SERIAL Northern Lights by Betty Mcinnes
Fear for her grandson had driven Lilias to the smiddy, running to the point of exhaustion . . .
LILIAS presented an alarming spectacle as she ran gasping, her shawls flapping, along Arbroath’s streets and wynds. Townsfolk she encountered skipped smartly aside.
“Where’s the fire?” some cried indignantly after her. Fisher women wailed. “Michty, dinna say another ship’s foundered!”
Lilias shoved them aside and ran on, fired by one urgent purpose – to fetch Jeremiah Cuthbert, Alec’s master. Would she be in time, and could she prevail upon him to intervene?
She looked around her, unfamiliar with this part of town. The smiddy must be nearby, but where?
She heard the clang of iron and followed it, falling into the smiddy yard on the point of collapse.
The smith and Ezra, the wheelwright, were in the yard repairing a cart. Startled, they turned.
“What ails ye, mistress?” Jeremiah cried.
Lilias explained in a few faltering words.
He frowned.
“The lad’s fifteen and serving an apprenticeship. They’d no right to him.”
“So I said, but they swore they could, since the Navy’s short o’ powder-monkeys.” He groaned.
“Alec a powder-monkey? That’s a death sentence!”
He flung off his leather apron.
“Ezra, see to the lady.” He ran from the yard. The wheelwright guided Lilias towards a bench.
“There, mistress, sit ye down. It’s noble work ye did to save that fine loon.”
Lilias could not rest. The smith might be too late! She hugged the shawl round her shoulders.
“Alec’s no’ saved yet. I’ll no’ count my chicks till the fox leaves the roost.” Ezra nodded. “There’s little can be done once the lad’s taken aboard the impressment vessel, but I place my faith in Jeremiah Cuthbert.”
The wheelwright sat beside her, eased a clay pipe from under his cap and a tinderbox from a pocket. Tamping baccy from pouch to bowl, he expertly struck spark to tinder.
Lilias found the flavoured smoke comforting.
“The smith called me a lady,” she said aloud, in wonder.
Ezra took the pipe from his lips.
“So he did,” he agreed.
Alec Cargill gave up hope after Lilias left. He did not blame her for taking fright. These were powerful men.
The press gang found the old woman’s flight hilarious.
“See the auld hen run cackling back tae the roost!” the leader scoffed,
His men jeered. It was more than Alec could stand.
“My grandmother was brave to stand up to you. There was no need to treat her so rough and rude!”
They had the grace to look shamed. Enforced recruitment of men and boys to a dangerous life aboard a man-o’-war was considered necessary by Naval authorities to compensate for losses, but those given the task of enrolling new recruits were not completely heartless.
“The old woman’s brave, right enough,” the leader conceded. “If you have half your granny’s spunk you’ll do well i’ the Navy, lad.”
They marched Alec along the breakwater towards the waiting cutter. The harbour was deserted. Canny fishermen battened down hatches and kept out of sight when it was rumoured the press gang was in town.
At the end of the breakwater Alec’s captors sat him on the ground.
“The rest o’ the gang will be here soon wi’ a catch o’ recruits from the pub, then we’ll be off. Cheer up.” Alec shivered. “What is a powder-monkey? If I’m to be one, I should know.”
The gang nudged one another. Their leader spoke up, straight-faced.
“Well, laddie, it’s not admirals that win battles, though they get the credit. Nay, it’s the speedy wee powder-monkeys. They run wi’ gunpowder cartridges from the ship’s magazine below the waterline up to the gun deck, supplying the gun carriage crews.
“It’s powder-monkeys that keep King George’s cannons firing broadsides faster than Napoleon’s. If you run fast like your old granny, you’ll be fine.” Alec frowned. “Gunpowder’s dangerous!”
“Aye, you’d not want to meet sparks from a French broadside while ye were running with it, or else –”
“Boom!” the men howled in rowdy unison.
They were enjoying teasing the laddie so much that the blacksmith’s arrival went unnoticed till the big man stood in their midst.
“I’ll thank ye to release my apprentice.”
Press gang members were selected for their intimidating stature, but Jeremiah Cuthbert stood a head above the tallest. He was broad shouldered and muscular.
“Too late, blacksmith. This lad’s needed to serve King and country.”
“Look yonder where white water breaks.” Jeremiah pointed out to sea. “His Majesty’s warship, York, foundered and sank wi’ the loss o’ all hands on that treacherous hidden shoal.” The man shrugged. “What’s that to us?” The smith frowned.
“It was a tragic loss o’ men and fighting power. The sinking forced through an Act of Parliament authorising a lighthouse to be built on the rock as a matter o’ urgency.”
“Politicians!” The leader spat.
Jeremiah folded muscular arms across a mighty chest.
“I offered my services as blacksmith to the lighthouse project and this lad is my assistant. You have no right to take him from this vital work. If you proceed I’ll see you men suffer the full weight o’ the law.”
They muttered together, then the leader hauled Alec to his feet.
“Go serve your master, but if this war drags on we’ll be back looking for recruits.” He jerked a thumb seawards. “You’d better be out there, working upon that accursed rock, or I swear I’ll have ye for a powder-monkey.” He looked at Jeremiah. “Take your weedy loon, smith. It’s men we need.”
The blacksmith grabbed Alec and hustled him away.
“Thank ye for saving me, Mr Cuthbert,” the lad said, a catch in his voice.
The blacksmith wiped his brow with relief. It had been a close call.
“Thank your granny. She ran like the wind to fetch me.”
Alec digested this. Fancy his grandmother doing that when her grandchildren had treated her so unkind! He was ashamed. Tomorrow was the end of the seven-day pact their grandmother had made with Maggie. His sister had mastered the knack of fire-lighting with their grandmother’s tuition. Alec had no doubt that tomorrow morning the old woman would be shown the door.
Maggie Cargill scrubbed steps and washed shop windows in Arbroath, accepting payment in copper or kind.
Coppers went into a capacious pocket in her skirt’s folds; apples, onions, potatoes and marrowbones were stored in receptacles sewn within the apron.
It was hard work in winter. This November morning, the dirt on stone doorsteps from muddy boots had to be seen to be believed. Maggie collected buckets of soapy water donated by householders and set to work with scrubbing brush and mop.
An afternoon on the weekly rota of shop windows called for a more respectable appearance.
Maggie washed her face and hands at the horse trough and sponged mud from her skirt and apron.
Her fingers were red and swollen, itching with a promise of chilblains, but at least they were clean.
Starting with a haberdashery run by two spinsters fallen upon hard times, Maggie worked her way round the regulars.
She paid particular attention to the butcher’s establishment – the owner was responsible for a recent donation of beef shin as a reward for cleaning out his back premises.
This rare treat was simmering slowly to succulent tenderness at home for a memorable supper now Maggie had mastered the fire.
Maggie’s last job was at Cameron’s grocery store. As she balanced stretched on tiptoe with her leather cloth to eliminate every trace of dust, bird droppings and mud sullying the gleaming glass, she dreamily viewed the mouth-watering window display of provisions.
Maggie was unaware of
Samuel watched the young girl washing his window with such care
the beguiling picture she made as she moved. But Samuel Cameron saw.
The young grocer stood behind the counter, immaculate in white apron, black waistcoat and striped shirt, transported by the vision.
Being close to closing time, the shop was devoid of customers. For once he could stand and stare to his heart’s content.
“It’s not seemly, a woman washing shop windows!”
He jumped at his older sister Beatrice’s voice.
“I can’t see the harm,” he remarked mildly.
“You wouldn’t, since you employed her in Tam Mcgregor’s stead.”
“She needed to support the family when her father drowned. Boozy Tam just swills it away i’ the pub.”
“But you pay her sixpence for the work. We’re not a charitable institution,” his sister said.
He shrugged, weary of the argument.
“It’s once a week; it won’t send us to the workhouse.”
“If Napoleon has his way that’s where we’ll end up! The man swears we’re a nation o’ shopkeepers and makes sure we pay dearly for the goods we sell.”
Unaware of dissent within the shop, Maggie examined the finished window and glass door panel
minutely for smears. Satisfied, she opened the shop door. A mingled aroma of cheese, ham and spices made her weak with hunger.
“I’m done, Mr Cameron.” She stood with red hands folded, eyes downcast.
The grocer had a friendly smile for her, but not so Miss Beatrice, his sister.
Maggie remembered old Mr and Mrs Cameron running the store, with Samuel and his older sister as young shop assistants.
When the father died their mother was brought low with grief and remained a reclusive invalid in the living quarters above the shop.
Samuel Cameron took command of the business and it was rumoured Miss Beatrice had refused an offer of marriage, to care for their invalid mother. She was now a thirty-five-yearold spinster.
It was sad, Maggie felt. The grocer came forward with the sixpence. He also gave her a small package. He smiled.
“It’s cold outside, Maggie. This’ll warm ye.”
She slipped the gift into her apron, muttered thanks, bobbed a curtsey and escaped out the door.
“What did ye give her?” Beatrice demanded.
“Only a packet of tea. Her father was fond of a brew, God rest him.”
“The likes of her can’t afford tea!” his sister protested.
He reddened angrily. “Her fingers were red and swollen with chilblains. I’ll not stand by and see the lass chilled to the bone for want of a hot drink.”
Beatrice pursed her lips.
Maggie set off for home at the run, her heart light.
Tea! She was sure of it. She recognised the packet Mama and Papa had bought years ago to celebrate when the fishing was good.
The dark leaves were always brewed in the teapot belonging to the tea set Papa had bought for Mama from the pawnshop. Then the whole family would enjoy a cup of dark golden liquid, flavoured with milk and honey.
Afterwards, Mama would gaze into the empty teacups and pretend to see mystic patterns formed in the tea leaves, promising a glorious happy future for them all.
By the time she reached her front door, Maggie’s cheeks were wet with tears.
The room was blissfully warm, the beef pot simmering gently on the hob filling the air with flavour. Maggie’s chest swelled with pride. She had mastered the fire!
Then her gaze alighted upon her grandmother. The old woman sat in the chair by the fire, chin resting on her chest, sound asleep.
Indignation rose in Maggie’s chest like bitter gall as she realised their grandmother’s cunning plan. The woman had managed to inveigle a way into their house and now intended to live idly while her grandchildren slaved to set food on the table and keep a roof over her head.
Their grandmother’s crafty ploy had nearly succeeded, for attitudes had softened recently. Even Maggie welcomed her grandmother’s encouragement while learning to set the fire and felt a warm glow of pride when praised.
It was comforting to come home after a hard day’s work to find the lamps lit and a living presence in the house. She had even secretly considered asking the old woman to stay.
Till this revealing moment. Maggie was freezing, clothes damp and dirty, knees aching with kneeling on hard stone, fingers throbbing with chilblains.
To return home to find her grandmother warmly installed by the fire, fast asleep and snoring, added insult to all Maggie’s injuries.
Deliberately, she slammed the outer door shut with a crash that resounded like thunder through the quiet house.
Lilias roused from deep, exhausted sleep with a startled scream. Dazed, she hardly knew where she was or what had happened.
The haze before her eyes cleared to reveal her eldest granddaughter. She started up in terror.
“Maggie! Is it a French bombardment?”
“No, only the door slamming in an icy wind as I came in from work, frozen to the marrow.”
They faced one another across the room.
Lilias became aware all was not well.
“The beef simmers slow and tender, Maggie. Well done,” she remarked tentatively.
“A fitting farewell feast, Grandmother. You’ll be leaving us tomorrow.” “By popular vote?” “Oh, aye. You may be sure o’ that,” Maggie said tersely.
Lilias was silent for a moment.
“Well, ’tis as expected, lass. You’ve mastered the fire and my work is done. That was the pact we made and I accept the ruling.
“Thank ye kindly, but I’ll not attend a farewell feast. I need to rest to catch an early morning tide that’ll carry the Boatie swiftly to Auchmithie.”
“I’m sorry you’ll not sample the beef,” her granddaughter muttered.
“So am I, hinnie,” Lilias said gently.
Maggie scuttled off into the scullery to empty the sacking apron of its contents and left Lilias staring into the glowing coals. Her granddaughter had learned the knack of fire-lighting and Lilias was no longer needed.
She had hoped for a happier outcome, but she accepted that her grandchildren preferred to exist without a granny’s interference.
At least Alec was saved from impressment, Lilias thought more cheerfully. For that she was grateful, confident she could leave her grandson in the good blacksmith’s capable care.
She had nearly fainted with relief when the smith arrived back at the smiddy with Alec walking free by his side. Maybe she did actually sway and turn pale as milk, she thought, for the man had insisted they adjourn to his living quarters in the smiddy-seat to drink a celebratory toast to the rescue – in fine, captured French brandy.
Normally Lilias never touched intoxicating drink, the ruin of many a fine fisherman, but on this occasion she could hardly refuse, as the cunning blacksmith probably knew.
She smiled now in the fire’s warm glow, remembering the merry gleam in his eyes as she coughed and spluttered her way to the bottom of a well-filled tassie he poured for her.
The man’s lifestyle puzzled her. Ezra, the wheelwright, and his wife, Constance, lodged in the adjoining cottage, tending to the smith’s cooking and cleaning in lieu of rent.
But Lilias observed that, though the blacksmith’s living quarters were neat and tidy, they lacked a woman’s gentler touch.
Was the smith a sad widower or perhaps by choice a lonely bachelor, she wondered idly as the brandy’s mellowing influence flowed through her veins.
She declined her grandson’s offer to see her safely home.
“No, no, laddie. Don’t tempt fate. Stay safe in your master’s care till the impressment ship sails wi’ the outgoing tide.”
Standing up groggily, Lilias discovered the assistance of a strong arm was indeed advisable, but she managed to navigate the smiddy yard on a reasonably straight course, hazily aware of the smith hiding a grin while watching every dizzy step.
She tottered off down the street and reached the Cargill house, sobered by a breath of chilly fresh air.
She then collapsed, exhausted, into the fireside chair and had been in a sound sleep till Maggie slammed the outer door.
A door closing, she thought sadly, a fitting end to a memorable day and the start of the last night she would spend in her
late daughter’s house.
Sighing, Lilias rose wearily and made her way along the corridor to the room that had never rightly been hers.
The table was set, beef stew and dumplings ready and waiting, when Maggie’s brother and sisters came clattering in from work. The girls could hardly contain their excitement.
“Maggie, ye’ll never guess what happened. Our Alec escaped from the press gang!” Cathy Mary cried the moment she set foot in the door.
“They wanted him for a gunpowder-monkey. To get blown up!” wee Amy added dramatically.
“Oh, no!” Maggie dropped the ladle she was holding. It fell to the floor with a clatter. “Alec, how did ye get away?”
“The blacksmith saved me. He convinced the scoundrels that an apprentice helping to build a lighthouse on the Bell Rock profited the nation more than them seizing an unwilling under-age recruit.”
He unwound his scarf, hanging his cap and jacket jauntily on the hooks while Maggie watched. She knew the family had had a lucky escape. Three lasses left without some male support could not expect to prosper for long.
Strange, she thought, studying her brother more closely. Alec seemed to have grown in confidence and stature all in the space of a few hours. He’d left the house that morning as her younger brother and returned this evening with the assurance of a grown man.
He glanced around the room.
“Where’s Grandmother?” “Resting in her room.” He nodded sympathetically.
“That’s to be expected, after today.”
Maggie turned away to tend the pot simmering on the range.
“Aye. She says she must rise early tomorrow morning to catch the tide for Auchmithie.”
“What?” he cried, startled. “She’s leaving us?”
“That’s what we agreed at the start, Alec. She’s taught me the knack wi’ the fire and there’s no need for her to bide longer.” He frowned.
“I suppose if that’s what she wants –”
“Aye, it is. I offered her a farewell feast but she refused and went off to bed.”
Amy’s lips trembled. “Didn’t she want to say goodbye?”
Maggie ruffled her sister’s curls fondly.
“Goodbyes are hard to say, dearie. Sometimes it’s easier tae slip away without fuss.”
She bustled away to begin preparations to serve a splendid celebratory supper. They had much to be thankful for, Maggie thought happily. Alec was saved from the press gang and she had learned the knack wi’ the fire.
Alas, the meal was more mournful wake than joyful celebration. Maggie had intended to end with a surprise brew of tea in their mother’s treasured tea set, but the atmosphere round the table was so gloomy she did not have the heart.
Alec hardly uttered a word while they ate, but once the empty plates were gathered he turned to Cathy Mary and Amy.
“I’d be obliged if you two would wash the dishes tonight. Maggie and I must talk.”
The two young lasses took one look at their brother’s grimly furrowed brow and disappeared hastily into the scullery.
Maggie faced him defiantly.
“What’s this about?” “Grandmother’s sudden departure. There’s more to it than meets the eye, Maggie.”
“Aye, there is, brother,” she replied with spirit. “Our grandmother plans to take a len’ o’ our goodwill if she bides here. I came home after work, freezing cold, to find the old woman seated warm and comfortable, snoozing by the fire.”
Alec could imagine the scene.
“So you lost your rag and sent her packing.”
She reddened.
“Not in so many words. She could tell she wasn’t wanted and agreed to go.”
He took a furious step towards her.
“Not wanted? Dear Lord, did she not tell ye what she did for us this day?”
“No need. She took her lazy ease by the fire while we worked our fingers to the bone,” his sister retorted.
Alec ran his hand distractedly across his brow.
“Maggie, Maggie, what have ye done? It was Grandmother who saved me from the press gang! She confronted them but when they flung her aside she used her wits and ran to alert the blacksmith.
“He told me she ran till her poor old heart was near to failing. I probably owe her my life, and this is the gratitude she gets?”
He groaned, shaking his head.
“Lazy ease? Maggie, that brave old soul was utterly spent after what she had done for me.”
“I didna ken! She never said!” Maggie wailed. He sighed.
“Of course she wouldna say. She’s proud, like us.”
He studied his sister curiously for a moment.
“Maggie, why are you so set against our grandmother, more than any o’ us? I’ve often wondered.”
“I was in the room with Papa after our mother’s funeral when Grandmother came storming in,” Maggie answered tersely. “You and the others were in bed, too young to remember how awful it was.”
She hated being forced to remember. The memory of that dreadful time was buried at the back of her mind.
“I wasn’t asleep, you know,” Alec said. “I heard them shouting and pulled the quilt over my head.” His sister shivered. “I remember every word.” “I only remember feeling cold and frightened.”
She gave him a quick, nervous glance.
“It was midwinter, Alec; bitter cold.”
The look he gave her was warm with sympathy.
“It’s all in the past now, Maggie, best forgot.”
She nodded but would not meet his eyes.
Alec did not suspect the terrible secret she had shared with her father. Now Papa had gone, nobody knew except Maggie, and even she had managed to forget – till Grandmother Spink returned unexpectedly five years later, to remind her.
Lilias had lain down fully dressed under the quilt, her few belongings packed in the old tarpaulin bag that held memories of her husband. She dozed off and on, her mind too active for sleep.
She reasoned that, if she left the house when the captain’s wag-at-the-wa’ clock chimed four, a fast-running tide would help the Boatie on its way to Auchmithie at first light. She was not so sure what to do once she reached her old home, for it was home no longer.
Rent a room from a former neighbour till she found an old bothy to creep into to provide a roof over her head, perhaps? As always, the beloved
Boatie was her security. The Boatie would provide her with a living from lobster fishing, even a place to sleep if the worst came to the worst.
The Boatie was Orkney built, by the finest boatbuilders in the land, whose Viking roots stretched back to ancient history.
It had been Lilias’s husband’s pride and joy and would protect and keep her safe, just like that dear good man had done, Lilias thought, smiling as she dozed.
She was up and ready to go before the clock chimed. She took one last glance around the room, kissed her daughter’s image tenderly for the last time and tiptoed out the door.
She felt sad, leaving without saying goodbye to her grandchildren, but
maybe it was better this way. At the end of the dark corridor she saw light from an expertly stoked fire and felt its warmth heating the house.
Her granddaughter had successfully mastered the fire. That was the legacy Lilias left them. Her heart lightened at the thought.
Terrified of waking the sleeping children with every creak of a floorboard, she crept to the end of the corridor and into the darkened room.
The sight she saw there made her drop the tarpaulin bag with a clatter. Amy and Cathy Mary lay sound asleep on the fireside rug, smothered in blankets, Alec and Maggie dozed in chairs either side of the fire, wrapped cosily in quilts.
They roused at the sudden clatter, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
“So ye planned to sneak away quiet as a wee mouse, did ye, Grandmother? Well, we made a plan tae stop ye!” Alec grinned, throwing aside the quilt.
The others sat up, yawning.
The scene was so weird and unexpected Lilias thought she must be asleep and dreaming, though she heard the fire stir and crackle as the coal settled, and a kettle gently steamed on the hob.
“It’s the seventh day,” she faltered. “Maggie’s learned the knack wi’ the fire and my work’s done. That was the agreement.” He shook his head. “No. There had to be a vote. That’s why we waited for ye out here.”
She straightened her back and stood very still.
“That’s so, Alec. But it’s a vote I daren’t face. It seemed better to steal awa’.”
Her grandson turned to his sisters.
“Those who want our grandmother to bide, raise a hand.”
Alec led the way, right hand raised. The two solemn lasses crouched on the rug followed suit, then all three turned apprehensively to the eldest sister, sitting with the quilt hugged tight around her.
“Maggie?” Alec prompted.
Granddaughter and grandmother faced one another.
The others held their breath, sensing hidden issues between the two they did not fully understand.
Alec knew the vote hung in the balance. Maggie was the eldest, the rock he turned to and depended upon, the one who made decisions, the one they all respected and loved dearly. Without Maggie’s approval, how could any vote survive? Only Maggie’s vote counted.
Maggie leaned forward, intense brown eyes meeting her grandmother’s steely blue.
“Your actions saved Alec from a hazardous fate for now, Grandmother. For that we are grateful,” she said sincerely. “But Alec tells me the blacksmith made a bargain wi’ the press gang for his freedom.”
Lilias was astounded. “What? There was no bargain!”
“There was!” Maggie cried out harshly. “The smith has volunteered to work building a lighthouse on the Bell Rock and my brother will work with him.
“That was the bargain that released Alec from the press gang, and the gang vowed to hold him to it if they returned, or they’d take him for a powder-monkey.”
She shuddered.
“So my brother’s condemned to work knee-deep in water for many months, far out yonder on the perilous rock that drowned our father. When that time comes we’ll never know a moment’s peace o’ mind, will we, Grandmother?”
There was not a sound to be heard in the quiet room except wee Amy, sobbing softly.
To be continued.