Stealth of the Ninja

by Philip Roy

The thing I was most concerned about was the diving chart in the book. It showed that the deeper you dived, the less time you could stay down. If you dove the deepest you could safely dive, which in the book was 130 feet, you could only stay for eight minutes. That wasn’t much. I had to dive deeper and stay longer.

  Before diving to the ship, I planned to make a few practice dives to get comfortable with the equipment. I knew time was precious but I couldn’t dive to the ship until I knew I could actually get there.

  The first thing to do was fill the tank with air from one of the sub’s compressors. That was easy enough and took only five minutes. Then, following the diagrams closely, I fitted all of the pieces of equipment together until the gear looked exactly as it did in the book. I opened the valve on the tank, put the regulator in my mouth, and took a breath. The air flowed almost as easily as regular breathing. That made me feel confident. Then I pulled the gear onto my back like a backpack. But when I tried to stand up from a sitting position it was too heavy. The only way I could get to my feet was to roll to one side, crawl onto my hands and knees, and pull myself up. Then I couldn’t squeeze out of the portal with the tank on my back; I had to carry the gear up separately and put it on outside.

  Sitting on the hull, with my feet dangling over the water, I went over the rules again and again in my mind as I pulled on the gear, mask, snorkel, and fins. Then I dropped over the side.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was strange beyond words to breathe under water, and a good thing I was practising, because the urge to hold my breath was strong, and I had to unlearn it.

  I had barely started to look for the dinghy when suddenly it went shooting up over my head. I was sinking too fast! Stay calm I told myself, and let some air into the BC. So I did, and stopped falling. The manual said to try to find perfect buoyancy, using a gentle kick with the fins to go up or down. That was more efficient. So I practised doing that. Only twice did I catch myself holding my breath.

  After forty minutes, I returned to the sub, pulled off the gear, rinsed it off with fresh water, and refilled the tank. Then I fed the crew and lay down for a rest, because the manual said you had to rest between dives or your body couldn’t handle the stresses of the pressure. But I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous. I tried to breathe deeply and create a sense of calm in my body—the way Sensei looked when he was meditating on the ship—but my hands and feet kept shaking with the jitters. A few hours later, I climbed out of bed and went for another dive.

  This time I went down to sixty feet. I practised reaching behind my head for the spare regulator, the one that Sensei would use. If he didn’t have any experience scuba diving I would have to show him what to do while we were underwater, in the dark. The thought that he might panic and burst his lungs, or something else go terribly wrong, worried the heck out of me.

  There were a few other problems that I didn’t know how to solve. For instance, the ship was sitting at 155 feet, with neutral buoyancy. This must have been because the holds were filled with plastic and air. To get Sensei out of the ship, I had to break into one of them, where he had to be—none of the other rooms on the ship would hold enough air to keep him alive this long. But I had to break into the right one. And once the hold was opened, and water rushed in, that neutral buoyancy would be shattered and the ship would race to the bottom. I would have only seconds to grab him, and Sensei would have to be right at the spot where I broke in.

  Then there was nitrogen narcosis. This was when nitrogen in the pressurized air prevented oxygen from getting to your brain, so you suffered a loss of judgement, loss of motor skills, dizziness, confusion, and euphoria. It could happen as soon as you reached 100 feet, but was different for everybody. You could avoid it longer, and handle it better, if you stayed calm and breathed slowly. Seemed to me that that was the answer to everything—staying calm.

  Back in the sub I filled the tank for the third and hopefully last time. But now a completely different worry occurred to me: what would happen to my crew if I didn’t make it back? That was a troubling thought.

  And so, although it made me very sad, and though I was trying to stay in a positive mood, I sat down and wrote a letter, then taped it to the control panel. The letter read:

  To Whoever finds this letter:

  This is my dog. His name is Hollie. If I am not here, it is because I didn’t make it back up from trying to rescue a man who is trapped in a ship below us. Hollie is a very good dog. Please take good care of him, and please find a good home for him. I found him on the sea, and he loves being near water. His favourite thing is running on the beach. If you see a seagull nearby, he is part of my crew too. His name is Seaweed. He is very smart. Seaweed and Hollie are like brothers, and I hope you can keep Seaweed too. If you can’t, I know he will survive anyway because he is incredibly resourceful. But please let him stay on your ship until you are close enough to land to let him fly there. If you find this letter and I am not here, please call the number below and tell them what happened. Thank you.

  Alfred Pynsent

  I carried out all the dog food I had, and all the bread, cookies, and other things that Hollie and Seaweed would eat, and left it in such a way that they could get into it if they were hungry enough. Then I filled all the pots I had with fresh water, and left the tap of the fresh water tank dripping slowly into a pot. I figured they would probably survive a few weeks if nobody came before then. Although I would leave the hatch open, I would tie a burlap sack across it to keep them from climbing out. It would be okay if Seaweed escaped, but not Hollie. I carried all of the gear up, including my flashlight and a heavy wrench. I tied the wrench to my belt. I would use it to bang on the hull of the ship.

  I pulled on all the gear, called down to Hollie and Seaweed that I’d be back, took a deep breath, and went over the side.

  Like a fish I swam straight down, keeping my hands at my sides, and propelling myself with slow easy fin kicks. I tried to imagine I was a snowflake falling into a silent forest, except for the sound of my breathing. As I approached the dinghy I veered slightly away from it, went around it, and kept falling.

  Down, down I drifted into increasing darkness. Ever so gradually the pressure began to squeeze me. I shut my nose and mouth and cleared my ears. At seventy-five feet the pressure was something I was familiar with. Yet because I was not holding my breath as I was used to and was wearing all this gear, it felt unnatural. In fact, as I approached 100 feet, I began to struggle with a feeling of claustrophobia for the first time in my life. I wished I wasn’t wearing any gear at all, and just holding my breath. I wanted to unstrap myself from the pack. When I hit 130 feet, I was shocked at the intensity of the pressure and was fighting back feelings of panic.

  I looked down through the darkness at the ship’s hull and saw gloomy shadows of weeds and sea growth rising from her keel. Panic filled my chest. I couldn’t seem to get a grip on it. The ship looked as though she were just waiting to grab me and pull me down to the bottom. I glanced at the depth gauge but it was blurry. I glanced at the air gauge but the needle was swinging back and forth. Was I out of air? Suddenly my ears began to ache very sharply. I cleared them, and then, without thinking, turned around and headed back towards the safety of the surface.

  It was a long ascent. I stopped at 20 feet and waited for a few minutes. I was terribly disappointed in myself. It would be hours before I could try again.

  Back on the sub I felt a little sick so I lay down in bed. The walls were spinning. I wanted to go over the events of the dive carefully but could hardly concentrate. The manual said to rest, but how could you rest when you were filled with anxiety? For hours I tossed and turned on the cot, trying to meditate, trying to relax, but couldn’t seem to do either. What was Sensei doing right now? What was he thinking? Did he think I had given up? Hang on, Sensei, I kept saying to myself over and over. Just hang on.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but a few hours later I woke to a tossing and pitching sub, and a terrible feeling o
f urgency. How much air did Sensei have left? Why was I wasting time? Why hadn’t I rescued him already? Was I just going to find a corpse?

  Hollie came over and jumped onto my lap. I scratched his ears and patted his head. What a loyal dog he was. What a wonderful and true friend. Remembering how Sensei had played with him on the ship, I wished we could be back there now, on the hot sunny deck, eating fresh tomatoes and garlic, and feeling the warm Pacific breeze on our skin. “Rescue him,” I whispered to myself. “Rescue him. He doesn’t deserve to die like this.”

  Feeling much less confident than before, I rose to my feet and wandered over to the control panel. There I saw something that made my heart shudder. The ship had dropped another 17 feet, breaking the rope and pulling the dinghy under once again. The ship was now sitting at 172 feet below the surface. It must have just happened; otherwise we would have drifted farther away than we had. Before I could dive to the ship I would have to find the dinghy rope first, and retie it to the sub.

  Shaking with nervousness, I fed the crew and made a breakfast that I could barely eat. I went outside and made a quick free dive down to the dinghy, found the rope, and tied it to a rope from the sub. Then I climbed back inside and prepared for the dive that I knew had to succeed.

  My hands kept shaking as I filled the tank and carried the gear outside. I couldn’t seem to calm myself. The sky was darker now, and the sub was tossing around. That made no difference below but I sure hoped a storm wasn’t coming.

  I breathed deeply, closed my eyes, and told myself that everything was going to be okay. This dive wasn’t about me; it was about Sensei. I went over the rules again and again, and told myself it was all right to have claustrophobic feelings, and that I could do this. “Just don’t give up,” I said out loud, and went over the side.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As I drifted down into the darkness I broke another rule in the manual: I filled the BC with water and let my weight and the weight of the wrench and gear pull me down fast. It only made sense to me to fall quickly and save energy and air by not using my legs. After all, the manual warned only about rising too fast, not about descending. I could refill the BC with air once I was down there, and restore neutral buoyancy. This was not a pleasure dive; this was a rescue mission. It had been seven days since the ship went down. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

  I had to assume that Sensei didn’t have any experience with scuba diving, and I would have to try to explain with gestures how he must keep breathing and clearing his ears. The best way, I figured, was to demonstrate it. But it would be dark down there, and I’d have to shine the flashlight on me when I did.

  The bigger problem was how to get him out of the ship without drowning him when the water rushed in. It wouldn’t pour in, as it would near the surface; it would explode in. By banging on the hull with the wrench, I was hoping to lead him to a door or a hatch, wait for him to open it, and grab him. It seemed impossibly risky but what other options were there?

  Falling with negative buoyancy turned out to be a good thing. I fell at a steady pace that was maybe a little too fast, but I didn’t have to kick at all or steer with my legs. I used less air, and when the pressure began to squeeze, I stayed calmer than before. At 120 feet the gauges were still clear. Although I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, I was not panicking.

  At 150 feet the gauges were blurry again, and I was beginning to feel confused. Long fat ribbons of seaweed rose up from the bottom of the ship, and I had to squeeze between them. I felt as though I were falling into a dark abyss. I tried counting to ten to calm my fears. It helped. A few seconds later, my hand came in contact with the keel.

  I felt dizzy when I touched the ship, as if I had touched an electric wire. I was confused. I swam around the keel and down along the crusted hull until the pressure was so intense my face felt as if it were in a can opener. The hull was endless, but once I rounded the ship’s belly, I let air into the BC and stopped falling. It was hard to do. I couldn’t seem to concentrate very well. Even turning the air valve was almost too difficult. I pointed my flashlight. The deck’s railing was just below. I glanced at the gauges, but they were too fuzzy to read. How deep was I now? I didn’t know. How much air did I have? I didn’t know. My ears were aching badly, so I cleared them, but they still ached. What was I doing here? I felt completely confused. And then, something altogether different began to happen.

  For the life of me I couldn’t explain it, but suddenly everything just got a whole lot easier. Even with all the incredible pressure squeezing against me, I began to feel as light as a feather. This wasn’t so difficult after all. This was fun. I couldn’t even remember what all the fuss had been about. And then I realized … this wasn’t just any old ship … this was the Titanic!

  Though I knew the Titanic had gone down in the Atlantic, not the Pacific, here she was next to me! She must have drifted here. How remarkable that I had found her. Wow! I couldn’t wait to tell Ziegfried and Sheba. I wondered if there was a telephone down here that I could use. I decided to look for one.

  But I had to find Sensei, too, so I decided to do both. I pulled the wrench from my belt and hammered it against the hull. Bang, bang, bang! I listened for a response but there wasn’t one. Where was Sensei? Was he sleeping? I’d better wake him up. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang … “Wake up, Sensei!” I said. My ears ached. “Oh, buggers!” I said, and cleared them. What a nuisance. You try to wake somebody up to borrow their telephone and all your ears can do is ache.

  It occurred to me that maybe I wasn’t banging the right tune. Maybe Sensei would wake up only if I banged the right tune on the hull. So I started to bang the rhythm of “Frère Jacques.” But that was pretty boring, and I never got a response. This was a pretty boring place down here, all things considered. Where was Sensei? What a sleepyhead. My ears ached again, so I cleared them again. Then I remembered I’d better breathe slowly. “Breathe slow,” I said to myself. Then I sang it. “Breathe slow … sweet chariot … coming for to carry me home. Breathe slow, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home.”

  This was a song my grandmother used to sing. Sensei would surely love this song, I thought, as I pulled myself around the railing and underneath the deck and over to the doorway where Sensei liked to do his one-legged squats. It was completely dark, so I didn’t think he would be doing his exercises now. He only liked to do them in the daytime. I shone my flashlight on the door. It was open, so I swam inside.

  “If you get to Heaven before I do … comin’ for to carry me home … Breathe slow, sweet chariot … comin’ for to carry me home.” I wasn’t sure those were the right words, but I sang them the way my grandmother did on her rocking chair back home, and I banged on the top of the aft hold, and the sound echoed inside. That meant it was hollow, like an empty coconut. No one answered, so I swam to the entrance to the mid-hold, and banged on it. I got only a dull sound there, so I knew that hold was full, just like in the story of The Three Bears: Mama Bear’s bowl was cold.

  So I swam to the third hold, the fore hold, and banged on it with the wrench. The sound echoed. This one was empty. Then … I heard someone banging back. That was funny. There was somebody inside. Hmmm. I was getting dizzy, but I was so happy. Why was there somebody inside the Titanic? Had they been here all this time? Wow. They probably had a really long beard. That would be an interesting story in the newspaper. I should tell somebody.

  I banged on the door of the hold again. Bang, bang, bang!

  Bang, bang, bang! came the answer. Hmmm! That was interesting. They were mimicking me. I did it again, just one bang. And so did they. I banged twice. They banged twice. Funny! So I banged fourteen times, and they banged back exactly fourteen times. Okay. They win. For a prize, I will let them out.

  I swam to the door, and banged on it twice. Knock, knock! Anybody home? Do you want to come out? The person inside knocked back once. I thought that meant yes, they were ready to come out. Okay, I said. I’m ready. But my ears
ached a heck of a lot. I cleared them, but couldn’t stop them from aching. What a nuisance! What a boring place! Come on outside and let’s go somewhere else that’s more interesting. Who would ever have known that the Titanic was such a boring place?

  And then the door opened a crack, and a metal hook shot out and grabbed the doorjamb. Then a skinny arm reached out and grabbed my arm, and squeezed me tighter than all the pressure of the water. But I was so dizzy I wasn’t really sure what was happening. I steadied my flashlight. Hey, there’s Sensei! He looks different down here in the darkness. He is so small, and his hair is so white, and the look on his face is scary. Then the door burst open, and the dark sea poured into it. I felt it tug at me, too, but Sensei was wearing some sort of metal harness, like a ladder, that allowed him to crawl out against the water rushing in, and he held onto me and dragged me through the passageway, and out a doorway to the deck. Suddenly the Titanic started to yell and scream. She didn’t like us banging on her doors. I didn’t know why she was so angry but it was awful. I didn’t want to stay here and listen to that. “Hey, Sensei,” I said, “I don’t want to listen to that, do you?”

  But he didn’t answer. He slipped out of his metal harness and kept pulling me sideways as the Titanic started to fall below us. It banged into us and tried to take us with it, but Sensei shook his head and pointed up. He wanted to go to the surface. Okay, I thought. That’s a good idea. I nodded my head. “Maybe you would like this,” I said, and reached behind my head for the second regulator. I handed it to him, and then made the gesture of breathing that I had practised. Sensei took the regulator and put it in his mouth, and together we started swimming up.

  But now I was so very dizzy, confused, and seasick that I just wanted to lie down on my bed. It was such a long way up, and I didn’t feel like making the trip. Something told me we weren’t supposed to go up so fast, but Sensei seemed to be in an awful hurry. “Slow down!” I tried to say, but he wouldn’t listen to me. “We have to stop!” I said. I was still dizzy, but I was starting to remember where we were. “We must slow down!” I said, and I tried to gesture to him. I looked at the gauges. We had risen to 100 feet. The ship was falling below us, and large bubbles were racing past us on their way to the surface. The ship was making terrible screams. “Just go!” I yelled at the ship. If ever a ship deserved to go to the bottom, it was this one. I didn’t even feel sorry for her anymore; I just wanted her to sink.