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 question. 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
