Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  When Kamehameha’s men started gathering by the hundreds on the shore I decided there was nothing further to be done and ordered that we pull up anchor and set sail. The best I can hope for now is that future relationships with Mister Astor’s fleet are not jeopardized and that the three crewmen left behind will go unharmed. My men were horrified that I left without Smythe and the others, but none will have to bear the guilt with which I am now burdened. I vow that on our return to New York I will find the first ship departing for the Sandwich Islands and instruct them to search for my men. I pray they remain safe until then.

  We are secure in our food source. The cattle which we brought from St. Catherine’s were in good circumstances, having been well refreshed on shore, and we were successful in procuring a good supply of grass for them. Nevertheless, I am worried about the men’s reaction and I fear we are in for an especially difficult stretch. They know to whom they can thank for this abrupt departure from paradise and the abandonment of their friends. I fear there may be some retaliation. For a time I will need to keep close eye on the crew, and keep Mister Lockhart close at hand so that no harm comes to him.

  Captain James Whittaker

  “Okay, Peggy, what needs to happen should we discover there is a leak?” asked Dr. Hunter as the crew sat around the galley that evening. I knew it was important to make a good impression, so I had to get this right.

  “Okay, once the deck hatches are opened, a crew member starts the bilge pump, while another gets out the extra buckets. The engine is not to be shut off, unless the leak is from the engine hoses.” The captain kept a steady gaze on me that made me a little nervous.

  “What if it’s not a leak? What if there’s an explosion or fire?”

  “Right, well then all crew needs to be ready to go overboard … with a life jacket. If possible use fire extinguishers. If not, cut off air to the area. If that doesn’t bring the fire under immediate control, someone should be on the radio calling out MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY!” I shouted, forgetting this wasn’t a real drill. “Use flares if help is in sight, gather all flotation devices available, and prepare to abandon ship.”

  “Good. What if the emergency is a man overboard?” Dr. Hunter continued testing.

  “MAN OVERBOARD, MAN OVERBOARD,” I shouted. “You keep shouting that until the skipper cuts the engine, all the while you never take your eye off the person in the water. When you can, throw a life ring or seat cushion to him. Whatever you do, don’t jump into the water to assist. That could mean two drowned crew members.” I suddenly realized those last words were written by Captain Whittaker in his log as he watched poor Albert Smedley drowning. The memory of it oozed back into my mind like soggy mud and made me shudder. I was glad that I was a strong swimmer.

  “Good work, Peggy. Now I can see why Edwina has so much faith in you. You’re a bright young lady.” I squirmed as the rest of the crew applauded — well, everyone except Dr. Sanchez. “Okay, it’s getting late. We’re going to let down anchor and catch a few hours of sleep.” I glanced out the porthole and was glad to see the town of Powell River nearby.

  “Dr. Hunter … I mean Captain Hunter … it’s only eight thirty. I’m a kid, and even I never go to bed this early.”

  “By the time we secure the boat, update our location with the Coast Guard, and tuck ourselves in it will be nine p.m. We’re up again at three thirty so we can get an early start before the wind and waves pick up.”

  Up at 3:30 a.m.? What was the point of going to sleep at all?

  Soon enough everyone aboard was fast asleep … everyone except me. I had all the ingredients for a good sleep … cozy berth, gentle waves, my favourite pillow from home … and I’d had a long and exciting day. But all the same I couldn’t sleep a wink. I reasoned it must have been because of the nap I’d had earlier in the day after reading Captain Whittaker’s journal. I tossed for a while longer hoping that I’d eventually nod off, but soon I knew it was futile. I had the top bunk so when I quietly rolled out of bed I did my best not to rest my feet on Amanda’s bunk. I sighed with relief when I heard her snoring softly. Then I made my way down the narrow hall, passed the engine room, which was eerily quiet, and on to the galley. I flicked on the small lamp that set off a warm glow in the tiny room. I noticed for the first time a small bookshelf above the porthole. On it was a neat row of books. I scanned the titles: Essays in Maritime Archaeology; Techniques for Identifying Trade Beads; Historic Relations Between European Traders and First Nations of the Northwest; and Methods for Preserving Artifacts Removed From a Saltwater Environment. They were all titles that would put your typical kid to sleep — but not me. I was about to reach for the book on preserving artifacts when I noticed another neat row of books — novels with covers worn from years of use. Maybe this is where I’d find myself a nice bedtime story. I scanned the titles: The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner; The Ghost Pirates; The Flying Dutchman; Curse of the Black Pearl; Pirates of the Caribbean. Not exactly the kind of stories that sweet dreams were made of, but maybe I could at least tire myself out with one of them. I pulled down Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I’d never read it, but I remembered Uncle Stewart saying it was one of his favourite books when he was my age.

  From the moment I cracked open the dry old pages on that leather bound book I was hooked. Treasure Island was not one of those stories you start and then put down easily. The kid, Jim, seemed to be close to getting his throat slit, like, five times in the first three chapters. What was the matter with this guy … he should have known from the moment that the old pirate showed up at his father’s inn that trouble was close behind. Just when things were getting really tense I heard a noise coming from outside the boat — like water splashing. It gave me a creepy feeling, especially since I was alone. Well, I wasn’t actually alone, but with everyone asleep it sure felt that way. I knew I was a little jumpy just because my imagination was already in high gear. I’d just come to the end of the scene where Jim and his mom heard the pirates ransacking the inn in search of the treasure map and were hiding under the bridge. I was about to start the next chapter when I heard the splashing noise again. My heart skipped a beat and then started to race. I got up on my knees and glanced out the window but could see nothing but thick fog. Not even the night lights of Powell River were visible any more. As I sat, ears pricked, I heard the sound of water splashing a third time — it was coming from the aft of the boat. One side of my brain told me to hide, or at the very least get back in my bed. The other urged me to find out what it was. Before I had time to change my mind, I jumped off the seat and went through the galley towards the back, climbed the stairs and came out on the deck that led to the helm where Captain Hunter steered the boat. As I stood in the black silence, I heard the lapping of the waves on the boat, and felt the cool air tickle the hairs on my arms. The silence and the fog were like backdrops to some scary movie and I couldn’t shake the images of throat-slitting pirates hauling themselves up over the sides of the boat.

  “You’re nuts, Peggy Henderson,” I said aloud for reassurance. Just then a swift dark figure surfaced from the water and just as quickly sank down again with a little splash that left the boat rocking. I didn’t know what it was and didn’t stick around to find out. I ducked back inside the cabin as fast as I could, dropped the book off on the table as I passed through the galley, painfully stubbed my toe on the bench, and finally stumbled back to my cabin out of breath. When I finally found the ladder I grabbed onto it and hauled myself up to my bunk. I panted as quietly as I could, trying to catch my breath and hoping Amanda didn’t hear me.

  “You didn’t flush any toilet paper, right?” Amanda’s sleepy voice came from below. “Remember, only the natural stuff.”

  “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 t
hat 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?”