who’d be disappointed in me — again. Then like adding salt to an open wound, Captain Hunter told me that Dr. Sanchez would be staying to keep an eye on me. That’s because I’d lost the captain’s trust, and that hurt more than anything.
Chapter Nine
“Peggy, these artifacts are really fragile and unstable. So you’ll need to rinse them as gently as possible to remove all the salt water. It’s going to take several repetitions of rinsing and draining to make them saline free. When we get them back to the university lab I’ll immerse them in some polyethylene glycol to reinforce the cellular structure.” The artifacts Amanda left me to clean were a small leather pouch, a piece of braided rope and a tiny porcelain dish.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Dr. Sanchez rattled on. “She is just a kid and she is going to make some more damage.” That was a crushing blow to my already bruised ego.
“Don’t worry, I know that Peggy can do this,” Amanda encouraged. I appreciated her confidence, but wasn’t sure that I deserved it. I mean how many kids get an opportunity to go on a trip like this and then blow it so fantastically?
While I worked alone in that little room I pictured everyone else diving in the deep waters below and looking over the amazing skeleton I’d found. While I was distracted by my miserable mood I overfilled one of the trays. As I mopped up the water I knew I couldn’t afford to screw up anything else, so I made myself focus on what I was doing.
Each artifact that Amanda wanted me to clean was in its own small tray filled with tepid clear water. With tongs I gently swished the leather pouch around then let it sit while I did the same with the other two artifacts. Next, I had to drain the water off and then fill the trays again with new clear water. I did that a lot of times. And as I did I could see that the small plant matter and grains of silt and salt were slowing becoming dislodged and the finer details of each object were coming into view.
I got really curious about the leather pouch. It had a small flap and under it a drawstring pulled tight. I could see there was some kind of design on the flap. I also felt something squishy inside. As I continued cleaning I soon realized it wasn’t a design on the flap, but rather someone’s initials in large italic letters — R.L. As soon as I realized what it was I went for Captain Whittaker’s journal and flipped to the list of crewmembers at the back. I already knew one person who had those initials, but I had to check to see that there weren’t others. As my finger ran down the list I had a warm feeling of excitement — the kind that came from discovering something new. While there was one crewman whose last name started with an L — assistant boatswain, Mister Daniel Lawrence — there was no one else. I let the facts slowly sink in. There was only one person on the ship who had those exact initials — Robert Lockhart — a.k.a. Mister Lockhart.
I took a small pair of tweezers and gently folded back the flap and then carefully loosened the tie. Holding up the dripping bag I looked inside and saw a dark brown sludge that looked a lot like coffee grounds, but smelled just like my Uncle Jerry. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. Tobacco — that was what was inside! My mind flashed back to when Captain Whittaker wrote in his journal about the cook’s boy stealing a pinch of tobacco from Mister Lockhart’s pouch and that later he had to whip him for it. I shook with excitement as I gently retied the pouch and returned it to the water. This was certain to be the kind of evidence Captain Hunter needed to prove that we’d found the Intrepid.
I decided to turn my attention to the other artifacts to see what they could tell me. But just as I was changing the water again I heard the sound of a motorboat getting closer and closer. I peered out the lab window but couldn’t see anything. Then I heard strange voices followed by angry shouting. I ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the deck. By the time I got there, Dr. Sanchez was yelling at the top of his lungs at a man on the other boat who was holding out a microphone. Not far to his right was another guy filming them with a video camera. The letters on the side of the camera read CFTV.
“Oh great,” I groaned. I’m not sure if what I did next was a good idea, but I had to do something to try and help clean up this mess I’d created. “Ah, Mr. Turner,” I called out. “I’m Peggy Henderson. I talked to you the other day.” Brad Turner looked at me and grinned.
“You? You’re Peggy Henderson?” Then the laughter disappeared and his voice took on an irritated edge. “Well, you’re nothing but a kid. What kind of an operation is this? What about that treasure?” Dr. Sanchez started shouting again, this time in Spanish. That’s when I walked over to him and put my hand over his mouth. I watched his eyes open to the size of golf balls and thought he might bite me. But it was a risk I needed to take.
“Please, Dr. Sanchez. Let me say something,” I pleaded. I then turned back to the reporter. “Look, Mr. Turner. There is no treasure. There never was. There never will be. I just said that because I was … well …” I could feel my face was on fire, “… a silly kid, who didn’t know she was talking to a news reporter. But mister, you were the one who took the things I said and twisted them up. And while I’m on the subject, aren’t you supposed to identify yourself before starting to ask questions? I mean isn’t there some code of ethics you’re supposed to go by? If I’d known you were a reporter I wouldn’t have said anything. And you know why? Because this is an important scientific research trip to find a shipwreck that could have great historical significance to the people of Canada … heck, what am I saying … to the people of North America. By letting the public know about what we’re doing before we’re ready, you’ve put the Intrepid and all that she holds at risk. People who don’t know any better may come here and start helping themselves to parts of the ship or take artifacts for souvenirs — and if they do they’re taking something that belongs to us all — our history. Do you want to be responsible for that, Mr. Turner?” The cameraman lowered the camera.
“Hey, Brad. Do you want me to keep filming this?” Brad dropped the microphone and shook his head.
“Nah, it looks like this was a big waste of time and money, Charlie. If there’s no treasure — there’s no story. Nobody cares about history. C’mon, let’s get out of here. Maybe there’s still time to find another story for the evening news. Otherwise the boss is going to have my head.” While their boat turned around Dr. Sanchez couldn’t resist the chance to tell them off one last time.
“You are a stupid TV guy. Just get out of this place and stop making problems.”
“Ah, Dr. Sanchez, I don’t think they can hear you … maybe you should try yelling a little louder,” I snickered. I think he was about to turn on me, but he caught himself and I watched the anger drain from his face.
“Funny, funny, leedle girl.” Then he smiled at me for the first time since we’d met. Just as I was enjoying this new side to Dr. Sanchez the radio started to crackle. When we got to the helm we heard a barely audible woman’s voice speaking in an urgent tone. Dr. Sanchez turned the dials to fine tune the signal, but we could still only make out parts of the message.
“… Guard. Storm … Northern Vancouver Island … small craft … I repeat, this is the Coast … Storm clouds moving in quickly … all small crafts should find shelter immediately.” Dr. Sanchez looked to the west where a wall of dark clouds moved towards us. I looked at my watch.
“When are the others supposed to resurface, Dr. Sanchez?”
“I think not for another half hour.” There was nothing we could do except wait. It was both eerie and amazing how quickly those clouds approached and the wind-whipped waves picked up. Minute by minute I watched as the swells grew larger. In the back of my mind I was starting to wonder how everyone was going to get back up onto the boat. I got a chill when I remembered that it was the very
