Really, I don’t know how it happened, but it happened on the
morning of 12 October 1634, I like to think.
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| Husum and Nordstrand, map of 1650 |
I like to imagine that he came to her rescue, rowing out to
sea in a small fishing boat, his sturdy arms pulling the oars against the
breaking waves, spotting Volkie and her sister floating in the churning waters,
clinging to a fallen tree or a piece of a house, destroyed by the storm.
Jan
His name was Jan. He lived in coastal port called Husum. Brown eyes, a sharp nose, and a chin that has that distinctive cleft. He is of average height, but above-average in intelligence, for he is a survivor.
He was a seafaring man, like many from the North Frisian coast
who sailed the North Sea bringing in mackerel that was salted and sold in marketplace
in cities everywhere in Holland. Mackerel are a fast predatory fish, closely related to tuna. They have no swim bladder which means they can change direction rapidly and dive quickly. A successful sailor must keep his wits about him.
Our hero was just 26.
Volkje
Volkie, our heroine,
just 18. She and her sister Annetje, Jurriens lived with their parents on land reclaimed
from the sea. It was called Nordstrand, “strand” meaning sand or beach. It was
located in Wadden Sea, a small bit of the much larger North Sea. The creative Dutch
had built dikes and seawalls to contain the ocean’s fury and windmills to pump
out the salt water from the soil. Out of this small speck of sand several
communities were built. Pellwurm, Gaikebull, Rungeholt, and so on, each with
its church and scattering of farms.
In my mind’s eye, our hero was alone in his boat. He wore a
blue waistcoat and gray pantaloons, cut off at the knee, for freedom of
movement and because, if thrown into the sea, short pant legs would allow him
to float to the surface rather than being dragged down by water-soaked
clothing. Every sailor wore a hat or a cap, and our hero’s was a tri-corner
hat, or a sailor’s cap with a bill, or a simple knit stocking to keep out the
cold and the wind.
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| The Great Flood of 1634 |
The Storm
The sea was full of white caps, the wind blew to shore,
making the journey more difficult for Jan was the fact that the sea was also
full of bits and pieces of homes and churches broke apart by the storm. And
yet, he rowed on, boat against the tide, rowing ceaselessly in the hope of
finding her against all odds. Find her he did, and so the story continues. Or,
perhaps, he was not looking for Volkjie, perhaps it was circumstance and coincidence
that brought them together. Divine intervention in the midst of destruction and
loss of life.
Volkjie and her sister had clung to the tree for hours,
through the night, when the storm had done its worst, rising to a height of 15
meters and sweeping over the land until the north coast was reclaimed by the
sea. It is estimated that upwards of 15,000 people lost their lives that night.
A fortunate few fled to the highest spot on the island of Nordstrand where they
where joined other refugees fleeing the rising waters.
The recollection of one survivor went like this:
“In the evening a great storm and bad weather rose from the
southwest out of the sea. ... The wind began to blow so hard that no sleep could
touch our eyes. When we had been lying in bed for about an hour my son said to
me, 'Father, I feel water dripping into my face'. The waves were rising up at
the sea dike and onto the roof of the house. It was a very frightening sound.”
Those in the lower lying areas were less fortunate and houses
were carried away by the surging waters.
The storm’s destructive force was compounded by its timing,
coming as darkness settled in and night came.
“...at six o'clock at night the Lord God began to fulminate
with wind and rain from the east, at seven He turned the wind to the southwest
and let it blow so strong that hardly any man could walk or stand, at eight and
nine all dikes were already smitten... The Lord God [sent] thunder, rain, hail
lightning and such a powerful wind that the Earth's foundation was shaken... at
ten o'clock everything was over.”
Rescue
In the pitch black of night, rescue was impossible. So, it
was that Jan set our at break of day, at first light. So it was that in the
gray morning and the howl of the wind, he found Volkjie and her sister,
desperately clinging to a tree. Their parents were gone, and their despair was
great. We do not even know if they could swim, but I imagine that a Dutch girl
who grew up along the Wadden Sea collecting the eggs of gulls and terns, in the
marshes had learned to fend for herself when a wave caught her by surprise.
I imagine few words were spoken, as Jan hauled first one
girl in the boat then the other. Exhausted they were and grateful to God for
their salvation. The girls’ clothing was soaked in brine, the skirt and bodice,
once white, now dark brown, the color of mud that mixed with sea. Their brown
hair hung straight, their skin white and red, chaffed by the cold water and the
tree bark that they clung to.
With foresight, Jan brought fresh water and
bread, and dry blankets.
Once fed and warmed, the trio made the journey back to
Husum.
