St. Wulfram and his monks had much work for a time. The Frisians came in crowds for Christian instructions and baptism. It was a great and hard task to teach human beings in the lowest stage of development. Moreover, the teachings of the missionaries were opposed in all things to the traditional customs of the people. Many wrongs, such as slavery, for instance, could not be set aside at once. Moreover, if the people were to be made peaceful and weaned from their wildness, they had to be taught other ways of support than plundering and hunting.

So the Benedictines taught the converts not only Christian doctrine, but how to plow and to plant. They built dunes to hold out the devastating sea, and sent to their abbey home for seeds and implements. In a few years the face of Frisia was greatly changed.

Ratbodo had given Wulfram land and a dwelling near his own residence. In this way he could best keep track of everything that happened at the mission.

The king himself remained obdurate in his paganism. Once he said, tauntingly, to the entreating Wulfram, that if the Christian God would work a miracle for him especially, he would be converted. Wulfram reminded him of the miracles he had seen and had not been converted. Then Ratbodo said that if the table in front of him were changed into gold, he would yield; but Wulfram, in righteous indignation, told him how childish was such a request.

All the while the chieftains were urging the king to send away the bishop. But he laughed at them, saying that what Wulfram had built up he himself would destroy in ten days when the time came, just as had been done in the case of many others. Even the king’s little son, Clodio, was baptized and died a Christian, but the king only smiled. His day was coming, he held.

Then Wulfram went back to Fontinella to get more monks, laborers, and lay brothers for his work in Frisia. The converted Frisians were beginning to realize the blessings of regular and well-ordered work. There were more and more laborers and fewer sea robbers and warriors. Nevertheless, the great mass of the Frisian people remained obstinate, following the example of the king and the great chiefs.

Among the gods whose wrath the Frisians most feared was the god of the sea. The lowness of the land made frequent inundations inevitable. Besides, Frisians, when not robbing, were fishing, or living on the water in some way. Thus they were always anxious to pacify the mighty god of the floods.

On this day, too, a great multitude, together with the king and the chieftains, were gathered at the sea-coast, waiting to soothe the water deity by human sacrifice. The lot had fallen on two little boys this time, the only children of a widow. At the time of low tide the little ones were laid on a projecting point of land, so that the rising waters would cover them. Their feet were tied so cunningly that the childish hands could not undo the knots. Thus they sat on the beach, waiting the waters that were to be their death.

Several hundred feet back, the crowds were gathered to watch the unhappy spectacle. In the foreground sat a young woman, the mother of the children, weeping and moaning in her grief, without, however, waking the faintest sympathy in the hearts of the by-standers.

The waters were even then advancing on the point of land, and a strong wind was driving up the flood in great waves. The little ones began to scream in terror as the spray struck them, and the mother sprang to her feet. If she had not been held fast, she would have flung herself into the water with her children. Gradually the land disappeared; nothing was left but the raised point to which the children clung. One could see how the older boy was trying to hold up his little brother.

“King!” said a voice, ringing with a holy anger, “why this abomination before the eyes of almighty God?”

Ratbodo started and the chieftains stared in silent astonishment.

“We are offering sacrifice to the god of the waters,” said the king, after a moment. “Go take the victims away from him if you can; they may be your slaves and the slaves of your God for the rest of time,” he added with a sneer.

“So be it,” answered Wulfram. Turning, he made the sign of the cross over the rising tide and walked out as if on solid land. The Christians present in the crowd cried aloud for joy, but the pagans stood in wonder bordering on fear. The king himself was most moved by the miraculous sight. His eyes were fixed, his face pale as death. He was convinced that in the saint walking thus unharmed over the waters he saw an unmistakable manifestation of the power of the Christian God.

“That is even more than a golden table,” he whispered tremblingly.

Wulfram lifted the children out of the water and carried them to the land. At once the Frisians crowded about him, asking to be made Christians. Ratbodo himself said:—

“It is but right that a man should keep his word. I said to you years ago that if your God would make a golden table before my eyes, I would become a Christian. But He did more. He made a solid floor of the moving sea. Come to me every day and instruct me.”

—Conrad von Bolanden.