“In the center of the walls were the remains of a brick herringbone-style floor. I found several dark lead balls about one half inch in diameter, almost like ball bearings. I held them up to the light and decided that they may have been the products of an old shot tower. I figured I had found the place.
“I took the global location with the instrument right then and there. I was as close to the old site as I was going to be.
“Back in my car I estimated the wreck location.” He pointed to the marks on his map. “That gave me this line here which intersects at the point of proper distance from the shore. As I say, if the witness was on the ball, this is where the ship went down.”
“I would say,” Peter added, “that those old guys were used to judging from shoreline by eyesight. Remember they didn’t have the instruments we have today. Their judgment was critical. I’m counting on that.” He stretched and said, “Well, guys, we have a spot to search. Are you all still with me?”
Katy nodded, “What’s next?”
Peter pointed again to the map. “I’ve planned a series of sweeps on this spot. We’ll come along in our boat with our tow fish doing the side scan sonar at intervals.”
He added, “There are still some problems.”
“What?”
“This site has been disturbed probably many times. We look in these projects for an undisturbed site so the sunken object is untouched. If the site has been dug the object may have been moved. Any relics we can get might have been so destroyed or turned around that we can’t read the site properly.”
“Who dug there?”
“There’s a large pipeline that was put through very close to our search point. Also to the north there’s a wreck of a small freighter that was sunk here during World War Two to close and protect the harbor from submarines. There may be scatter of fragments of that ship that have come into our search area and will confuse the electronics.”
They went to bed soon afterward. Cutter took his boots off and sat back on the squeaking bed. Katy was in the bathroom. They had just finished pushing the old wooden bureau for security against the steel motel door. Outside the front of Katy’s car was within two feet of the door entrance. The place was all that Laura could get at short notice in this tourist town. Outside about one hundred feet was the main street of Narrows Village and the flow of traffic and walking passersby indicated that the tourist season was in full swing even this late at night.
Katy came back. She too was not undressed yet. She had taken her shoes off like him and now plopped beside him, curling up in his left arm.
“What do you want when this is all over?” she asked suddenly, looking up at him from the bed.
“What brought that on?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m wondering about us, Cutter. I was thinking on the ride here.”
Cutter said, “I know I want more out of life. Maybe I’ll make some changes,” he said.
“Can you really change? Can you be willing to give up your own life and love the life of someone else? Can you do that?”
“I’d like to.”
“Does all this include me?”
“Yes. I think as a matter fact that you are the chief instigator.”
“Then I have to think about that,” she said, rubbing his leg. “I have to think about what I want to give up. You’d be more of the kind of person I could be with full time.”
“I can give up my career,” he said.
“Me too,” she said.
Cutter said, thoughtfully, “I remember when I was at war. We had a purpose to help people. Now I feel as though I have a purpose to help myself and I work for the same kind of people who commanded the enemy in those days, selfish aggressive men and women who would trade the lives of their soldiers for some criminal purpose.”
“So if you leave Johnson, what then?”
“What I’d like to do is spend more time with Jamie and with you.”
“I’d have to give up a lot of my research to make time for us.” She poked him in the chest.
They hugged. She slipped back on her pillow and was quiet. He didn’t say any more, lying there thinking about her and Jamie and the way his life had been going in the last few years.
The alarm clock went off at five. As he reached to turn off its buzzer, Cutter heard the knock of a fist on the door.
“All right,” he yelled. “We’ll be there in five.”
He nudged Katy and she smiled, already half-awake. “Time,” she whispered.
“Yes, we got to go.”
They were a bedraggled lot as they arrived at the boat. Their figures were silhouetted against the orange haze of the dawn sky. Sun rays bounded off the black water washing the small pier and the dim white hull of the forty-foot cabin cruiser. Tate, a gruff character with a pull-down ball cap was already smoking his first cigar, his beard puffing smoke drifting upward to cover his eyes.
Katy had on shorts, halter top and sandals and wore a wide brim straw hat. Cutter had his ball cap and shorts and was barefoot.
They waited in the semi-darkness for Peter’s arrival. From far up the shoreline they finally saw two headlights coming. Then his van pulled into sight. The truck stopped and reversed, now coming backwards, rumbling up the dock. Tires pummeled the loose boards of the pier surface, red tail light blinking on and off as Peter deftly speeded and slowed to keep a straight path.
After loading the gear from the van, they headed out in Tate’s converted lobster boat. The dive boat had a long cabin which was fitted with a shelf along one side opposite from where Tate sat steering the craft. On this shelf Peter set up his gear. The sonar device was held on the stern to drop when Peter gave the command to Willie.
They took twenty minutes to get out into the deeper water and far enough down the shoreline. They arrived at the starting point near a wild bird refuge named Hoffman Island. Peter conferred with Tate to make sure the boat was steering toward a global positioning spot centered on an acre of search space from five to forty feet in depth. This was along the edge of a large sandbar, part of the so-called West Bank feature. In toward the shoreline several small yachts rode at anchor. On the ocean side of the sandbar no boats were visible until farther out where the sea channels were. There two freighters were working into New York harbor several miles further inland. On the beach they could see umbrellas being set up as people came down to shore for the sun.
“We’ve started at low tide,” Peter talked loudly over the sound of the big diesel engine. “That’s to give us a visual fix on the bar so we can check against my global position. The sand will be underwater soon.” He worked with his instruments until he and the captain had the boat where they wanted to begin the first sweep.
“We’ll start on grids away from the spot and work up and past, then come back at the next interval. The sonar and the magnetometer are set to pick up only a few yards to each side. We get more accuracy and definition but we’ll have to repeat passes until we cover all the area.”
At an agreed point on the global positioning device, the towed device was let go by Katy and Willie. The boat, at a slow speed, began pulling the equipment underwater. The scanning register was started and a graph of high and low density hits began. Katy stood next to Peter as they discussed the readings.
Peter observed, “These aberrations are pretty small. I don’t see anything good yet. These can be anything from old tires to fishing gear,” Peter said.
Cutter made the coffee.
As they were turning at the end of the second pass, a fisherman came by in a small open utility. He was working several trolling lines and hove to. He asked if he was getting in the way.
“You’re ok. How is the fishing?” askedTate.
“Ain’t much today,” came back the answer.
Tate asked, “You know any snags out there?”
“Oh, my land, yessir. There’s a giant one,” and he pointed to a spot about three hundred yards ahead and near to the sandbar on the ocean side.
“
Tough fishing around it?”
“Lot of lines get tied into it. It’s shallow there and the snag is not too far down.”
“Well, we thank you.”
“I report the snag and them Army Engineers don’t do anything.”
“I’ll tell them again,” said Tate as the fisherman moved away, waving.
“We ought to check that out,” said Katy.
“Probably just a rock,” said Tate.
Peter said, “Rock is not as likely to catch up fishing gear.”
They made several more runs. “The bottom is scoured out here by the ocean. There’s nothing,” said Peter.
By the middle of the afternoon they were approaching on their search grid the place for the obstruction mentioned by the fisherman. So far there had been nothing that impressed Peter.
“OK folks, here we go,” said Peter. There was another reading coming up on the graph. Cutter stood behind Katy as Peter pointed out the marks to them.
“This is more than a rock. We’re getting a good reading for iron on the magnetometer. The sonar is getting some shape too. See the sharper edges.”
“We’ll come back again,” said Tate.
On the second run the object showed more features.
Peter turned to them and said, with a smile, “You guys want an anchor?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve seen enough of them. Looks like this one was holding a boat off the sandbar, maybe a good sized ship.”
“The old boats used bower anchors in the bow and kedge anchors to work a boat off a reef. We’ll look to see what this one is,” said Peter.
Katy said, “You’re saying a kedge would be holding something back from the sandbar or trying to get a grounded boat freed.”
“Yes,” said Tate, “Out here it might have been used to get away from the sand.”
Peter explained, “Ships of our time period usually had three anchors. There were the two bower anchors, one large and one small that were used for mooring the ship. Then there was always a kedge which was used to free the ship. Men would take this anchor out in a small boat from the stern and cast in. Then the crew on board would pull to try to free the ship.”
“How do we know if this is our ship?”
“We’d have to recover the anchor for study. It might tell us what ship it belonged to.”
Peter ordered that Tate finish the planned runs. The anchor site was marked on the map for later exploration. At last they had a hit.
When the run was finished Peter reviewed the project with the others.
Katy said, “I think if the ship rammed that sandbar she would have been half on and half off the bar.”
“What’s your point?”
“If she broke up, the part on this ocean scoured side would have been taken out to sea. If the bow rested on the other side of the bar, protected from the waves, it might still be there.”
Peter looked at Tate. “We got enough time to try.”
Tate turned the boat into shore. When they reached the inside of the sandbar the equipment had a slight magnet reading off to the southeast.
“Certainly got the right direction for our boat.”
The sonar was rigged to test along a new grid line on the inside of the bar. The first hit was the only one.
“I know we have large pipelines under here,” said Tate. “I think it is something more though. Might be a piece of wood.”
“Next time we come out here, we can check further. I can be here in a month or so for another try.
“We can study what we have on the computer before then, go over any possible hits.”
Peter agreed. “Sometimes the graphs will pit something out at you for sure.”
Katy said, as the boat turned towards shore, “I think we will find our wreck next time.”
Cutter reached out to her, and held her tight. Both of them trembled with the prospect. He said, as he looked into her eyes, “With you along, I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 19
September 23, 7 PM
Staten Island
A month had passed and they were anxious to continue the underwater search. They sat in a small diner near the boardwalk, looking out at Hoffman Island. Peter was expected in a few days after he finished another project in Florida. Meanwhile they had been going over charts and arranging dive plans for his return.
Outside, the sun moved low on the horizon over Staten Island. A fall chill was in the air. Shadows came over the water. Down on the beach, a clam bake blasted its loud rock music.
Captain Tate bought drinks for the rest of the salvage team. In the bar section of the diner, the voices of the drinkers attempted to cover up the latest baseball scores droning from the television on the grease stained wall.
Cutter said, “Peregrine was one hundred and twenty-one days out today. She’s nearing the Philippines.”
They raised their long neck bottles to cheer Cutter’s news. Katy’s cell phone suddenly warbled a Reba McIntyre melody of country love. Katy often said she played the music to remind her of her childhood and friends in southern Maryland.
“I told my office no messages today,” Katy complained, taking a sip of her beer. Then she looked at the number. She had seen it before and hesitated, trying to remember.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Doctor Marbury, is it you?” It was an older woman.
“Yes.
“Mary Tolchester.”
Katy tugged at Cutter’s arm and grinned. She said, “Yes, Mary. It’s nice to hear from you.”
Mary’s words rushed from the phone, “I’ve been so worried. The television has come out with this terrible information about my captain. It’s simply not true. I don’t know what to do. You had given me your number so I thought it best to contact you.”
“Now you try to relax. It will be all right. The stories are horrible.”
“More than that, Doctor. They are false. I have the proof, you see.”
“Would it be all right if I came to see you? We’re in Staten Island and it would be simple to drive over.”
“Yes, please do.”
“Jim Cutter is with me. May I bring him along too?”
“Yes, he’s all right.”
In a few minutes they were sitting in Mary’s parlor in the same way as before. Nothing had changed in the room. It was as though they had never left.
Mary reached into her lap with her left hand and held up a folded piece of faded paper.
“I read this about the suspected crime of my ancestor and his ship. I had to tell the facts.”
She spoke with the continuing coarseness in her voice, like a tough enforcer out to take care of things. She said, “After my ancestor died at sea when his ship sank in a storm, an unopened personal letter from his office in Canton came to his family. He wrote the information as he was preparing to leave the city. He then addressed the mail to Staten Island.” She handed the letter to Katy who held up the paper to the light. Cutter could see the writing in a faded ink script. Katy read the pages aloud.
From the pen of Captain Tolchester in Canton this letter to be carried by next clipper to New York and delivered to my cousin on Staten Island.
My dearest cousin. This letter should clarify the conditions of my sudden departure from Canton. I wrote these notes after discovering the murders of my merchant and his beloved daughter.
I had gone to Meikuo’s home on the Island. The guards of my lord Fusang, her father, had left from the gate and the long approach to the mansion. I thought this strange until I found one of them, one I knew well, stabbed dead in the garden pathway. Then I suspected the worst had happened. As is sometimes the case with wealthy merchants in this land, robbers had struck. They came to steal Fusang’s treasures and jewels - ones of great value to him, his family, and to the nation.
Why the Lord had brought me to this carnage I do not know. My soul rushed forward on to the villa porches and into the room where I had always been so welcome.
I dis
covered my love in the arms of her father, both dead and cut into only remnants of their once bodies, she no longer of the beautiful face but instead a cloud of blood. In front of the two of them I found empty boxes of the kind in which Fusang held all his papers and treasures. Foolscap only remained, little articles he had saved to read with me, many of them concerning America.
I returned to my ship and conferred with my boys, all of us of one mind. They too had loved Meikuo on her visits to the brig, had thought of her as our charm and luck. Only one change appeared on the horizon, the Eagle, drug runner, fleeing justice and we knew these murders. We agreed to take to the ocean in chase of the Eagle, with our small ship’s company of brave lads. I left behind such disarray of my mortal life as I should never wish upon another of God’s creatures. Surely this must be Hell as I can think of no worse existence. Yet today all my crew has dedicated themselves to me to right this wrong. With God's will, we sail to correct such injustice as we have witnessed in the last twenty four hours on Chinese soil.
So I write now my purpose and plan. We are changing the name on our clipper brig to the name of Osprey, its former name. We’ll store the former Peregrine trailboards on the deck to easily restore the ship’s name in the future. The original name of the ship was Osprey and the old carvings saved in the hold make this easy to accomplish. As ships move in the ocean sometimes they come out of storms ahead but often behind. This change was to avoid being seen on the way and reported to the pursued ahead of us. Should we find misfortune in our quest and be misinterpreted as criminals, the name change will also relieve our owners from any blame. Osprey brings no connection to my employers. Osprey will be a ghost ship of no origin.
I can say here I will never again sail to China. Nothing remains for me now. My owners, if I return alive, will surely be disappointed that I had risked their ship. I sail with no cargo to find me in guilty possession nor could my crew be declaimed for something they had not done. These men have served me in an honorable way following my orders. They give their lives for right. Yet I pray that a falcon can find a hawk.
China Jewel Page 18