Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  “Oh, I know, it can be pretty awful sometimes. Well, if it’s something important they’ll try again.” He turned and headed off to the equipment room. Hmmm … that was easy, I thought. And he had even jumped to that conclusion all by himself — now that can’t be my fault. So then why did I hear Aunt Beatrix’s words hounding me like a ghost: Face up to your problems with courage and remain honest and true. If nothing else, remember it’s your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life. What a pain having Aunt Beatrix for a conscience!

  Chapter Eight

  Glancing up towards the ocean surface I saw a beautiful blanket of emerald green light. It was bright enough to illuminate all the little particles floating around me, but not enough to light the dark ocean floor below. For that we needed waterproof flashlights. As the rays from the flashlights lit the sandy surface I saw the anchor for the first time and was surprised at how small it was — I was expecting something at least as big as a Volkswagen. Then I noticed the circular grid the team started that morning. It looked like a giant spider web with the anchor caught in the middle. Not far was a reef loaded with marine life, including patches of violet coral, blue-clawed crabs, and plumose anemones.

  Before our dive Amanda warned me to not interfere with any of the sea life — especially the anemones. She also made me review hand signals and the four points a diver must always keep in mind — depth, air, time, and area. I half expected she’d pull a Tornado and make me write DATA on my hand, but she didn’t. But that’s when I learned that the fun and carefree Amanda was all business when it came to diving.

  “Don’t feel bad, Peggy. I do this with all my dive partners. You don’t want to be fifty feet under water and be confused over the safety details or what your partner’s trying to communicate to you.”

  With everyone now all paired off, Captain Hunter gave us the signal to fan out from the anchor and do a visual search of the area. As each team swam away in different directions I hoped Amanda and I would be the ones to find the ship first — not that it was a race, but it would probably annoy Dr. Sanchez. We knew that the ship couldn’t be too far but visibility was poor that afternoon and we couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead … which was why I practically hung on to Amanda’s flippers. There was no way I wanted to get lost down there!

  As we swam slowly along Amanda stopped frequently to jot notes on her waterproof permatrace paper. At first I didn’t see anything too noteworthy, but then I realized that what appeared at first to be only small mounds covered in sea plants could very well be man-made objects — otherwise why would Amanda plot them on her grid? I had the urge to brush away the silt and sea weeds to see if they really were artifacts, but I knew better than to disturb the site. Eddy always told me that artifacts in situ could tell an archaeologist a lot. I was pretty sure that rule applied to underwater archaeology too.

  Before swimming away from each artifact Amanda signaled for me to me push in the small markers with orange ribbon tied to them. Later, when the team came back to do a full-scale excavation those little markers would help her to locate the artifacts again. When I shoved in that first marker I felt like Neil Armstrong planting the American flag on the moon.

  We came to a place that looked like an underwater secret garden with five stone steeples, each decorated with a kelp fringe and coral growing in between. The huge stones looked like church spires reaching up towards the ocean’s surface. As we stared up at them Amanda turned to me — but before she could give me a sign I knew what she was thinking. I took her permatrace pad and pencil and wrote in block letters: THE HIDDEN ROCKS THAT SANK INTREPID. She nodded and I could see inside her mask that her eyes were wide with excitement. She gave me the thumbs-up sign and then jotted the coordinates on her waterproof pad. We were swimming around the outside of the rock pinnacles when I looked down at my watch and then my gauge — we only had ten minutes left before we would have to surface. Amanda noticed too.

  We were about to turn around and swim back towards the anchor when I noticed an unusual shape a short way from the pinnacles. I signed to Amanda that I wanted to check it out. I thought she might say no, but then she noticed it too. We swam over to look closer at the cross-like feature that was as thick and long as a telephone pole. Like everything else we’d seen, it was covered in fine silt, and plants and tiny fish had claimed it as home. I could feel my heart rate quicken as we swam the length of it — here and there peeking from out of the silt were pieces of thick rope, pulleys, and metal parts. Then there it was … a box-like hull resting silently on its side. It was both amazing and scary and while I was definitely excited to see it I also felt solemn — the way I did on Remembrance Day while standing at the cenotaph with Uncle Stewart.

  Amanda gave me an underwater high-five. I don’t know if her heart raced like mine, but I knew all this excitement was costing us oxygen. She tapped her watch — the signal that our time was up. I could tell that she didn’t want to leave any more than I did, but neither of us was so foolish as to ignore the gauge on our oxygen tanks. We swam back towards the anchor where the others had reassembled. Then in pairs we made the ascent to the ocean surface. As soon as we reached the surface we both pulled our mouth pieces out and were shouting “Yahoo” and splashing around like little kids. When it became clear what we were so excited about everyone else started to cheer and high-five too.

  That night we celebrated — pan-fried fish and chips with tartar sauce, plus Marnie whipped up one of those chocolate fudge cakes in a box for dessert. We sat around the galley table for hours and I listened as the crew told stories about other underwater excavations they’d been on. Even Dr. Sanchez had some interesting things to tell about a Spanish galleon he’d worked on in the Sea of Cortez. But what I enjoyed the most was listening to Captain Hunter tell about his work on the Mary Rose — the sixteenth-century British battleship that now sat in a museum that was built especially for it.

  “You know, one of the most amazing things we found among the 19,000 artifacts collected from that wreck was a glass jar. When we opened it — five hundred years later — we could still smell the menthol inside,” said the captain. “And as for the human remains — well, not only did the thick silt preserve the structure of the Mary Rose and all she contained, but the men trapped on board when she sank.” I realize other kids might find it morbid to hear all the icky details of the six skeletons they found clustered around the cannon on the main deck of the Mary Rose — but not me. I wanted to know every bone deep fact!

  “Human bones can tell a lot about a person’s life,” continued the captain. “The remains we found on the Mary Rose, for instance, showed us they were big, strong men used to heavy work — like loading and firing a two-tonne bronze gun. And being a soldier on a sixteenth-century battleship was no place for the old — which was why most of the remains found were of men under the age of thirty. One was a thirteen-year-old boy.” The same age as me, I thought. “I love this work because it opens a window to the past and reveals a very human story about what life was like back then — the strain and injuries they endured, their poor diets. And the artifacts are revealing too — like in the master carpenter’s chest we found a sundial, a book, and a backgammon set — a sign of wealth for that time.”

  “Do you think the Intrepid will have some good stories to tell us too?”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it, Peggy.”

  I knew sooner or later I had to tell Captain Hunter about spilling the beans to the reporter, but I just couldn’t seem to find the right moment. Then suddenly everyone was toddling off to bed to rest up for the big dive the next day. Now that we had located a ship, the next step was to confirm that it was in fact the Intrepid. And that was definitely something I didn’t want to miss.

  After everyone had turned in for the night I lay on my bunk with Captain Whittaker’s journal. I had only a few pages left to read and I was anxious to get to the end.

  June 24th, 1812

  Mister Lockhart is a scoundrel and
has catastrophically botched negotiations with Chief Noomki by promising weapons and ammunition. When I learned about the deal I went ashore to explain to the chief that the weaponry we have is destined for elsewhere. He mistook my intentions as an attempt to drive up the bargain. By all that I have seen these Kwakwaka’wakw people are well-off. I do not fully understand their desire to possess guns except to exert their power over rival tribes. A trade such as this would only create an imbalance amongst the coastal people and upset the natural order. I cannot in good conscience be part of such a bargain. Our interpreters, Peter and Loki, have done their best to convey my regret to the chief. To temper his mood I made him an excellent offer for copper pots, tinware, buttons, and blankets — a better deal than made to others — but I could see by his ingenuous demeanor that he was lost to us.

  When I returned to the ship I found Mister Lockhart so intent on completing the trade that he was threatening the men with dire consequences unless they started unloading muskets and gunpowder. He soon discovered their loyalty to me runs deep.

  Peter tells me that Chief Noomki perceives the broken deal as deeply humiliating and retaliation is likely. I too sensed that the chief is a dangerous man and I feel it prudent to make preparations to set sail at first light. I should like to navigate the ship to a safer distance from shore, but a storm is moving in and I am also worried about an outcropping of rocks that were observed when the tide was low. For now, the ship is well anchored and I have set Mister Thomas on first watch, and Mister Barry at the entrance of the ammunitions room. While I do not trust the chief, I trust Mister Lockhart even less.

  Tomorrow, when all of this is behind us, I will decide what is to be done with him. I am now convinced that every man on this ship is doomed should we continue with him aboard. I will consider my options once we are safely on our way.

  Captain James Whittaker

  As I came to the end of the page I realized something. To be sure I was correct I counted on my fingers starting from the day we’d left the docks at Steveston. Then just to be double certain I counted a second time. There was no mistake — the date on the page I’d just read in the captain’s log was June 24th— the same date as today. As this idea settled in my mind I couldn’t decide if this coincidence was a good thing or not. Then it occurred that the next day was even more significant — because it was on June 25th that Intrepid sank. Now I’m not a superstitious type, but I decided not to read the final entry — at least not until after our dive the next day. I closed up the captain’s log, shut off the light, and put my head down on my pillow. As the boat swayed gently to and fro I looked out the small window beside my bed, noting how eerily quiet it was and how there was nothing to see, for it was a perfectly black night — if such a thing could be perfect.

  The next morning everyone was buzzing around in preparation for the big dive. Since I didn’t have much to do I volunteered to cook up some scrambled eggs and toast while they got ready. Over breakfast the conversations were flying around the room. The captain gave everyone instructions for what they were to do during the dive. Amanda reminded Scott to bring the extra waterproof camera. And Dr. Sanchez gave the latest weather report.

  “For now it’s perfect weather, Dr. Hunter.”

  “Great. Well, team … let’s go!” Just as everyone set off to get into their wet suits the captain caught me by the arm. “Peggy, I got the feeling there was something you wanted to talk to me about last night.” I hoped the captain didn’t notice that my cheeks were suddenly flushed.

  “Well, there is something I want to discuss. I just think it would be better if I waited until afterwards.” I was glad that he accepted my response for it was definitely not the time for a confession.

  The surface visibility that morning was poor, but as soon as we’d descended to the ocean floor we could see as far as a hundred feet or more. The wreck was perched on a shallow ledge, where the fast currents had transformed it into a living reef. The wooden hull lay blanketed with fine silt and the stern was covered with ghostly white plumose anemones. Schools of black rockfish hovered over it until they sensed our presence and instantly disappeared.

  I was a little jealous that everyone on the team had a job except me. I watched as Marnie and Scott silently criss-crossed the wreck with measuring tapes in order to create a grid. Dr. Sanchez was taking samples of the wood and storing them in small vials. And while Captain Hunter took photographs Amanda made diagrams and notes.

  I was free to explore the area as long as I didn’t swim out of sight. I swam to the quarterdeck of the ship where I noticed a door. It must have settled in an open position when the ship landed on its side two hundred years earlier. I gingerly thrust my flashlight into the cavern to see what was inside. As my eyes settled on the dimly lit space I could see a cabinet and bookshelves, and then an overturned table, and a high-back chair. As I stared into that silent room it slowly dawned on me I was looking into the captain’s quarters. Then a vision flashed through my mind of Captain Whittaker sitting at that wooden table writing in his captain’s log … right up to the hours before the ship sank. It was a sight that was sort of creepy, but at the same time squeezed on my heart.

  When I felt a hand on my shoulder I jumped. It was only Dr. Sanchez giving me the “get lost” sign. I’d have given him a hand sign of my own, but just then a really gross looking fish darted out of the door and swam towards the stern. I followed after him, determined to get a good look so I could identify the species later. He took off over the quarterdeck and then swam towards the stern. As I pursued him he led me down the back of the ship and then slipped from my view.

  I scanned the area to see where the slippery little devil had gone. As I searched on the back side of the ship I realized the others wouldn’t be able to see where I was. I didn’t want to cause concern so I made my way back towards the side of the ship where they were working. As I swam something vaguely familiar caught my eye. Really, I’d seen it so briefly that it nearly didn’t register. But a small voice in my head told me to swim back for a closer look.

  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 too
k 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.