Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  I stumbled up the stairs, glad to have my room back to hide out in. I flopped down on my bed, pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes. I tried my best not to think, but it was no use. Besides reliving the images of nearly drowning over and over I kept thinking about what Mom said. Going with Dr. Hunter to find a sunken ship was definitely an adventure … but was it supposed to be my adventure? I glanced over at the nightstand where I’d left Captain Whittaker’s journal. I wondered if I’d find my answers there. I picked it up and leafed through the pages of scratchy cursive words and finally settled down to read.

  November 21st, 1811

  We entered St. Catherine’s harbour this morning with our flag at half mast. We received a full gun salute from the fort and we returned in kind.

  When we landed I ordered the men to obtain a few essentials and then dismissed them for the rest of the day. They need time to come to grips with the passing of young Albert Smedley and I can think of no better way than to give them shore leave so they can unwind from the snarls of these recent drastic events.

  Herewith are the known details regarding Mr. Smedley’s death:

  On the evening of November 18th I was in my quarters. I heard an unusual amount of cheering and cavorting coming from the men. When I went to see what all the merriment was about I learned that poor Albert Smedley was competing against Mister Wilson in a race to the top of the main mast. The true test of a sailor is to climb the height of the tallest mast. Wilson is one of my most experienced crewmen, while Mister Smedley was one of my clerks and certainly had not fully developed the strength or skills for such a feat. Unfortunately they were already near the top, where Smedley was about to make the fatal mistake of securing himself to the pulley. It was then that a strong wind picked up and it became imperative that we trim the sails. I ordered the men to come down immediately, but by then the young Smedley was fully stuck with fear. Wilson was instructed to help him to disengage from the mast. As he struggled to follow orders the lad tumbled off, hit the foresail, and was flung into the sea. Alas, like most of my men Mister Smedley could not swim. We tried throwing him a rope, but it was futile for the waves engulfed him like a hungry dragon. I had such a menacing reaction to the poor boy’s flailing and calls for help that my men had to hold me back from flinging myself into the water to save him. No good would have come of it, for I, too, cannot swim and would have simply joined him at the bottom of the sea. Since that night not one of us has slept easy.

  I will report further on this tragic event when more details are learned.

  Captain James Whittaker

  Terrific, just what I needed to read after what I’d been through today. I threw the journal across the room. Just then Mom poked her head into my room.

  “Peggy, TB’s at the front door. He wants to talk to you.” I rolled my head and sighed deeply. I didn’t feel like talking or seeing anyone, much less TB. I’d been awful to him, but I didn’t have the energy to explain myself right now.

  “Tell him I’ve gone to bed.” It wasn’t a lie really.

  “I think he’s worried about you. Just come and say hello.” I groaned.

  “Mom, I just can’t face him right now. Just tell him I’ll call his cell phone.”

  “Hi TB,” I said weakly a few minutes later. “What’s up?”

  “Nothin’ much … just wanted to see how you’re doing. Are you still feeling sick? Hey, I’ll bet the Tornado’s leg will never be the same.” He chuckled and I had to smile too. “What I mostly wanted to say was I was sorry for calling your aunt. I never thought what —”

  “No, you don’t need to feel sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. Not only did I screw up our dive lesson, but I was pretty nasty when you were just trying to help. Friends?”

  “Absolutely. So how did your mom take it? I sure would hate it if this got in the way of you going to find the Intrepid.”

  “Ah, well about that … yah, it looks like that’s off.”

  “Really, your mom was that upset? Give her a couple of days and she’ll —”

  “TB, I gotta go. I’m still feeling kind of weak and want to go to bed. See you tomorrow, okay?” After I’d hung up I looked at the captain’s journal on the floor where I’d chucked it and shuddered. Since I was already bound to have nightmares I decided to find out what happened next.

  November 29th, 1811

  The past several days were much occupied with the task of taking on fresh supplies and this kept us all from dwelling on the recent tragedy. Now that we are back at sea and nearing Cape Horn I am grateful the weather is on our side.

  I have inquired with a few more of the men about what they know of the day of Mister Smedley’s death. I am beginning to see the common thread that ties each of their stories together. It is clear from the start of this voyage there have been an inordinate number of disputes amongst the crew. Though they were mainly petty things, I already had an inkling that most of them originated in some way with Mister Lockhart. Now that I have heard from Mister Carver I am sure of it.

  As mentioned, poor Smedley and Lockhart appeared to be friends, though it seems Mister Lockhart believed the boy to be weak and in need of muster. I learned that some of the men resented this friendship and taunted Smedley. The lad never complained to me about the matter, yet somehow I should have known. I am guilty of not seeing his agony and offering him guidance. The day of the drowning, Mister Lockhart offered up the boy as amusement for the men by betting that Smedley could best Mister Wilson in a mast race. As sometimes occurs when the work is done and the men idle, they enjoy some competition. They like to flex their strength in some test of skill. I do not usually interfere as it has always been done in good nature and with no harmful intent. The entire crew bet Wilson to win … I do not believe it was because they disliked the boy so intensely. They saw it as their opportunity to win back their wages lost to Lockhart while gambling. They knew with certainty that Mister Smedley was no match for the more experienced Mister Wilson. I cannot imagine what Lockhart was thinking, except perhaps he was trying to improve his standing with the crew, and young Smedley, who had become so eager to please the gentleman, allowed himself to be used in this way.

  I find Mister Lockhart’s lack of compassion despicable and I still cannot speak civilly to the man. The last time we dined together I nearly hurled my prized porcelain china at him. That would have been a tragedy for it is part of a set presented to me by the Emperor on my last voyage to the Orient. For the time being I prefer to take my supper in my private quarters. This is better for me — and for the chinaware.

  I have ordered Mister Carver to keep a closer eye on Mister Lockhart and report back to me twice daily his interactions with the crew. He may be part owner along with my respected master, Mister Astor, but I am still captain of this vessel. Should the need arise I will be forced to confine him to his quarters until some arrangement can be made. In the meantime I have forbidden the men to play cards or gamble in any manner.

  Captain James Whittaker

  The next morning sunlight poured through my window. After the fogginess in my head cleared, the previous day’s catastrophe crept back into my mind like a nasty little spider. I knew Mom was downstairs waiting to know what I’d decided to do about the scuba diving. If I told her what I was thinking she’d feel like I let her down — worse, that I’d wasted her hard earned money — and she’d be right. Instead of facing her I whipped on some clothes, grabbed my school bag, and snuck out the front door before she even knew I was awake.

  When I was halfway to school the most annoying thing happened. Aunt Beatrix’s words stomped around in my head: “… it’s your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life … be honest, temperate, polite, clean, and face up to your problems with courage … take care in even the small things and you’ll find when the going gets tough you’ll be able to stay the course.”

  For the rest of the day I tried to push my great aunt and her advice out of my mind, but it was stuck
in there like old gum on the bottom of my shoe. The other annoying thing was TB plastering me with questions. “When you nearly drowned did you see a white light, Peggy? How about angels and a pearly gate?”

  “Can’t talk right now, TB. Gotta get home,” I told him as I dashed away on my bike after the dismissal bell. “Catch you later.”

  Instead of going home though, I rode down to Blackie’s Spit and found myself a log to sit on. As the waves lapped rhythmically onto the beach I sat and formulated my reasons for dropping out of scuba diving. When I had my speech worked out I rode my bike home. The closer I got the more I realized that my excuses were lame and Aunt Beatrix would see through them in a moment. I also knew that she’d remind me of the sacrifice Mom made so I could take the lessons. Then Mom would point out how disappointed Eddy and Dr. Hunter would be. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a niggling little question in my mind about what Captain Whittaker would think I should do.

  When I got in the house I tried to sneak up to my room, but Aunt Beatrix’s hearing was sharper than I thought.

  “So there you are. I hope you’re finally over yesterday’s little mistake and ready to have another go at this diving business.”

  “A little mistake — I nearly drowned! It was a good thing I was in the pool when it happened. If I’d been in open water you could actually be talking to a ghost right now.” Aunt Beatrix started to tsk at me. I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

  “Oh pishposh! You’re Peggy Henderson, of the stock of Reynolds … and Reynoldses are not quitters.”

  I sighed and flopped down on the sofa. That’s when I knew there was no point in trying to refuse — that’s because I’d never get a moment’s worth of peace if I didn’t give it one more try.

  “All right — I’ll try again. But be warned … if I drown this time, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

  That night just before I went to sleep, Mom came and sat on the side of my bed. “I’m really glad you decided to stick with it, Peggy. I’m proud of you.” She kissed the top of my head. While she might have been proud, I felt like I was being forced to dive into a pool of sharks. “Hey, by the way — they announced on the news tonight that ‘some underwater archaeologists’ were off to find the long lost Intrepid.” I sat up straight. “They said it would be the biggest discovery of its kind and likely mean big bucks for the researchers too. I could only think how exciting it was that my daughter was going to be one of those people to find it.”

  What? How did the media find out? Dr. Hunter said if this got out to the media prematurely treasure hunters would get in there and alter the site — it could ruin everything. I just hoped he didn’t think it was me who blabbed the news. I shrank back down in my bed and spent the next several hours in and out of sleep.

  Friday afternoon came too soon. Even though I knew the scuba diving manual inside and out, I wasn’t a bit sure of how I’d do in open water. When Mom talked to Tornado on the phone he called it a minor glitch. He said: “Could happen to any beginner. Tell that Patty Cake she’s a natural at this stuff and to just get back up on her donkey and ride.”

  Mom smiled. “Does he talk like that all the time?”

  “Like that or worse!” He might call my near-drowning a minor glitch, but he wasn’t the one who was panicking at the bottom of the pool. Just then I realized something — if I failed my PADI test it would all be over. I wouldn’t have to listen to Aunt Beatrix or Mom telling me to get back out there. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about letting Eddy or Dr. Hunter down either. Failing would be my way out.

  TB came by the house and we walked together to meet Tornado and the class at the pier near Blackie’s Spit.

  “I’m glad you made it, Peggy. Today’s going to be so awesome — an actual dive in open water. Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we found an old sunken ship filled with long lost treasure?” I punched his arm.

  “If there was a sunken ship out there don’t you think the thousand or so other people who’ve been diving and snorkeling around Blackie’s Spit all these years might have seen it by now?”

  “As I see it, anything’s possible. If a dipstick kid like you gets a chance to go looking for some long lost ship off the coast of B.C. with a bunch of scientists, then it’s possible I’ll find treasure today.” He shot me back a punch in the arm and sped off towards the pier before I could catch him.

  “So you’re back,” Tornado said when I arrived at the pier out of breath. “I didn’t really think you’d be here today.” That was annoying — I hated that he assumed I’d be a coward.

  “Yup, I’m here … ready to get back up on my high horse.” I thought he’d appreciate the old metaphor.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, kid? ’Cause we’re all here for diving lessons, not horseback riding. Maybe you should get checked out.” Some of the other kids giggled. “Just pulling your arm, Pegsy. I know that saying too … kind of like: ‘If at first you don’t succeed try, try again.’ Right?” Imagine that — he finally got one right.

  “Okay kiddos, today is the day you’ve all been waiting for,” Tornado announced when everyone finally arrived. Not exactly true in my case. “After we get suited up we’re all going to go through an equipment check. Then we’ll review emergency procedures — Patty girl here is going to take us through that part …” My face felt like it was going to melt right off my skull. “So let’s get started.”

  When everyone was ready I reviewed all the procedures from the manual. Then Tornado gave everyone further safety instructions. Just as TB and I were about to walk with everyone else down to the end of the pier Tornado stopped us.

  “Hold on, you two. Now I know TB here is breathless over the thought of being your partner …” He chuckled at his lame joke, while I willed my cheeks from turning crimson red. “… But for your first open water dive I’ll be going down with you both. Just want to make sure there’s no more of that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation business …” Gross — my sentiments exactly. I felt like a dolt that Tornado had to accompany us. But the sooner he could see that I was no good at diving — the sooner the test would be over.

  After we got in the water Tornado said: “Okay, kiddo, we’re going to try the buddy breathing again and we’re going to keep doing it until you either swallow a fish tank of seawater or get it right.” Could he be more insulting?

  “I’ll give it another try. I just hope I don’t choke up with fear.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back,” TB said. Tornado nodded.

  As we bounced around on the waves I could feel my heart pounding inside me. A part of me wanted to be the coward Tornado expected me to be, but there was another part of me who was trying to recall all the things Mom and Aunt Beatrix had said to give me courage.

  “Just remember to breathe calmly as we descend. And remember this is going to be fun!” TB said.

  “That’s right!” Tornado smacked my back and I caught a mouthful of salt water. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Even though it went against every instinct in my body I put my head under water and took my first tentative breaths through the regulator. Then I could hear it — scush-shhhh, scush-shhh, scush-shhh — it was the sound of my breathing under water. I looked over at Tornado, who was giving me the okay sign. I returned the signal. Then he gave me the signal it was time to descend. My heartbeat went into hyper speed, but I knew better than to hold my breath. Easy, steady breaths, I told myself over and over again. And down we went….

  December 25th, 1811

  It was a pleasant Christmas Day for the men. The general merriment included carol singing, rum cake, and for dinner a fine cooked turkey — we had been nursing the tasty fellow along since St. Catherine’s for this very purpose. Afterwards the men partook in games of various sorts and more carol singing.

  The air is getting warmer as we near the Sandwich Islands. According to my first mate, rations are getting low, so we will wood and water there and may stay on for some time. I know the men look forw
ard to it and it will be a welcome respite for us all.

  I am pleased to report that Mister Lockhart has been contrite of late and we have begun to take our supper together once again. Now that we know we will soon arrive at the Sandwich Islands our conversation is mostly about what to expect when we get there. No doubt the gentleman will want to exchange wares once we arrive so I am preparing him by sharing my experiences dealing with the aboriginal peoples of Hawai’i, particularly their customs. I daresay Mister Lockhart may be very knowledgeable in his dealings with the typical New York businessman. However, it is a completely different matter when one is standing as a stranger on the shore of a new people. Decorum and humility is of paramount necessity in such cases.

  With the new year about to begin my hopes are high that things have finally settled and smooth sailing lies ahead with Mister Lockhart.

  Captain James Whittaker

  Chapter Six

  “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.