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.