Canons and Gold Dust

Cape Cod 1985

By Barry Clifford

 

At the bottom of a deep pit dug in the seafloor, a solitary diver
 searches for clues to a legendary sunken pirate ship. Billows of sand
 gush into the longshore current as the lone diver uses a water jet to expose a
 massive concretion at the bottom of the pit.

Tubular things, things fused together into what looked like an
 anonymous polyp, crawling with shrimp maggots and sand fleas, bulge
 from the bottom of the 20 foot deep pit.

Sensing urine soaked ship’s timber and putrefied human remains, a big
 lobster shuffles down the steep sand slope to investigate the
 delicious gas escaping from the recently punctured anaerobic tomb.

“Holy shit, Cannon!” The lone diver shouts into his face mask.

Before pushing his microphone button to announce his discovery, Diver
 One collects his thoughts, understanding too well that the slightest
 exaggeration could bring days of heckling from buddy divers at the
 Land Ho Pub and sinister criticism from Dr. Warren Reese, Expedition
 Whydah’s chief archaeologist, who delights in finding fault with Diver
 One
.

On the surface like a frightened beast, R/V Vast Explorer jumps on her anchor lines,
 as booms of thunder declare a great sparkling black cloud, which rolls
 down the outer Cape like the doomsday machine.

“Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig the earth…”
“Turn that fuckin’ radio off Dibble, screams Dive-ops supervisor Todd
 Murphy…we got serious shit coming our way. ”

“Hendrix is trying to tell you something, Murphy,” says Dibble, a
 former Vietnam Marine fighter pilot, belated hippie dropout and
 Expedition Whydah’s photographer.

“Hendrix don’t dive Dibble…now turn off that fuckin’ radio!”
“Roger that, dive-ops Hendrix goin’ down,” answers Dibble with a smirk
 and snappy, middle-fingered, Royal Navy salute to the bill of his
 Whydah ball cap.

“Diver One…Diver One, Come back to Dive-ops, we got serious weather
 coming our way. Prepare to leave bottom immediately. You copy that,
 Diver One?”

“Roger that, Dive-ops.”

“How much time do I have Todd? I’ve got what looks like a pile of
 cannon and God knows what else, all fused into a massive
 concretion…gold dust everywhere,” responds Diver One excitedly.

“Times up, Diver One. now, get the fuck out of there… big squall
 coming down on us,” answers Dive-ops.

“Roger that, Dive-ops. Diver One preparing to leave bottom.”

As Diver One attempts to leave the pit, he realizes that he’s stuck to
 the mysterious lump, as if the Giant concretion had grabbed hold of
 him. “What the fuck?” We hear Diver One exclaim over the on-deck loudspeaker.

 Panic whispers.

Relax, the lone diver tells himself, checking his air supply
 connection, weight belt buckle, dive knives and emergency air supply.

“You OK, Diver One?” asks Dive-ops.

“Yeah, Roger that Dive Ops… I’m snagged on something…give me a
 second…” responds Diver One.

Dive Supervisor, Todd Murphy nods to the safety diver standing on the
 partly submerged dive platform.

The safety diver looks directly at Todd and steps from the platform into the water.
“Diver in the water,” shouts the safety diver. “Diver in the
 water,” responds Todd.

The safety diver taps the top of his head with an upside down closed
 fist to signal all lights are green and then slips beneath the
 surface.

As the safety diver descends down Diver One’s umbilical air hose, he
 watches the upper lip of test pit #7 let go, sending an avalanche of
 liquid sand gushing down the steep slope.

Diver One watches the avalanche too, but from the bottom of the pit.
 
Cool under pressure, the lone diver loosens his shoulder harness,
 twists sideways, and sees that his air hose is wedged inside a crevice
 of the massive obstacle.

Reaching deep into the concretion, Diver One twists his air hose free
 and begins to scramble up the steep bank, when something seems to grab
 hold of his safety vest…and, after a long moment, with a snap,
 releases him, just as the pit fills with more than five feet of liquid
 sand.

Diver One spots the Safety Diver, taps the top of his head with an
 upside down clenched fist, smiles big and together make their way up
 Diver One’s umbilical hose to the Vast Explorer’s dive platform.

“You through fuckin’ around, Diver One? We’ve got serious work to
 do,” smiles Todd to his buddy, now safely on the surface.

Looks like the world is coming to an end, responds Diver One. It will
 be, if we don’t get them pins from them mailboxes and get the hell out
 of here, answers Todd.

No attempt was made to relocate what Diver One described as, “a pile
 of cannon covered with what looked like gold dust,” as Dr. Warren
 Reese, dismissed Diver One’s description of Test pit #7 as “fanciful
 and outside his test pattern.”

Test Pit #7 wasn’t located, again, until 2007

“Check this out,” says Spiegel, as he barrels, dripping wet into the
 pilot house of the Vast Explorer. “You’re not going to believe what
 was snagged on the Cannon Pile,” he bellowed.

“Get the fuck out of my house you big dumb ass, you’re dripping all
 over my deck,” I said with a smirk.

“No, look here,” he said. “You won’t believe this,” handing me an old
 diver’s compass.

“What are you talking about,” as I looked at the compass. “Look here you
 crotchety old bastard,” he said, pointing to some letters scratched
 into the time worn instrument.

“KFJ ?” I said aloud. “So what the fuck does that mean?” “Give me that,” he
 snarled, nearly crushing my wrist with a massive wet paw, as he
 grabbed the compass from my hand.

“Look here,” he said, turning the clear plastic compass over and poking
 the letters with a hotdog sized finger.

“JFK, Not KFJ…Get it?”

It was as if Diver One had just come into the pilot house smiling as
 he always smiled.

Where the hell has time…?

All rights reserved Barry Clifford / PROVOKR Media 2019