Bone Deep (9 page)

“Right, nothing but the real thing,” I answered back, glad to hear her voice even though I'd tried my best not to wake her.

“Good. See you in a couple of hours,” Amanda whispered up to me.

I don't know how long it took, but I obviously fell asleep. The next thing I knew the engine was squealing and I could feel the boat was cutting through water. There was also a hint of light seeping through the porthole and the sound of clanging pots coming from the galley.

“Well, you're still alive then,” said Amanda, smiling. “I didn't know if you were ever going to wake up.” I looked at the clock. It read 5:30 a.m.

“Sorry, I didn't hear the wake up call,” I mumbled.

“Don't worry, most people have the same experience the first night or two. It takes getting used to, sleeping on a boat. Good thing for you it's almost breakfast. You like pancakes and bacon?”

“Who doesn't?” I chirped.

All that day we sailed up the Inside Passage. We saw an eagle diving down and snatching up a fish at the last moment, caught a glimpse of a couple of killer whales — just their flukes and tail fins really, and had a pod of porpoises chasing the boat for about a half hour. I took comfort watching their sleek bodies leap effortlessly out of the water and felt sure it must have been a porpoise I'd seen and heard the night before. When he took breaks from steering the boat, Captain Hunter told me more about what we'd be doing when we arrived at the site.

“Once we've located the ship we'll create a point of reference — perhaps the anchor — that will allow us to find her again in the future. On our first dive we'll set up a grid system and take some photographs. We have to be really careful not to disturb anything. The ship and the artifacts that may be down there are in a state of equilibrium with the environment. If we suddenly upset that balance it could cause things to rapidly deteriorate.”

“How do you plan to get the
Intrepid
out of the water?” I had never been part of an excavation this big before — maybe they'd bring in a bunch of helicopters for an airlift or a ship with a crane.

“I'm not sure yet if we can even raise her off of the seafloor, Peggy. Sometimes the best thing to be done is to leave a sunken ship where it is. We'll have to wait and see. For certain, we're going to do our best to minimize any threats to it now that news of its existence has gotten out to the public. We want to establish this as a protected site, then divers who are mutually interested in preserving the
Intrepid
will help us protect her — they'll be like our eyes and ears — watching out for danger.”

“Do you think we'll find any treasure?” I was imagining chests of gold and jewels
.
Dr. Hunter chuckled and pointed to the copy of
Treasure Island
lying on the table where I'd left it the night before.

“Been reading, have you?” I felt my face flush. “To be honest it's highly unlikely there will be anything a treasure hunter … or even a pirate like Long John Silver … would want aboard the
Intrepid
. But there will be plenty that is valuable — historically valuable that is. The artifacts will teach us about the community and culture of the crew. The ship's hull can tell an astute marine archaeologist how the ship was designed and built. Toolmarks will reveal woodworking techniques, and fragments of rigging, rope, or sails show how the ship was operated by the crew. In rare cases we find skeletons, and when we do they add to our understanding of how living and working at sea can impact the bones. At the same time I always keep in mind these bones are the remains of a real person, a sailor who lost his life to the sea and deserves proper respect.” I thought of the ancient Coast Salish man Eddy and I excavated and knew exactly what Captain Hunter meant.

“Will you be taking artifacts back with you?”

“We'll assess it after we see what's down there, Peggy. Artifacts that have lasted this long in the salt water need special and immediate treatment once removed from the water. We might find metal, wood, bone, or leather objects that look in perfect condition, but without proper treatment after being brought to the surface, they can disintegrate before your eyes. We don't have the time or the equipment on this research trip to preserve anything too large, but we may find some small items that we can take back with us as evidence to support our find and use to gain financial backing from interested members of the public. You know, Peggy, this could become one of the most important shipwreck finds we've had in recent history.”

Just then I was reminded about reading a book about a ship called the
Vasa
. It took decades for experts to conserve it. They had to keep the wooden hull under a constant spray of water and gradually introduced special preserving chemicals. Now the ship was one of Sweden's prime tourist attractions. My skin tingled thinking of how I was with the team of scientists about to discover an important shipwreck that could one day be British Columbia's most important tourist attraction. Maybe I'd get my picture in the paper … or even better … on TV.

It was getting late and Amanda said it was my turn to do prep for supper. I was supposed to get the potatoes peeled, carrots chopped, and lettuce washed. On my way to the galley I made a pit stop at the head. As I sat there relieving myself I got to thinking about what Captain Whittaker would think about us searching for his watery grave. I also thought about how much he and Aunt Beatrix had in common — like their whole “doing the right thing” moral code. I'd bet Aunt Beatrix would say Captain Whittaker was a man of integrity. I guess I would too.

When I finished I stood up and zipped my pants, then turned and flushed the toilet. “Wait! You idiot,” I said as it dawned on me that I'd just flushed a huge wad of toilet paper. Amanda's cautious reminders clanged around in my head. Then I panicked. Surely the darned thing wasn't really as sensitive as she'd made it out to be. I pushed the flusher once more just to be sure it all went down. That's when I think my eyes momentarily popped out of their sockets as I realized the drain hadn't opened and the water level in the toilet bowl was quickly rising. I panicked and pushed the flusher again, but the drain still didn't open and now more water gushed into the toilet. Oh crap, that's when I remembered Amanda said to only flush once. That's also when I remembered my joke about this becoming the poop deck. Bewildered and a little scared I stepped out of the head and left just as water started to trickle over the top of the toilet bowl.

As I made my way to the galley, Aunt Beatrix nattered on and on in my head: “Be honest and face up to your mistakes” … “Face up to your problems with courage and remain honest and true” … “It's your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life.” Who said she got to be my conscience, I argued back. It's not my fault — someone should have fixed it. And besides, it might all settle and drain by itself. Why risk disappointing Amanda and Captain Hunter? Or for that matter, give Dr. Sanchez ammunition to prove he was right about letting a kid come on an important research trip.

I rummaged around until I found the potato peeler and peeled as fast as my fingers could possibly go. Then I washed and cut the lettuce and other vegetables, and set the pot of potatoes on the stove for cooking. I made my way to the stern where I would be alone. When — or if — the problem was discovered, I would simply say I'd been there for a long while reading and had no idea about the overflowing head.

It was a pretty big boat, but not big enough. Soon I heard yelling coming from down the hall and what sounded like cursing in Spanish. Then the boat slowed and stopped. I waited for what seemed like a reasonable time and then made my way towards the commotion, doing my best to look surprised.

“What happened?” I asked as Amanda and Scott mopped up water, and Captain Hunter banged inside the head with a wrench and hammer. I admit I had a twinge of guilt and almost confessed … but when I saw the murderous look on Dr. Sanchez's face I couldn't.

“Best to just stay clear of the area, Peggy,” said Amanda. “The head has flooded over. Do you know anything about it?” I shook my head vigorously … maybe too vigorously.

Supper was very late that evening. By the time the mess was cleaned up and the food cooked everyone was exhausted and we ate in silence. Not Captain Hunter though, he was on deck taking the ship towards a little cove where we would let down our anchor for the night. I felt awful … but there was no point in telling the truth now that it was all over. It wouldn't make the situation any better and most definitely would make it worse — for me.

“Just to make sure we're all clear about this … the head is completely broken and off limits,” the captain explained that evening. “From now on we will have to relieve ourselves in the bucket I've set out. I know it's a bummer, but not the end of the world, you know.” He smiled at his little pun, trying to make light of the situation. Dr. Sanchez grumbled some more under his breath in Spanish. I did my best to block out an image of him reading the morning's newspaper while squatting over the mop pail.

As the light began to fade I felt the boat come to a stop and then the engine was shut off. “Okay crew, you know the routine,” Captain Hunter announced. “After that let's get ready to tuck in. Tomorrow we visit Trust Island.”

“We will?” I asked, suddenly feeling perked up.

“Correct, that's it over there — Tlatskwala,” he told me, as he pointed towards the shoreline. “And somewhere nearby is a sunken ship … and I'm hoping very much it's the
Intrepid
.”
Wow!
Instant goose bumps rippled up my arms and down my back. “In the morning we'll go ashore and meet with Chief Charles.”

“Is that so we can ask for permission to dive in his ancestral waters?” I asked.

“That's exactly it. Some people might feel that these are national waters and they can do what they want. But I prefer to get the band's blessing. Besides that, I'm hoping they will be able to tell us something.”

“You mean like stories from past generations of Kwakwaka'wakw who once lived here?”

“You got it, Peggy. I'm impressed that you are so aware of aboriginal concerns and rights.” Captain Hunter patted my shoulder. I wondered if he'd say that if he knew it was me who broke the head. “Okay, crew, let's get going — we've got a big day tomorrow.”

After I was in bed I pulled out Captain Whittaker's journal. I still hadn't found out what it was that sank the
Intrepid
and wanted to get to that part before seeing it at the bottom of the ocean.

“Don't stay up too long, Peggy. Tomorrow is going to be a big day,” cautioned Amanda.

“Okay, I'll just read for a little while,” I said, even though my eyes were already heavy and I was definitely ready for sleep.

March 17th, 1812

Things continue to be very tense aboard the
Intrepid
and there is an air of uncertainty about the outcome of this voyage. Never have I had such a feeling of impending doom, and that our bad luck comes in the form of a certain gentleman.

Now that we have entered northern waters the men are suffering from the extreme cold. March has always been a blowing month, but since we set sail from Big Island we have experienced a succession of hard gales and violent and icy rains. The ropes are near frozen each morning, the sails in desperate need of repair, and the sleet blinds our eyes. I feel …

… My God, my hands are still trembling. I have just returned the ship to order after what was sure to be the scene of a murder. Mister Carver banged on my door an hour past to tell me the men were threatening to toss Mister Lockhart overboard. When I arrived on the scene they had him cornered and were demanding he give them leave of the blankets stored in the hold below. The foolish man was not the least afraid for his life, thinking somehow that the men were insincere in their threat. But I knew the look in their eyes to be desperate and feared mutiny had I not taken control that instant. I ordered Mister Carver to give each man one extra blanket and a coat. Mister Lockhart called me a cowardly dog as I tried to reason that his precious cargo was not worth his life, nor for that matter the life of my men. He argued that the crew had grown soft and I the cause. Then he swore he would have me decommissioned upon our return to New York. His threats were no match for the fear I felt for his life. He has no idea how close he came to dying this evening.

If we can but get ourselves ashore until the warmer winds prevail, my dear Mister Lockhart might just live to see us return to New York where he can do as he said … report to Mister Astor that I have cost the company a pretty penny in profit to save my ship and the lives of my men.

For now order is restored and the men are quiet. I have Mister Carver on guard outside Mister Lockhart's quarters in case someone decides to retaliate further.

Captain James Whittaker

I poked my head out and looked down at Amanda. She was happily snoring. I knew that I should have gone to sleep, but things were getting exciting and I wanted to read just a little more of the captain's log. As the pages turned it was like watching a TV soap opera. Mister Lockhart was the nasty, trouble making diva and Captain Whittaker was like the nice one who had scruples, was conscientious, and loyal. If I were to cast someone to be Mister Lockhart in a movie I'd pick Dr. Sanchez. And starring as Captain Whittaker — Dr. Hunter of course.

March 25th, 1812

A week ago we found ourselves a safe place to anchor and I sent six of my men ashore to get a lay of the land and search for fresh water. Soon after their arrival they were met by some local people. They call themselves the Muhkaw and are a most genial tribe. They are middling in stature, and of a dark complexion. I went ashore and met with their chief, Snoqualmie. He was eager to introduce me to two clever young warriors. The youngest is called Loki and is about seventeen. He is the chief's son. He is stout, well-made, and fierce. The other lad is perhaps twenty, slight of stature, and smiles incessantly. His name is too difficult to pronounce and so the men have taken to calling him Peter. Of the two he speaks the best English. Both boys speak Chinook Wawa — a dialect commonly understood among many coastal tribes. As I observed them, they appeared unaffected by the cold despite their simple attire. In fact they appear to have no natural aversion or annoyances to the season at all.