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
