“Maybe, but it wouldn’t be so bad if she would just stop trying to make me into Suzy homemaker or the queen of etiquette. Doesn’t she get it? Nobody cares about that stuff anymore.”
“True, but maybe they should.”
“Mom, are you serious? Who cares if you eat with your elbows on the table, or whether you reach across instead of asking for someone to ‘please pass the salt and pepper?’ And what’s the big deal about writing thank-you notes — I mean who does that stuff anyway?”
“Peggy, having good manners is more than just knowing which fork to use, or saying please and thank you. Etiquette is really about treating others with respect. Sometimes the smallest word and gesture can go a long way in maintaining harmony in a relationship. And remember, the quality of one’s life is best expressed in the small details. Those are the things that can set you apart.”
“Humph,” I grunted. “That sounds just like something Aunt Beatrix would say.” Mom smiled. “Mom, did you mean what you said about how my interest in diving might spill over into other parts of my life?”
“Sure, every new skill and bit of knowledge all adds up to making us more well-rounded people. I can’t say how diving is going to do that for you — it’s not exactly a skill you can use every day, but you never know.” I was just about to tell her about the Intrepid when Aunt Beatrix called from her room.
“Elizabeth, come here right away. This cat of Margaret’s has spit up something disgusting on the floor.”
“Sorry, Pegs. Let’s talk more in the morning.” Thanks to Aunt Beatrix and Duff, the magic moment was gone. Maybe tomorrow would be the day.
After Mom left the room I pulled out the captain’s journal. I tried to imagine what the original one looked like. Maybe it was bound in black leather. And the pages musky from age and so fragile they almost fell apart in your fingers. I closed my eyes and pictured the captain sitting at his desk, writing by candlelight, the ship swaying and creaking, the wind gently whistling, and the muffled voices of sailors on deck.
November 10th, 1811
We are now five weeks into our voyage and there is a growing and palpable uneasiness aboard the ship. It seems on most occasions Mister Lockhart is at the centre of it. Early yesterday morning Cook’s boy, Ellis, was caught pinching a penny’s worth of tobacco out of Mr. Lockhart’s pouch and I was forced to flog him. I detest brutality but it is my duty to keep strict discipline aboard the ship and to make it a warning to the others that stealing will not be tolerated. Had I not done it, I am sure Mister Lockhart would have snatched the whip from out of my hand and been happy to complete the task. He urged me menacingly to give the boy thirty lashes and cried out with disgust when I stopped at five. As unlikely as it sounds, I feel certain he was amused by the spectacle. I am even suspicious of why he left his pouch open on the table to begin with.
To cheer the mood I ordered the men be given an extra ration of salt beef and a shot of rum for supper. It did the job somewhat. Then Mister Foster, my assistant boatswain, suddenly hailed us all to come observe what at first appeared to be a large black wave in the distance. As the entity drew nearer it became clear it was a whale — one so massive that it nearly equaled the Intrepid in length and breadth. Indeed, when it came up side of us there was such a stir amongst the men I am sure the earlier events of the day were near forgotten.
Some of the men are skilled in harpooning and wanted to kill the great humped animal. I forbade them on the premise that such a catch would take too many days to process and would put us far behind our schedule. Secretly I had not the heart to destroy such a magnificent thing. In the moments after the creature breached the surface, time seemed to stand still. I had felt it gaze into my eyes — and the event moved me beyond words.
For hours we could hear its deep, haunting song across the sea as it trailed behind us. It went on into the night and I found myself drifting asleep to this strange lullaby of nature. When I woke hours later the whale’s song had ceased. In my long career as captain I never felt such deep loneliness. I yearn as never before to be once again amongst kin and hearth. I believe with all my heart this is to be my final voyage.
Captain James Whittaker
Chapter Five
“Okay, kids, today is our last lesson in the pool. On Friday we’ll be diving in open water. Then Saturday you’ll have your dive test. If all goes well you’ll be certified divers. Cool, eh?” Tornado gave us the thumbs-up sign. I got goose bumps at the thought of it. “But hey, before any of that, you need to know one more thing — how to buddy breathe. It’s an important procedure that just might save your life one day. Who can tell me what the steps are to safe buddy breathing?” My hand shot up. I’d studied the manual the night before and knew all the steps by heart.
“Okay, Pammy, tell us what you know.” I was getting used to being called something new every day and hardly even noticed it anymore.
“Step one is to signal to your buddy. If you’re low on air do this.” I placed my hand against my chest with my fingers curled under. “But if you’re out of air this is the signal to use.” I sliced my hand back and forth across my throat, the out-of-air signal. “Then you should tap your regulator with one finger — that tells your buddy that you want to buddy breathe.”
“Very good, Patty. I can see you did your homework. You one of those smarty bookworms?” Tornado sniggered. I rolled my eyes — if only he knew how far he was from the truth. “Okay, okay, just kiddin’. So once you’ve signaled your buddy — what then?”
“You should stay calm and let your buddy take three breaths and hand the regulator to you. Before you take a breath, press the purge button on the regulator to clear it before you inhale. Take three normal breaths and pass it back to your buddy. When you’re both calm and breathing normally, signal your buddy that you’re ready to go up to the surface.” I paused for a moment trying to recall one more important point. “Oh yah, it’s important not to hold your breath, just exhale slowly when you don’t have the regulator.”
“And why don’t we hold our breath when ascending?” Tornado asked the group.
“I know, I know,” pleaded TB.
“Okay, Geronimo — tell us,” urged Tornado.
“Holding your breath while ascending can lead to an air embolism … that’s where you get air in your blood veins and you feel like your entire head, guts, and body is going to explode.”
“Gory stuff, man, right on. But that’s enough for now … don’t want to scare everyone.” By the looks on some of the kids’ faces I’d say it was too late to worry about that. Tornado turned to me.
“Okay, since you and your friend seem to know what you’re doing you’ll demo buddy breathing for the rest of the class.” Why not, I thought. I’ve got all the steps down pat, so it should be easy. Tornado gave us the signal and we got into the deep end of the pool. We had on extra weights so we dropped down fast. TB signaled that he wanted to be the first to practice being out of air and to share my regulator and air tank. Everything went perfectly. Then it was my turn to pretend I was out of air — it would be easy, since I knew more about it than anyone else in the class. I removed my regulator from my mouth and let it go. It floated behind my head. Then I gave TB the out-of-air signal. He took three deep breaths and passed his regulator to me. So far, so good. Then I pushed the purge button and took in three deep breaths. Then I immediately exhaled.
Wait! I wasn’t supposed to do that.
The second after I exhaled I realized what I’d done. It’s funny how when your lungs are empty your brain goes blank too. I started grasping around for my own regulator but couldn’t reach it. Then I grabbed at TB’s regulator. He kept giving me the hand signal to wait while he took two more deep breaths.
When he finally passed it to me I