higher.
“Those are flood planks,” Len explained. He had seen them put in place before, when the dike watchmen were out to practice. “I’ve never seen them really in use,” he said. “The water must be terribly high! My father says they haven’t been used since 1916.”
Art looked at the barricade curiously. At each end, the planks were fitted into the strong cement work of the dikes. In the center they were supported by a strong pillar, a buttress. This extra support in the middle of the street was necessary because of the length of the planks; in case of high water, the pressure of the sea waves might be more than they could bear.
The boys wanted to see over the barricade, but when they ventured to leave the shelter of the nearby houses, the storm caught them in its fury. The wind whipped their breath away and dashed water into their faces. Art thought it was a shower of rain, but then he tasted salt on his lips. It was water from the ocean!
But how could there be ocean water here, so far back from the harbor and the pier? They looked again, and there was no pier to be seen! The whole harbor was gone! There was only sea, wild waves and whirling foam, gleaming under the harbor lights that now stood deep in the water. Ships that were otherwise down below the pier were riding high upon the waves and dashing against the tops of the few piles that protruded above water.
The waves had come in to the barricade, and were dashing against it. They were not as strong as those which the boys had seen pounding against the dike yesterday; these were somewhat broken by the piers and the harbor. But they came rolling against the barricade with plenty of force.
Art and Len stood close behind the barricade. It was a grand sight that wild water and the whirling foam in the rosy light of the lanterns that stood amid the waves.
“Look out, boys!”
They jumped aside just in time. A big breaker crashed against the barricade; a curtain of water arched high above it and then plunged into the street. It flowed away, leaving behind bits of shimmering foam.
Each following breaker did the same. It pounded against the barricade, then arched over it and sent a river of water flowing down Front Street.
That small amount of water was no cause for alarm. As long as the dikes held firm, there was no danger. The dikes were strong, and the bulwark that supported the flood planks was well built.
“Look out!” came the cry again.
Len and Art ducked behind the center support. The huge wave broke over the planks, and its top came splashing into the street, but Len and Art were safely sheltered behind the buttress.
“Did you push me?” Art asked.
“No,” said Len. “I felt a push, too. It was the buttress.”
The buttress? How could a stone pillar push against a person?
Another wave came rolling in, and the boys ducked behind the buttress again. And again they felt that push.
Suddenly Art realized what was happening. The buttress was tottering! Its cement foundation must have cracked! If that pillar should fall, the whole barricade would go, and the sea would pour through the opening! The village would be flooded — perhaps the whole island! Len agreed. If the buttress should fall, and the barricade with it, the results would be terrible.
Art called to a man nearby. “Hey, Mister! the buttress is going to fall!”
The man laughed. “Nonsense! A strong pillar like that doesn’t fall. It’s the planks that need watching. We’ll probably have to get some sandbags to support them after a while. But the buttress is plenty strong.”
Another and bigger wave broke against the barricade. Again Art and Len felt the buttress give. There was no doubt about it. If something wasn’t done, it would surely fall. But the men wouldn’t listen.
Then Art spied a big, tall man coming up the street, and when the street light shone on him he recognized the school principal.
He dashed up to the man. “Sir!” he exclaimed. And then, stammering with excitement, he told what they had discovered. Len was beside him, adding his assurance.
“But that can hardly be,” said the principal. “That buttress is very well built.”
“Then come and see!” said Art. He caught hold of one sleeve of the principal’s coat, and Len grasped the other. They pulled him along. He who will not believe, must feel.
“Now just feel it move when the next wave comes!” Art said.
The wave came. It broke against the planks, and the buttress tottered. The principal straightened in startled surprise. That meant danger — great danger!
He ran toward a group of men sheltering in the lee of the houses, and called out, “The buttress is going to fall! It needs support, immediately. Go get posts and sandbags!”
Several men dashed off for the needed supports.
But the sea does not wait for man. Another huge breaker came rolling in. The buttress tottered worse than before. Art and Len ran away from it, for fear it would fall and crush them.
But the principal did not run away. He leaped toward the tottering pillar, and he called to others, “Come on, men! We have no posts and sandbags on hand, but you and I are here!”
What did he mean? Did he expect men to stand there and hold back the ocean waves?
Yes, that is what he meant. He pressed his own broad shoulders against the buttress, and he quickly pointed to others to take their places beside him, against the buttress and against the planks. It was the pressure against the planks that was causing the buttress to break loose.
Every man there took his place in the row. The baker, the minister, the doctor, a couple of fishermen, the butcher, two dock laborers there were thirty men, standing side by side with their backs to the buttress and to the planks.
But that was not enough. The breach wasn’t filled. Art and Len were watching, longing to help; but the principal had called for men, not for boys.
The principal saw them. “Come on, Art! Come on, Len!”
They leaped in to take their places. Art squeezed himself between the skinny baker and the fat butcher. Len found room between the minister and a dock worker. There they stood, ready to stop the oncoming waves with their backs.
“The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe” (Proverbs 18:10).
“The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and He knoweth them that trust in Him” (Nahum 1:7).
"Stand by, Boys!"
For a few moments the men standing in a row behind the barricade had nothing to do. The sea seemed to take a rest. But the school principal, who was tall enough to see over the barricade, was on the watch.
“Here comes one!” he shouted. “Stand by, boys!”
They stood by! Thirty-two backs were pressed with might and main against the barricade and the bulwark. The shock of the pounding wave sent them all forward a bit, but only for a moment.
The great curtain of water, which had sent them all running before this, now arched over them and splashed down upon them. Art had to gasp for breath. If only he had been tall, like the principal! But it passed, and he could breathe again. He shook himself like a dog, and glanced toward Len. Len had had a similar drenching. The dignified minister snorted. The baker sneezed. The fat hotel keeper was panting for breath. The old doctor was trying to wipe both sea water and perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief that was dripping wet.
“Stand by, boys!” the principal cried out again.
All discomfort was immediately forgotten. Backs were bent to receive another shock, and after the shock came another ice-cold bath. Again, Art gasped for breath. But they had succeeded in holding back the sea once more.
While waiting for the next wave, Art began to shiver with cold. Len was shivering, too. The old doctor began to cough.
“Stand by, boys!” The call came a third time.
Backs were bent to hold back another violent wave, and that was followed by another cold shower-bath. It became routine — the shock of the wave shoving the barricade against their backs, and then the splash of the shower — they took it, over and over, as the waves rolled in.
Help arrived — not the sandbags and the posts, but more people. Forty-five men, packed tight as sardines, filled the opening. Their shoulders grew sore from the beating, but that didn’t matter. They shivered with cold, dripping wet as they were. But that didn’t matter, either. The old doctor’s cough grew worse and worse, but he would not give up. The fat butcher could not stop panting, but he stayed in his place.
Meanwhile the sea seemed to muster all its strength. Each wave made the big planks creak and bend in spite of the forty-five backs; the bulwark tottered and seemed about to fall each time again. And still the sandbags and the posts did not come.
People began to come from everywhere — women and girls as well as men and boys.
“We need more help!” the principal called. “Pile up against us!”
Men crowded close, pressing their shoulders against the chests of the others. They made a double row.
But even so the force of the ocean seemed to be winning.
The women and girls had remained in the shelter of the nearby houses, and the principal called to them, “We need more!”
Then they came, and soon the living wall was four-deep. A hundred and fifty backs were pressed against the barricade in this battle with the sea.
“Stand by, boys!”
He called them all boys — the minister, the old doctor, the fat butcher, the thin baker, little Millie who ran the corner dry goods store and dignified Mrs. Sanders. Nobody thought to take offense.
They all obeyed, and they held with might and main.
Art found himself flattened by the fat butcher, and Len learned that little Millie could push amazingly hard, considering how old and small she was. The water plunged over them all, too. But not one of them minded it. When the shower was past, they would wipe their faces with their wet sleeves, and prepare for the next call to “Stand by!”
Art wasn’t cold anymore. He was sweating from the exertion.
So they turned back the fury of the waves — ten waves, twenty, maybe fifty. But the tide was rising and the waves were gaining strength. Each blow against the barricade was heavier than the one before.
At last the old doctor had to give up. The fat butcher went to sit on the nearest step and catch his breath. The minister stayed on, but his strength was gone. Art was pressed so flat that he couldn’t do a thing. Len had some relief, because little Millie was getting tired. The dock workers and the fishermen kept at it, but their strength was ebbing, too. Only the principal was tireless. His “Stand by, boys!” rang out as clear as ever. But there was not much response. The planks were giving way.
The buttress wavered dangerously. And the reinforcements had not yet come. Would the sea be victorious after all? Had all the effort been in vain?
The principal looked around anxiously for fresh help, but there was none. The people had reached the end of their strength. And a new breaker, a mighty one, was coming in.
“Stand by, boys!” he shouted.
His weary helpers, numb and worn, bent their backs to the task again. The blow of the breaker sent them staggering.
Back they came for the next wave. They barely held the barricade against its terrific force.
And then, out of the boiling, churning water, a dark hulk heaved in sight. For a moment, no one knew what it was. It bore down upon the barricade, and they thought that all was surely lost now. The living wall could never hold out against the pressure of this monster. It would crush them if they tried.
But to their amazement it did not press against the barricade at all! Instead, it settled down just in front of it. Something seemed to hold it there, crosswise. And instead of pounding against the planks, it became a protection for them. It broke the force of the oncoming waves!
And then Art made out what it was — a ship. A ship that had been anchored in the harbor, and loosed from its moorings by the high water! The waves had washed it over the pier, and now it was somehow caught in front of the opening, where it served as a breakwater.
That gave the human wall a chance to catch their breath. Art crawled from behind the big butcher. Len rubbed his stomach, which had suffered from the pressure of little Millie’s shoulder.
They had scarcely begun to feel relief, when men appeared with sandbags and piles. These were heaped up to make a strong dam. The human wall had done its duty and served its purpose. It was no longer needed.
“Thank you, boys! Thank you, boys!” the principal said to them all.
He had a special word for Art and Len. “You did an excellent piece of work tonight, boys!”
Both boys mumbled something. They didn’t know what to say, but the praise made them feel good.
“Now run home and get into dry clothes,” the principal added. “We don’t want you to get sick.”
They ran, in spite of the weight of their drenched clothing. The storm blew them along.
Mother Cozynse was almost sick with anxiety, and began to scold them as soon as they came in. “Where did you stay so long?” And then, “What a sight you are!”
But when she noticed how they shivered, she quickly helped them into warm, dry clothing. Art was fitted out with some of Len’s clothes. He was so tired that he let Len’s mother help him with things which his own mother had not done for him for years.
He was tired and afraid. Yes, afraid. While he stood there as part of the living wall which held back the ocean, he had not thought of danger, and he had hardly felt the cold. He had simply put his shoulder to the task each time the principal called, “Stand by, boys!” He had set his feet firmly and pushed with all his might. He had held his breath as the water tumbled over him. He had shaken himself like a poodle when it was past, and prepared himself for the next blow.
But now he began to realize what they had done. It was the mighty waves of the sea that they had held back. Suppose the barricade had broken? Suppose the water had rushed in? It would have washed all those people away. And then? He shivered at the thought.
Father Cozynse had been coming and going all night long. He had driven back and forth along the dike, between Colynsplaat and Wissekerke, and returned to telephone his report. Now he was back again.
“How are things?” Mother asked as soon as he came in. Her tone was worried. Last time he had reported conditions critical.
But this time he was cheerful. “I think we’ll make it,” he said. “The peak of high tide is past, and the dikes are still intact.”
Then he caught sight of the boys huddled close to the fire. “Ha! I see our brave boys are home!”
There was pride in his voice, and the boys looked at him half sheepishly.
“I talked with the principal,” he went on. “He told me all about it.”
“What did he tell you?” Mother asked. The confused story that the boys had stammered when they came home had not made much sense.
“Why, our boys were the first to notice that the buttress was giving way! They dragged the principal over to prove it to him, and afterward they helped hold back the sea with their backs.”
“They held the sea with their backs! What do you mean?” Mrs. Cozynse asked.
“With their backs,” Mr. Cozynse declared. “Such a thing has never happened before. The sea was turned back by men. Our boys, with the help of others, saved our village from flood.”
“You boys did that?” Mrs. Cozynse exclaimed. And she added with regret, “And I scolded you!”
“That ship ... ” Len began, because he felt that they were getting too much credit. “That ship did it. If it had not come just then, and stayed right there, we would never have held the barricade.”
“That’s true,” Mr. Cozynse agreed. “It was truly a miracle that the ship drifted in at that moment and was caught in that very place. But if you boys and men had not formed a living wall to hold back the sea long before that, the barricade would have broken before the ship came. It was the living wall of men and boys that saved North Beveland.”
“The whole island?” Art gasped.
“Of course! The dikes are holding. That barricade was the one weak spot. If that had gone, all of North Beveland would have been flooded. You saved our island.”
The boys could not help beaming. Who would have dreamed that what they did was so important? They had noticed the buttress wavering, and they had warned the principal. Who wouldn’t do as much? And then they had run in to help when he called them. They had obeyed when he called out the command, “Stand by, boys!” Of course they had done their best. They knew the barricade must not break. But they had had no idea that they were warding off so great a tragedy.
They had saved the whole island, Mr. Cozynse said! Not merely the barricade, and Front Street, and the village, but the whole island! Art began to feel tremendously happy instead of fearful. He thought of his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, and asked, “Has the water come in at Kortgene or anywhere near Pleasant Acres?”
“No,” Mr. Cozynse assured him. “The dikes held here, where they had to take the full force of the wind and waves. They most surely held on the other side of the island, too. You have saved your father and mother, and your brothers and sisters tonight.”
Sunday morning dawned slowly. It was a strange Sunday morning. Ordinarily, the village streets are empty on Sunday until the church bells ring. Then people appear, walking quietly to church. But on this Sunday morning the streets were noisy with the clatter of wooden shoes, the pounding of hammers where the dike was being reinforced, the voices of men busy carrying furniture from houses where windows had been broken by the wind and water.
Mr. Cozynse was eager to see the dike by daylight, and took the boys along. The waves had cut washouts in the steep bank, and it was harder to climb than the day before. When they reached the top, they found the dike lower and narrower than usual; for the sea was extremely high. What a marvel that the dike had kept the mighty sea out!
Thank God for that marvel!
The boys turned to look over the fields of North Beveland, fields brown and fertile, ready for the seed that must soon be sown. They could see the villages Wissekerke to the right, Kortgene to the south, Colynsplaat at their feet. Art could even make out the broad thatched roof of the barn at Pleasant Acres, in the distance. What a joy to know that all was safe. Mother need not have worried at all.
But what was that sparkling out there? It looked like water, but how could there be water on the island? Art called Len’s attention to it.
“It can’t be water,” Len said.
“But it looks like water,” Art insisted.
Len turned to his father. “Art thinks he sees water by Kortgene. That can’t be, can it?”
“No, that’s impossible,” Mr. Cozynse answered, and he continued to look out across the sea.
Art did not want to contradict Mr. Cozynse, but he still thought it looked like water. Clay cannot shine and sparkle that way, he thought.
“Could it be Sand Creek that I see, Mr. Cozynse?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Cozynse. “Sand Creek is beyond the South Dike. You cannot see over the dike from here.”
“Then there is water on the island,” Art said with conviction.
Mr. Cozynse had not looked. He was sure there could be no water there. When at last he turned his gaze in the direction of Kortgene, he could hardly believe his eyes. There was a sparkle that certainly did look like water. But how could it be water? The North Dike had resisted the fury of the storm; its one weak spot had been guarded by the backs of brave men. Surely the South dike, where the wind and the waves had not pounded with half so much fury, must have withstood the storm easily. Sand Creek, the strip of water between North and South Beveland, is not a dangerous arm of the sea. Yet that sparkle ...
“Come on, boys!”
Mr. Cozynse took the lead, and they fairly tumbled down the dike. They ran all the way to the Cozynse home. Breathless, Mr. Cozynse seized the phone and put in a call.
There was no response from Kortgene.
“Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Romans 10:13).
“Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).
The Water Comes
Listen to the bleating of those sheep, and the howling of that dog! Coba had once heard sheep bleat that way, when she visited the slaughter house. And dogs yelp so when they are hurt or afraid. There is Mother, looking pale and tense, but smiling with inner peace — just as she did when she said goodbye to Art. How the wind howls! And water — the whole farm is flooded! Water is seeping under the doors. It’s coming faster, rising higher. The dog has climbed to the roof and is whining pitifully. The children have gone upstairs, and are huddled in a corner, but they cannot escape the water. Mother ... where is she? She’s gone!
“Mother! Mother!” Coba screamed.
Coba wakened then, and found herself in bed. It had been only a dream.
But the storm was still raging out-of-doors. The dog was really howling, and the sheep were bleating. Coba’s pillow was wet with perspiration.
Sitting up in bed, Coba looked toward the window. She had raised the shade before going to bed, but there was no light coming in at the window. It was still night, and pitch dark. Then why was the dog howling? And why were the sheep bleating? There must be something wrong. Was the water coming, after all?
She slipped out of bed and opened the window. The wind rushed in and whistled about her ears. But she could see nothing in the darkness; there was no sign of water. There was only the howling of the dog, amid the raging of the wind. She had never heard the dog carry on so before; something must be wrong.
Quietly she hurried to Mother’s bedroom. Mother wakened immediately, and said to Father, “Juno is barking.”
Father was out of bed in an instant. He slipped into his clothes and went out to see what was wrong.
Coba watched through the window. The bright beam from his flashlight wandered over the yard, picking out the doghouse, the wagon shelter, the barn.
Father came back a little out of humor. There was no sign of thieves; there was nothing wrong. The dog was quiet now.
“And no water?” Coba asked.
Father lost patience then. “You and your water! I suppose you dreamed about it!”
Coba could not deny that.
“Put those silly ideas out of your head, and go to sleep,” Father commanded sternly. “And please let us sleep.”
Coba went back to bed feeling ashamed. She crept under the blankets and pulled them up over her ears. She didn’t want to hear anything. She wanted to sleep. But she couldn’t stop shivering.
And sleep would not come. The roaring of the wind came right through the heavy blankets, and soon Juno began to howl again. The sheep were still bleating, and she thought she heard the rushing of water too. Father had said it was all imagination and nonsense; she didn’t dare get up again, or call. Finally the fear inside of her grew so big that she had to bury her face in her pillow to smother her sobs.
Then, suddenly, there was a light in the room. Father was standing by her bed.
“Coba,” he said softly.
With a jerk she pushed the blanket aside. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her pajamas. Father stroked her wet cheeks and hair. “My little girl,” he said tenderly, “you were right. The water is coming.”
Coba sat bolt upright. Then it was true, after all!
“You need not be afraid,” Father went on calmly. “Our house is strong and sturdy. We’re not in danger. But I must go tend to the horses, and you must help carry furniture upstairs.”
“Is the water in the house already?” Coba asked. “Not yet, but we must take precautions. You need not be in any special hurry, though.”
Coba jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. She went outdoors. There was no water around the house, but out there she could hear the rushing of water very clearly, amid the roaring of the wind. It came from the direction of Torendike, and it was like continuous thunder.
Father had gone to the barn, and Mother had already begun to move furniture upstairs. Coba helped. The other children helped, too. They formed a line down the hall and up the steps, and handed things along chairs, pots and pans, the runner off the hall floor, clothes, living room rug, bedding.
Billy shouted merrily, “Just give it to me! I can carry it!”
Trena exclaimed, “We’ll make a nice room in the attic. It will be like playing house!”
Bud said, “If the water comes, we’ll all be on an island, and I’ll be Robinson Crusoe. And you” — this to Joe — “you’ll be Friday.”
“And what will we be?” Trena and Mattie asked together.
“You’ll be savages, and we’ll shoot you!” said Bud.
Coba caught something of their spirit. After all, there was no real danger, and this excitement in the middle of the night was fun.
Father came in from the barn, and Dottie called from upstairs, “We are making a nice room up here. Come and see it, Daddy!”
“Is Father one of the savages, too?” Mattie asked.
“Father will be captain of the ship that gets Robinson Crusoe off the island,” Bud decided. “Isn’t that a good idea, Daddy?”
Father wasn’t listening to the prattle of the children. He looked serious. “The water is rising fast,” he said to Mother. “I don’t understand it. During the few minutes that I was in the barn, it rose three feet. I can’t imagine where it is coming from so fast.”
Coba, who was ready to go upstairs with an armful of clothing, stood stock still. “Then there is danger, after all?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Father answered hesitantly. “We won’t be able to see what is happening till daylight comes.”
Coba ran up the steps with her load. The children gathered around her, enclosing her in a circle, and began to sing a little song.
A minute ago, she had played along with them. But now she ordered sharply, “Stop your nonsense. Pretty soon we’ll all drown.” She was gripped with fear again. The water was rising, and Father couldn’t explain it.
The children looked at her in surprise, and then at each other. That was the end of their fun.
When Coba came downstairs once more, Father was sitting at the table, drinking the hot coffee Mother had poured for him.
“Where are the sheep?” Coba heard Mother ask. “Drowned,” Father answered.
Coba stood as if nailed to the ground. That horrid bleating was the last she had heard of them.
“The hogs are all gone, too,” Father added.
“And the horses?” Coba asked.
“I set them free. They’re in the barn, and they can climb up on the hay. I think they’ll be all right.”
Coba went to get another load of clothing. Water was pouring in under the door, and it splashed beneath her feet. When she came down again, it was up to her ankles.
With Father to help, they carried the bigger pieces up the table, the organ, the buffet. Coba wore her boots, but before the last piece was carried up, the water poured into her boot tops. Her feet were icy cold. Shivers ran up and down her spine. It wasn’t only the cold that caused the shivers, but the dread of what was coming.
Mother supplied dry shoes and socks. They were all safe upstairs for a while, at least. No one could tell for how long. Out-of-doors, in the pitch darkness, the storm was howling and the water was steadily rising. Even Father could not tell how long they would be safe here, or how high the water would come.
They huddled in a corner, where the furniture had been arranged to form a sort of room. They were dry, but cold. With their blankets about their shoulders, they looked like pioneers sitting around a campfire. But there was no cheery campfire to give light and heat. There was no stove. And the little oil lamp that Mother had brought could not chase away half of the darkness of the big wide attic.
The children had forgotten all their fun. They listened to the howling of the wind and the rushing of the water. Little Lenna buried her face in Mother’s lap and sobbed softly. Trena and Mattie leaned against Mother’s knees. Bud and Joe and Billy sat close to Father. Dottie crept against Coba.
Coba shivered.
“Are you cold, Cobie?” Father asked.
Coba shook her head. That wasn’t it. With dry socks and two thick blankets, she wasn’t really cold. “I’m afraid,” she said softly.
Father looked around. “Did the Bible come along up?” he asked.
“Yes, Father,” said Billy, and he jumped up to get the big old Bible with its heavy leather binding. Father paged to Psalm 57.
“Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me; for my soul trusteth in Thee; yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast. I will cry unto God most high; unto God that performeth all things for me. He shall send from heaven, and save me.”
Coba listened reverently, thoughtfully. Were they really sheltered under God’s wings, there in the attic, with the wild wind howling through the cracks and the water tumbling about the house? Would He shelter them till this calamity was passed? Would He send from heaven to rescue them?
Father read on, “My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed; I will sing and give praise ... For Thy mercy is great unto the heavens, and Thy truth unto the skies.”
Coba wondered: was Father’s heart really fixed upon God, and at rest? The water was rising. She could hear the waves pounding against the house. The horses were whinnying anxiously.
Father finished reading the Psalm and closed the Bible. He folded his hands for prayer.
“O God, Lord of the wind and of the sea, let us find refuge in Thee until this calamity shall have passed.”
Coba’s heart joined in the prayer. God is almighty. He can save. But will He?
“Deliver us, O Lord,” Father continued. “Surely, thy faithfulness reaches unto the clouds and thy goodness is as high as the heavens. Knowing this, we rest in Thee ... ”
Coba kept her head bowed. She knew God is faithful, God is love. She longed to trust Him.
“Grant, O Lord our God,” Father went on praying, “that we may trust Thee even if matters turn out otherwise than we hope; if Thou shouldst take us away in the violence of the water, then bring us in mercy to our heavenly home, to our Father’s home, for Jesus’ sake.”
Coba’s hands were clenched together and her eyes were shut tight. What if God should let that happen? Was she willing? She loved to romp and play; she loved school even though she sometimes sputtered against it. She loved her brothers and her sisters, her father and her mother — especially Mother. How could she bear to leave them?
But she knew that she loved the Lord Jesus, too. Sometimes she felt Him very near, when she knelt to pray at bedtime. It was almost as if He laid His hand upon her head. Then she knew she belonged to Him. There were other times, though. And she was not quite sure that she would want to go, if He should take her now. The night was so dark, and the water was so cold!
Coba looked at Father. His eyes were open, but his hands were still folded. The light of the little lamp shone on his face, and it looked calm — serious, but calm. Father trusted in God, even with death beating against the house.
Mother sat on the other side of the lamp. Her cheeks were pale. She looked down at little Lenna, and at Joe, and at Billy, and at all the other little ones. There was a tear on her cheek. It rolled down to the corner of her mouth. But there was a quiet look of peace in her eyes.
Yesterday she had said to Art, “If we should not meet again, I want you to know that all is well with Mother.” She must have felt the danger even then. But she wasn’t afraid. She would be ready if Jesus should take her.
Mother and Father had the peace of heart that Father asked for. Coba did not have it yet.
Coba got up and went to the other end of the big attic. There, behind the stack of potato crates, was a window. She felt her way through the darkness toward the square of gray light. But there was very little to see out of doors. In the dim light she could see flecks of foam on the dark water, and the tops of trees that were close to the house. She shivered again.
It is hard to believe that God is near at such a time, and that He will protect until the danger has passed by.
“Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy, that it cannot hear” (Isaiah 59:1).
“For there is no difference ... for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him” (Romans 10:12).
Coba Swims
Day dawned at last. Coba stood at the window again, with Father beside her.
What a strange sight! Yesterday there were plowed lands and green pastures. Now it was all sea — wild sea, like the sea that had made her shiver when she stood on the dike yesterday. It was even worse than that, because of what was in it. The big house of neighbor Joost stood like Noah’s ark in the flood. Smaller houses had only their roofs above water. And the trees! The top of the poplar was like a leafy bouquet. The top twigs of the willow were sweeping over the water like reeds.
Mr. De Leeuw was looking to the south, where the black outline of the dike was broken by a strip of white. That white was foam. There the dike had broken, and that white was the foam of the water pouring into the polder.
Who would ever have thought it? The danger had seemed to come from the north — if there was danger. It was the north dike that had to take the terrific beating of waves and wind; it was the fury of the North Sea that they dreaded. The south dikes were in the lee of the wind, and Sand Creek was merely an insignificant arm of the sea. Yet there the dike had broken.
Father’s mouth was set in a straight line. Knowing what had happened, he understood why the water rose so swiftly in the night, and he knew that it was likely to continue rising.
“What is that?” Coba asked as something came drifting toward them. The current carried it close to the house.
“It’s a chicken coop,” Father answered.
Other things came floating by — a feed bin, some boards, and a chair, another chair, a linen cabinet ... .
“Father, where did this furniture come from? Wasn’t it in some house?” Coba asked anxiously.
“Of course it was in some house,” Father answered. “I’m afraid some house was washed away.”
That was a dreadful thought. “Do you suppose our house ... ?”
“Our house is strong and sturdy,” Father answered comfortingly. “But I must take precautions, nevertheless.”
He went away, and Coba stood by the window alone. She watched more wreckage drift by. The current carried things close to the attic window — a table, another linen cabinet, another table, several chairs. There was much more than could have come from one house. Several houses must have caved in.
What was that sound? A baby crying? Imagination, maybe. Or the wind.
Coba listened carefully. No, it was not her imagination. There was a baby crying. It could hardly be Lenna — she was in her bed at the other end of the big attic.
Putting her head out of the window, Coba listened again. Now the crying seemed louder. It was mingled with the howling of the wind, but it was certainly the crying of a baby. How could there be a baby out there in the water?
There was an armchair bobbing on the water. The crying seemed to come from that direction. The seat of the chair and one upholstered arm were well above water, and something white lay on the seat.
Coba climbed out of the window to the wide gutter of the house. She walked along it till she could see better. That white was blankets, and there was a baby wrapped in them!
Coba hurried farther along the gutter, so that she would be able to catch hold of the chair when it came close. It drifted nearer, and Coba leaned out to get it. She held on to the gutter with one hand, and reached out. It drifted closer, and she stretched her arm as far as she could. But she could not quite reach it. It bobbed past.
She followed it, running along the gutter, hoping it would come closer. But it stayed out of reach, and finally it drifted farther and farther away.
“Father!” Coba screamed.
But Father had gone to the barn; he could not hear her.
“Mother!”
Mother could not hear her, either. She was with the little ones at the far end of the attic.
“If only Art were here!” Coba thought. But Art was gone. Everything depended on Coba. And there was only one way to save the baby. She would have to swim for it. Coba could swim. She was at the head of her class in swimming.
The water was rough, and Coba was sure it would be icy cold. She hesitated. But the chair was drifting farther away. She had to make up her mind quickly.
In she went, with a splash. The cold water cut into her forehead like a knife. It made her numb, so that she almost forgot to swim. But she remembered in time, and began to stroke with her arms and legs.
She shot forward; the swimming was easy and she forgot about the cold. She reached the chair and caught hold of the arm. Then she could see the baby plainly — a little nose peeking out of the blanket, and blue eyes looking at her in surprise. Frightened at the sight of her, the baby began to cry again.
Taking firm hold of the chair, Coba turned to swim back to the house. But that was not easy. She had come out with the current. Now she had to fight against it, and drag the heavy chair along or push it ahead. She struggled, but could not make headway. A sharp fear shot through her. She realized that she could not swim back to the house. She was being dragged along with the chair towards the wide waters of the flooded polder. If only she could reach one of the trees before drifting into the wild sea!
Swimming with the current, she managed to steer the chair towards the nearest tree. She pushed it among the branches. Then she climbed up on a branch herself, and began to call for help.
“Father! Mother!” she cried. “Help! Help!”
But nobody came. No one heard her. Father was at work in the barn; Mother was busy with the children in the far end of the attic. The window through which she had climbed was out of sight, around the corner of the house. She could see only the corner of the gutter from which she had jumped into the water.
Her wet clothes clung to her. She shivered with cold, and her hands became numb. She could hardly make her fingers grip the branch. She tried to call again, but her throat seemed pinched shut, and her voice was hoarse.
The baby in the chair was not cold and not afraid. It lay tucked in the chair, just as Moses had once been tucked in his basket. It began to coo and smile. For a moment Coba forgot her misery. She smiled at the little one, and talked to it. Then the tiny fists worked their way from under the blanket and began to wave in the air. The child had no sense of danger.
The trust of a little child — Coba remembered that our trust in God should be like that. She wished she could trust Him so, even now. But she was so cold, and her teeth chattered so! There was hardly any feeling left in the arm that clung to the branch. Her right leg, pinched between two branches, seemed frozen. The wild icy water lapped at the twigs just beneath her. Could it be that God was protecting her with His wings? He had not come to rescue her. Yet Father had read from the Bible that His mercies are high as the heavens. He can rescue her through the water, if He does not rescue her from it. He takes His children to glory. And there — a light is shining above the dreadful gray water! Is it the light of heaven, perhaps?
The light grew brighter, and she seemed to hear sweet singing. Arms reached out for her ... She felt herself swaying. The chair was still there, with the baby. But it seemed to fade away ...
“O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in Thee: yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast” (Psalm 57:1).
“He that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about” (Psalm 32:10).
A Boat and a Raft
Mr. Cozynse ran, and Art could hardly keep up with him. In no time he had commandeered a truck, and they were on their way to the harbor. There ten men helped lift a boat on to the truck, and away they roared.
A dike runs through the center of the island of North Beveland. Art had often wondered what the purpose of this dike might be. Ordinarily there is land on both sides. But when the truck drew up to the dike on that Sunday morning, Art saw a wild, stormy sea on the other side. The center dike kept half of the island dry while the other half was flooded.
The boat was plunged into the water. Four men took the oars. Mr. Cozynse took the rudder. Art stood in the bow, as look-out.
The waves beat high, and the current was strong. Besides that, there was no telling what might be just beneath the surface of the water — haymows, treetops, shed roofs. Art was familiar with the neighborhood; his eyes kept careful watch as the boat shot forward.
That yellow thing floating past them was a bale of straw. Then a wheelbarrow bobbed by, its heavy wheel under water and its handles sticking out above the waves. They rowed around an orchard. The white objects floating there were bedding. Other household goods drifted by — tables, chairs, cabinets.
Art felt his throat tighten as he thought of the wrecked houses from which these things had come. What about the people who had lived in those houses? And what about his own home? But he could see the roof of Pleasant Acres in the distance.
What was that bobbing on the waves? It looked like a raft, with something white on it. Sometimes the waves washed completely over it.
“Look!” Art called to the men, and he pointed.
Mr. Cozynse had already seen it, and was guiding the boat toward it. As soon as they were near enough, Art reached out with a hook on a long stick, and dragged it toward them. It was a door, and a woman was tied to it with ropes. She lay on her face, and did not move. Art stood tense and white while the men untied the woman and pulled her aboard. He could not bear to look at her.
“Hand me that tarpaulin, Art,” one of the men said.
Art handed the tarp over, and glanced at the woman. Her face was white and her eyes were closed. Art turned away while the men covered her with the tarp.
They rowed on, and Art soon saw that only the peak of his home was above water. Even the eaves were flooded, and the attic floor was surely under water. There was no sign of life.
They rowed around the corner of the house. The attic window was closed. The water reached up to the sill. Art hardly dared open it.
But he did open it. And for a moment he saw only water inside, with potato crates drifting about. Surely there could not be anyone alive there!
“Father! Mother!” he called with trembling voice.
“Art! My boy! Are you there?” It was Father’s voice, answering from the far end of the attic, ringing with surprise and relief.
Mr. Cozynse climbed through the window. Art followed. The water was two feet deep on the attic floor. They splashed through it, in their big boots. Father, also wearing boots, came to meet them, and led them back to the corner, where Mother was perched up on the beams with the children huddled around her. They were not alone. Several other people were there; the beams were crowded.
“We took these folk in when they came drifting this way on doors and rafts,” Father said. “Their houses are gone. We had hoped that the water would not reach our attic. I’m glad you have come.”
Mr. Cozynse bit his lip. His boat would hold eight at most, and there were more than twenty waiting there. Which should he take, and which must he leave behind?
Mr. De Leeuw decided for him. “Take these other folk first,” he said. “They must not be left sitting here in their wet clothing.”
“But you and Mother!” Art exclaimed.
“We’ll be next,” Father said. “You’ll be back, Cozynse?”
Mr. Cozynse nodded. There was no time for talk. “Just let yourself fall,” he said to a young woman on the nearest beam.
She obeyed, and Mr. Cozynse caught her. He carried her to the window, where the oarsmen were ready to take her. Four older people and several children were stowed into the boat, and the men rowed away.
Rowing was easier with the current, and they soon reached the dike, where a bus waited to take the passengers to shelter.
“Take these other folk first,” he said.
Other men stepped forward to relieve the tired oarsmen, and Mr. Cozynse suggested that Art should stay behind, too. But Art’s eyes pleaded for permission to go along, and Mr. Cozynse said no more.
They reached the attic again, and Father was waiting to help lift a mattress from the beams. It was supported by a couple of boards, and Art was startled when he saw Coba lying on it. Her cheeks were hot with fever, and her hands were clammy cold.
“She’s a brave girl,” Father said gently. “She saved the life of this baby.” He lifted a corner of the blanket to show Art the little bundle.
“I didn’t save its life,” Coba objected in a weak voice. “I couldn’t.”
“You did,” Father insisted quietly. And while the men settled Coba in the boat, he told Art how he found her in the branches of the poplar, numb and fainting, with the chair close beside her and the baby tied in it.
They were off with the second load, leaving only Father and Mother with Billy and Dottie and Trena.
“We’ll hurry back,” Mr. Cozynse promised.
Mr. De Leeuw watched the boat as long as he could see it from the attic window. When it was out of sight behind the roof of the barn, he waded between the drifting potato crates to the far end of the attic, where Mother De Leeuw was still sitting on the beam.
The storm had subsided somewhat, but waves still beat against the house. The children were lying on the board that had been used to support Coba’s mattress. They were half asleep. Mother, too, had closed her eyes. Father climbed up beside her and rested his head in his hands. How quickly calamity can come! He had hoped to save his horses, after his sheep and pigs were gone. He had heard them whinny anxiously for a while, but now all was quiet in the barn. All was lost. Yet he knew he should not mourn. There was still much for which to be thankful. His family was safe. There had been anxious moments — first because of Art, exposed to the grave danger of the storm in Colynsplaat, where the wind and waves beat against the dike in their full fury; and then because of Coba. Coming back from the barn on the little raft he had made by nailing two doors together, he had found Mother all upset. Coba had disappeared. There was no trace of her, and the attic window was open. They had stood at the window together, staring at the wild water and wondering what could possibly have possessed the child to climb out of the window.
When Mother suggested that he walk out on the gutter and look around, it had seemed a foolish thing to do. But he had gone, and he had spied Coba in the tree. He had hurried, then, to tie the raft securely by a long rope, so that he would be able to pull himself back. Coba was unconscious when he lifted her out of the tree and laid her on the raft. He had found the baby tied in the chair, and laid it beside her. They were safe in Colynsplaat now. And Art was safe. He had much to be thankful for. In fact, he could be proud of his two eldest for their part in the rescue work, young though they were.
“Do you hear that?” Mother asked softly. “Hear what?”
“That creaking. I’m so afraid the house will cave in!”
It was the joists that creaked, under the pressure of the water. But Father did not think there was much danger of their giving way. “The house is sturdy,” he said.
But fear shivered through him almost before the words were out of his mouth. For he felt a tremor of the beam on which he was sitting. The creaking was horrible, but this was worse. The people they had rescued had told of sudden cave-ins. A house apparently stable one moment, plunged into the water a second later. And the only warning was a slight trembling such as he had just now felt.
He slid down to the floor. “Jump on my shoulders, Dottie,” he said.
She obeyed, and he carried her to the window. He set her down on a little tower of boxes, and returned for Trena. Billy was next, and Mother followed, wading through the water. Father set up a little throne of crates and boxes for each, and they sat close to the window, still sheltered from the cold wind, but close to the raft on which they might have to escape. It was tied to the eaves just outside the window.
The current was still strong, and the creaking of the joists grew worse. Now and then there was a splash as of stone falling into the water — no doubt pieces of the wall were giving way. The house was most certainly breaking down. The sudden appearance of a hole in the roof came as final warning.
“We must go,” Father said.
Billy was the first to step out, but his weight sent the edge of the raft under water, and he drew back.
“Get down on your stomach,” Father said. “That’s the only way we can stay afloat.”
Billy lay down. Dottie lay down next to him, and then Trena crawled over him to lie down on the other side. Father had used a wide door in making the raft, so that there was room for all. But with its load of five people, the raft could barely stay above water.
Father held on to the gutter, hoping that they could stay in this comparatively sheltered spot till the boat returned. But more and more of the wall was crumbling away, and the roof began to sag askew. Father knew that if the house should suddenly cave in they would be sucked down under the water. He knew he must let go.
Fortunately, the current carried them in the direction from which the rescue boat would come.
As they drifted past the corner of the house, the wind caught them. When the first icy wave washed over the raft and soaked their clothing, Dottie screamed. Trena began to sob, and crept closer to Mother.
They drifted on, between the tops of the trees that surrounded the house and out into the wide sea. Mr. De Leeuw lifted his head to look around eagerly. The boat was not in sight, but it must surely come soon.
Then suddenly he turned numb with fear, for the current began to change. Before, it had flowed northward, toward the dike. But now they were drifting westward, away from the path of the rescue boat. And he was helpless to direct the course of the little craft; there was no rudder.
Father lifted himself upon his hands to look around, hoping to see the boat and signal it. But his movement plunged the raft under water, and the two little girls screamed with fear. If he did not lie still, there would surely be an accident.
So they drifted on, with a flotsam of dead chickens, bales of straw, driftwood, and household goods. The current was not swift. They might drift thus all day, and finally be washed up on shore somewhere. But by that time not one of them would be alive. No one could survive such exposure to the cold and the constant washing of the waves for a whole day. If there was to be a rescue, it must be by way of Cozynse’s boat. Of that Father was sure.
After a bit he decided to try again. He crept toward the center of the raft, and once more raised himself on his hands. Peering in the direction from which the boat must come, he saw the flash of oars. They rose and fell like the wings of a swan. But the boat was far away, and headed for the house. It would surely pass them by unless he could somehow signal to the men.
Mr. De Leeuw swung his arms. The boat continued steadily on its way. He took off his cap and waved it wildly. There was no use; they were too far away to see his signals unless he could stand upright on the raft.
That was a dangerous thing to do, but Father pulled himself slowly to his feet. The little raft rocked violently and sank deep into the water. Mr. De Leeuw pulled off his coat, held it high above his head, and let the wind wave it like a flag.
“This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners”
(1 Timothy 1:15).
“In whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace” (Ephesians 1:7).
“How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation?” (Hebrews 2:3).
All Safe at Last
Art stood at the prow of the boat. This was his third trip, and his last. With Father and Mother and the three little ones safe, his task would be done. He thought, too, of his adventure in the night — how he had helped save Colynsplaat from the flood, and he heaved a sigh of satisfaction. He was tired — so tired that stars seemed to dance wildly before his eyes. But that did not matter. When this trip was over, he would rest; he would rest on his laurels, as people say.
They were nearing the big brown barn roof, which still stood well above water. The tops of the poplars swished through the waves. Art thought of Coba. That was a brave thing to do — swim out into this wild water to rescue a baby in a chair! He felt that it was more than anything he had done. The doctor on the dike had said she would be all right; and the baby, too.
Then suddenly he realized that the house should be in sight, and he could not see it. Had they missed their course, and was it behind the barn? Or — no, he could not bear to think of that! Other houses caved in, but theirs was more sturdy than most. It must be behind the barn!
He stared till his eyes ached, and his lips began to bleed from his biting teeth. If the house is gone, where are Mother, and Father, and Trena, and Dottie, and Bill?
Mr. Cozynse spoke, “Art, you have sharp eyes. What is that over there?”
Art looked in the direction of Mr. Cozynse’s outstretched arm. He saw a man who seemed to be standing on the waves. The thought of Peter walking on the sea shot through Art’s mind. But this man was waving a black coat ...
“It must be a signal for help,” said Mr. Cozynse, and he turned the rudder.
Art wanted to cry out, “What about Father and Mother!” But he didn’t. After all, this man was in great danger. Father and Mother would be safe in the attic; the house must certainly be there, out of sight behind the barn.
“Pull away, boys!” Mr. Cozynse said. “All together now — one ... two ... ”
But what had become of the man? There was nothing to be seen except the whitecaps of the waves. Had he drowned with rescue so near?
Then Art spied him again. He was lying down now, and must be on a raft. Someone else lay beside him. There were two adults, and three children. The waves washed over them again and again, almost hiding the raft from sight.
But when the man lifted himself on his hands to look at them, Art cried out, “Father!”
The oarsmen pulled hard, and Mr. Cozynse guided the boat around the raft. Art’s hook dragged the little craft close. There they lay — his father, his mother, his little sisters, and Billie — half under water.
Father lifted Trena into the boat, and then Dottie. Art helped Billy crawl in.
“Now, Mother,” Father said.
Mother raised herself slowly on the teetering raft. She was numb with cold, and faint. But when she caught sight of Art her face lighted.
“My boy!” she said. “Then God has granted that we should see each other once more!” A gentle smile played on her white lips. She raised one hand as if in greeting.
“Come, Mother,” Father urged gently.
“Yes, I’m coming,” Mother said. She took one tottering step. But her foot slipped, and the raft tilted under her. She fell, and slid into the water. The raft bobbed up above her head.
It all happened in a flash, and Art jumped overboard an instant after. He dove under, caught hold of Mother’s shoulder, pushed her head above water. The men did the rest. Hanging to the edge of the boat, Father held Mother up; others dragged her in. Another hand jerked Art back into the boat.
The oarsmen spread blankets over Mother. Then Mr. Cozynse ordered again, “All together — one, two ... ” They shot forward through the water toward the dike.
Art lay under the blanket, too. Mr. Cozynse insisted that he should. And he was content. Everybody was safe at last, and he himself had rescued Mother. He was Coba’s equal, after all.
Mother was very pale. But Art remembered the woman they had drawn out of the water in the morning. The doctor had said she would be all right. He had said the same about Coba. “Tuck her into bed with plenty of warm blankets and hot water bottles, and she’ll be fine,” he had said. They would soon have Mother in bed, too.
When the boat touched the dike, men were waiting to help. They lifted Trena and Dottie and Billy out first. They would have helped Art, but he jumped out and stood ready to help Mother.
The men lifted her, blanket and all. Art caught a glimpse of her pale face and closed eyes. Her lips were almost smiling; and though she did not say a word, Art seemed to hear her say, “My boy!” Just as she had done on the raft, and just as she had done yesterday — was that only yesterday that she said goodbye to him? Then she had been afraid that they might not meet again. But that fear had not come true. They did meet again, and they would all ride together on the bus, to Colynsplaat.
At Len’s house, Art took a warm bath and dressed in dry clothes. Then he settled in a comfortable chair close to the fire. The others had been taken to the hospital.
Art’s eyes fell shut. He was tired, but very happy. There was so much to be thankful for! Father, Mother, brothers and sisters, all safe!
“Art!”
Art opened his eyes. Father was there, dressed in some of Mr. Cozynse’s clothes.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Father?” Art exclaimed. “We’re all safe and sound!”
“Yes, we are all safe,” Father said.
Art looked at Father curiously. His face and his tone of voice were so solemn.
“We are all safe, aren’t we?” he asked anxiously. Father nodded. “Yes, Art, all of us are safe,” he said.
But the words seemed hard to say, and Father’s eyes were blinking away moisture. Art had never seen him look so.
“Then what’s the matter, Father?” he asked anxiously. “Is it Coba?”
Father shook his head. “Coba is doing fine. She’ll soon be well. But Mother ... ”
The words choked him, and he stopped.
Art felt his own throat pinch tight with sudden fear. “Is Mother ... ?” he whispered.
Father nodded. “Mother is gone,” he said. “But you said we were all safe!” Art cried out. “We are, Art,” Father answered quietly. “We were all saved. But ... Mother was saved in a different way.”
Then Art understood what Father meant. He thought again of what she had said, just the day before, “If we should not see each other again, I want you to know, my boy, that all is well with Mother. Jesus has made all things well.” He recalled the smile, and the look of peace, that he had seen on her face when they lifted her out of the boat. Yes, she was safe. But it wasn’t Coba who had rescued her. And it wasn’t Art, even though he had dived into the water to drag her out. It was the Lord Jesus who had saved her. He took her out of the flood and into Paradise, where she will never have to fear another flood; for there is no sea there, and no cold, and no hunger, no sorrow and no tears. She is safe with the Lord, forever.
What gave Art and Coba’s Mother such assurance that all was well with her? Was it not her trust in the promises of God’s Holy Word?
“Surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God” (Ecclesiastes 8:12).
“He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life” (John 3:36).
“He hath done all things well” (Mark 7:37).
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that heareth My word, and believeth on Him that sent Me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but is passed from death unto life” (John 5:24).
“I will come again, and receive you unto Myself” (John 14:3).
More about God’s precious promises can be found by reading the following Scriptures — John 10:9; Psalm 34:6; Acts 16:31; Romans 10:9; Acts 15:11; Revelation 21:4; Psalm 18:16.