In the Far Pashmina Mountains

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Pulling on oilskins and boots, Alice and Sam hurried below. The wind nearly knocked them off the outer steps. Alice clung to her brother as they slithered across the rocks to the rowing boat. Thankfully, Sam’s tightening of the rope the previous day had kept it secure.

  Alice almost fell into the boat as Sam unlashed it from its moorings. She grabbed at the oars to stop them flying overboard. Sam took them from her and rowed away from the jetty. As soon as they were out of the meagre shelter of the natural harbour, the sea tossed them about like flotsam. In minutes they were soaked through as waves crashed over the sides. Sam gritted his teeth and made for the outer rocks, his bulky arms straining against the force of the sea. Strong though he was, Alice could see him quickly tiring. Crawling forward in the boat, she squeezed onto the bench beside him and took over the starboard oar.

  They pulled in unison. Spray stung her face and hair whipped into her eyes but Alice clenched her teeth and thought of nothing but keeping a rhythm – and of the desperate people stranded on the deathly reef.

  As they drew nearer the rocks, the survivors began to cry out. Through the spray, Alice could make out a couple of men and, astonishingly, a woman and a girl huddled on the rock just above them with one of the crew, a cabin boy wearing a sailor’s neckerchief, who hardly looked older than the terrified child.

  ‘Oh, thank the Lord!’ the woman sobbed.

  Alice and Sam tried to manoeuvre the rowing boat near enough for them to scramble aboard but the swell was too great. They risked either being dashed against the rocks or sucked under by the pull of the waves. They bobbed helplessly. The men – one young, one older – looked grey-faced with cold and exhaustion. Perhaps they had used up all their energy pulling the others to safety. The child and cabin boy were whimpering in fear while the mother exhorted their rescuers not to give up.

  ‘You must save us! God has sent you. Please help – I beg you! At least take my girl! I care not for myself but don’t let Mary die!’

  Alice was in awe of the woman’s fierce determination to save her daughter even if the rest were to perish.

  ‘Give me both oars,’ she shouted to Sam. ‘I’ll try to keep the boat steady while you reach out for them.’

  Sam did not argue. Alice took his oar as he scrambled towards the bows. She clamped her jaw at the pain in her shoulders as the sea tried to wrench the oars away. She held on and pulled hard. The boat lurched back towards the rock. Sam braced himself against the bow and stretched out his arms.

  ‘Work your way towards me!’ he bellowed.

  The younger man, strongly built, roused himself from his comatose state. ‘Come on; don’t be afraid,’ he encouraged the woman and child. ‘Give me your hand.’

  ‘Take Mary first,’ the woman urged.

  The young man took the girl onto his right shoulder – his left arm was hanging useless and bloodied where his jacket had torn away – and struggled down the rock. Sam reached out and grabbed her.

  He placed the shocked girl behind him in the boat and leant out to take the woman next. She was hanging on tightly to the injured man who was helping her down the rock, his face a grimace.

  One by one, Sam hauled the survivors into the rocking boat, while Alice wrestled with the oars to keep the craft as close to the rocks as she could. Her arms burnt with pain and exertion. The cabin boy and the older man were pulled aboard. Just the younger man was left on the rock. As Sam reached to help him, a wave crashed over the bows and knocked him back. The boat seesawed dangerously and spun around. The stern was now facing the rock and Alice could see the man clearly for the first time. He was half-submerged in the water where he had scrambled towards Sam. His dark hair was plastered to his face – a handsome young face scored with exhaustion – and his eyes held her look. She knew that if she glanced away he might give up, the effort too much.

  Alice half stood, wrested an oar from its rowlock and thrust it towards him.

  ‘Grab it!’ she yelled.

  He gave a low roar and, with the last of his strength, struck out for the oar. He held on with his right arm. Alice almost lost her balance. Then Sam was beside her, pulling on the oar too. Just as the man reached the stern, the boat bucked again and struck his head. He lost his grip on the oar.

  ‘No!’ Alice screamed as she lost sight of him.

  Sam pushed past her and leant overboard. He grabbed at the torn jacket before it sank from view and pulled hard. The man reappeared. They locked arms and Sam fought to haul him from the treacherous waves. Alice leant out and grabbed his other arm. Pain was seared across his face but she heaved at his wounded limb.

  Moments later, they dragged him aboard and all three lay panting in the stern.

  ‘We’re heading for the rocks again!’ the woman shrieked.

  The cabin boy had moved forward to hang onto the oars.

  ‘Good lad,’ Sam panted, steadying himself and taking the oars from him.

  ‘I c-can help,’ the youth said through chattering teeth.

  Together they rowed away from the rocks. But very quickly Alice could see that the young sailor was completely spent and no match for Sam’s strength. She clambered back and told the boy to look after the injured man who was lying unconscious at their feet. She took up the other oar. With all the strength left to them, Alice and Sam rowed as hard as they could back towards the island.

  As they made it to the island jetty, Alice’s heart swelled to see both her parents waiting in the wind and rain to help them all ashore. The cabin boy and Sam shouldered the injured man and then Effie was taking Mary from the exhausted arms of her mother and hurrying up the lighthouse steps.

  Twenty minutes later, the five survivors and their rescuers were safely in the lighthouse kitchen, wrapped in blankets and being served hot broth and tea, while a fussing Effie hung up their sodden garments to dry and rubbed numb hands and feet back to life. Only the young man appeared badly injured by their ordeal; Effie had bandaged his left arm and the gash to his forehead and put him into the truckle bed in which Arnold had been recuperating. He lay with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, too weak to eat more than a mouthful of broth.

  ‘That brave young man saved my Mary’s life,’ the woman, called Martha Scott, told them, her voice full of emotion. ‘Slipped from my grasp, she did. But he held onto her even while the mast was crushing him against the rocks – that’s how his arm got injured. He did it for my Mary.’

  The woman could not hold back her tears of relief. They came flooding down her cheeks as she rocked her daughter in her arms.

  From the older man, a merchant called Hobson, they learnt that the ship Berwickshire had set out from Leith with a cargo of whisky and beef cattle bound for London. There had been more than twenty passengers on board. It was the cabin boy Peter’s first voyage. Mrs Scott was going to visit her sister, who was about to set sail for a new life in Canada.

  ‘I think our young friend over there was on his way to join a regiment – he’s from the Highlands,’ said Mr Hobson. ‘You can tell from his clothes he’s a gentleman.’

  ‘He’s called Sinclair,’ said Peter.

  ‘His name’s John,’ Mary spoke up suddenly. They were the first words the girl had uttered since being rescued. ‘He said we weren’t going to drown ’cause he wears a lucky Spanish penny round his neck that would keep us safe. And it has, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, my sweet pea’ – her mother kissed her head and smiled – ‘it has indeed.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Alice woke after a dreamless sleep to hear the chatter of voices in the kitchen above and for a moment wondered who their visitors could be. Then the ordeal of the previous hours came rushing back. It was growing dark again already. She dragged herself out of bed and put on clean, dry clothes; it would soon be time to light the lamp. She could hear her father’s wheezing breath coming from beyond the partition; the effort to help had put him back in bed.

  Upstairs, Mrs Scott and Effie were cooking potatoes to go with slices of ham,
hunks of bread and churned goat’s butter. Mr Hobson was reading one of Arnold’s out-of-date newspapers and Peter was playing cards with Mary. John Sinclair was still asleep, his pallor grey and glistening.

  ‘He hasn’t stirred for hours,’ Martha Scott said worriedly.

  ‘Rest’s what he needs,’ said Effie.

  After they had all eaten, Effie and Alice organised beds for their stranded guests. Martha and Mary bedded down in Danny’s old room, while Hobson and Peter shared Sam’s.

  ‘We could give Mr Sinclair my room to himself,’ Alice suggested, ‘so he wouldn’t be disturbed.’

  ‘I don’t think we should move him yet,’ said Effie. ‘He’s still cold to the touch, poor laddie.’

  Alice knew that her mother, on hearing John was a fellow Highlander, was feeling protective towards him.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on him between watches,’ Alice offered.

  While Sam took the middle watch, Alice sat dozing in the candlelight beside John. At times he moaned in his sleep and cried out. She bathed his brow with a cloth – he was alternately shivering and sweating, his forehead burning hot yet his fingers icy cold. A worn coin depicting a helmeted head lay on a chain around his neck. His lucky Spanish coin. After a moment’s hesitation, Alice loosened his shirt, blushing at the touch of his chest hairs, and gently wiped away the sweat from his upper body.

  She whispered soothing words though she doubted he could hear her. ‘Don’t fret, Mr Sinclair, you are safe now. We’ll make you better again. And we’ll send word to your family as soon as we can.’

  She wondered who his family might be. Would word already have spread about the sinking of Berwickshire? Did he have a wife or a sweetheart who would be out of their minds with worry? For a while he would settle into a calmer sleep but it wouldn’t last. By morning he was babbling incoherently.

  ‘It’s not the Gaelic he’s speaking,’ Effie said, baffled.

  ‘Maybe it’s Spanish,’ said Mary. ‘He said his Grandpa Carlos was Spanish.’

  ‘Do you think he needs a doctor?’ asked Martha in concern.

  ‘No one can get out here safely in this swell,’ said Effie. ‘We’ll just have to do our best and pray he pulls through.’

  ‘He will,’ said Alice stoutly, ‘I know he will.’ She could not say that she had seen it in his eyes, that moment of destiny out on the reef, when she had known his determination to live.

  He was swimming up from a deep pool – like the one below the waterfall at Ramanish where he would plunge in naked after a day in the saddle – holding his breath. Then, just as his lungs were about to burst, he broke the surface of the water.

  John woke with a start, gulping for air. A cool hand touched his cheek, pushed back his hair. He opened his eyes and saw her.

  It was the face in his dreams – that of a Viking princess with high-boned cheeks, vivid blue eyes and a riot of copper hair falling over her shoulders. She watched him intently with those large blue eyes. He had seen her before; he was quite sure of it.

  Her lips parted and let go a small gasp. ‘You’re awake.’

  He gave a weak smile, his breath ragged as he answered. ‘I’m not sure I am. Unless my dream has become reality.’

  She laughed softly, her cheeks dimpling and turning pink. ‘Is that the famous Highland charm?’

  He licked his dry lips. ‘How do you know where I come from?’ His head pounded as he tried to remember where he was.

  ‘Your fellow passengers told us what they know of you, Mr Sinclair.’

  It came back to him with a jolt. The storm and the pitching ship. The shrieking as the lamps smashed and plunged them into darkness. The scramble to get out on deck. He had managed to grab a screaming Mrs Scott and her daughter and hang onto some rigging – they’d been thrown clear of the sinking ship and others had come too.

  He gulped. ‘Did they . . . Who managed . . . ? Is the wee lass . . . ?’

  ‘Aye, Mrs Scott and Mary are safe, thanks to you. And Mr Hobson and one of the crew – Peter from Leith. They’re all fine. Eating us out of house and home but in good health and spirits.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘I’m afraid that no one else has survived. Were you travelling with friends or family?’

  He shook his head, feeling his eyes sting, and for a moment was too overwhelmed to speak. In what unimaginable terror had the others drowned? She appeared to understand and kept talking. He liked her strong voice with its sing-song accent.

  ‘You’ve been here four days – had a touch of fever. We moved you into this room to have a bit of quiet. The others are longing to get off the island now and on with their lives.’

  He looked around, feeling dazed. The tiny room had curved walls with an inset cupboard and a flower-shaped window. He was lying on a narrow bed with a simple table supporting a tower of books beside it.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘In Black Harbour lighthouse.’

  It sparked a memory; his eyes widened. ‘You were the one rowing the boat!’

  She nodded.

  ‘You saved my life. Or else you are an angel and I’ve gone to my maker?’

  She smiled. ‘Not an angel; just the lighthouse-keeper’s daughter.’

  ‘An angel of mercy then.’ He smiled back. ‘A very brave and beautiful one.’ He was pleased to see the compliment brought another flush to her cheeks.

  ‘They say you are joining a regiment in London?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said John. ‘I’m going to train at Addiscombe for the East India Company army.’ He shifted and tried to sit up but a pain shot down his left arm and his head began to pound again. Only the pretty young woman had distracted him temporarily from how weak and ill he felt.

  ‘Don’t move.’ She put out a hand to stop him. ‘You need to rest.’ She stood up. ‘Do you think you could manage some soup now and a mug of beer?’

  ‘Only if you are the one serving it,’ John answered.

  She rolled her eyes and stepped towards the door.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Does my angel of mercy have a name?’

  He saw her lips twitch in amusement or impatience. ‘Miss Alice Brown. But you may call me Alice.’

  ‘Thank you, Alice,’ he replied. ‘Thank you for helping me.’

  She gave a quick nod, as if his gratitude embarrassed her. Then, with a swish of skirt and a flick of burnished hair over her shoulder, she disappeared from the room.

  Alice hummed as she prepared a bowl of vegetable soup, mashing the lumps of potato and carrot to make them easier to swallow. She was so relieved that the young Highlander had survived the fever and appeared to be over the worst. After two days, they had carried him down to Alice’s room; Mr Hobson and Peter had contracted heavy colds and they did not want John’s condition to be made worse by any contagion.

  The women had managed to keep his wounds clean and free of infection and they believed he should recover fully given time. He was weak but well enough to tease her, she thought wryly. As Alice stirred the pot, she couldn’t prevent a smile at the memory of his calling her an angel. She knew it was a young man’s attempt at flattery, yet she had done more for him than anyone had asked, spending long hours tending him and willing him to live.

  To him, she was a stranger. But to her, John had become dearly familiar. She had bathed him and brought down his temperature, changed his dressings and sung to him when he cried out in a strange language. Her mother and Martha had taken turns wetting his lips and wiping his brow but it was she, Alice, who had sat with him the most. She could not tell anyone how much she liked to gaze at John’s strong-jawed face, with its straight nose and firm, generous mouth; how she delighted in his dark lashes and the way his black hair licked around his temples. When she pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, she saw how pale her fingers were against his nut-brown skin, skin that told of a man who relished the outdoor life.

  She could have dismissed her desire to be with him as the dedication of one human trying to save the life of another. But when he had opene
d his eyes – those startling green eyes – and focused on her, Alice had felt her stomach twist and her heart lurch in a way it had never done before. Then the way he had spoken her name in his Highland lilt had made her heart melt further.

  ‘Can I come and see John too?’ Mary asked.

  Alice smiled at the girl. ‘Aye, you can help me feed him. He’s been asking after you.’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Yes. Can you carry the mug of beer with two hands?’

  It was noon on the fifth day before the sea had calmed enough for a boat to finally make it out to the lighthouse. Danny and his crewmen arrived with much needed supplies for the Browns.

  ‘Gillveray has sent these – and us to fetch the shipwrecked,’ he told his parents. ‘He’s been watching out since the storm.’

  ‘Thank the Lord,’ cried Martha. ‘We’ve been such a burden to your kind family.’

  ‘No burden,’ said Effie, though Alice could see the relief on her mother’s face. Martha hugged Effie.

  But Danny was surly. ‘You could have been on the mainland days ago if we’d been allowed to do our job – but Gillveray wouldn’t risk the lifeboat even though me and the lads pleaded with him.’

  Sam looked up from trimming the wick of a kitchen lamp. ‘You mean you didn’t have the stomach for it.’

  Danny was immediately riled. ‘It was our job to fetch them off the rocks – you’ve stolen our bounty. Me and my crew need it more than you.’

  ‘That’s enough, lads,’ Arnold said, his voice still croaky though he had insisted on taking his turn in the lamp-room since the shipwreck.

  But Sam squared up to his brother. ‘If they’d waited for you, these people would’ve been drowned. Me and Alice couldn’t have left them.’

  ‘Alice?’ Danny was incredulous.

  ‘Aye, she helped row the boat. Father was too poorly.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hobson spoke up, ‘your sister has been a true heroine. We will always be indebted to her and your family.’