Bone Deep (13 page)

All mammal skeletons — whether they're seals, monkeys, or humans — share similarities. Take the vertebrae for example — all animals have back bones that are basically the same shape. Then there's the long bones — like the radius, ulna, and humerus — that are generally similar too. But there's one thing that is unique to humans: it's our long and opposable thumbs. Those two little appendages allow us to thread a needle, paint beautiful images, write with a pen, and throw a curveball.

And it was just such a neat little row of thumb bones — the first and second phalange, the metacarpal and carpal — that caught my eye in that split second while swimming by. When I turned around and came back for a slower, second look sure enough there it was — a thumb, protruding from the silt like a hitchhiker. I didn't know if it was a good idea or not, but I took off one of my flippers and used it to fan the silt and sand surrounding the bones. While I waited for the murky cloud to settle I had to keep reminding myself not to hold my breath. When the sand finally cleared from the water I could see the bones of an entire human hand. I excitedly fanned the silt again … and this time I could see that the tiny hand bones were attached to a radius and ulna. Then something shiny caught my eye — as I looked closer I could see it was a single brass button. The kind found on a uniform — like maybe the cuff of a captain's uniform. I double inhaled then exhaled slowly as the idea settled in my mind that there was a good chance that if the rest of the sand were removed it would reveal a complete human skeleton — and there was a good possibility it was Captain Whittaker's.

When I reached Amanda I tugged impatiently on her arm. She signaled to wait while she finished up her diagram of the main mast. But instead I pulled the pencil from her hand and made her follow me. I could tell she was annoyed as I led her to the back of the hull where the bones waited. I knew she wouldn't be mad for long — and I was right.

After letting out enough air bubbles to fill a bathtub she took out her measuring tape and notepad. While she made notes and a quick sketch I dragged Captain Hunter, Marnie, and Scott to see what I'd found. I even reluctantly encouraged Dr. Sanchez to come, but he gave me the “beat-it” signal again. It wasn't until Captain Hunter went for him that he got to see what everyone else was so excited about.

The worst part about doing underwater archaeology is that you can only stay under the water for a little while. And then you have to wait several hours before diving again — that's so your body can release the build-up of nitrogen gases that come from breathing compressed air. As we all slowly ascended to the surface I was pretty sure they all felt the same as me — wishing that we didn't have to go.

Feeling pretty proud for being the one with the sharp eye, I let everyone else climb aboard the
Sea Weed
first. I was sure they were all really glad now that I had come along — even Dr. Sanchez. So while I climbed up the ladder I half expected they'd all applaud me. But when I finally hauled myself onto the deck they were all listening carefully to the captain, who was on the radio talking to someone.

“Thanks for the heads up, Professor Blake. I will look into it.” The captain's face was stern when he turned and looked over at me.

“Peggy, that was one of my colleagues at the university. He says there was a report about the
Intrepid
on last night's news. The reporter quoted one of the researchers — Ms. Peggy Henderson — saying that there was treasure found on the shipwreck. Why do you think he said that?”

It's funny how one minute everything is going spectacularly and everyone thinks you're a hero. Then something happens and you're worse than dog poop stuck to the bottom of their boots.

It wasn't surprising that the captain was mad. But what really hurt was that he believed I just wanted to be in the spotlight and was the one responsible for spilling the beans earlier in the week about the search for the
Intrepid
. When I tried to convince him differently, he dropped another bombshell.

“Peggy, maybe if you hadn't lied about plugging the head the other day I would be willing to believe you're as innocent as you say you are. But since I know as well as you do that you were responsible I'm having a hard time accepting what you're telling me.” I suddenly felt like I was eight again and Mr. Munro had caught me with a bag full of Honey Nut Cheerio samples I'd stolen from from all the neighbours' mailboxes.

“If you knew it was me that busted the toilet why didn't you say?” I whispered.

“I was hoping that you were conscientious enough to tell me about it yourself — in fact that's what I thought you were going to do last night. But now I see there's a pattern of deceptiveness going on here and I just don't think I can trust you anymore. There's too much at stake here.”

After lunch the captain informed me that for the rest of the day I was grounded — if that's possible on a boat. Amanda, Scott, Marnie, and the captain would go back down, while I stayed behind — a consequence I knew I deserved. I hadn't meant for things to go so horribly wrong. Now I would have to face Eddy and my mom and aunts, who'd be disappointed in me — again. Then like adding salt to an open wound, Captain Hunter told me that Dr. Sanchez would be staying to keep an eye on me. That's because I'd lost the captain's trust, and that hurt more than anything.

“Peggy, these artifacts are really fragile and unstable. So you'll need to rinse them as gently as possible to remove all the salt water. It's going to take several repetitions of rinsing and draining to make them saline free. When we get them back to the university lab I'll immerse them in some polyethylene glycol to reinforce the cellular structure.” The artifacts Amanda left me to clean were a small leather pouch, a piece of braided rope and a tiny porcelain dish.

“I don't think it's a good idea,” Dr. Sanchez rattled on. “She is just a kid and she is going to make some more damage.” That was a crushing blow to my already bruised ego.

“Don't worry, I know that Peggy can do this,” Amanda encouraged. I appreciated her confidence, but wasn't sure that I deserved it. I mean how many kids get an opportunity to go on a trip like this and then blow it so fantastically?

While I worked alone in that little room I pictured everyone else diving in the deep waters below and looking over the amazing skeleton I'd found. While I was distracted by my miserable mood I overfilled one of the trays. As I mopped up the water I knew I couldn't afford to screw up anything else, so I made myself focus on what I was doing.

Each artifact that Amanda wanted me to clean was in its own small tray filled with tepid clear water. With tongs I gently swished the leather pouch around then let it sit while I did the same with the other two artifacts. Next, I had to drain the water off and then fill the trays again with new clear water. I did that a lot of times. And as I did I could see that the small plant matter and grains of silt and salt were slowing becoming dislodged and the finer details of each object were coming into view.

I got really curious about the leather pouch. It had a small flap and under it a drawstring pulled tight. I could see there was some kind of design on the flap. I also felt something squishy inside. As I continued cleaning I soon realized it wasn't a design on the flap, but rather someone's initials in large italic letters — R.L. As soon as I realized what it was I went for Captain Whittaker's journal and flipped to the list of crewmembers at the back. I already knew one person who had those initials, but I had to check to see that there weren't others. As my finger ran down the list I had a warm feeling of excitement — the kind that came from discovering something new. While there was one crewman whose last name started with an L — assistant boatswain, Mister Daniel Lawrence — there was no one else. I let the facts slowly sink in. There was only one person on the ship who had those exact initials — Robert Lockhart — a.k.a. Mister Lockhart.

I took a small pair of tweezers and gently folded back the flap and then carefully loosened the tie. Holding up the dripping bag I looked inside and saw a dark brown sludge that looked a lot like coffee grounds, but smelled just like my Uncle Jerry. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. Tobacco — that was what was inside! My mind flashed back to when Captain Whittaker wrote in his journal about the cook's boy stealing a pinch of tobacco from Mister Lockhart's pouch and that later he had to whip him for it. I shook with excitement as I gently retied the pouch and returned it to the water. This was certain to be the kind of evidence Captain Hunter needed to prove that we'd found the
Intrepid
.

I decided to turn my attention to the other artifacts to see what they could tell me. But just as I was changing the water again I heard the sound of a motorboat getting closer and closer. I peered out the lab window but couldn't see anything. Then I heard strange voices followed by angry shouting. I ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the deck. By the time I got there, Dr. Sanchez was yelling at the top of his lungs at a man on the other boat who was holding out a microphone. Not far to his right was another guy filming them with a video camera. The letters on the side of the camera read CFTV.

“Oh great,” I groaned. I'm not sure if what I did next was a good idea, but I had to do something to try and help clean up this mess I'd created. “Ah, Mr. Turner,” I called out. “I'm Peggy Henderson. I talked to you the other day.” Brad Turner looked at me and grinned.

“You? You're Peggy Henderson?” Then the laughter disappeared and his voice took on an irritated edge. “Well, you're nothing but a kid. What kind of an operation is this? What about that treasure?” Dr. Sanchez started shouting again, this time in Spanish. That's when I walked over to him and put my hand over his mouth. I watched his eyes open to the size of golf balls and thought he might bite me. But it was a risk I needed to take.

“Please, Dr. Sanchez. Let me say something,” I pleaded. I then turned back to the reporter. “Look, Mr. Turner. There is no treasure. There never was. There never will be. I just said that because I was … well …” I could feel my face was on fire, “… a silly kid, who didn't know she was talking to a news reporter. But mister, you were the one who took the things I said and twisted them up. And while I'm on the subject, aren't you supposed to identify yourself before starting to ask questions? I mean isn't there some code of ethics you're supposed to go by? If I'd known you were a reporter I wouldn't have said anything. And you know why? Because this is an important scientific research trip to find a shipwreck that could have great historical significance to the people of Canada … heck, what am I saying … to the people of North America. By letting the public know about what we're doing before we're ready, you've put the
Intrepid
and all that she holds at risk. People who don't know any better may come here and start helping themselves to parts of the ship or take artifacts for souvenirs — and if they do they're taking something that belongs to us all — our history. Do you want to be responsible for that, Mr. Turner?” The cameraman lowered the camera.

“Hey, Brad. Do you want me to keep filming this?” Brad dropped the microphone and shook his head.

“Nah, it looks like this was a big waste of time and money, Charlie. If there's no treasure — there's no story. Nobody cares about history. C'mon, let's get out of here. Maybe there's still time to find another story for the evening news. Otherwise the boss is going to have my head.” While their boat turned around Dr. Sanchez couldn't resist the chance to tell them off one last time.

“You are a stupid TV guy. Just get out of this place and stop making problems.”

“Ah, Dr. Sanchez, I don't think they can hear you … maybe you should try yelling a little louder,” I snickered. I think he was about to turn on me, but he caught himself and I watched the anger drain from his face.

“Funny, funny,
leedle
girl.” Then he smiled at me for the first time since we'd met. Just as I was enjoying this new side to Dr. Sanchez the radio started to crackle. When we got to the helm we heard a barely audible woman's voice speaking in an urgent tone. Dr. Sanchez turned the dials to fine tune the signal, but we could still only make out parts of the message.

“… Guard. Storm … Northern Vancouver Island
…
small craft … I repeat, this is the Coast … Storm clouds moving in quickly … all small crafts should find shelter immediately.” Dr. Sanchez looked to the west where a wall of dark clouds moved towards us. I looked at my watch.

“When are the others supposed to resurface, Dr. Sanchez?”

“I think not for another half hour.” There was nothing we could do except wait. It was both eerie and amazing how quickly those clouds approached and the wind-whipped waves picked up. Minute by minute I watched as the swells grew larger. In the back of my mind I was starting to wonder how everyone was going to get back up onto the boat. I got a chill when I remembered that it was the very same day two hundred years ago that the
Intrepid
went down.

“Dr. Sanchez, do you think maybe we should call the Coast Guard?” Outside the wind was beginning to howl and my heart rate was rising fast. “My sailing teacher told me it's better to call sooner than later. If we wait until we're in deep trouble it might be too late to get help.”

“Okay, this is a good idea. I make the call and you batten down the hatches. We need to be ready to go as soon as the others surface.” I went around the entire boat closing and latching cupboards, windows, and doors. Then I put the loose items away and made sure everything else that might go flying was secured. That was when I remembered the artifacts soaking in water — as I ran towards the lab I was hoping that they hadn't already been thrown to the floor. When I got there I found all three of the trays had slid down to one end of the counter. They were sure to have slipped off if I hadn't been there. I looked around for some way to secure them. There was only one thing I could think to do. I opened the plastic garbage pail and emptied the waste into the sink. Then I picked out the plastic bag inside and filled it with clean water. As gently as possible I transferred each of the three artifacts into the water-filled bag and tied it tight. Then I set it back in the garbage pail and rammed it in the corner to keep it from sailing around the room.

After that I waited with my eyes peeled for the team to come to the surface. Getting them on board was going to be tough. It wasn't long when I heard Dr. Sanchez shouting: “They're here! Quick, they're here!” I ran to the stern where the ladder hung over the side — but it wasn't going to do them much good. I watched Amanda and the others being tossed roughly on the waves. I'm sure it was as clear to them as it was to me that if they didn't time their entry just right they could be sucked in under the boat or thrown hard against it.

“It's going to be too dangerous for them to come up the rope ladder, Peggy. And they are getting tired.”

“What about the Coast Guard?” I shouted back.

“They're not going to be here for a while yet. So we've got to do something.” As Dr. Sanchez prepared to toss the boat's life rings out to them my adrenaline-fogged mind searched for a better solution. That's when I saw the tarp that was covering the old fishing net and remembered that the
Sea Weed
was really a fishing boat. I looked up to the trawler cables and wondered …

“Dr. Sanchez, do you know how to operate the trawler winches?” He looked at me like I'd lost my marbles. “Look, if we rig up that net to one of those trawler arms we could lower it into the water. They'll be able to grab onto it at a safe distance from the boat and then we can haul them up on deck.”

“You're right,
leedle
Peggy girl. It's a good idea!” He slapped me on the back and almost sent me flying.

As the wind and waves whipped us around we dragged that old net over and hooked it to the cables. A few minutes later it was rising off the deck and being dropped over the side of the boat. I watched as everyone swam over to it and grabbed on. The trawling arm effortlessly lifted the team up out of the water and dropped them onto the deck like a load of fresh salmon. As I helped them get untangled Dr. Sanchez went to draw up the anchor. Soon after, the Coast Guard arrived and led us slowly to the safety of Tlatskwala inlet.

That night Chief Charles invited us to sleep in the Kwakwaka'wakw longhouse. When we entered I noticed the place smelled of fresh cedar and smoke. Later, as the wind and rain beat against the building we all huddled close to the fireplace where the flames flickered and crackled. The band members had kindly provided us with stew and biscuits for dinner. Later, while I sipped on some hot chocolate I studied the totem poles that sat at each end of the longhouse. I was hoping maybe later Chief Charles would come and tell us their stories.

“Peggy, you did some pretty quick thinking back there.” Captain Hunter sat down on the floor beside me.

“I'm just glad I could help, Captain.” For once I didn't mind that my face was as red as a beet.

“And Amanda told me what you did to protect the artifacts. That was ingenious.”

“Are they okay? I hope they didn't get damaged.”

“Actually, they're so well protected we decided to leave them that way until the storm lets up.” We sat quietly side by side for several minutes, mesmerized by the bright firelight.

“I'm really sorry for lying to you, Captain,” I said quietly. “I should have told you right away about the toilet and the news reporter. I guess I was afraid that I'd be a disappointment.” The captain leaned over and ruffled my hair.

“Well, you might be surprised, but I have an apology to make too. You see, Dr. Sanchez finally revealed that he was the one responsible for the leak to the media. He was talking to some friends, thinking they would understand the importance of keeping his news secret, but obviously they didn't. So when Brad Turner called he deliberately tried to sound like he was connected to our project. You couldn't have known what he was up to.”

And there you go — suddenly I was no longer dog poop stuck to someone's boot.

“I haven't read the last few pages of Captain Whittaker's journal. Do you think we could read them together now?” I asked.

“Great idea, young lady. Folks, gather round. We're going to have a bedtime story.”

I took out Captain Whittaker's journal from my bag and turned to the last few pages. It was weird being there in the Kwakwaka'wakw longhouse — not far from the captain's watery grave, reading by firelight his last tragic words — words written just a short while before the
Intrepid
sank and he was to die.

“June 25th, 1812,”
I began.
“In our hasty departure from Tlatskwala Island the Intrepid struck an outcrop of submerged rocks that tore open her hull. We are taking on water to the measure of two feet an hour and there is little time left for us.

“In this, my final entry as captain, I accept full responsibility for our present calamity….”

When I finished reading the page no one said a word. It was almost like there was an understanding that the occasion deserved a solemn minute of silence in honour of Captain Whittaker and all those who died that night.