As I made my way to the galley, Aunt Beatrix nattered on and on in my head: “Be honest and face up to your mistakes” … “Face up to your problems with courage and remain honest and true” … “It’s your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life.” Who said she got to be my conscience, I argued back. It’s not my fault — someone should have fixed it. And besides, it might all settle and drain by itself. Why risk disappointing Amanda and Captain Hunter? Or for that matter, give Dr. Sanchez ammunition to prove he was right about letting a kid come on an important research trip.
I rummaged around until I found the potato peeler and peeled as fast as my fingers could possibly go. Then I washed and cut the lettuce and other vegetables, and set the pot of potatoes on the stove for cooking. I made my way to the stern where I would be alone. When — or if — the problem was discovered, I would simply say I’d been there for a long while reading and had no idea about the overflowing head.
It was a pretty big boat, but not big enough. Soon I heard yelling coming from down the hall and what sounded like cursing in Spanish. Then the boat slowed and stopped. I waited for what seemed like a reasonable time and then made my way towards the commotion, doing my best to look surprised.
“What happened?” I asked as Amanda and Scott mopped up water, and Captain Hunter banged inside the head with a wrench and hammer. I admit I had a twinge of guilt and almost confessed … but when I saw the murderous look on Dr. Sanchez’s face I couldn’t.
“Best to just stay clear of the area, Peggy,” said Amanda. “The head has flooded over. Do you know anything about it?” I shook my head vigorously … maybe too vigorously.
Supper was very late that evening. By the time the mess was cleaned up and the food cooked everyone was exhausted and we ate in silence. Not Captain Hunter though, he was on deck taking the ship towards a little cove where we would let down our anchor for the night. I felt awful … but there was no point in telling the truth now that it was all over. It wouldn’t make the situation any better and most definitely would make it worse — for me.
“Just to make sure we’re all clear about this … the head is completely broken and off limits,” the captain explained that evening. “From now on we will have to relieve ourselves in the bucket I’ve set out. I know it’s a bummer, but not the end of the world, you know.” He smiled at his little pun, trying to make light of the situation. Dr. Sanchez grumbled some more under his breath in Spanish. I did my best to block out an image of him reading the morning’s newspaper while squatting over the mop pail.
As the light began to fade I felt the boat come to a stop and then the engine was shut off. “Okay crew, you know the routine,” Captain Hunter announced. “After that let’s get ready to tuck in. Tomorrow we visit Trust Island.”
“We will?” I asked, suddenly feeling perked up.
“Correct, that’s it over there — Tlatskwala,” he told me, as he pointed towards the shoreline. “And somewhere nearby is a sunken ship … and I’m hoping very much it’s the Intrepid.” Wow! Instant goose bumps rippled up my arms and down my back. “In the morning we’ll go ashore and meet with Chief Charles.”
“Is that so we can ask for permission to dive in his ancestral waters?” I asked.
“That’s exactly it. Some people might feel that these are national waters and they can do what they want. But I prefer to get the band’s blessing. Besides that, I’m hoping they will be able to tell us something.”
“You mean like stories from past generations of Kwakwaka’wakw who once lived here?”
“You got it, Peggy. I’m impressed that you are so aware of aboriginal concerns and rights.” Captain Hunter patted my shoulder. I wondered if he’d say that if he knew it was me who broke the head. “Okay, crew, let’s get going — we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
After I was in bed I pulled out Captain Whittaker’s journal. I still hadn’t found out what it was that sank the Intrepid and wanted to get to that part before seeing it at the bottom of the ocean.
“Don’t stay up too long, Peggy. Tomorrow is going to be a big day,” cautioned Amanda.
“Okay, I’ll just read for a little while,” I said, even though my eyes were already heavy and I was definitely ready for sleep.
March 17th, 1812
Things continue to be very tense aboard the Intrepid and there is an air of uncertainty about the outcome of this voyage. Never have I had such a feeling of impending doom, and that our bad luck comes in the form of a certain gentleman.
Now that we have entered northern waters the men are suffering from the extreme cold. March has always been a blowing month, but since we set sail from Big Island we have experienced a succession of hard gales and violent and icy rains. The ropes are near frozen each morning, the sails in desperate need of repair, and the sleet blinds our eyes. I feel …
… My God, my hands are still trembling. I have just returned the ship to order after what was sure to be the scene of a murder. 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