THE weather was cool and fine, and on the shore the fishermen were busy, hastily rigging out their boats for herring-fishing. The women had also appeared—most of them carrying a baby— besides several children, holding to mother’s apron. The oldest ones generally carrying a basket which contained father’s dinner.
With few words they took leave of one another. The days are short, and the fisherman must hasten if he expects a catch worthwhile. At seven o’clock all boats but one — which was Jacob Brand’s—were out in the sea.
Little Joseph Brand and his sister Susie stood on shore, waiting for papa’s farewell kiss. Nor had they long to wait. As soon as everything was ready, Jacob pushed from the shore. Their eyes followed him, waving their hands, and quietly the believing wife committed her husband to the care of their heavenly Father.
While mother went home, the children stayed on the shore for a little. Susie exchanged a few friendly words with Greta, a poor orphan girl, being cared for by her grandfather; he also was a fisher, like most of the villagers, and had just gone away with the rest.
“I wish I were big,” said Joseph, “then I could, go fishing with father.”
“No, I never want to go on that terrible ocean!” cried” Greta, “it is far too dangerous!”
The children laughed, but Greta did not join in with them. Susie looked at the little black coat of her friend and became more earnest, and lovingly putting her arm around the neck of the little girl, they returned hand in hand into the village.
Toward noon the weather, which was So clear in the morning, took a turn. A heavy fog now lowered over the surface of the ocean, and very soon after a strong wind began to blow. The older villagers, who could no more go fishing, began, one by one, to arrive at the water’s edge, brought there through fear of some terrible happenings.
Soon the older ones were no longer alone. The women had left their cooking and had anxiously followed the men, and before very long the boys and girls came too. At last the entire village population was gathered and all listened with anxiety to the roaring of the sea, in the meanwhile carefully watching from time to time the expression on the face of “Old Nicholas” who was a kind of village oracle, or wise man.
Susie and Joseph looked thoughtfully at the great waves that fell at their feet. Greta, who was shaking and trembling, stood behind them, closing her eyes each time a wave came near. The sea was for her only something terrible, doing mischief.
“Look at that pretty white foam!” cried Susie, while she threw a handful toward her brother.
Greta shook her head. “No”, said she, “it is not pretty. When I see the foam, it reminds me of father, how the waves threw him on to the shore, all covered with foam. O, if only grandfather was home again!”
The wind increased in violence, the ocean waves sounded louder and the rain came down in torrents. “The storm is coming now!” said Old Nicholas, shaking his head, and from mouth to mouth went the words, “The storm is coming now!”
Old Nicholas was right. Before evening the storm had come. I will not try to describe it. It howled and raved and groaned and rolled and bubbled, and hissed in a way impossible to imagine unless we have seen such a storm. One by one the fishers came back. It required all their skill to land without their boat being over thrown and smashed to pieces, but they succeeded. Toward eight o’clock all the vessels were in safely except the boat of Jacob Harmsen, Greta’s grandfather, which was still missing. Jacob enjoyed the respect of all, so that all were looking anxiously for him. Finally, the majority had to go to their homes. Only a few strong men remained to wait, and if necessary, hasten to his aid. But the darkness became such, the foam on the waves could not be seen, to say nothing of an approaching boat.
ML 08/11/1912