Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  “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 th
at 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.