Читать книгу Peggy Henderson Adventures 4-Book Bundle - Gina McMurchy-Barber - Страница 10

“Peggy, make sure you’re careful and wear your life jacket at all times, okay? And it’s important that you listen to Dr. Hunter.” Mom crushed me in her arms like I was a memory-foam doll. Before she could say another word or change her mind about letting me go, I pecked her on the cheek and wriggled out of her arms. Grabbing my backpack, I turned to Eddy.

“C’mon, Eddy, we’d better get moving.” I was glad she’d volunteered to drive me to Steveston docks to meet with Dr. Hunter instead of Mom. For one thing it guaranteed I’d be on time, and it also meant I could avoid all of Mom’s last minute advice and mushing over me. Just when I thought I’d made a clean getaway, Aunt Beatrix piped up.

“Now remember, dear — put your best foot forward, display impeccable manners, remember that honesty is always the best policy, pull your own weight, be responsible, and for heaven’s sake comb your hair.” Aunt Beatrix stood next to Mom wagging her finger at me.

“Yes, Aunt Beatrix,” I groaned. “Now that it’s just the two of you maybe you should teach Mom a thing or two about china and how to make a good impression on her boss.” She smiled like I’d just given her a great idea. Mom pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Gotcha, Mom!

When Eddy’s rattling old truck finally turned the corner and we were heading up Crescent Beach road I sighed and opened the brown paper bag Aunt Beatrix had given me as I got in the truck. A warm, sweet smell filled the cab.

“Mmmm,” I sighed. “I won’t miss being Aunt Beatrix’s improvement project, or all her lessons about old Chinese porcelain, but I will miss her baking and cooking.” I handed Eddy a fresh carrot-and-chocolate-chip muffin still warm from the oven.

As we drove in silence I recalled the day I passed my diving test. Like the carrot muffin fresh from the oven, the memory of it warmed me all over. That night at dinner I couldn’t stop talking. My fingers and toes were shriveled like prunes and my eyes still stung from the salt water that had seeped into my mask. But I was ecstatic, overjoyed, and even out-of-my-mind happy. I also knew that there was no way I was going to miss the chance to go looking for the Intrepid.

“How did you get so much water in your mask in the first place?” asked Mom. I could feel the rumble of joy deep inside me and wished I could explain better what it was like.

“I couldn’t stop laughing, that’s why. I wished you’d been there, Mom. The moment we started to descend I felt like I’d been dumped into an aquarium.”

“So what happened to being afraid?”

“That’s the thing — it just vanished the moment I went under the water and saw all the sea life. It was like I had entered another world and it made me forget about being afraid.” I rambled on about the seaweed that swayed like little green hula dancers, the crabs creeping about on the ocean floor, clams, catfish, the schools of tiny fish, and how beautiful and serene everything was. Even Aunt Beatrix couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “And all the skills I learned in the pool somehow became second nature to me. I even passed buddy breathing with flying colours.” When I closed my eyes I could see the fish and shells and dark-green water pierced by the shafts of sunlight. It felt so good when Mom told me how proud she was that I’d overcome my fear. Come to think of it, I was proud of myself, too.

“Glad to see you packed light, Peggy. There won’t be much room on the boat.” Eddy’s voice broke me out of my reverie.

“That’s what Dr. Hunter told me too. Now if I was one of those prissy girls Aunt Beatrix wanted me to be I’d have enough clothes, cosmetics, and hair product to sink a ship.”

“Maybe you’re wrong about your great aunt. Maybe she doesn’t want you to be like that at all. Didn’t you say she was the one who encouraged you to go back and finish the diver’s training?”

“More like she hounded me,” I mumbled with a mouth full of muffin. “She’s doesn’t believe in quitting, that’s for sure.”

“That sounds like a good aspiration,” Eddy added. I wanted to change the subject, so I pulled out Captain Whittaker’s diary.

“How’s that going?” Eddy asked.

“This? Great. It’s been kind of weird reading his thoughts about things as they were happening two hundred years ago. I get the feeling he was a good guy, but pretty formal. I bet he was someone that Aunt Beatrix would approve of. Do you want me to read a little to you?” I asked.

“That would be great. Go for it.” As we sped along Highway 99 I opened the journal and began to slowly read the captain’s scratchy writing. As the words left the page and filled the air I got goose bumps as it dawned on me that I was going into the watery grave of the man who wrote them.

January 9th, 1812

Yesterday we arrived at Hawai’i. It is the largest of the Sandwich Islands. The locals call it the Big Island. This marks my fifth — and likely final — voyage to the place. Each time upon arrival I feel melancholy for it reminds me of my dear friend and mentor, Captain James Cook. He named these the Sandwich Islands after my uncle, the Earl of Sandwich, some thirty-five years ago. I was just a boy of sixteen when I joined him on that first voyage to these islands. They were good days as I recall. Many years later Captain Cook returned here. At that time there was a dispute between him and the native Hawai’ians that brought a violent end to his great life. It still haunts me to this day. Nevertheless, as the captain said himself, “these are kind and welcoming people.” I am grateful to be on good terms with King Kamehameha. He is a fearsome man and I have urged Mister Lockhart to take great care when negotiating with him.

Speaking of Mister Lockhart, it was most amusing to observe his great displeasure at the time of our arrival at Big Island. Once we dropped anchor in the bay some twenty of the handsomest youths swam out to greet us. Their persons were entirely naked. Then came their old men and women in canoes bearing heaps of fresh fruit and dried fish. I have been witness to such greetings in the past and in good form the crew responded to this welcome by handing out some trinkets such as glass beads, a few brass buttons, and some iron nails crafted by our blacksmith, Mister Hughes. Nothing too much, just tokens really.

Nevertheless, when Mister Lockhart saw this expression of generosity he called for an immediate cessation. In his own words, he said, “How in the name of God am I to drive negotiations with these savages if you give away the very items I intend to barter?” Since the agreement with Mister Astor was that I captain the ship and let Mister Lockhart head up the trading, I urged the crew to obey. Needless to say, I did inform Mister Lockhart later that such small gift giving is expected by most natives we have encountered. It is a small gesture that can set the mood for peaceful and friendly trading.

The young gentleman has much to learn. I only hope he heeds my warning when we meet with King Kamehameha tomorrow. The man is a pagan with dozens of wives and heaven knows how many children. Nonetheless, he commands great respect and must always think he has the upper hand in negotiations.

The men have been in very high spirits since our arrival and are urging that we remain until the worst of the winter winds blow themselves out. Daily life aboard the ship offers too few hours of carefree distraction from swabbing, helming, and pushing a capstan. This is why a break on Big Island is a most pleasant place to unwind from the snarls of sea life. And after the added tension and complications we have endured it might be the best medicine. I shall have word with Mister Lockhart about the matter. Perhaps the congeniality of the island people will have a positive effect on him too.

Note to self: Tell Cook while we are in port no more salt beef or pork — the men need fresh meat to keep the scurvy at bay. I want them well refreshed and healthy for the long journey ahead.

Captain James Whittaker

“This Lockhart sounds like a real character,” Eddy said. “Too bad we don’t have time to read more … but there’s Philip waiting. I wonder who that young woman is with him.” As we got closer I realized the girl’s face was familiar. Where had I seen her before?

“Hey, I know. She was our guide at the Maritime Museum. Her name is —”

“Amanda Marsh,” Eddy jumped in once we were closer. “She was a student in my Archaeology Resource Management class a few years ago. Bright, eager … a lot like you.”

“She’s an archaeologist?”

“Yes, a maritime archaeologist and she’s working on her Master’s Degree — specializing in shipwrecks. You’ll be in good hands with her, Peggy.” I had a renewed sense of excitement when Eddy pulled up to the peer. Dr. Hunter and Amanda walked over to greet us.

“Well, hello there,” Amanda sang out. “I can’t believe it! Philip, this is the girl I mentioned a while ago, the one who came to the museum with her class. I told you I’d never met a more eager student.” There it went again … my face melting into ten shades of red.

“Well, at least you remembered me for something good. My mom and aunts are always afraid I’ll make my mark for all the wrong reasons.” Everyone seemed to find that amusing and suddenly the last little bit of worry dissolved. “Talk about weird though … I never thought I’d be seeing you again, Amanda.”

Dr. Hunter smiled. “One thing you’ll discover soon, Peggy … the world of underwater archaeology is very small,” he said. “In some ways that’s a good thing and sometimes not so much. It must have been someone in the field who let the word slip out to the media that we were off to find the Intrepid.” I could feel my face flush with panic.

“Well just in case you were thinking it was me, I promised you that even torture wouldn’t make me talk and I meant it.”

“I believe you, Peggy. But someone broke their promise. Now that it’s out we’ve got to get moving before some guy with a camera shows up and starts asking a lot of questions.” Amanda grabbed my pack and pointed to the boat.

“Follow me, Peggy, it’s time we board the Sea Weed.” I gave Eddy a hug, waved goodbye, and quickly followed after Amanda. I only got a quick glance of the boat before we bound up the gangway. It seemed pretty big … not like a ship or anything, but it was probably fifty or sixty feet long. It had two tall metal poles sticking out from each side with cables strung along them.

“Is this a fishing boat?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s a trawler. But it’s not used for fishing anymore — not since the archaeology department picked it up a few years ago for a good price.” On the deck of the boat I noticed there were winches, pulleys, and cables from the days it was used for fishing.

“Is that a fish net?” I asked, pointing to a pile of rope tucked under a tarp.

“You’re a curious kind of a kid, aren’t you? After that day at the museum, I shouldn’t be surprised. But I sure didn’t expect you’d actually take my advice and learn to scuba dive. You won’t regret it — I can promise you that. I’ve banked more than seventy dives now, and I still never get tired of going to the ocean floor — particularly when diving around sunken ships.” I knew Amanda and I were soon going to be good friends.

A few minutes later we were waving goodbye to Eddy on shore as our boat slowly pushed off. I felt a tingle all over as I watched her get smaller and smaller. Everything was perfect: fresh salt air, seagulls soaring overhead and squawking, the sun glinting across the calm ocean surface — and me, Peggy Henderson, off to find a sunken ship. I sighed, sure it would be easy sailing ahead.

When Steveston was nothing but a sliver on the horizon Amanda took me around and introduced me to the rest of the crew. Scott Robinson and Marnie Redfield were both marine archaeologists and worked with Amanda at the Maritime Museum.

“Hey, nice to meet you, Peggy,” Marnie said warmly. Scott gave me a high-five while he read out coordinates to Marnie. We then went to the bridge to meet Dr. Hernando Sanchez. Like Dr. Hunter, he was a professor at a university and was visiting from Mexico City. He didn’t look like anyone from Mexico that I’d ever met before — his hair was flat on his skull like he’d greased it into place, and his front teeth were rimmed with gold fillings.

“I am sure you are a good ‘leedle’ girl, but I told Dr. Hunter it is a terrible mistake to bring a child on such an important research trip,” said Dr. Sanchez. He spoke with a heavy accent, and when he said the word “little,” it sounded like “leedle.” My cheeks burned and I felt silly standing there with my outstretched hand as it became obvious he wasn’t going to shake it. “You stay out of the way leedle girl and whatever you do — don’t touch the equipment, especially the radio. And remember, this is no kids’ day camp!”

Jerk — I might be a kid, but I wasn’t a two-year-old.

“Now Hernando … be nice,” said Dr. Hunter in a chuckle that sounded a lot like my mom’s when she was trying to divert an argument between Aunt Margaret and me. “Peggy comes highly recommended by one of my oldest colleagues and a good friend. I’m sure she’s going to be a big help to us.” He patted my shoulder, while giving Amanda a nod. “Maybe Peggy should check out the rest of the boat.” Amanda urged me to follow her.

“Never mind Sanchez … he’s a bit of a control freak and has no sense of humour. Just do your best to stay clear of him, okay.” I nodded. “Good. It’s time you get a tour of the boat and see where we store our safety equipment.” I must have looked a little surprised. “Nothing to be alarmed about — Captain Hunter expects everyone aboard to be well informed and know what to do in the unlikely event of an emergency.” She sounded like one of those flight attendants who try to explain safety procedures to passengers too busy breaking out their snacks and new magazines. While I hardly ever payed attention either, I made sure to listen to what Amanda was saying.

“Why do you call Dr. Hunter the captain?” I asked as I followed her down the steep set of stairs into a cramped hallway.

“When we’re out on the water everyone calls him that. He’s in charge of the boat and of the expedition so it just seems fitting to call him Captain.” We walked down the narrow hallway, past the noisy engine room, a lab, and some private quarters. Finally we came to what looked like a dining area.

“Here’s the galley where we prepare and eat our meals. You’ll be expected to help out … just wanted you to know in case you thought you were on one of those fancy cruise ships with endless buffet meals.” She smiled.

Next, we came to some cupboards with shiny brass latches. “We keep all the life vests, the life raft, supplies, flares, and so forth in here. Captain Hunter expects everyone to know procedures and how to use the equipment. He’s been known to give surprise emergency drills so we all have to be ready.”

“What time are these drills?”

“Just like you’ll never know when a real emergency arises, neither do we know when the captain will call for a drill … so like a good scout, ‘be prepared.’” Amanda handed me a small craft safety manual. “Study this later. Captain Hunter is very serious about safety and expects you to know it by bedtime — just like the rest of the crew.” I must have looked worried. “Don’t freak out, and don’t hesitate to ask questions if you’re unclear about something.” It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Amanda said the word “crew” as though I were one of them. That’s when I realized that besides Dr. Sanchez, everyone else was expecting me to pull my own weight. I secretly promised right there that I wouldn’t let them down. And I was going to prove to Dr. Sanchez that I wasn’t some “leedle” kid tagging along who needed babysitting.

“Here’s where you and I will sleep.” Amanda pointed to two small bunks hanging off the wall. “And down there is the head. It’s finicky so make sure you never flush anything down besides the natural stuff and never pull the chain more than once.”

“Why? Will this place turn into a poop deck?” I snickered at my witty boat joke.

“Ha ha ha. As a matter of fact it could. And if you think Dr. Sanchez is grouchy now, wait until you find out what he’s like if he doesn’t get his morning potty time!” I squirmed — now that was a seriously gross image.

“Why is it called the head anyways?” I asked to change the subject … slightly. “Kind of silly when they could just call it a toilet.”

“That term came before the days of toilets. In the old days sailing ships had a tiny platform at the bow for sailors to use as a makeshift outhouse. By being in the very front of the ship, the area naturally became cleaned by splashing waves, and since the wind came from behind, it kept odours away from the rest of the crew. The bow also happened to be where they always fastened the figurehead of a beautiful woman or a bronze eagle or something. So if a sailor needed to relieve himself he would say he was going to the head of the ship.” Amanda had a way of making even the history of crapping sound interesting. Definitely some trivia TB would want to know when I got home.

“I’m going on deck to check in with the captain. So why don’t you settle yourself in and come on up when you’re ready.” After Amanda left I crawled up onto my bunk and unpacked my clothes, placing them into a small compartment above. I felt like I was in a cozy little cave, being gently rocked by the waves. It must be how a baby in a cradle feels. Soon the rocking made me a little tired. I decided I’d lie down and read some of Captain Whittaker’s journal — just for a few minutes.

February 27th, 1812

All is ruined!

Yesterday, while I was afoot in the village making arrangements for the grand dinner party in honour of King Kamehameha, I foolishly left Mister Lockhart aboard. The king arrived early and asked for a tour of the ship. When they came to the weapons room Mister Lockhart rudely refused our guest access, telling him “coloureds” are never permitted in our weapons storehouse. As told to me by my first mate, Mister Carver, the king was enraged — his face red with anger over Mister Lockhart’s comments. Thereafter he hastily left the ship.

Typically it is my rule to never encourage aboriginals to board the ship in the event that their motives prove to be hostile. But on this occasion the king was guest of honour, so to refuse his request was not only foolish, but lacking manners. Had I been aboard this never would have happened.

With Mister Lockhart’s previous failures in decorum we were already on shaky ground with the king. Indeed, the dinner aboard the Intrepid was intended to mend this rupture in our standing.

The moment I returned to the ship I knew something was amiss from the wide-eyed stares of the men. When I was told the story I immediately sent out a messenger, but he was met at Kamehameha’s fortress by angry guards. When he came back visibly shaken I knew then that relations with the king had been severed.

After the murder of my dear friend, Captain James Cook and his crew, I knew full well the potential danger with which we were faced. I ordered the men to be on the ready and to prepare for departure. After we had become enemies of King Kamehameha, I was sure that none of the chiefs from surrounding islands would do business with the Intrepid.

Clearly we had no choice but to leave. Miserably, Mister Smythe, our assistant blacksmith, and two other crewmen, Mister Archiebald and Mister Lloyd had not yet returned from the east side of Big Island where they were exploring for usable minerals. I waited for them for as long as I felt was reasonably safe. If things had been different I would have sent forces to bring them back, but the longer we lingered the greater the risk to the rest of the crew and to the ship.

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 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.

Once I saw that they were sturdy and would be quite useful to us as interpreters I set about convincing Mister Lockhart. He pressed the chief to increase the count on furs and we nearly lost the deal. As it stands — in addition to the Muhkaw interpreters we are to receive one hundred otter pelts. In exchange Chief Snoqualmie is to get fifty knives, twenty flint, a sachet of buttons, a box of tinware, and twenty of our best wool blankets.

I made him a solemn promise that at the end of this expedition I would ensure his young warriors would arrive home safely. He held my hand firmly and gazed long and hard into my eyes. I understood immediately his intent and repeated my vow to bring the young men home. My word is all I have and I am grateful that it was all he needed to feel reassured.

We will stay here with the Muhkaw until the warmer winds blow. This will give us time to acclimate and fatten the livestock.

Captain James Whittaker

I could tell by the way Amanda was snoring that she was now in really deep REM sleep mode — probably where I should have been too. Okay, I promised myself — just one more entry from the captain’s log and I’d turn off the light.

April 12th, 1812

Three days ago we had a near mishap after we stopped in a small bay. Loki and Peter went ashore with the crew. They are sturdy young men, but I can tell they miss the feel of solid ground. Then Loki went missing. When it was time to return to the ship he was nowhere to be found. Some of the men suspected he had deserted us — a suggestion made by Mister Lockhart. After a lengthy and thorough search for the lad Lockhart insisted he had indeed run away and that valuable time was being lost. He expected me to set sail without Loki. I daresay the gentleman still does not know me well. I could do no such thing after making a promise to his father. Until I was fully satisfied that nothing more could be done the ship would sail not a fathom. Then just before Mister Lockhart could protest further, out of the forest the lad emerged. Not only was he well, but draped over his shoulder was no less than a dozen otter pelts.

The next morning Loki and Peter communicated a deal with the Salish speakers and we are now 300 pelts richer. While Mister Lockhart was most pleased, he did not admit that it would have been a mistake had we actually left Loki behind. I daresay he completely forgot that he had suggested such a thing in the first place.

These warm winds are a welcome change to the ice and sleet and have created improved spirits amongst the men. Even Mister Lockhart himself has thawed somewhat.

Captain James Whittaker