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- 5 - |
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- 5 -
The next morning, Simon and Balthasar are sitting in the coach once more, this time on the way to Cologne. In the following days, they make their way from there through Aachen, Maastricht, Brussels, Gent and Bruges to the port town of Oostende in the province of West Flanders.
Simon stands by the quay in the port of Oostende, only a few metres away from the water, his gaze fixed on the hustle and bustle of this place. Large and small ships are docked here, with masts that soar high into the sky. People run around chaotically; they load and unload the ships. Among the chorus of sounds in the air the squawking of seagulls can be heard. Simon breathes in deeply. Astounded, he remarks, “The air is so fresh here. It smells like salt and iodine - just magnificent!” A hand rests on his shoulder, his father is standing next to him. “So, Simon, this is your first time by the sea!”
“Daddy … can you smell the air?”
“Exciting, isn’t it? Listen, first I have to find a ship for the trip to London and some accommodation. Perhaps there is still something available at the van den Booms’ in Kapucijnenstraat – I have already stayed there several times. Then we can visit a customer here in Oostende tomorrow, and the morning after that, we can head off to London.”
Balthasar raises his left arm and points westwards. “If you follow the quay in that direction, you’ll come to the beach by the open sea. If you want, we can meet there in half an hour or 45 minutes.”
“That would be great!”
Barely has Simon answered, when he already sets off. Balthasar watches him. No running, no rush – an overwhelmed Simon turns to look every which way as he absorbs all that he sees.
The closer he gets to the sea, the stronger the wind is that blusters in Simon’s face. Soon he is standing atop the dyke. Before him lie a long, sandy beach and the never-ending sea. He runs down the embankment to the water’s edge and sits on the fine, white sand. The waves crash and foam up as they peter out on the beach. Seagulls are circling above Simon’s head, and he can see people as small as ants working on the incoming and outgoing ships, high up in the sails. Again and again, Simon pushes his hand into the fine sand before letting it trickle through his open fingers.
“Hello Simon.” Suddenly his father is standing next to him.
“Dad, look at the ships, they’re swaying in the sea!”
“True, the swell should build up even more. On the pier, I heard that the sea is expected to get quite rough around here, so that maybe no more ships will cross the channel as of the day after tomorrow. We will therefore have to leave tomorrow morning.”
“Hey, no pushing back there!”, shouts a sailor on the gangway. “We’ll take you all to London.” Many people still want to cross the channel on the last ship. One after the other, the passengers board the ship via its narrow gang plank. On each side, a thick rope serves as a handrail. Balthasar lets Simon go first to keep an eye on him. The two-masted sailing ship is noticeably rising and falling; the rough sea has visibly swollen even more.
“Madam, go around and to the right! The passenger cabins are at the back of the ship”, yells a sailor with tousled hair.
“Which cabin number do we have?” Simon looks at his father questioningly.
“Number six.“
A sailor holds the door to the lower deck cabins open, so that the passengers can easily go downstairs with their hand luggage. He smiles straight at Simon as he shouts a hearty “Good morning”.
The cabin numbered ‘six’ is quickly found. It contains two separate beds, a small cupboard, a small desk and a little, round porthole. The interior is painted white and the beds look like two boxes.
“Why did they put a board in front of the bed?”, asks Simon wonderingly.
“So that we don’t fall out of bed when the sea is rough. In case you feel unwell, you should go out and get some fresh air.”
“I’m fine at the moment, I don’t need anything.”
“That could change very quickly once we’re at sea. If you need to throw up, then it’s best to do it over the railing – but not against the wind direction, do you understand? And if you happen to see others on board who feel sick, bite your lip and don’t laugh at them.”
“All right, all right.”
“Please be careful when you’re running around on board the ship! The deck could be slippery. To be on the safe side, always keep one hand on something that’s fixed down.”
“Have you ever sailed in such conditions?”
“Yes, about four or five years ago”, remembers Balthasar. “Back then, the storm emerged very suddenly. We had just covered little more than half the distance of the English Channel when the ship was battered and shaken so much by the waves, that many passengers were afraid for their lives.
“Actually, what kind of ship is this?”
“A mail ship. I cannot tell you any more.”
“May I go on deck now?”
“Go on!”
A short while later, Simon is sitting on a heavy, securely moored wooden box in the middle of the ship and watching the sailors work. Some of them stand on the deck, grappling with mighty ropes while others nimbly climb the rigging up high into the sails.
“So, my boy, who are you then?” Simon suddenly hears a coarse, deep voice ask. He turns around. Standing next to him is a bearded man in a dark blue uniform with a cap over his white hair and a thick pipe between his lips.
“My name is Simon Braun. I’m travelling with my father.”
“I see. My name is George Thomson and I’m the captain here.
“The captain! Then you could definitely tell me what kind of ship we are on. My father didn’t know.”
“Is this your first time at sea?”
“Yes. We come from Mainz on the Rhine and have a wine cellar at home.”
“I don’t know all that much about wine, but in case you would like to drink an excellent beer later on, remember Smithwick’s Ale. It comes from a brewery in Kilkenny, Ireland. By the way, you speak very good English!”
“That's not surprising: my mother comes from England.”
“Oh, then you’re most likely visiting relatives. But now to your question: the ship was christened ‘The Repatriate’ – which means something along the lines of ‘the one that returns’. It is called that because it always runs the same route back and forth between London and Oostende. As for its type, it’s a brig, and she has two masts with square-rigged sails and a gaff-rigged sail on the aft-most mast. You see up there – the square-rigged sails are suspended crossways to the ship. The gaff-rigged sail goes in the same direction as the ship’s bow and is hoisted up in between the gaff at the top and the boom at its foot”.
The ship is now slowly moving out of the relatively calm waters in the bay towards the open sea. It starts to sway more and more. Relaxed, Captain Thomson draws on his pipe while the first mate faces his back to the wind and shouts short commands over the deck.
Simon points up at the main mast. “Am I allowed to climb up there too?”
Captain Thomson reflects for a moment before answering, “First you can watch the goings on from down here, and we’ll see about that later.” He touches his cap in salute. At the same moment, Balthasar Braun comes over from the quarterdeck.
“Daddy, we’re sailing on a brig.”
“Brig – I’ve heard that name before. Incidentally, Simon, we are now in the English Channel. How are you?”
“Good, everything is fine!”
“I’m only asking because a few of the passengers on quarterdeck are already looking a little off-colour.”
Simon looks up at the masts. The sails swell in the wind; the ship leans slightly toward the right as it plunges through the rough sea.
“Dad I’ll be right back – I just want to go to the front.”
“Be careful! Always hold on!“
A moment later, Simon is standing at the “Repatriate’s” bow, enjoying the view of the waves. In front of him, the never-ending sea. With every surge the ship seems to rise up to the sky, only to keep dropping back down again. To Simon, it appears as if the ship is about to plunge straight into the North Sea, and in the last moment raise its nose back up to ride the next wave. He becomes carried away by the spectacle that promises him freedom, excitement and adventure.
Back on the quarterdeck once more, Simon joins his father and a few other courageous passengers. Two gentlemen and a lady lean over the railing with their heads down. Their faces are as pale as ghosts.
Balthasar turns to Captain Thomson. “How long will we need to get to London in this weather?”
„With an average westerly wind it should take twelve hours from Oostende to Southend-on-Sea at the mouth of the Thames and then another six hours until we arrive in the London Docks. With this south-westerly I would estimate nine hours to Southend-on-Sea, and then roughly one hour longer on the Thames, making it seven hours.”
The captain interrupts himself. Among the constant noise of wind and sea, a piercing scream is heard. “Help, help, heeeeeelp…” A sailor hangs high above in the rigging of the main mast. Only a few moments ago, the first mate had arranged the sails’ reefing. The sailor, who is hanging helplessly in the rigging, must have slipped from the part of the mast that runs beneath the yard. He can only hold on with one hand – but for how much longer? The man’s body is swinging in the wind, over thirty metres high.
All eyes on deck are pointed upwards. The passengers hold their breaths. “That’s Frank!”, yells Captain Thomson, and heads toward the first mate.
Balthasar Braun looks to Simon – but he is gone! Having judged the situation in the blink of an eye, the boy seizes the opportunity to climb up into the sails. In just a few seconds he is back next to the moored wooden box he had been sitting on earlier. He knows that a coiled rope lies there and throws it over his head and shoulders. Without hesitation he climbs the rope ladder up to the main mast. “Stay calm, concentrate and always hold on with one hand!” he says to himself.
Just before reaching the first platform, Simon’s right foot slips off the rope ladder. He holds on with all his might and regains his balance a moment later. All the time he has spent balancing on the rafters up above the high piles of barrels in the wine cellar with his brother, Christoph now pays off. Fear of heights and dizziness are both unknown to him. Purposefully, he also climbs the shorter rope ladder above the platform up to the highest yardarm. Carefully, so as to avoid swinging too much, he steps onto the uppermost rope, which the screaming sailor is holding onto with his right hand. Simon leans down over the yard, lifting the coiled rope from his neck, and makes a loop in one end. Then he slowly leans toward the sailor below and tightens the loop around his wrist. As short as possible, he ties the other end securely to the yard. That way, the danger that the sailor might slip from the rope into the sea or fall onto the deck is avoided.
Another sailor now joins them. “Hey, well done lad! Now stand on the other side of Frank so that I can approach him too. Then we will pull him up together.”
All eyes of the large group gathered below on the quarterdeck stare at the tip of the main mast and watch as the sailor, Frank is freed from his seemingly hopeless situation.
“Son of a gun!” cries Captain Thomson skywards. “Braun, what a son you have – not a trace of fear and he climbs the rigging like an old hat!”
Up on the mast, these words of praise cannot be heard. Simon and the two sailors climb back down the rigging. Once on the main mast’s platform, Simon looks down for the first time and sees that the deck is teeming with people. Big clusters of passengers stand on the quarterdeck, staring up at them. Simon looks at the water all around and deeply breathes in the fresh, salty sea air.
As they happily reach the deck, the sailors attend to Frank, who is exhausted and shocked to the core. He grips Simon’s hand and a shaky “Thank-you” escapes his lips. Simon smiles at him. In the same moment a sailor approaches them. “To the captain, Joseph! You’re to report to the captain immediately!”
“Aye, aye”, answers Joseph and grabs Simon by the sleeve, dragging him toward the quarterdeck. As they climb the steps up there, the crew and passengers applaud. Joseph reports to the captain and pulls Simon to his side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am very relieved that Able Seaman Frank is once again fit and standing on deck. That could have been fatal. As captain of this ship, I would like to sincerely thank the two rescuers. I am most amazed by the conduct of our young passenger, Simon Braun. I can see in all your eyes that you share my sense of amazement. Even before only one of us was able to think of what to do, Simon had already assessed the possibilities for Frank’s rescue, and as nimbly as a fox, he was up in the ‘Repatriate’s’ rigging, showing us his lion’s courage.
The captain shakes the hands of both rescuers before turning to Balthasar Braun. “Mr Braun, I admire your son. He promises to make his own way in the world.”
“He already is!”, smiles the father. And lo and behold, as he turns to face Simon, the boy is no longer where he was standing only a few seconds ago. He is already back at the bow of the ship, enjoying the head wind.
What an experience that was for me! Today I wonder a little about the courage I managed to muster up. The fact is, when a young person pushes himself to his limits, or a little beyond them, it is easier later in life to recognise precisely where those limits lie. After all, back then, my father always said: “I cannot means I don’t want to.” But where there is a will, one learns that more often than not there is also a way.
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