The station’s chief engineer, Walter Somers, pulled the archived project maps. He overlaid the old town layout with the reservoir plan. It turned out the point where the ripples began was directly above the dome of the submerged church.
People called it an interesting coincidence, nothing more. The church was on the bottom, and no one could imagine what might be happening there. Logically, nothing should have been happening there at all.
But on November 22, Lock No. 4 failed completely. This time the cause was obvious even before the mechanism was taken apart. The gates would not close because something had become wedged between them.
Divers were sent down to inspect. Between the steel gate panels, at a depth of 26 feet, they found a wooden cross.
It was soaked and darkened, but completely intact. The cross was about five feet seven inches tall, with a crossbar about 31 inches wide. It had been jammed into the gates as if someone had driven it there with a sledgehammer. They pulled it out and examined it carefully.
The style was old religious folk work, and it was at least 150 years old. On the back was a faded inscription in old church script. After some effort, they made it out: “This ground is under God’s protection.”
The origin of the cross was established quickly. It had come from the cemetery, one of the grave markers that had not been moved before the flooding. But no one could explain how it had ended up in the lock, 300 feet from the burial ground, at a depth where it should not have floated up.
Chief engineer Somers requested permission for a dive survey of the bottom near the submerged church. He received it on November 27. The job was assigned to a special underwater recovery unit.
This was not a civilian outfit. It was a unit created in 1923. Over the years it had worked under the Department of Transportation and later under naval command. Its job was salvaging sunken vessels, clearing channels, and handling work at especially dangerous sites.
The team was made up of former military divers, demolition men, and shipboard specialists. These were men who had gone down to mines, shattered destroyer hulls, and torpedo tubes with unexploded warheads. They were not superstitious. They were used to death. Darkness didn’t bother them.
The group assigned to the reservoir had three men. The lead diver was Chief Petty Officer Peter Vance, 41, with 19 years of diving experience and service in harbor mine clearance. The second diver was Senior Seaman Eli Carter, 34, with 12 years of experience and a specialty in zero-visibility work.
The third was Seaman Steve Mullen, 27, with eight years in underwater recovery. They arrived at the station on December 2, checked into the staff quarters, and reviewed the documentation.
The assignment was clear. They were to inspect the submerged structure, determine the cause of damage to the lock mechanisms, and identify the source of foreign debris. The word “church” did not appear in the written tasking. Only coordinates were given.
The depth was 40 feet 8 inches. The bottom was silt over clay. Visibility was expected to be zero.
The water temperature held at 39 degrees Fahrenheit. Vance studied the map of the old town and marked the submerged site. He asked chief engineer Somers what exactly was down there.
“The houses were taken apart,” Somers said. “What’s left is the foundation and the stone church they never blew.” Vance asked why not.
“Not worth it,” the engineer said. “Did anybody check its stability?” Vance asked. “It’s been standing there 150 years,” Somers replied. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Vance nodded and wrote that down in his notebook. That same evening, he spoke with the divers who had recovered the cross from the lock. He asked whether they had seen anything unusual.
They said no. Nothing but the cross. Around it there had been only muddy bottom, cloudy water, and the steel gate. Everything looked normal.
On December 3, they made a test dive in shallow water. It was just a gear check and acclimation run. They used standard hard-hat suits with copper helmets and lead-soled boots weighing 40 pounds each.
The compressor was checked twice. The signal lines were in good shape. Voice communication over the line was clear.
Vance briefed the team without wasting words. “Standard procedure. Slow descent, slow ascent.”
“Visibility will be lousy, so we work by touch. Our job is to inspect the structure, document any damage, and find the source of debris. Bottom time: no more than 30 minutes.”
No one had questions. On December 4 at 8:00 a.m., the launch carrying the compressor and support crew headed out to the site. Coordinates were confirmed using shoreline markers.
The depth finder showed 41 feet. The bottom appeared level, with no major projections. They noticed the water right away.
It wasn’t especially cold or especially cloudy, which was expected. What felt strange was its density. It didn’t feel like water. It felt thicker, heavier somehow…
