were telling me about.” I quickly glanced around Dr. Hunter’s office where there were wall-to-wall bookshelves and a desk cluttered with stacks of papers, books, and artifacts. On one wall hung a painting of an old sailing ship and on the other an underwater photograph of a diver in clear green-blue water pointing to the decaying hull of a ship.
“Indeed it is, Philip. This is Peggy Henderson, my thirteen-year-old budding archaeologist and good friend. I thought you might be willing to fill us in on some of your recent work, Phil.” My face prickled with warmth so I knew I was blushing.
“You know me, Edwina. I never pass up a chance to talk about my work. And since my wife, Katherine, rarely lets me anymore I’m always looking for a new audience.” Eddy and her friend laughed. I didn’t get it.
“Your wife’s not interested in sunken ships or lost treasures? Is she nuts or something?” I blurted. The two adults snorted and chuckled some more.
“You have much to learn about relationships, young lady. One day you’ll be married and know what I mean,” he answered lightly. Right, like I would actually get tied down to someone not as interested in archaeology as I was.
Dr. Hunter soon began to tell us about his adventures exploring and excavating shipwrecks from all over the world. He helped to raise the Resurgam II, the first powered submarine, and a WWII merchant marine ship sunk by a U-boat in the Gulf of Mexico. But what was really interesting was hearing about the sixteenth-century British warship, the Mary Rose. He said it was the most famous shipwreck in the world. I wondered if he’d heard of the Titanic.
“Sunken ships are like time capsules to the past. But in the case of the Mary Rose — it was even more than that. It was a milestone in the field of maritime archaeology back in the 1980s. The most important things we know about underwater excavation and research we learned from excavating that ship. It was probably the most expensive project of its time, too.”
“What caused the Mary Rose to sink?” I asked him.
“That’s a good question. Some written records show the crew was especially unruly and hated one another so much that they refused to work cooperatively, perhaps even to the point of the ship’s sinking. So crew error may certainly have been part of the cause. Other theories include, she was overloaded after being fitted with extra cannons; an especially strong wind caught her in a turn; or a French cannon smashed her hull. The sinking of the Mary Rose is one of those events that we’ll likely never know for sure what the real cause was.”
He pointed to a large book on his shelf called The Mary Rose. “We did make some spectacular finds though. The cannons and shot gave us a good glimpse into eighteenth-century naval warfare, the eating utensils and food remains helped us to know a little of how they lived. And the navigational and medical instruments revealed something of the technology of the day.”
“That’s interesting indeed. I imagine determining the cause of a shipwreck that occurred in past centuries must be very difficult,” Eddy added.
“That’s true, Edwina, though we do get lucky once in a while.” At that moment Dr. Hunter’s eyes began to twinkle.
“By the grin on your face I have the feeling you’re about to share one of those lucky cases.”
“I will if you think you can keep it to yourself.” Dr. Hunter looked long at me. “If this gets out to the media prematurely it could ruin everything. We don’t want a flock of treasure hunters getting in there and wrecking what could possibly be the most important shipwreck find in recent history. So if you’re good at keeping secrets, I have something extraordinary to tell you about.”
“I’m good at keeping my mouth shut,” I blurted excitedly. “I would keep your secret even if I was being tortured.”
Eddy snorted and nodded. “It’s true … even torture won’t make her talk when she puts her mind to it.”
“All right then, if you’re sure you won’t tell. Last week a fisherman was out past Tlatskwala, also known as Trust Island. It’s off the north coast of Vancouver Island near Port Hardy. His net got caught up on something and he called for a diver to come out and try to free it. The diver went down about fifty feet and discovered what the net was snagged on.” I didn’t realize it until that moment, but I’d stopped breathing and took a big gulp of air. “It was overgrown with barnacles and seaweed, but there was no mistaking it for a late eighteenth-century anchor. Once the diver freed the net he took it on his own initiative to look around. Though the water was murky, it didn’t take him too long to notice a few scattered objects, such as the cathead — the part of the ship where the anchor would have been secured, a pulley, and a broken mast.” My heartbeat raced as I slipped to the edge of my chair.
“So did he find the rest of the ship?” I asked, impatient to hear the next part of the story.
“Well, no. By then his oxygen tank was running low, so with that and a storm warning he decided to get back to the surface. Fortunately for us he called the department instead of the news stations,” Dr. Hunter said. Then he pointed to the painting of the old fashioned ship with three sails. “From historical records we know there was a ship like this one that sank in that area in 1812 and belonged to John Jacob Astor’s American Fur Company. It was called the Intrepid and it too was a three-mast bark. While we won’t know for sure until we go there and have a look for ourselves, there’s a very good possibility that it’s the Intrepid. And if it is, that will be a very big deal.”
When Dr. Hunter finished the room was silent. I couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say besides, “Wow.” Then Eddy broke the silence.
“So what’s next, Phil?”
“I’m putting together a team of underwater archaeologists who can join me on a preliminary investigation. We have to get in there as quick as possible and establish a presence before some rogue shipwreck treasure hunters. If they get a hold of this there’s no telling what damage they might do. Presuming this is the Intrepid we’ll want to time our announcement to the media just right. After that …” He chuckled. “I’m sure funding will come flooding in to pay for a full-on excavation. Amateur shipwreck divers love to support these kinds of investigations and in my line of business this is as good as winning the Lotto 649 Jackpot. Depending on her condition we may want to try and raise her from the ocean floor and bring her back for preservation.” He sat back, looking very pleased. “So now you know what we’re dealing with and why we need to keep this quiet.”
Dr. Hunter handed Eddy a large folder. “That’s a photocopy of the original journal kept by the captain of the ship — Captain James Whittaker.” She flipped through it and handed it to me. I held it in my hand like it was some kind of sacred holy book. I leafed through it, but it was hard to read the old-fashioned cursive writing with its fancy scratches and swirls.
“So how did the journal survive if the ship sank?” I asked.
“The ship sank slowly and that gave the captain time to make a final entry while his crew boarded the lifeboats. From it, we know there was barely enough room for the entire crew. This must be why the captain made the decision to stay with the ship. He gave his journal to his first mate to deliver to Astor in the event that they made it back to New York City alive — which obviously they did. And that’s why today we know so much about the Intrepid.”
“You said the captain stayed with the ship. Why did he do that?”
“Captain Whittaker was one of those rare breed of men for whom commitment, honour, and responsibility ran deep. It has long been the standard amongst seamen
