Romance of the Sea
Ever since he was a child, Wade MacKinnon harbored a love of the sea. While his friends spent their summer vacations playing baseball or soccer, he would read Moby-Dick, The Sea-Wolf, Mutiny on the Bounty and Treasure Island. Given his interest in the sea, Wade majored in oceanography in college and took part in a summer student fellowship at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. After graduation, he signed on as a diver for a group of explorers who were looking for the wreckage of the Widow, a pirate ship that went down in a storm off the coast of Cape Cod in 1717. Although the crew never found the Widow, it did uncover another ship that sunk in the mid-1800s.
When Wade first glimpsed the wreckage, he experienced a thrill akin to what Robert Ballard must have felt when he spotted Titanic's smokestack at the bottom of the North Atlantic. From that moment on, the young oceanographer became enamored with underwater exploration. While he had previously planned on devoting his life to improving the marine environment, his initiation to the hidden wonders that lay beneath the ocean's surface convinced him to open a marine salvage business instead.
Although his friends and family laughingly referred to him as a treasure hunter, it was not the valuables or precious cargoes that excited him; it was the thrill of discovery. According to Captain Kirk, space is the final frontier, but Wade MacKinnon was drawn to the unexplored ocean bottom just as Christopher Columbus, Henry Hudson, Leif Ericson, Ferdinand Magellan and Sir Francis Drake were drawn to the New World.
In more than twenty years of working in the salvage profession, Wade located fourteen wrecks. His share of the "spoils" made him a very wealthy man, yet he had no plans to give up diving. Marriage and fatherhood held no charm for him. It was the romance of the sea that claimed his heart, and even though he had a house on dry land, his home was in the water.
While celebrating his fortieth birthday on Martha's Vineyard, he ran into Freddie Dykstra, a fellow diver from the Widow expedition.
"You've done well for yourself," Freddie said, after he was invited to join Wade for a drink.
"I can't complain," Wade replied.
"Have you ever thought about going back down and looking for the Widow?"
"No, I haven't. It wasn't where we were led to believe, and I wouldn't know where else to look."
"I have a good idea. For years now I've been spending my free time reading old documents at public libraries up and down Cape Cod. I found a diary written by a man named Engels. He lived in Truro back then and claimed to have seen the ship go down. He tried to search for survivors—or maybe valuables that washed ashore—but the storm was still raging, and he couldn't get near the wreckage. The next day, when he returned to the beach, there was no trace of the Widow. He drew a map indicating where he'd seen the ship breaking up. It was about ten miles north of where our expedition was looking."
"Are you sure this diary is a reliable source?"
"I checked the old church records. There was a man named Engels who lived in Truro in 1717."
"Have you gone down to look for the ship?"
Freddie appeared embarrassed.
"No. I was married at the time, and matrimonial waters were a bit rough, if you get my meaning. I thought it best to stay close to home."
"And now?"
"I got divorced six months ago. Between the settlement and child support, I don't have the money to finance a dive. I was hoping you and I could search together."
For his next project, Wade had planned on looking for a Civil War blockade runner that sunk off the coast of Long Island, but the temptation to find Black Jack Turnbull's flagship was too great to resist.
"We'll split what we find thirty-seventy, and I'll pay all expenses out of my share."
"You got yourself a deal," Freddie said, reaching over to shake Wade's hand.
* * *
Although Wade usually remained closed mouth about his salvage activities, somehow word of his interest in the Widow got out. Within weeks of the start of his expedition, he received a notice from his attorney that Catherine Burrows, the heiress to her family's considerable fortune, was seeking an injunction that would prevent him from touching the sunken pirate ship.
"On what grounds?" Wade asked.
"Take your pick," his lawyer replied and read quoted excerpts from the letter he received from the woman's lawyer. "Any attempt to excavate the site might endanger the fragile marine environment. The expedition could have an adverse effect on the local fishing and/or tourist industry. The wreck site is a historic landmark ...."
"A historic landmark?" Wade echoed with incredulity. "Seriously? Please tell me this is all bullshit and she doesn't have a chance of getting her injunction."
"Most likely the judge won't rule in her favor. I don't see how your proposed expedition will have any adverse effect on the environment, fishing or tourism. And as for being a historic landmark, it's all nonsense. The wreck of the Widow has never been designated as such by either the state historical society or the federal government."
Wade smiled with obvious relief.
"So I can go ahead with the dive?"
The lawyer frowned.
"I'm afraid not."
"But you said ...."
"I said she probably won't get her injunction, but that is for the courts to decide. And until the decision is made, you can't go down to the Widow."
"How long of a delay are we talking about?"
"Given her family's money, she could hire lawyers to tie the matter up in the courts for a number of years."
"I don't believe this!" Wade cried, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Isn't there anything you can do?"
"I'll do my best to keep things moving, but we're going up against one of the richest and most politically powerful families in the country. I don't have to tell you it'll likely be an uphill battle all the way. But don't get too discouraged, she may win a few battles, but the law is on your side, so you're bound to win the war."
Not content to wait while attorneys from both sides volleyed the issue back and forth in the court system, Wade made several attempts to contact Catherine Burrows directly. He left telephone messages and sent letters to both her office and her home, but she did not reply to any of them. By ignoring him, Catherine only made Wade more determined to confront her.
He waited in the Starbucks across the street from her office for two hours one morning before he saw her drive up in her Jaguar. No sooner did she get out of the car than he exited the coffee shop and ran across the street.
"Miss Burrows," he called to her.
Catherine looked up, unaware of his identity. She saw the strong, muscular physique, the dark tan and the rugged, handsome features, and she liked what she saw.
"Yes?"
"I'm Wade MacKinnon," he began.
Instantly, her face showed signs of displeasure.
"I have nothing to say to you. Your lawyer can deal with my lawyer."
"I just want you to answer one simple question," Wade persisted. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you trying to stop me from going down to the Widow?"
"My lawyer outlined my reasons in the request for the injunction."
"There's got to be something more. There have been other wrecks, other salvage expeditions. Why didn't you try to stop any of them?"
"Because this one is too close to home," she said, with an enigmatic, Mona Lisa half-smile at the corner of her mouth.
"You live in Falmouth, at the opposite end of the Cape. Truro has got to be at least an hour and a half from your home."
"Look, I'm not going to stand her and argue with you. So please stop harassing me, or I'll phone the police."
"It's money you want, isn't it? The Burrows billions aren't enough for you."
"How dare you!" she cried, fighting the urge to slap his face.
"I'll cut you in, if that's it."
"I don't want anything from you, Mr. MacKinnon, except your absence."
Without another word, she turned and walked into her office, as perturbed by the explosive encounter as Wade was.
* * *
As Wade's lawyer had predicted, Catherine Burrows' team of high-priced attorneys managed to drag the matter out for more than eighteen months. In the end, however, she was not awarded the injunction. Wade was celebrating his legal victory at a pub in Hyannis, when an unexpected visitor offered to buy him a drink.
"Miss Burrows!"
He would not have been more surprised if the Queen of England had entered the bar.
"No hard feelings, I hope?" she asked.
Wade shook his head.
"I must say, you handle defeat pretty well. I imagined you would be the kind of woman to continue fighting."
"I can't win; I'd just be postponing the inevitable," she conceded. "No, I've decided to try a new tactic."
Wade was intrigued.
"Oh, and what tactic is that?"
"It's always said that it's easier to catch a fly with honey ...."
"Are you coming on to me?"
"It's been my experience that money is much more useful as bait than honey. Accordingly, I'm prepared to offer you one million dollars to forget about the wreck of the Widow."
"As I recall, our last conversation was about money. You wouldn't accept my offer, and I'm not about to accept yours."
"Five million, then."
"We're talking about the Widow, the flagship of Black Jack Turnbull. It was supposedly loaded with treasure, not to mention the historical value of the ship and its contents."
"All right, ten million."
The higher she raised her price, the angrier Wade became.
"Not for the entire Burrows fortune. I'm not in it for the money; I never was. I want to find a ship that's been at the bottom of the sea for three hundred years. That doesn't mean much to you, but to me this is the opportunity of a lifetime."
"If it's glory you want, then I'll personally finance an expedition to a shipwreck anywhere in the world. Just ...."
Catherine became silent when she saw Wade staring intently at her.
"What is it you don't want me to find down there?" he asked. "Did you have some ex-boyfriend murdered and his body tossed off the side of a boat in that general vicinity?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
She laughed in spite of herself.
"Be honest with me. Why don't you want me to explore the wreck of the Widow?"
"Because some things should remain undisturbed."
It was all the explanation Catherine Burrows was prepared to give him.
* * *
"Your friend's got her name in the newspaper again," Freddie Dykstra announced with a laugh as he handed Wade the copy of The Boston Globe he had been reading.
An article that appeared on the first page of the local news section proclaimed: HEIRESS DONATES $5,000,000 TO FLOOD VICTIMS FUND.
"Last week it was a new cancer center at the hospital, the week before that it was a home for abused women and children, and—if I recall—the week before that it was a generous donation to the Make a Wish Foundation. It seems Catherine Burrows can't give her money away fast enough," Wade concluded.
"She certainly can't spend it all. That family is worth billions."
"Maybe what she wants comes with a high price tag."
"What would that be?" Freddie asked.
"Respect. I bet all these charitable donations and good deeds are nothing more than a means of improving the family's image. Let's face it: her father and uncle had pretty tarnished reputations."
The conversation about the Burrows family was cut short when two of the expedition's divers surfaced with news of their latest find.
"What have you got this time?" Wade asked.
"I don't know, but it's big."
A hoist was used to bring the object aboard. Given the concretion that had built up over the past three centuries, the object looked like a giant boulder.
At the end of the day, Wade's ship returned to its dock in Yarmouth, where the buildings necessary to his salvage operations were located. There the recent finds were unloaded and taken to the laboratory. A team of technicians began removing the concretion from the artifacts. Wade was particularly interested in the large, identified object that had been found.
"It's a chest," the technician informed him by cell phone once the object was cleaned. "And it's decorated with the initials BJT."
"What's inside?"
"I don't know. It's locked. I didn't want to damage it by forcing the lock—not without your approval."
"Good thinking," Wade said. "Don't touch it until I get there. I'll be right over."
If the chest did belong to Black Jack Turnbull, he wanted to be there when it was opened.
* * *
Wade parked his Subaru Forester next to Catherine Burrows' Jaguar and walked into the building. He ignored both the receptionist and secretary and strode into their employer's private office, despite their objections.
"What are you doing here?" Catherine asked.
"I want the truth," he said.
"Do you want me to call the police?" the secretary asked, fearing for her boss's safety.
"No, that won't be necessary. I know Mr. MacKinnon. Could you shut the door while I speak with him?"
After the secretary departed, Catherine finally replied, "There's nothing to tell."
Wade reached into his pocket and took out a miniature portrait.
"I think there is. Tell me how this got into Black Jack Turnbull's sea chest at the bottom of the Atlantic."
Although the colonial gown the woman in the portrait wore put the date of the painting at the late-seventeenth or early-eighteen century, the woman's face beneath the three-hundred-year-old coiffure was identical to that of Catherine Burrows.
"That's your portrait," Wade declared.
"I admit there is a strong resemblance, but this isn't me."
"And look at what's printed on the back: MY BELOVED CATHERINE. Are you saying that's a coincidence, too?"
Catherine was clearly shaken by the portrait.
"Yes. It is."
"One coincidence I can buy, maybe even two. But three? I don't think so."
"What's the third coincidence?"
"The fact that you fought like hell to prevent me from going down to that ship. This is what you didn't want me to find, isn't it?"
"I swear to you, this is the first time I've seen this portrait."
* * *
Before going back to his ship, Wade stopped at an antique dealer to have the portrait appraised. The dealer assured him that it was indeed painted three centuries ago.
"So it can't be Catherine Burrows," Wade concluded. "Then who is it?"
The answer was as close as his laptop computer. It was as simple as googling "Catherine Burrows eighteenth century" and reading the first few links that appeared.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
"Why didn't I see this in the first place?" he laughed. "The opposition to my expedition, all the charitable donations, the portrait—it was so obvious!"
The only question that remained was what use, if any, Wade would make of his discovery.
* * *
As he drove along the Mid-Cape Highway, headed back to Truro, Wade heard the familiar ringtone of his iPhone.
"Yeah, Freddie," he answered.
"You're not gonna believe what we just found."
"Well, from the excitement in your voice, I'd say it wasn't pieces of eight."
"A cannon. It has three centuries of crud on it, but it looks like it's in one piece."
In the wake of the news, Wade forgot about the portrait found in Black Jack Turnbull's sea chest.
"You got it on board yet?" he asked.
"We're bringing it up now."
"Great. When you have it secured, come on in. I'll meet you at the lab."
After he ended the call, Wade took the next exit, turned around and headed back toward Yarmouth.
As Wade and Freddie had hoped, once the concretion was removed, the cannon was in remarkable shape. Furthermore, they discovered that the barrel had been plugged and sealed.
"Pirates only plugged cannons for one reason," Freddie said, grinning from ear to ear.
Wade added with an equally wide smile, "To seal up their valuables inside."
That was the good news. The bad news was if they attempted to remove the seal, they might crack the barrel of the cannon.
"It's a real dilemma," Wade told a journalist from National Geographic. "On one hand, we've got a museum piece here; on the other, there might be something priceless inside. We just don't know what to do."
Advice came from an unexpected source. Catherine Burrows showed up in Yarmouth, offering to buy the cannon.
"Name your price," she told Wade.
"What would you do with a three-hundred-year-old cannon?"
"I'd donate it to the Smithsonian. It's a piece of American history, after all."
Since the two of them were alone in his office, Wade saw no reason not to speak frankly.
"Aren't you more concerned that it might hold a piece of family history?"
Catherine's face lost all its color, and for once the beautiful heiress did not try to hide the truth.
"You've done your homework. I suppose the family's ugly little secret was bound to come out after you found the portrait."
"So you did know it was down there?"
"No, how could I know what you'd find in a ship that sunk back in 1717?"
"But you were afraid I'd find something?"
"Yes. Several years ago, right out of college, I had the idea of researching my family and writing a book. I thought I could show the Burrows clan in a better light than my drunken father and philandering uncle did."
"And what did you find out?"
"I traced the family back to the first Catherine Burrows, the ancestor I was named after, and apparently the one in that portrait. Her story was one taken from the pages of a Brontë novel. She was an attractive young orphan from Salem who fell in love with a wealthy sea captain. They were married barely a year when the captain's boat was lost at sea. He left her some money, and she invested it wisely, eventually becoming the richest woman in Salem. Her son later doubled that fortune, and his children and grandchildren added to it."
"And what about Black Jack Turnbull?"
"I'm a stickler for details. I gathered copies of all the old church records. Catherine Burrows' only child was born just four months after her marriage. While it wasn't unheard of for a woman back then to conceive a child out of wedlock, the fact that Captain Burrows' ship had been out to sea for a year prior to their wedding makes his being the father impossible."
"You think that Black Jack ...?"
"Catherine married the captain in 1717, less than a month after John Turnbull's ship went down. Not only that, but she named her son John and called him Jack for short."
"So, Catherine Burrows' only child was the illegitimate son of a pirate, and the family fortune ...?"
"Might have been built by investing pirate money, not Captain Burrows' funds."
"No wonder you tried to keep the information a secret. Your father and uncle were model citizens compared to the matriarch of your family."
"I try not to judge her," Catherine declared, coming to the woman's defense. "After all, she was an impoverished orphan, and there weren't many opportunities for women back then."
"Yeah," Wade concurred. "She didn't get to go to Harvard like you did."
"So, now that you know about the skeleton in my family's closet, are you going to sell me that cannon?"
Wade shook his head.
"Sorry, but I've got to find out what's inside of it."
"You're going to break the plug?"
"Before we make a decision about that, we're going to drill a small hole in the barrel and insert a fiber optic camera inside. That way we'll get a good idea about what's in there."
"With my luck, it will contain Turnbull's little black book, with my ancestor's name and address on the first page."
"I'll tell you what," Wade said, feeling something akin to pity for the heiress. "I'll look through the contents privately. If I find anything that might blacken your family name, I'll see that it's returned to you without anyone knowing of its existence."
The blue eyes that had so often glared at him with anger softened.
"Thank you. I don't know how to repay you."
"Certainly not by offering me any more of your millions," he laughed.
* * *
There were only three people in the room when the fiber optic camera was inserted into the barrel of the cannon: Wade MacKinnon, Freddie Dykstra and Catherine Burrows. Although Wade did not go into specifics, he told Freddie there might be something inside the cannon that belonged to one of Catherine's ancestors. If so, Wade suggested, the item would be returned to the dead owner's descendent.
"With all the loot we've found on the Widow so far," the diver agreed magnanimously, "I'm already richer than I ever imagined I'd be."
The three people watched the computer screen intently as Wade fed the fiber optic cable through the hole. Although the transmission was dark and grainy, they could all clearly see the gleam of precious metals and sparkle of valuable jewels.
"There must be a fortune in treasure inside," Freddie declared.
Neither Wade nor Catherine responded to his comment. Both of them were scanning the screen, looking for further proof of the pirate's relationship to a young orphan from Salem.
"Well?" Freddie asked once the camera was removed from the cannon.
"Well, what?"
"Are we going to try to open it?"
"Yes," Wade replied. "It appears to be filled with gold and jewels."
And nothing else, his expression told Catherine.
"Wait. We ought to have a video crew film this," Freddie suggested when Wade picked up a drill.
"No video equipment. I promised the guy from National Geographic that the magazine would have an exclusive on what we find. After the treasure is removed, he'll come by and photograph it."
Wade hesitated, afraid he might destroy the cannon.
"Wish me luck," he said and turned on the drill.
Freddie and Catherine watched as the drill bit drove further and further into the plug.
"You gotta be near the end soon," Freddie observed.
Suddenly, Wade felt the tip of the drill break through the barrier.
"That's it. I ...."
A loud, resounding gong, like the sound of a bell the size of those housed in Notre Dame's belfry, drowned out the sound of Wade's voice.
Catherine quickly put her hands over her ears.
"What was that noise?" she shouted.
A blue mist escaped from the tiny hole Wade had drilled.
"Is that some kind of gas?" Catherine asked.
Before either of the men could reply, the mist solidified into the shape of a man.
"Catherine," the spirit of Black Jack Turnbull called and reached out his semitransparent hand toward the heiress.
Although she trembled with fright at the sight of a ghost, she could not help noticing how extraordinarily handsome the pirate was. No wonder her ancestor had fallen in love with him.
"I'm not who you think I am," she replied.
"It's been a long time, I know, but I'm not likely to ever forget your face."
Three humans stood immobile in the room. The two men, in awe of the vision before them, stood staring dumbly at the spirit of the dead pirate. The woman, on the other hand, was fighting a burning desire to rush into the revenant's arms.
Black Jack took two steps forward, bridging the distance between them. When he embraced Catherine Burrows, both of them vanished into a blue mist.
* * *
Wade and Freddie finished off the second bottle of Jack Daniels that Wade had kept stored in his desk drawer.
"We have to call the police," Freddie said, his voice slurred by alcohol.
"And what are we going to tell them? That the ghost of a three-hundred-year-old pirate carried off the youngest member of one of the wealthiest families in America? They'll think one of two things: either we're nuts or we've abducted her. I don't know about you, but I don't want to go to jail for kidnapping."
"What are we gonna do then?"
"We're not going to do anything," Wade said.
"Someone's bound to notice she's gone missing."
"If the police come to us, we'll tell them the truth—most of it anyway. We'll tell them she came here and watched us run the camera into the cannon. Then she left, and we don't know where she went."
"And what if they give us a lie detector test?"
"Let's just hope they don't."
* * *
The following day, as they were waiting for the photographer from National Geographic to arrive, Wade and Freddie reviewed the videotape of the images taken with the fiber optic camera.
"That's odd."
"What's odd?" Wade asked.
"Look there," Freddie said, pausing the video and pointing to an object on the computer monitor. "This is a diamond and sapphire ring."
"That's what it looks like."
"There was no ring in the jewels we removed from the cannon barrel."
Both men looked through the pirate booty again, but neither could find the ring, nor was it still inside the cannon.
"I don't get it," Freddie later confided in his partner. "The ring was in the cannon, and only you and I have had access to the contents since it was opened."
"That's not true. We weren't alone when we broke the plug of the barrel."
* * *
Regarding the ghost of Black Jack Turnbull and the disappearance of Catherine Burrows, both men had agreed not to discuss the matter with anyone else or with each other. But the agreement did not stop Wade from searching the newspaper every day for word of the heiress.
Surely, someone has noticed by now that she's gone missing, he thought a week after the incident with the cannon.
It was Freddie who found her name in print.
"Look here," he said and put the newspaper in front of his partner.
"An obituary?" Wade asked with surprise. "Has her body turned up?"
He quickly read the write-up, which dealt more with the family and less with the heiress herself.
"It doesn't give any details," he observed with disappointment. "All it says is that she was found dead in her apartment."
An idea suddenly came to Wade.
"Remember that girl you dated a few years back, the one who worked for the state police?"
"That's a strange subject to bring up now," Freddie said.
"Are you still on good terms with her?"
"Yeah, but I don't see .... Wait. You want me to get in touch with her and see if she can get us any information on Catherine Burrows' death."
"What are old friends for?"
* * *
Freddie met Paula Queenan, his former girlfriend, for lunch and brought up the subject of Catherine Burrows' death.
"I was shocked to find out she died," he told her. "I had just seen her the week before."
"Really?" Paula asked with surprise. "I didn't know you knew her."
"Oh, yeah. I'm partnered with Wade MacKinnon. Have you ever heard of him?"
"You mean the treasure hunter?"
"That's the one. We found the wreck of the pirate ship Widow off Cape Cod."
"I read about that in the paper. Wasn't Catherine Burrows trying to stop you from going down to the ship?"
"At first, but when we finally found it, she was really interested in what was on board. I don't want to speak ill of the dead"—here he paused—"but she was with us when we found a secret stash of jewels inside a cannon. She left suddenly, and the next day we noticed an expensive piece of jewelry was missing."
"You don't think she stole it! Why would she? Her family's loaded!"
Freddie shrugged his shoulders.
"Who knows? Maybe she was a kleptomaniac. To be honest, I thought there was something odd about her the moment I met her."
"You think so?" she asked conspiratorially. "You haven't heard the best of it."
Freddie suppressed a smile as Paula was drawn into the trap he had carefully laid for her.
"Oh?"
"There's a big mystery surrounding her death, one her family wants to hush up at all costs."
"Why? Was it suicide? Drugs? Was there some sexual impropriety?"
"It was the remains. A DNA test confirmed the bones were hers but ...."
"Bones?"
"That's all that was left of her: bones. The medical examiner can't explain the cause of death, but the bones had deteriorated to the extent that they resembled those of a person who had died three centuries ago."
The stunned look on Freddie's face was genuine, not faked for Paula's behalf.
"I saw a photograph taken at the scene," she told him confidentially. "The bones were lying down on the bed, as though she'd died in her sleep. The skeleton was fully dressed, including shoes, stockings, and a ring on her finger."
"A ring? Can you describe it?"
"It was beautiful—but then, she was an heiress. It had diamonds and sapphires. It looked like an engagement ring."
Freddie didn't accept Paula's invitation to return with her to her apartment. He was too eager to get back to Yarmouth and share his news with Wade MacKinnon.
"But Catherine Burrows couldn't have taken the ring," Freddie maintained. "She wasn't near the cannon."
"It wasn't her," said Wade, who was as astonished by the tale as his partner had been. "It was Black Jack Turnbull. He gave her the ring he intended to give her three hundred years ago."
"Don't you mean the ring he intended to give her ancestor?"
"You saw the portrait. Maybe there was a bond between ancestor and descendant that went beyond a common name and a physical likeness. Maybe Catherine Burrows was an old soul brought back in a new body. And after three hundred years, she's finally reunited with the man she loved."
"I never knew you were such a romantic!"
"It's the sea," Wade claimed, looking off to the horizon. "Being around it makes us all romantics."
This story was inspired by the 1984 discovery of the Whydah, off the coast of Cape Cod. I visited the Whydah/Pirate Musuem in Provincetown, Massachusetts, and saw a cannon that, when examined with a fiber optic camera, was found to contain gold and jewels. Unlike the characters in my story, the expedition that found that cannon chose not to destroy it by attempting to open it. The Whydah was the flagship of pirate Sam Bellamy and was carrying treasure from fifty plundered ships when it went down in a storm near Wellfleet in 1717. According to legend, Bellamy was on his way to visit the woman he loved, who lived in Cape Cod.
The ghost of legendary pirate Black Cat Salem haunts northeastern Massachusetts. It can usually be spotted wherever food is served.
