Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  “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

  Chapter Seven

  While I was aboard the Sea Weed I felt fine, but the moment I stepped onto the dock my legs turned to rubber. As we walked up the gangway to meet Chief Charles I was worried they might collapse under me.

  “Hello, Dr. Hunter and friends. Welcome,” greeted the chief. As Captain Hunter introduced the team I took a moment to glance around. The village had a dozen small buildings, a longhouse, and some totems — many lying on their sides. For a moment it felt like we’d stepped back in time. I glanced out to where the Sea Weed was docked and wondered how far we were to the sunken Intrepid. I got goose bumps imagining it was two hundred years earlier and I was a Kwakwaka’wakw seeing the Intrepid the day it sailed into the inlet.

  “Yes, we’d very much enjoy having a look around,” Captain Hunter answered in response to the chief’s invitation. We followed Chief Charles along a narrow pathway that led to the east side of the island. We stopped in front of what looked like an excavation site.

  “You can see by these visible rows of rectangular house depressions that this was once a large and thriving community. Years ago some other archaeologists came to excavate them and found a variety of things in different locations.” We walked a little farther until we came to some grassy mounds with portions of exposed soil. “And here you can see one of the m
any shell middens — the rich black soil is full of cultural material, like whale bones. This was the place where my ancestors processed their food. The archaeologists studied the toolmarks on the whale bones to learn exactly how they were butchered.” I bent over and fingered a number of dried bone fragments littered throughout the midden. I’d learned about shell middens during the excavation at Crescent Beach, which contained such things as crushed horse and littleneck clam, tiny fish vertebra, deer bone, and sometimes even human remains. No one knows for sure why the Coast Salish buried their dead in the middens — maybe to keep them away from wild animals. As I was thinking, my eye caught sight of a small blue object. I leaned in closer to check it out and suddenly my heart leapt.

  “Captain, look!” I pointed until both the chief and the captain glanced down at the little gem at the end of my finger.

  “Good eye, young lady … you’ve spotted a trade bead. Over the years we’ve found hundreds — if not thousands — around our village. I’ll show you later.” Chief Charles then led us to a little white house that overlooked the ocean — a view Mom would say was worth millions. As we all crowded into the tiny kitchen, I noticed a little white-haired lady standing at the stove, frying something on an old black skillet. Whatever she was cooking, it filled the room with a smell that was both sweet and oily.

  “This is my mother, Passulip. She doesn’t speak English too much. But she made you all some bannock — please sit and try her food.” Once we were seated I took a piece of the warm flat bun and waited to see what the chief was going to do with it. “Come,” he urged. “I’m sure you’ll like it if you dip it in some cinnamon and sugar.” I followed his lead.

  “Mmmm, this is delicious,” I mumbled between bites. “Almost like a donut.” When Passulip smiled at me her eyes crinkled with laugh lines and her full brown cheeks caused me to smile too.

  “Bannock is our traditional food — just not the cinnamon and sugar,” said the chief. “But the young ones — they like it like this.” While we ate, the woman poured dark tea into cups and added canned milk and honey. By the time we’d finished I was feeling warm and full.

  As the adults talked I glanced around the kitchen. There was a stone bowl on the windowsill much like the kinds I’d seen at the museum. And wooden carvings and bone objects sat unceremoniously on top of the fridge, while on the wall hung a carved whale bone. Then something completely different caught my eye.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a round brass object that looked a bit like a compass. Passulip followed my eye to the object and then spoke to her son in her native language.

  “Mother and I agree that you have a sharp eye. That came from the ship that you seek. It was given to our people by one of the European sailors two hundred years ago.”

  “May I look closer?” asked Captain Hunter. The chief passed the metal thing to the captain. “Fascinating … this is a very old sextant … the kind of navigational device commonly used by sailors during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.”

  “It was given in thanks to the chief who spared the lives of the survivors.”

  “Obviously with no ship they had no use for it — so it did make a very good thank-you gift. Does your mother have stories passed down to share about the sailors that visited here so long ago?” asked Captain Hunter.

  The chief translated his mother’s words in a slow and soothing voice. “The day the white men arrived was a day to remember,” he said. “As the story goes their great canoe arrived in our cove under three small white clouds.”

  “Small white clouds? Do you mean sails?” I asked eagerly. Chief Charles smiled and nodded.

  “Yes, young lady. But I prefer using the imagery of the old ones.”

  “Oh, right.” My cheeks burned bright and after that I held my tongue as the chief continued telling his story.

  “The elders said these men were a sight to behold — they were dirty, much too hairy, and smelled like rotting fish.” A ripple of laughter spread throughout the kitchen. “Among them was two of our kind and they talked in a language the people could understand. They said the white men wanted the furs of the otter. Our people were cautious, but they were also eager to make a trade for they were fully aware of the great treasures these men possessed. The traders made a bargain and did not keep it. This was a great insult to our chief and people. Some of the warriors snuck up on the ship that night to take what they were promised, but a battle broke out and many were wounded. Several of the warriors died and this caused the spirit of the sea to become angry and a great wind began to blow — it was so strong our people could hardly paddle back to the land. In the morning the ship was gone and the people thought the winds had taken it away. But soon things like wooden boxes, rope, and bales of otter fur started to wash up on our shores. Then my people found the camp of the white men and learned that their ship had sunk after striking the hidden rocks out by the point — the ones that stretch towards the sky like fingers from the sea. Over time many have tried to find the sunken ship but failed. Then about twenty years ago, some white people came to search too, but it was never found — that is until the day I called the salvage diver to come and untangle my fishing net and he found the anchor.”

  “Oh, you were the fisherman!” I said, surprised. “Do you know what happened to the crewmen who survived the sinking of the Intrepid?”

  “Yes, Chief Noomki left the white men to camp not far from the village. The two Indian boys aboard the ship spoke on their behalf and the people took pity on them. The one called Loki stayed in our village long after the white men sailed away with a different ship. He married the chief’s daughter — my great great grandmother.” Chief Charles opened a small cabinet and removed a glass mason jar and gave it to Captain Hunter to look at. “Do you remember — I told you many small things have washed ashore or been found, like these glass beads.”

  “Aha,” said Captain Hunter excitedly. I noticed the others sat up too. “These are definitely trade beads from China. They appear to be a type known as Fort Vancouver and were probably for necklaces. They’re a single colour and would have been cut from a glass tube with six sides … when it was new the facets would have sparkled.” He opened the jar and poured some out. “You can tell they’re hand polished because there are slight variations in size and shape.” I picked up a few and rolled the little pearl-like beads around in my hand.

  “During the fur trade they would have been strung together and sold by the fathom.”

  “A fathom?” I asked.

  “Yes, a string nearly two metres long.” After the captain closed up the jar the chief passed him a shoe box. When he lifted off the lid, lying in a bed of cotton were several pieces of broken china. I noticed how each was decorated with blue lines and figures.

  “That’s a cobalt blue glaze, right? It was supposedly first used a thousand years ago,” I announced. Wow! That’s cool … I actually remembered some of the boring stuff Aunt Beatrix told me. The captain seemed impressed.

  “Good observation, Peggy. Maybe I should pair you with Scott, our pottery and ceramics expert.” I wasn’t sure if I was so keen about the idea of being stuck looking at broken teacups … it sure wasn’t any fun back at home. Nope, bones were my thing.

  “Thank you for your hospitality today, Chief Charles. Now if I may, I ask for your permission to explore the traditional waters of the Kwakwaka’wakw to find the sunken Intrepid.”

  “You have our permission to search our traditional waters, Dr. Hunter,” Chief Charles replied.

  When we left the chief’s house I paused for a moment. It was a magical moment there on the shore, looking out towards the sea. I thought of the people who once stood in the same place looking out to the same ocean, and how the waves that washed up on the shore now had done so two hundred years ago and two thousand years before that.

  “Captain, when you find it how will you know that the ship is the Intrepid?” I asked as we boarded the Sea Weed.

  “That’s a good ques
tion. We know the Intrepid had three sails — something the chief’s story just confirmed.” That’s right, I recalled — three small white clouds. “Some other things we’ll be looking for are a box-like hull and six cannons. Most early trading ships had at least ten guns.”

  Captain Hunter steered the Sea Weed away from the shore and towards the coordinates he was given to find the anchor. With a good feeling about what we would find I sat on the deck with Captain Whittaker’s journal. Now that we were at Tlatskwala Island I wanted to catch up to the part in the journal when the Intrepid arrived too.

  May 13th, 1812

  At last success is upon the Intrepid and her crew. We have traded along the coast of New Caledonia and thus far acquired over eight hundred pelts of the finest grade. My crew — once agitated and dangerously close to mutiny — are content and put in fourteen to sixteen hours’ work a day.

  It is a relief to see even Mister Lockhart is now usefully occupied in trading with the local people. There were some near disasters, but it appears he is acquiring the skills of a trader. While he is still aggressive in his approach there are fewer dangerous indiscretions, and he rarely disturbs the congenial interactions of the crew or the friendly nature of the aboriginals.

  Intrepid’s box-like hull and narrow stern enable us to maximize our profits by carrying the largest cargo with the smallest crew necessary. But our ship’s hold is nearly full now and should we acquire many more pelts we may have to start storing them on the deck. We are equipped with three masts, which increases the ship’s agility and speed significantly and will thereby shorten our journey across the Pacific Ocean to the Orient. The one serious shortcoming this grand ship has is that we are but lightly armed with only six guns — meaning we are not ideally suited for conflict in the unlikely event that one should arise.