I have always been a strong swimmer. My parents had me start lessons before I could even walk. I continued to learn at the YMCA and in school, so that by the time I reached my teens, I had already received life-saving qualifications through the Boy Scouts and become a member of my school's competitive swim team. I specialized in backstroke and freestyle, which we called the "Australian crawl" stroke back then. I may not have been the fastest in my age group, but I was frequently among the ribbon winners at swim meets. I could cover a full mile in under 30 minutes. I could dive, too, both platform and springboard, attempting flips that scared the daylights out of my mother during summer outings to the lake. I loved the water, and I could never understand why anyone might be afraid of it. But that changed in 1975, the year I learned respect for the sea.

At that time, I was teaching Mathematics for the Peace Corps in Kuantan, Malaysia. Under my charge was a group of ten students, all boys aged 13-14, know as "Homeroom J." We had planned a bus excursion up the East Coast to picnic at the beach and swim in the warm waters of the South China Sea. It reminded me a lot of the bus trips I used to take with the swim team back in high school, singing songs and telling jokes as we rolled along. Of course, there were cultural differences. The boys had a penchant for curry and fish, and for sandwiches made with bread, rice and chili sauce, not the hamburgers and hotdogs I had grown up with. They wore sarongs over their swim trunks, not blue jeans. But the gaiety of the outing was much the same. And the tropical weather was just perfect, as if made to order for a coastal outing.

When we reached our destination, the driver and his assistant started preparing our lunch, while I took Homeroom J down to the beach. The waves were not too high and there was a natural rock jetty that created a very calm area for wading and swimming. I organized the boys in pairs, each one with a buddy to keep close to, and instructed them to stay within the jetty area. Most of them could swim well, and I knew I could handle any eventuality, but there was no sense taking any chances. I swam a bit with the boys, then took a break to check on lunch, leaving two of the better swimmers in charge for the few minutes I would be away.

Just as I reached the bus, I could hear one of the boys calling me. "Encik Tom! Encik Tom!" He was waving and pointing out to the sea. I hurried back and saw that two of the students had swum out beyond the protection of the jetty. They were drifting about a 30 meters from the shore. I called on them to swim back in, and they seemed to be trying their hardest, but they were getting no closer to us. There was nothing to do but swim out there and pull them back in. Or so I thought.

I dove into the water and reached them quite quickly. One of the two boys was a strong swimmer, and he was not panicking at all, so I told him to tread water while I pulled his buddy back to shore. I would come back for him in just a minute. I was sure I could cover the 30-odd meters and return in less than a minute, actually. How wrong I was.

Passing one arm over the weaker boy's chest in a life-saving hold, I began stroking shoreward with my free arm and a strong kick. After quite a few strokes, I was making no headway. The waves were not that powerful, but an unseen current was sweeping us from the coast out to sea. I struggled harder. With all of my might. And after several minutes, I managed to reach the shallows where I could stand and pass him to the other boys who had gathered to witness this drama from the safety of the beach.

We were both okay. But as I looked back, I saw his buddy was now more than 40 meters away and drifting further out to sea with every passing second. Exhausted from bringing the first boy in, I suddenly realized I would be unable to swim out and pull him back in the same way. I had grown up swimming in lakes and pools that have no currents. This moving sea was stronger than anything I had ever encountered, almost like swimming in a river against the flow. If I did not think of something immediately, the boy would be swept completely away.

We had no life vests or flotation devices and no rope to throw out to him, so I quickly got the boys, with the driver and assistant as our anchors, to join hands in a human chain. I told them to hold on for dear life as I led the chain out into the water. I could feel the current tugging at us all. It was so powerful, we could only stretch half way out to the boy from the shallows. Further than that would have risked other lives. I let go of the hand that held me and swam the remaining distance to the drifting boy. I had him cling to my neck from behind so that I could have both arms and legs available for swimming back in. Then, for what seemed like an eternity, I struggled with the waters that wanted to claim us. The chain of students held fast, but they grew closer only as I strained my every muscle to the limit.

At last I reached the hand I had let go of minutes before. The chain of boys heaved landward and towed us back to the shallows. My lungs were racked with pain. I couldn't even stand up when I reached the shore. But we were alive. We were safe. And we had learned something very important. Even when the waves are light, the sea can be a mighty force. We must never think our own strength is a match for it.

Since that day, I have still not been afraid of the sea, but I have developed a tremendous respect for it. We are such tiny entities by comparison. Our power may be great, but Nature's will always be greater.

TAJ is the publisher of Legacy Memoirs. He can be reached by EMAIL HERE.