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”