Bone Deep (14 page)

“We're so close to the end now, why don't you read the last couple of pages to us, Peggy?” asked Amanda.

“Okay,” I said, and then I continued reading.

June 29th, 1812

As instructed by Captain Whittaker I will do my best to make good on his final orders and see that this journal reaches New York City and the owner of the American Fur Company, Mister John Jacob Astor. The crew made it safely to shore after Captain Whittaker ordered us to abandon ship. For now, the Kwakwaka'wakw have allowed us to camp here on their island unharmed. Credit for our safety goes to Loki and Peter, who pleaded on our behalf. Were it not for them I am certain I would not be writing this entry today. We are not sure how long their goodwill can last, but they have a great interest in Mister Hughes, our blacksmith. He is teaching some of them to forge fish hooks and other such metal objects. In addition, Chief Noomki's daughter has shown interest in Loki and I think he fancies the young lady, too. We shall see what comes of the romance, but it is a most delicate situation to be sure.

The dispute with the Kwakwaka'wakw arose a few days ago after Mister Lockhart promised to sell weapons and ammunition to the chief. Captain Whittaker vehemently rejected the arrangement when he learned of it. His refusal to allow the sale of arms to the Kwakwaka'wakw led to misunderstandings and stirred up wrath amongst the chief and his men who believed Captain Whittaker and Mister Lockhart were breaking the arrangement only to press for more otter pelts. As First Mate, I am certain this was never Captain Whittaker's intent, but the die was cast and there was no starting afresh.

It would be remiss to not comment on Captain Whittaker's honourable conduct in the hour prior to the
Intrepid
's sinking. As he stated, we were boarded by the aboriginals unexpectedly while most of the crew were below deck asleep. The captain himself was awake in his quarters having felt uneasy over the anger expressed by Chief Noomki and the Kwakwaka'wakw. It was his plan that we leave at first sight of dawn and he was charting our course when the attack broke out.

By the time the crew realized what was happening, it was too late for poor Mister Thomas, who captain had put on watch. What Mister Robert Lockhart was doing on deck at that time is a mystery to us all. With great effort we managed to regain control of the ship and sent a strong message by firing our cannons at them. The captain feared there might be a second attack at dawn and ordered the men to draw up the anchor and prepare to set sail. Unfortunately luck was not on our side and as soon as our anchor was on board a great wind picked up and we were faced with fierce swells that tossed us about. It was in such a storm that we began our departure from the sheltered bay of Tlatskwala Island. The captain set our course so as to go well around the rocks we knew were nigh below the water's surface. But the blinding storm and the black night proved to be a worse foe than the Kwakwaka'wakw.

At the moment we struck the rocks the force was so great that the main mast snapped in two, the men and cargo were tossed in the air and even the anchor was hurled over the side like it was a mere toy. The captain quickly assessed the damage and could see the ship was lost to us. He ordered the men to evacuate and soon the
Intrepid
's lifeboats were precariously overfull. Even though the men begged him, the captain vehemently refused to abandon the
Intrepid
, stating it was his duty to go down with her. He then ordered we cast off without him and wished us well.

As the ship slipped out of sight the captain stood on the quarterdeck and raised a cup to us all, as though he were toasting us. It was both a noble and peculiar sight. “Carry on lads,” he shouted. “Live on and make me proud.” Every man who was there saluted, and even the boldest shed a tear.

Losing the
Intrepid
and her worldly goods was a tragedy to be sure, but a far worse thing is having lost Captain James Whittaker.
He lived his life with honesty, diligence, and courage; and when faced with peril and death he was brave enough to stay the course with dignity right to the end. I pray that I should be such a captain one day.

Mister John Carver, First Mate of the
Intrepid

“That's so sad,” Amanda said in a soft voice. My thoughts exactly as I closed the journal.

“Wait, Peggy, there's one last thing you should read,” said Captain Hunter. “I stuck something in that'll interest you.”

I flipped to the back of the journal and found a yellowed piece of paper. It was a very old clipping from a newspaper called
The Shipwreck Times
. The headline read: “American Fur Trading Company Loses Ship and Crew.” It was dated November 1, 1814 — a year and a half after Mister Carver's final entry.

The Shipwreck Times is saddened to report that Mister John Astor has lost another of his trading ships in a dispute with the savages of the Northwest. The
Intrepid
, a fine three-mast barkentine went down on its journey to China. Lost to the world were business partner and gentleman, Mister Robert Lockhart and the distinguished career captain, James Whittaker. All but two of the sixteen crewmen made it back to New York after surviving more than a year amongst the heathen responsible for the tragedy.

Mister Lockhart was murdered while alerting the crew who were fast asleep in their beds. He died a hero. According to
Intrepid
's First Mate, Mister John Carver, the captain judged it safer to move the ship out to sea in the dark than to stay put until morning. It proved to be the worst possible decision for ship and crew when shortly thereafter a storm arose, forcing them onto the rocks. When it became painfully obvious that the ship and precious cargo was sinking, Captain Whittaker ordered his crew to abandon ship. He himself refused to leave the
Intrepid
and is now lost to us forever. The surviving men were left to fend for themselves until the arrival of the
Voyager
a year later. Though they arrived home quite altered they are nonetheless healthy and most certainly grateful to be alive.

“Ironic, isn't it. Even two hundred years ago there were reporters who got the facts wrong,” I observed aloud. Everyone laughed. Then I remembered something.

“Hey, Scott — do you know what a
nian hao
mark is?”

“Sure do … centuries ago Chinese artisans put their symbols on all pottery or porcelain to show that it was made at the Imperial factory. There were only a small number of highly specialized painters who would have worked for the Chinese emperor. Their styles were so distinct and familiar that we can sometimes identify the artist. Why do you ask?”

“I saw a
nian hao
.”

“You did? Where?” he asked, with his brows furrowed.

“Oh, just on the back of that little salt dish that Amanda had me cleaning,” I said nonchalantly. I watched his eyes grow big. Then he grinned.

“And how do you know about the Imperial marks?”

“Well, it's a long story that started with my Aunt Margaret's broken china teapot. Let's just say it's one of many mind-numbing facts I miraculously picked up along the way.” Everyone laughed.

“Maybe this
leedle
girl is going to be a pottery expert!” said Dr. Sanchez.

“Si, señor. But I don't want to narrow my options — I might want to take up the study of
sheep
worm one day!”

“Don't you mean ship worm?” Amanda said.

“That is what she said —
sheep
worm!” Dr. Sanchez winked at me.

When I got home I knew I had some changes to make. I'd learned a lot about responsibility and honesty. And I knew that talk was cheap, so if people were going to take me seriously I was going to have to prove to them that I'd learned my lesson. While I made baby steps towards the new me, an article came out in
The Sun
announcing the discovery of the
Intrepid
. It had a photograph of the team — including me. Aunt Margaret was so proud she cut it out to save. Then Mom came home after work with ten more copies.

Captain Hunter — or rather, now that we were land lubbers again, Dr. Hunter — emailed me some photos he took with the underwater camera when we were on our research trip. The best one was of the day I discovered Captain Whittaker's remains. His email read: “We've already received a lot of interest from the B.C. Underwater Archaeology Society and from several organizations across the country. I think we'll be able to get funding for a full-scale excavation of the
Intrepid
within a couple of months. We should also be able to get a remote sensor to help us locate artifacts easier and some new high-tech sonar equipment too. I know you'll be back to school by then, but there's a place for you on the boat if you can arrange to come with us. If you can't, don't worry — this excavation is going to take years.” Those words made my heart flutter.

After a day at the beach with TB, I came home and stood looking up to the top of Aunt Margaret's china cabinet where her broken porcelain teapot sat. The glue I'd used had hardened onto the glaze and turned yellow. If I carefully cleaned the surface at least it would look better — even if it would never hold tea again. As gently as I could I brought it down and began to remove the stained glue. That's when Aunt Margaret entered the kitchen. When she saw me holding her precious teapot she looked like she was going to lay an egg.

“What are you doing, Peggy?” she hissed like a wary goose.

“Calm down, Aunt Margaret, I just want to make it look better.”

“Don't! Don't try to clean it, or fix it, or anything. Just put it down, please.” The look of distress on her face was comical, but I knew better than to laugh. When I put the teapot on the table she exhaled loudly.

“Aunt Margaret, I know a lot more about this old stuff than you think. I'll be careful.”

“Old stuff?”

“You know what I mean. Just trust me, please.”

“Yes, dear … trust her.” I turned to see Aunt Beatrix standing in the doorway.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aunt Bea.” Aunt Margaret frowned — what could she say when even Aunt Beatrix was on my side?

“What was in the large brown envelope that arrived yesterday, dear?” asked Aunt Bea.

“It's my membership papers to the Nautical Archaeology Society. Dr. Hunter recommended me for membership.” If I were a light bulb I would have been beaming.

“Well — you see, when you take care of the small things, when you are conscientious, honest, temperate, and polite things go much better.”

“That's right, Aunt Bea, it's a person's moment-by-moment conduct that determines the success of her life.” My great aunt smiled and nodded her double chins at me. Then she used her nose to point to the closet.

“Oh, right! Aunt Margaret, I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? I hope it's a nice surprise.” She watched me suspiciously while I went to the closet and pulled out a small box.

“Here … I hope you like it,” I said as I handed it to her. “It's something Aunt Bea helped me pick out at the Thrift Store — paid for it with my own money too.”

“It's not something that's going to jump out at me, is it?”

“No gag, Aunt Margaret. Honest. Go ahead — but be careful, it's fragile.” She still looked at me suspiciously, but tenderly removed the object from the box and unwrapped the miles of old newspaper.

“A teapot! It's lovely, Peggy,” she beamed. “Thank you.” She set it on the kitchen table next to her good one and turned it about to admire the details.

“I'm glad you like it. I know it will never be the same, but at least now you'll have something nice to serve tea in when Aunt Beatrix comes for visits. Right, Aunt Bea?”

“Quite right, dear.” Aunt Bea looked at her watch. “Now about that trip to Heron Park you promised me … we haven't got all day you know.” I could tell Aunt Margaret was watching to see what I would do. I knew she expected me to make an excuse to get out of it.

“Sure, Aunt Bea, I'm ready if you are.” I smiled.

“Well, clearly my child you are not ready …” complained Aunt Bea. Aunt Margaret smirked happily at me.

“What?” I asked. She pointed to my tangled hair and hockey jersey with disgust.

“Okay,” I said lightly. “It's too bad though — by the time I've changed my shirt and brushed my hair we won't have time to visit Mr. Grimbal — his store closes shortly.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, in that case chop chop — let's go.” Aunt Beatrix quickly pulled on her coat and shoved me towards the door. Aunt Margaret opened her mouth to speak but Aunt Beatrix cut her off. “Sorry Margaret, dear … can't talk now.” As I turned back, Aunt Margaret was clutching her new teapot and shaking her head.

“Peggy, you'll never cease to surprise me!” Then she threw back her head and laughed … well, it was more like a snort, but nobody noticed except me.

There were two Pacific fur trading ships that inspired this story. The first was the
Boston
and was commanded by Captain John Salter. He was the kind of man that I modelled Captain Whittaker after. The
Boston
arrived in the Nootka Sound, on Vancouver Island, B.C. in 1803. During trading negotiations there was a dispute between the captain and Chief Maquinna and each man was deeply offended by the other. In retaliation, the Nuu-chah-nulth warriors attacked the crew and sank the ship. There were only two survivors: the blacksmith and the sailmaker. The blacksmith, John Jewitt, survived because Chief Maquinna wanted him to teach his people about blacksmithing. The sailmaker survived because Jewitt said the man was his father — which he was not. The two were held captive by Maquinna for several years. Eventually they were released and Jewitt wrote a book about his experience called
The Adventures and Sufferings of John R. Jewitt.
It's a fascinating book that contains a great deal of ethnographic (cultural) material.

The second ship that was of interest to me in the writing of this book was the
Tonquin
. Unlike Captain Salter, Lieutenant Thorn was a short tempered and ill-mannered American naval officer. Throughout the voyage he showed that he was not a man to be trifled with. On more than one occasion he abandoned crew who did not make their way back to the ship on time. He nearly let his men freeze to death during the voyage north in the cold months; he allowed several to drown in a poorly executed plan to find the passage up the uncharted Columbia River; and he frequently threatened to kill anyone on board who crossed him. In the end it was his disdain and insulting behaviour towards one of the Nuu-chah-nulth chiefs of Clayoquot Sound (on the west coast of Vancouver Island, B.C.) that brought retaliation. After the Nuu-chah-nulth warriors killed the captain and most of the crew, they returned to the ship the next day to claim their prize. But there was a single fatally injured crewman left on board and on June 14, 1811, when he saw the enemy coming, he lit the 9000 pounds of gunpowder aboard and blew up the ship and nearly two hundred warriors. The only survivor of the crew was a half Chinook interpreter. He remained with the Nuu-chah-nulth for a couple of years and then escaped to the south.

Both ships were owned by John Jacob Astor, one of the richest men in the world of that time. When the War of 1812 broke out the British navy frequently captured American trading ships. To avoid losing his ships during the war Astor decided to sell the American Fur Company to British interests in 1813. By this time the sea otter fur trade was beginning to decline, along with the number of otters. To this day the animal is still on the endangered animal list.