Mister Carver banged on my door an hour past to tell me the men were threatening to toss Mister Lockhart overboard. When I arrived on the scene they had him cornered and were demanding he give them leave of the blankets stored in the hold below. The foolish man was not the least afraid for his life, thinking somehow that the men were insincere in their threat. But I knew the look in their eyes to be desperate and feared mutiny had I not taken control that instant. I ordered Mister Carver to give each man one extra blanket and a coat. Mister Lockhart called me a cowardly dog as I tried to reason that his precious cargo was not worth his life, nor for that matter the life of my men. He argued that the crew had grown soft and I the cause. Then he swore he would have me decommissioned upon our return to New York. His threats were no match for the fear I felt for his life. He has no idea how close he came to dying this evening.
If we can but get ourselves ashore until the warmer winds prevail, my dear Mister Lockhart might just live to see us return to New York where he can do as he said … report to Mister Astor that I have cost the company a pretty penny in profit to save my ship and the lives of my men.
For now order is restored and the men are quiet. I have Mister Carver on guard outside Mister Lockhart’s quarters in case someone decides to retaliate further.
Captain James Whittaker
I poked my head out and looked down at Amanda. She was happily snoring. I knew that I should have gone to sleep, but things were getting exciting and I wanted to read just a little more of the captain’s log. As the pages turned it was like watching a TV soap opera. Mister Lockhart was the nasty, trouble making diva and Captain Whittaker was like the nice one who had scruples, was conscientious, and loyal. If I were to cast someone to be Mister Lockhart in a movie I’d pick Dr. Sanchez. And starring as Captain Whittaker — Dr. Hunter of course.
March 25th, 1812
A week ago we found ourselves a safe place to anchor and I sent six of my men ashore to get a lay of the land and search for fresh water. Soon after their arrival they were met by some local people. They call themselves the Muhkaw and are a most genial tribe. They are middling in stature, and of a dark complexion. I went ashore and met with their chief, Snoqualmie. He was eager to introduce me to two clever young warriors. The youngest is called Loki and is about seventeen. He is the chief’s son. He is stout, well-made, and fierce. The other lad is perhaps twenty, slight of stature, and smiles incessantly. His name is too difficult to pronounce and so the men have taken to calling him Peter. Of the two he speaks the best English. Both boys speak Chinook Wawa — a dialect commonly understood among many coastal tribes. As I observed them, they appeared unaffected by the cold despite their simple attire. In fact they appear to have no natural aversion or annoyances to the season at all.
Once I saw that they were sturdy and would be quite useful to us as interpreters I set about convincing Mister Lockhart. He pressed the chief to increase the count on furs and we nearly lost the deal. As it stands — in addition to the Muhkaw interpreters we are to receive one hundred otter pelts. In exchange Chief Snoqualmie is to get fifty knives, twenty flint, a sachet of buttons, a box of tinware, and twenty of our best wool blankets.
I made him a solemn promise that at the end of this expedition I would ensure his young warriors would arrive home safely. He held my hand firmly and gazed long and hard into my eyes. I understood immediately his intent and repeated my vow to bring the young men home. My word is all I have and I am grateful that it was all he needed to feel reassured.
We will stay here with the Muhkaw until the warmer winds blow. This will give us time to acclimate and fatten the livestock.
Captain James Whittaker
I could tell by the way Amanda was snoring that she was now in really deep REM sleep mode — probably where I should have been too. Okay, I promised myself — just one more entry from the captain’s log and I’d turn off the light.
April 12th, 1812
Three days ago we had a near mishap after we stopped in a small bay. Loki and Peter went ashore with the crew. They are sturdy young men, but I can tell they miss the feel of solid ground. Then Loki went missing. When it was time to return to the ship he was nowhere to be found. Some of the men suspected he had deserted us — a suggestion made by Mister Lockhart. After a lengthy and thorough search for the lad Lockhart insisted he had indeed run away and that valuable time was being lost. He expected me to set sail without Loki. I daresay the gentleman still does not know me well. I could do no such thing after making a promise to his father. Until I was fully satisfied that nothing more could be done the ship would sail not a fathom. Then just before Mister Lockhart could protest further, out of the forest the lad emerged. Not only was he well, but draped over his shoulder was no less than a dozen otter pelts.
The next morning Loki and Peter communicated a deal with the Salish speakers and we are now 300 pelts richer. While Mister Lockhart was most pleased, he did not admit that it would have been a mistake had we actually left Loki behind. I daresay he completely forgot that he had suggested such a thing in the first place.
These warm winds are a welcome change to the ice and sleet and have created improved spirits amongst the men. Even Mister Lockhart himself has thawed somewhat.
Captain James Whittaker
Chapter Seven
While I was aboard the Sea Weed I felt fine, but the moment I stepped onto the dock my legs turned to rubber. As we walked up the gangway to meet Chief Charles I was worried they might collapse under me.
“Hello, Dr. Hunter and friends. Welcome,” greeted the chief. As Captain Hunter introduced the team I took a moment to glance around. The village had a dozen small buildings, a longhouse, and some totems — many lying on their sides. For a moment it felt like we’d stepped back in time. I glanced out to where the Sea Weed was docked and wondered how far we were to the sunken Intrepid. I got goose bumps imagining it was two hundred years earlier and I was a Kwakwaka’wakw seeing the Intrepid the day it sailed into the inlet.
“Yes, we’d very much enjoy having a look around,” Captain Hunter answered in response to the chief’s invitation. We followed Chief Charles along a narrow pathway that led to the east side of the island. We stopped in front of what looked like an excavation site.
“You can see by these visible rows of rectangular house depressions that this was once a large and thriving community. Years ago some other archaeologists came to excavate them and found a variety of things in different locations.” We walked a little farther until we came to some grassy mounds with portions of exposed soil. “And here you can see one of the many shell middens — the rich black soil is full of cultural material, like whale bones. This was the place where my ancestors processed their food. The archaeologists studied the toolmarks on the whale bones to learn exactly how they were butchered.” I bent over and fingered a number of dried bone fragments littered throughout the midden. I’d learned about shell middens during the excavation at Crescent Beach, which contained such things as crushed horse and littleneck clam, tiny fish vertebra, deer bone, and sometimes even human remains. No one knows for sure why the Coast Salish buried their dead in the middens — maybe to keep them away from wild animals. As I was thinking, my eye caught sight of a small blue object. I leaned in closer to check it out and suddenly my heart leapt.
“Captain, look!” I pointed until both the chief and the captain glanced down at the little gem at the end of my finger.
“Good eye, young lady … you’ve spotted a trade bead. Over the years we’ve found hundreds — if not thousands — around our village. I’ll show you later.” Chief Charles then led us to a little white house that overlooked the ocean — a view Mom would say was worth millions. As we all crowded into the tiny
