China Jewel

by Thomas Hollyday

  “This is the latest location for the ship,” Doc Jerry wrote. Cutter read the coordinates. “58.36 by 78.04 degrees. She’s in the Pacific four hundred miles west of Punta Arenas, Chile.”

  “Let’s hope nothing else gets in her way,” he texted back. “She’s in good weather now.”

  “Yeah,” replied Doc Jerry. “The Brits are leading. The French and Strand’s America are further behind them. We’re last but we got our wind blowing from behind. Our boat likes that weather. She’ll catch up to the others pretty fast.”

  Chapter 14

  July 29, 10 AM

  Staten Island

  Katy had arranged an inspection of the original Peregrine nameboard.

  He drove the road to the Staten Island Maritime Museum. It was bordered with porched houses, well-planted gardens, and many large overhanging trees. Mary Tolchester’s home had been in the poorer section of town. This area was not run down and was free of tourists. Behind the houses at the shoreline, Cutter glimpsed the remains of a few decaying sailing ships, some of them with masts still standing but collapsed at odd angles. Wartime steel tankers and freighters, rusted beyond use, filled in other shallow moorings or beachings. The road changed from a macadam surface to dirt and the surrounding area became rural as he followed the water. Older ship hulks appeared. The air took on a stench of dead fish and stagnant backwater.

  Katy was waiting for him in the office of the director, Doctor Evers, who was a small busy woman with large glasses and a full smile. Her office was efficient and stacked with maritime books. The chairs she offered were new office furniture. An assistant brought tea for them and Katy compared museum notes with her.

  Then Katy said, “You have the relic of the Peregrine wreck?”

  “I did some research and I think we can help you,” Evers said. “Come with me.”

  They went out into a large room which had filing cabinets along the walls and tables covered with sail and steam models of all descriptions.

  “Lot to study,” said Cutter.

  “Our members make them and donate them to the museum. Some are quite good,” Evers said. “We have exhibits where the craftsmen and women come here and show visitors the techniques of making the little ships. It’s very popular and draws many from the city. Of course the younger children like the plastic kits these days. That trend, I must say, is discouraging to our older members.”

  “They won’t admit they also built the easy models when they were young themselves,” said Katy.

  The director pointed at the wrecks outside on the waterfront. “They make up a first class research collection on boatbuilding styles. Those hulks are our real treasure.” Seagulls were flying over the full size ships, diving for fish in the shallows. Cutter thought of Pancake, the albatross. He wondered if the bird was still with the Peregrine, resting on that aft top gallant mast.

  They entered a small room with brilliant lighting. Along the walls laboratory gear suitable for analysis of historical properties was stored in pristine order.

  “We do all our paint analysis here,” she said. “I’ll have the relic set out here so you can examine it.” She pointed to several sets of cloth gloves. “Put these on before you touch it.”

  “The piece is definitely from the wreck?” asked Katy.

  “Documentation is very good on this,” she answered.

  She left them. In a few minutes she came back followed by a staff member dressed in blue coveralls who carried a large flat blue cardboard box. The box was put on a nearby bench and they gathered around. Evers opened the carton and peeled back the protective acid-free paper. Before them appeared a piece of distressed wood, its surface wrinkled from prior exposure to sea water. It was gray and the ends showed cracks and rusty bolt holes from where it had broken off from its mounting. Cutter ran his gloved finger over the carved letters spelling out the name Peregrine.

  “Can I get photographs of this?” asked Katy.

  The director nodded. “We have file documentation.”

  Cutter said, “Let’s fax copies to River Sunday. Pastor Allingham can compare the piece with the carvings at Reedy’s workshop.”

  They waited in the Director’s office. Katy chatted on museum gossip with her fellow historian. It turned out that Katy’s program in Maryland was similar to that of the Staten Island museum. This Staten Island museum had also developed from several brick Victorian buildings. New funds had come along to expand the structures. They had just completed a modern steel building, properly climate controlled for artifact preservation.

  Cutter was amused listening to them trading stories about fund raising and eccentric donors. Doctor Evers related that one of her donors insisted his name be put in red letters on one of the new museum windows to call attention to his donation. The letters were painted on the glass but had to be taken off after birds kept pecking at the red paint.

  After about an hour, the phone rang. The Director answered, nodded, and gave the phone to Katy. She turned on the speaker so they could all listen. She said, “What did you think of the photograph, Pastor Allingham?”

  “I took them to see my friend,” said the pastor, in his ministerial voice.

  “What did he say?” asked Katy.

  “I’m sorry but he insisted the carving was not the same. He looked at all the photographs and pointed out that he could find no signature alphabet letter. He was trying to find the R that his ancestor carved into the work of his shop.”

  “Pastor,” said Cutter, “we noticed that. We thought that the signature might be on a part of the board that did not survive the shipwreck.”

  “I suggested that to John Reedy. He said that in no way were any of the other carved letters the same. We went out to his barn and examined the old Osprey boards with the photographs in hand. He was right. I could see no resemblance either. The carvings you copied for us to look at were done by a different artist. My friend said the other artist, in his opinion, was not as skilled. Reedy could tell from the attention to the curves and the fine carving.”

  After they thanked him and rang off, Cutter stared at Katy. He asked, impatiently, “So what ship sank out there? What ship is this wood from? I know it says Peregrine but it was not built in River Sunday meaning it can’t be our ship.”

  The Director interrupted. “Funny thing, you have the same conclusion as another person. He was here only a week ago and looked at the same object. He had pictures with him that he compared and he left without comment. He seemed puzzled by what he found.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  “He did not say. He was doing a book on clipper ships and wanted to see the wreckage from this one. He said he had found out about it from old records. He looked at other items too but nothing of other brigs. We help everyone, you know.”

  “Can you describe him?” asked Cutter.

  She looked at him, puzzled, then answered slowly. “A pleasant man about average size. He had a beard that hid most of his face but he might have been very handsome. Did you know this man?”

  “No.”

  “Did he look at anything else?”

  She became irritated at Cutter’s impatience. Katy interrupted, “We hate to trouble you. You have been very kind.”

  Evers smiled and said, “He looked at our records of wrecks near Staten Island in that early Ninteenth Century period. He made copies of old newspapers. We always know because researchers borrow quarters for the machine. He seemed to be a pleasant sort.”

  They thanked Evers again and left the building. They stood outside the museum for a few moments.

  Cutter said, “I don’t like the other guy looking at the old wood. I wonder if he was the same guy who was following us?”

  “More to the point, why is he doing these things? We’re trying to solve a mystery concerning the name of an old ship. What is his purpose in looking at Peregrine name boards?” asked Katy.

  Cutter followed her to the car. He said, “The police were looking for a bearded man after that death in Ri
ver Sunday. You remember, just before the Peregrine was launched, the workman who fell and died?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I can’t figure out the connection,” he said. “So, what is next on our agenda?”

  “Come to lunch with me. I want you to meet someone.”

  They got to the restaurant about noon, a place called the Flying Jib. As he walked the brick sidewalk towards the front door, he saw out in the channel a large freighter, two tugs working her down the currents.

  Inside at a table also watching the departing ship was a young man. He was dressed in brown shirt and pants as though he had just left a construction site. Beside him on the floor rested a worn leather briefcase, papers and books bulging from its unzippered top.

  He stood and kissed Katy’s cheek.

  “Jimmy, this is Peter Wingate,” she said with a smile.

  “Peter,” Cutter grinned, holding out his hand.

  “He finds shipwrecks,” added Katy. “He was on the crew that found the Titanic.”

  “You must be good,” said Cutter, admiration in his eyes.

  The man smiled modestly. “I didn’t do it alone. Besides, finding anchors lost from the big tankers pays a lot better. I’m on the way to California to find one that was lost from a mooring out there.”

  Katy said, “I’ve asked him to look over what we know about the Peregrine and the Osprey.”

  The waitress came and they ordered.

  “The crab soup is good,” said Peter.

  “Crab soup it is,” said Cutter to the woman.

  She nodded, “It’s the best in Staten Island.”

  Cutter said, with a grin, “Peter, we might have two wrecks to find.”

  Katy said. “He helped me on a project to find some of the British fleet sunk at Yorktown. We work together very well.”

  Wingate pulled some papers from his briefcase.

  “Doctor Marbury has told me all about the project and I think I can help.”

  Katy added, “Peter is discreet. He can be trusted to keep this project to himself. We’ve know each other for years, even before we worked on a wreck together.”

  “Searching for underwater wrecks is expensive,” said Cutter.

  “You could say this is a favor for my friend Katy.”

  Katy snickered. “You better tell him, Peter. He’ll get the wrong idea.”

  Wingate said, “We’re just historians. It’s the way we think. I want Katy to get something out of this.”

  Cutter looked at him. He could tell by the sincerely of the man’s expression that that he wanted to help his friend. He said, “I can understand that. I want her to get something out of this too.”

  “She’s done me a lot of favors, finding work, that kind of thing. I owe her.”

  Cutter felt comfortable with the salvage expert. He could see why Katy trusted him.

  Katy said, “Let’s go over what we know.”

  “Did you tell him about the Bible?” asked Cutter.

  “Yes. He thought it might be a clue, didn’t you, Peter?”

  Peter nodded and began, “It might apply to two ships. If so, we can guess that there were two ships with different names or one ship with two names. It’s apparent that ships with these names were wrecked at about the same time off New York. They are the Peregrine, exact location unknown, and this other one, Osprey, wrecked off Staten Island.” He looked at Katy and asked, “Both are named for birds. That about it, Katy?”

  She told him about the wooden name board. “I want to find that Osprey they called a pirate ship and see if it has a name board or something that we can compare to the ship that was built in River Sunday.”

  Peter drank some of his coffee. Then he cleared back the dishes and reached into his bag for a large rolled chart. He laid it out. “This is a chart of the New York harbor area.”

  He moved his hand over the paper. “The Peregrine went down somewhere around here.” He looked at Cutter. “There’s never been a location of the sinking of the Peregrine. No one ever saw it go down. As a matter of fact there was never any report of beach wreckage except for the rowboat and the name board.”

  “Suppose the rowboat was lost when another ship went down, broke up. In other words it could have floated a long way to where it was found.” He pointed to a spot near the northern part of New Jersey. Now he indicated further up the shoreline to the New York narrows and the edge of Staten Island. Dotted lines showed a sandbar called West Bank. “Here is where the Osprey was supposed to break up.”

  “You’re suggesting that someone on the Osprey or some other boat marked a rowboat as Peregrine. It was just left to confuse us,” said Cutter.

  Peter nodded. “By the way, Katy didn’t have to do much convincing.” He paused. “When I heard that the Peregrine had a second name, it seemed obvious from all this data that we were looking for one wreck.”

  “All right, I’ll go along. The two wrecks might be the same,” said Cutter. “Somehow there was a cover-up or a mystery attached. We go after the one we know the location of. Since we know one was definitely in Staten Island we’re thinking that might be the wreck of the Peregrine as well as the Osprey.”

  Peter said, “This whole thing might have been an insurance fraud.”

  “The New York company that owned the Peregrine did not appear to be criminal. They were an old respected tea company.”

  “We’ll probably never prove fraud. We’d have to be sure that a second wreck never existed. Anyway, let’s concentrate on the Osprey,” said Katy. “You think there’s anything left of her?”

  “Not very likely. There’s ocean current there and the wreckage would have been pulled out to sea long ago.”

  Cutter said, “So why are we talking about it?”

  Katy said, “I think the wreck was on the bar and broke up with part of it inside the bar and in quiet water. We have precedent. A schooner the size of the Peregrine, which sank in the same area later in the 1850s, was found recently. Her wreck seemed in pretty good shape protected by mud in a similar location. I brought the description so you’d get an idea.

  “This is from Sam Berg’s notes on the Inshore Schooner Shipwreck from his site aquaexplorers.com.” She read it to them.

  The wreck sits in approximately thirty feet of water just southwest of the Verrazano Bridge between Hoffman and Swinburne Islands…I was pleasantly surprised to find 5 to 10 feet of visibility and only a mild tidal current to contend with. The wreck consists of wood beams on a clay bottom. The south side of the wreck sits on top of a hill which gradually slopes down to deeper water…The wreck appears to be about 150 feet in length and she probably had a 20 to 30 foot beam…Many of the timbers are completely buried but divers will find higher relief on the wrecks East end. … Her bow or the West end is now completely destroyed and unrecognizable…divers will want to wear a full wet suit, hood, boots and gloves. … Equipment needed would be the same as for any cold water dive…Depth gauge, bottom timer, dive computer, two knives, lights, tether line and an adequate air supply…

  She finished, “I know what you are thinking. Is this our boat? No, it is a later wreck. You can see that we have the chance to find a lot of our own wreck preserved.”

  “What goals do we expect to accomplish if we do locate part of the brig?”

  “Good marine archeologists can tell a lot from what we find. We could be pretty sure she wasn’t used for slaves or drugs if we find some tea chests.”

  “When do you want to do this?” asked Cutter.

  “I can be ready in a few days, with a rental boat and all equipment. I assume both of you will want to dive.”

  They nodded. “How long will it take to make sure she is there?”

  “We can go for a few hours. If there’s any reason to continue we'll know it by then.”

  Katy asked, “What’s our next step?”

  “We’ve got to look over the old harbor maps. I have to figure the old navigation latitudes and longitudes in modern terms and set our Globa
l Positioning coordinates by satellite.”

  Katy said, “I brought along the steamboat descriptions from the old papers.” Katy read one.

  April 18, 1840

  In the recent storm the brig Osprey was wrecked with no survivors on the West Bank. The wreck is located, we are told by the captain of a passing steamer who saw the wreckage disappear under the waves, one and a half miles offshore on the sea side of the West Bank shall and to the southeast of the Quarantine. It is said that the old shot tower was to the north of the wreck, taken before the stubs of its masts were gone. They observed part of the bow section with the name boards and some of the rigging indicating the size and rig of the ship. Then those parts were destroyed in the waves. It is suspected by most authorities that the brig came on the West Bank and was torn to pieces by the storm during the night. No bodies and freight were found ashore so wind shifts must have blown them out to sea. No owners have come forward. If it was a pirate wreck as some suppose, it is unlikely that anyone will be foolish enough to claim her.

  “What is the Quarantine?” asked Peter.

  Katy said, “That was a hospital where they put the smallpox victims. Emigrants had many incurable and contagious diseases in those days. They separated them to keep the sick from infecting others until they could refuse entry and send them back to their overseas homelands. We can take a direction line from that old site of the hospital to orient ourselves to the West Bank.”

  Cutter said, “We saw the street signs for its monument.”

  “I can have my friend at Mystic Seaport send me down photocopies of the relevant maps from 1835 to 1840 of the West Bank. I’d register with New York State for the exploration site but it might tip our hand to the treasure hunters around here. Eventually though we’ll want to protect our site.”

  Katy added, “The shot tower is the real problem. It doesn’t stand today and no record of its location exists so far.”

  Cutter suggested, “Maybe it’s on one of the old maps.”

  Peter nodded, “That’s the first thing I’ll look for. It must have been torn down long ago.”