Coba Swims

 •  7 min. read  •  grade level: 3
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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 ...