“That was amazing!” said Mackenzie as we emerged from the theater. “I can’t believe how long they all could hold their breath.”
“At least ninety seconds, and some of them for up to two and a half minutes,” Sirena told her. “I used to be able to hold mine for two minutes, back when I was performing.”
I tried to imagine her as a professional mermaid. Sirena was shaped more like one of the bobbers my brothers used when they were first learning how to fish, but when she was younger, she was probably built more like Cha Cha or Mackenzie, pint-size and cute.
“Were you a mermaid here at the Jolly Roger?” asked Hayden’s mother.
Sirena shook her head. “No—Florida. But that was many years ago. Delphine worked here every summer during college, though.” She clapped her hands. “Ladies! You have about forty-five minutes to enjoy the museum before we head back to Mermaid HQ.”
As the rest of the group made a beeline for the gift shop, Cha Cha and Jasmine and Mackenzie and I entered the “Wreck of the Windborne” exhibit.
“Ooo, spooky,” said my cousin, shivering in anticipation as we pushed past a curtain of fishing nets into a dark tunnel. We emerged onto a gangplank that led onto a replica of a ship. A costumed guide motioned us over.
“The tour is just getting started,” he told us, adjusting his tricorne hat. A fake stuffed parrot was perched on his shoulder. “Welcome aboard the Windborne, mateys!”
Mateys? Seriously? I glanced at my oblivious cousin. Where was Hatcher when I needed him!
“The tale of the Windborne is a tragic one,” our guide began. “While sailing home to England in 1765 with a hold full of South American gold and silver, she was attacked off Jamaica by Benjamin ‘Black Tooth Ben’ Buttonwood and his band of pirates. They trussed the Windborne’s captain up like a Thanksgiving turkey and set him ashore on a small island. His crew was given the choice of being marooned with him or joining the buccaneers. Most chose to go rogue.”
“I want to be a pirate too!” announced a little boy about Pippa’s age.
“Arrrrgggghhh!” growled our guide approvingly. “Bully for you, lad!”
Frustrated actor, I thought. Couldn’t get a real job, ended up here. That’s what my father always said about the employees these kinds of museums.
The guide continued with his tale. “The Windborne spent the next couple of years sailing under the black flag—that’s what they call the skull and crossbones, that or the ‘Jolly Roger’—preying on other ships. Then, in the spring of 1767, she set a course for Black Tooth Ben’s home port in Maine. Legend has it he planned to meet his sweetheart there and spirit her off to a life of luxury in the West Indies. Alas, fate had other plans. The Windborne was nearing Nantucket when she ran afoul of a nor’easter. The monstrous storm blew them back toward Cape Cod, and they foundered on a sandbar just off Marconi Beach.”
Jasmine gasped. “I’ve been swimming on that beach!”
The guide nodded solemnly. “As have I, lass, as have I.” His voice dropped low. “As the ship’s bell tolled the alarm, the Windborne broke apart. Nearly all hands were lost, including that of the cabin boy, who was just about your age.” He pointed at the little boy who’d announced that he wanted to be a pirate. He didn’t look so certain now. “Only two men made it to shore. Isaiah Osborne, the ship’s carpenter, was quickly found, arrested, and hanged for piracy. The other managed to escape and was never seen or heard from again. Dandy Dan, his shipmates called him, but his real name has been lost in the mists of time.”
“What happened to the treasure?” asked Cha Cha.
“They say that Dandy Dan spirited some of the booty away with him when he vanished, but no trace of it has ever been found. The Windborne lay in her silent grave at the bottom of the sea for three hundred years. Bits and pieces of her washed ashore from time to time, tantalizing beachcombers and treasure seekers alike. But her exact location eluded all who sought to find her.”
The tour guide knew how to spin a tale. We were hanging on his every word.
“All, that is, except Skipper John Dee, Cape Cod’s own intrepid underwater explorer. Ten years ago, after spending most of his life searching for the Windborne, he mounted one final expedition, and this time he found her! Thanks to his recovery efforts, we now have this museum and all of the priceless historical artifacts that it contains.” He whipped off his hat and threw it into the air. “Huzzah for Skipper Dee!”
“Huzzah for Skipper Dee!” echoed the tour group.
I laughed out loud, which earned me a puzzled look from the tour guide. Just the other night Mackenzie had read Eloise, Pippa’s favorite book, to a group of our younger cousins. Skipperdee was Eloise’s pet turtle’s name. I looked over at my cousin, expecting to see her grinning too, but she was too busy huzzahing to notice.
After the tour, we meandered on through the other exhibits, looking at the cannonballs and swords and other artifacts that had been recovered from the ocean floor.
“Hey! There’s the ship’s bell!” said Jasmine.
We followed her to the large tank in which it hung submerged. It reminded me of the Paul Revere bell in the steeple of our church back in Pumpkin Falls. This one was similar in style, only smaller. The name WINDBORNE was engraved around
