Читать книгу The Unsolved Oak Island Mystery 3-Book Bundle - Lionel and Patricia Fanthorpe - Страница 10

Winter presented special problems on the island. Groundwater continuously seeped into the Money Pit and froze, coating the sides of the pit and the ladder rungs with ice, making descent and ascent treacherous. On the beach, digging frozen earth was difficult and slow. Equipment parts and tools became fragile in the frigid air. The need to shovel snow was constant. Simply surviving the weather took a mighty effort.

The winter of 1960–1961 was the second winter for Dad and Bobby, but it was the first for Mom and Ricky.

Winter ’60–’61 by Mildred Restall

Winter really came to stay shortly after the New Year, 1961. The thermometer dropped down to zero at nights, often lower. During the day, it never once climbed above thirteen degrees for over six weeks. The bay froze solid. Ice began along the shore, and daily crept out further and further. Every morning after breakfast, I hurried down to the beach to see how close the ice was coming to our end of the island. Overnight it advanced fifty, a hundred feet. Finally we were completely icebound. The calm weather and zero temperatures had brought the severest winter in nearly forty years.

It was bitterly cold. We found birds frozen to death, one a great hawk. You could walk through the woods and hear tree branches snap like a pistol shot.

People on the shore skated over to the island and we could skate to the mainland. For the first time in living memory for some of the residents, there was ice-boating. Even cars could be driven over to Oak Island. Some of the younger set took to having car races on the ice. At night it was a sight to see … huge bonfires lit along the shore for skating parties. As far as you could see there were acres and acres of ice. It made one think of dog teams, huskies and sledges, fur-lined parkas and snow shoes. It was cold, bitterly cold.

The cold penetrated the thin walls of the shack. We had the heater on full blast, but even so I wore my snow boots all day while working around in the cabin. At night we sat on the bed with our feet curled under us; it was too cold near the floor. You froze from the knees down. From the knees up to the shoulders was fine, but the rest of you was too hot for comfort. Now it was too cold to do any laundry outside, so every day I rinsed out a few odds and ends indoors. With daily dishwashing, cooking, and laundry, the shack was very humid. This warm, moist air floated up to the ceiling, and as the sun moved off the roof it froze. Next day, when the sun hit squarely on the shack, this ice would melt. Starting at around 11:00 a.m. it would drip all over the place … on the bed, floor, even on Ricky’s school work. It began to collect around the bottom of the walls and freeze. By the end of February we had ice an inch or more thick all around the bottom of the walls and up to a height of two feet in some places.

It was so cold that whenever the door was opened, the outside frigid air swept in and collided with the warm, moist air at the open door and there they struggled, a huge cloud of vapour rolling back and forth in the doorway. So cold that when I threw out a pan of dishwater it bounced on the snow. More than once after throwing out water, I unconsciously reached for the metal door handle with my bare moist hand, and promptly snatched it away as I felt my fingers adhere to the metal.

How we stuck it out I’ll never know. I worried about Ricky, who was susceptible to ear trouble. But in spite of all the miseries of cold, and lack of conveniences, we were as healthy as horses. Not one of us got even the sniffles.

I went to the mainland only once during this cold spell. It was the day after St. Valentine’s Day. Fine powdery snow had fallen the day before, and everything looked beautiful and clean. It was bitterly cold, and the sun shone on the field of snow out over the bay, making it glisten and shine so that it hurt the eyes. Bob suggested that we walk across to the mainland and visit some friends. I quickly agreed that it would be nice to go visiting for a change.

We set out right after lunch, cutting through the woods in the deep snow that brought us to the large cove facing Western Shore, where we were headed. The days of snow, followed by bright sunny days, had caused a crust to form on the snow that covered the frozen bay between the Island and the mainland. As we stepped onto the ice, we broke through the icy crust and found ourselves walking in about six inches of snow.

Every step we took, we broke the crust. It was hard going. I soon tired and decided to follow in Bob’s footsteps; it was much easier. Besides, there was a brisk breeze blowing from off shore and my face was getting quite stiff. Bob thought it was a good idea, he would walk ahead and break trail for me to follow.

It was all right at first, but I found it hard to match his footsteps, so every now and then I took a couple of mincing steps that brought me up to his. The glare of the sun on the snow made my eyes ache; my feet felt like lead. As we walked on I could hear a mumbling ahead. Bob was talking to me but I didn’t bother to answer, for by this time he was a good twenty feet in front of me. I plodded on, my head bent low against the wind, just following his prints. I nearly ran smack bang into him, for he had stopped. When he got no reply to something, he had looked around and discovered that I was far behind.

It was so warm, I could feel myself beginning to get sticky under my parka. We rested two or three times, as we didn’t want to perspire and then get a chill.

Eventually we reached our friends’ place. It must have been a good two-mile hike. I was exhausted. I took off my snow boots and felt my feet spread out and out, and I wondered if I would ever get my boots back on.

By the time we got through the return trip I was dead beat and stumbled around for the rest of the day in a state bordering on unconsciousness. “This is what the men go through every time they go for supplies,” I thought. “On top of that, they have to drag the groceries home on a toboggan. No wonder they sit around exhausted for the rest of the day.”

That winter it seemed to take all our effort just to survive. Not only did we have to think about bringing in food, there was also oil and propane to get over to the island. This, too, had to be brought across the bay and up the length of the Island on a toboggan.

I had one thing to be thankful for during this hard winter. I no longer had to haul water. This job was given to Bob Jr. The pond was frozen over and each day it was necessary to chop a hole in the ice with an axe. My husband didn’t trust me with an axe, probably thinking I might chop a leg off. This was fine by me. I was tired of carrying pails of water; I was beginning to develop a pair of shoulders that would do credit to a boxer.

Of course, we had our lighter moments. Skating on the marsh, tobogganing down the hill. It was a great winter for sports. Our pond was well sheltered from any and all winds, and sometimes on weekends some of Bobby’s friends would come over for a game of hockey. I went out more than I ever did at home. I had to. I couldn’t stand being cooped up in that tiny little shack day in and day out. I walked for miles through the woods. Rick and I had been collecting animal cards that were being given away with the tea we used. And through them we learned how to distinguish the tracks of different animals. We saw the tracks of the fox, with the small, neat round holes it made, one in front of the other. The cottontail and jack rabbit, whose long leaps could be plainly seen in the snow, and made us wonder just how big was this creature. Egg-shaped depressions, revealing where three large birds had lain in the sun. The mink with two tiny little paw marks spread such a long way apart. It was fascinating, all of it, even the signs of struggle where a few feathers and red stains showed that some bird had met a violent end.

On January 5, Dad wrote to Fred. The letter begins with descriptions of the storms they are enduring. Then it turns to details of what they have uncovered in the reservoir area. Dad included a photo of the 1704 stone and commented:

This brings us to the fact that Kidd was hung three years before this beach work was done. [Kidd was hanged in 1701. As far as Dad was concerned, the treasure of Oak Island could not be Kidd’s.] It also brings into a time when the big pirates had to lay low or get out of the business. This all fits in with the Theory that this is tremendous [treasure], that it was leisurely buried and that it was dug up from somewhere considered not safe and buried with this drain system so it would be safe against everything. This is the way it appears to be. If Prof. Hamilton’s tunnel is as close to the 118 ft. shaft as we believe, it sure was a close one. …

We can be sure that there are millions involved but we don’t want to be cutting it up anymore. What can you do? I know things have been very bad for lots of business around the country, I believe.

Now that we have got this drainage system unscrambled we have to keep right on that end and cement it up. One thing is that because the drain is full of sand, it is no use pumping cement with Quick Set into it as it would flow up and down the drain but not be able to displace the sand across the whole diameter of the drain.

It’s a wonderful lot of Treasure here, we intend to get it up as quick as we can consistent with not taking any chances that would risk the success of the job. We have got a lot of work done for the money spent here up to now. While it’s not going to take any fortune, we will have to find another two thousand. This will surely complete the Job. I will phone you about the 10th.

Yours truly,

Bob

Dad needed more investment money, but he was concerned about giving away too great a percentage. Fred had already been assigned 25 percent. You can’t give away too many quarters before you have nothing left.

Maintaining their existence occupied a lot of their time in those winter months. They made windbreaks and used layers of evergreen branches on the roofs of the shacks for extra insulation. They plowed and shovelled. In his journal, Bobby mentions temperature of -3 degrees Fahrenheit with winds up to 35 miles per hour. But even in that weather, they dug another hole on the beach.

On February 11 they ran the big pump at the Money Pit for four and a half hours and lowered the water in the Money Pit to about seventy feet. They pumped out their latest hole at the beach but could hear nothing: they were hoping to hear sea water as it flooded back through the inlet tunnel into the Money Pit. Was the tunnel to the side? Was it lower? They needed to find it to plug it.

On February 14, Bobby wrote in his journal, “Went to Chester for food, etc. On the way home we had 46 cents to our name.”

The letter from Dad to Fred on March 6 hinted at the toll this expedition was taking on the family.

March 6th 1961

Dear Fred:

I received your Telegraphed Money Order Wednesday, and we were right flat. It was a great help. Not hearing from you, I didn’t know what you were planning to do. Thought you would either be sending another $50 later by wire or that you were writing. I didn’t phone, as it’s not sensible to keep phoning collect. I sure can’t phone and pay for it on this end.

I have written to the shopkeeper friend who put $500.00 in at first (before you did) he put in another $500.00 in Dec or was it November. I know he can’t do much (if anything) but any help right now will allow time to raise some more money. I do know he will help if he possibly can …

Bob Lee (Restall).

Mildred Lee (Restall).

Speedy Bob Lee (right) with his U.S. motorcycle racing team members.

Mildred Shelley, the dancer.

Bob Lee trick riding in the drome.

Mildred Lee riding the drome, or Wall of Death.

Bob and Mildred Lee (second and third from right) in Hamburg, Germany.

Living the high life in Germany.

Advertising for the Globe of Death, Munich, Germany, 1934.

Publicity shot, Canada, 1938 or ’39.

Bob, Mildred, and Lee Restall return from Hawaii.

Canadian National Exhibition, Toronto, 1937.

Ricky, Mildred, and Bobby test one of Bob Restall’s adult carnival ride cars while suspended from guy wires.

The Ski Lift in action. Another Bob Restall creation.

How have you been making out, I would like to know. If you appear to get people interested what seems to be the point where they cool? I hope you haven’t lost any confidence in this venture yourself …

I am enclosing a sketch of the pirates’ work on Smith’s Cove as proved out by a year’s hard work and 65 test holes into their work [See Figure 3]. First you must understand the records of 165 years of work here are incomplete. Not mentioning all the work done from 1850 to 1860 or from 1868 to 1893 (this includes a dozen shafts back of Smith’s Cove) and another dozen in the area of the money pit (but 25’ or more away). But all this time Smith was living 50 ft from the money pit and no one got near the treasure. Another great trouble have been the errors in the records. Making two ways that everything at every step has to be checked. Is this true or false. Was this done by the searchers, etc.

Figure 3: Enclosed with letter of March 6, 1961.

I want to give you a report on absolute fact.

The Reservoir at Smith’s Cove with its Paving to prevent erosion, its seals to keep mud and sand out of the reservoir, is absolutely incredible. We are the only people who examined this work from one end to another. When the 1850 outfit found the water running out of the beach in 1850 they uncovered the beach and found coconut at low tide. When they decided a Coffer Dam had to be built to examine this work, they uncovered [a strip of] this Coconut till they came to both ends [of the beach] (Incidentally, they removed the coconut from this whole strip) under it they found a layer of stones like Cobble stone paving.

Obviously this was man’s work. They [the 1850 group] built a Coffer Dam in a crescent to span this work exactly 241 feet. When this Dam was built and the sea shut out they started in the Middle and removed a few hundred tons of rock finding the rock work 5’ deep and 140 feet wide and from their Coffer Dam inland about 50’. On the bottom of this rock work they found 5 drains (box drains) these they followed inland (Hop scotch) reaching a place where they converged joining a round larger drain. When they attempted to follow the round drain they succeeded only for a short distance. The ground and gravel letting in so much water (they had no pumps) they had to give up. At this point a storm along with Spring Tides overflowed the Dam and when the Tide went out the whole thing went to pieces. The sea brought sand in and reformed the beach in the open work.

Now because the Main Drain across the Island to the money pit is 110 ft. deep (30 ft. hill) the drain is approx. 80 ft. below sea level 40 lbs. pressure this is enough to force the water through carrying sand with it. Where the level of the pit is down 10’ the pressure is only 5 lbs. It takes a week to fill the Pit back to sea level at this low pressure. But pump it down 40’ (120 lbs. pressure) it comes in at the rate of 250 gal. a minute. Pump it down 80 ft. and it comes back from 450 to 550 gal. a minute. When the water is pumped down 15 feet (7 1/2 lbs.) or more it brings a great amount of sand with it. This sand pumps up with the water. This proves the drain across the Island is full of sand and that it constantly gets new sand from the beach with the water.

Note on the sketch that the place is marked where we got the dated stone out of the Pirates’ work covered with decayed vegetation. The grease from this is right into the stone, I took this stone out of this work where its location, and condition proved that it had not been disturbed since placed there when this work was done and is therefore undoubtedly authentic.

I may phone you before you get this as there are two people I tried who have the money and who might come in, but you may know them, perhaps I should write them from here. In which case I would have to have their Addresses.

The winter here has been terrible; the ice is breaking up, the pieces floating by are 18” to 20” thick with some over 2’ thick. This on Salt Water yet. They are still using cars on what is left. There is a storm on now. Waves are only 3 to 3 1/2 ft but not too close together, this gets the chunks of ice (tons) enough momentum to give things an awful beating.

I am going ashore on foot this afternoon. The other half of the Island is in solid ice yet. So will mail this then. We have to wind this job up fast (it’s here, we can get it, and we are going to get it) but we can’t stand much more of the way we have been living, its enough to drive anyone out of their mind. Do the best you can and we have got to get enough for eating and stove oil, etc. Best regards to all from all of us.

Yours very truly,

Bob

Dad was providing Fred with a bit of a history lesson here. This information on the Truro Company would have been well known to Oak Island aficionados, but not to Fred. He needed to understand the beach work thoroughly if he was to describe it to potential investors.

Dad had mentioned sand and the problems it raised. The 1850 searchers had uncovered part of the reservoir in Smith’s Cove and found it consisted of a layer of coconut fibre and a layer of a jelly-like eel grass. They believed the reservoir acted as a sponge to hold water for the inlet tunnel so it could flood the Money Pit. As Dad and Bobby found, the reservoir certainly held sufficient water to make digging in the beach difficult, but more importantly, it had actually acted as a giant filter, screening sand out of the water so that sea water travelled with force to the Money Pit. But by this time, whenever the Money Pit was pumped down, the water that came in was mixed with plenty of sand, because the 1850 searchers had disturbed the original work during their explorations and had broken the reservoir seal, compromising the reservoir’s filter function. A cross-section of the pirates’ beach work shows one of the five box drains that lie under the water in Smith’s Cove (see Figure 4).

Figure 4: Bob Restall’s sketch. Cross-section of seawater inlet system at Smith’s Cove.

Late in December, Chappell had dropped Dad a note to extend their existing contract until March 31. Then, on March 23, he sent a letter, long but worth reading.

March 23, 1961

Dear Mr. Restall:

Apparently I have been somewhat lax in replying to your letter which is dated March 6th. As a matter of fact, I believe the letter arrived in Sydney the evening of the day I went to Halifax on practically a whole week of Hospital Meetings, hence I did not get it until I got back from those meetings. [This refers to Chappell’s position as a member of the hospital’s board.] I believe it was March 16th. And incidentally, this old hip of mine is giving me quite a lot of trouble in moving around. It does not bother me much in sitting down or even lying down, but as soon as I start moving, it begins to kick up quite badly.

I have had several letters during the past number of weeks from parties who have all sorts of ideas about Oak Island. I am enclosing you a copy of one in particular from a party who has been corresponding with me every spring over a number of years, in fact seven or eight years, I believe. He also corresponded with Mr. Blair before he died and that is about eight years ago. Just what this man has behind him, I do not know; but I have written my son in Washington, D.C. asking him to check up and let me know what the resources are behind this company and what this man’s record is for carrying out work that he undertakes.

I have a letter from Calgary, Alberta, in fact, two. The first one came from a firm of solicitors and the second one came from a party who was their client; and he seems to be extremely anxious to get going on some sort of a proposition this spring. I have written him asking what his proposition is, so when I hear from him, will let you know if I think it is anything worth considering.

You remember the fellow in Boston who phoned me and said that he could raise practically an unlimited amount of finances. I had another telephone call from him yesterday, and he is anxious to come down the latter part of April and visit Oak Island with me and discuss matters with you. He seemed, according to conversation, quite willing to work in any kind of a proposition. I would gather he is a highly qualified engineer from the conversation I had with him, or if he is not, he has highly qualified engineers at his command to look into any technical angle.

Due to the extremely severe winter weather, we have not been able to get together as early as I had anticipated, so in order to keep things on the level until we can get together I am dropping you a line extending our time from March 31st to May 10th. The reason I say May 10th, is that there is a possibility I may be going in the hospital about that time to see what can be done in regard to my hip condition; so, we must come to some final decision before that date.

Incidentally, regarding the balance of the Island, or at least the portion that was formerly owned by Beamish. I do not know for sure that it covered all of the balance of the Island or not, but I am having a solicitor check the records and make sure. But in any case, the option is being taken up so that we will have possession of the Beamish portion anyway, and if there is any other which he did not own, it must be a very small portion; but I hope to learn within the next few days just what it is. [Chappell had incorrectly thought he owned the entire island, but he had found another piece that was for sale and was going to acquire it.]

You remember the boat that used to lay off there on the south side last summer. Nobody seemed to know just what they were doing, who they were; well I have just learned what was going on. Apparently, a couple of skin divers were operating the boat and looking for the entrance to the tunnel to the money pit; and they claim they discovered it. So far as I can find out, they are both local boys, that is from around Halifax, and they have three or four Halifax men, some of them fairly well off, who are interested with them. I do not know any of the men, in fact, I do not know the names of them, but they have asked me to meet them on Monday, the third of April, so I expect to be in Halifax, Monday morning, and meet them and learn what they have discovered and what their idea is. Of course, I suppose I have no jurisdiction over them doing work out in the water, but so far as coming in beyond the shore line, apparently, they realize that my licence protects me fully. So, it will be interesting to find out what they discovered and what they have in mind; that is if they will tell me.

The discoveries that you have made during the past season are certainly interesting. I am hoping that the weather will clear before too long so that I can get down and look things over and have a chat with you.

Yours truly,

M.R. Chappell

It is obvious that Chappell kept up a running correspondence with many other would-be treasure hunters, as he had with my parents before awarding them the contract. Déja vu. It sounds as if Chappell considered some of these correspondents to be possible replacements for my family, and others, like the man from Boston, to be a possible source of financing to help Dad’s operation. The comments about the entrance to the Money Pit refer to previous searchers who had speculated that there was a walk-in tunnel from South Shore Cove. These 1961 skin divers were claiming to have located it. Even if that were true, they needed Chappell’s permission to proceed because under the Treasure Trove Act only Chappell had the licence to recover treasure. This is an example of the intrigue that constantly swirls around Oak Island.

But the only thing my parents cared about was their contract. In Chappell’s letter to them just before this one, he indicated that he was highly satisfied with their work. This informal extension to only May 10 must have driven my parents mad. They needed a contract so that they could use it as a basis for raising capital. Who would sink large sums of money into a recovery operation that could be out of business in thirty days?

Raising operating funds relied on having a contract. In their less than six years on the island, my parents had twenty-five investors who, altogether, put in $57,883. Some invested large sums, some invested as little as $100. 1961 was a very bad year, as a formal contract for the entire year never materialized. And although investment money came in during every other year on the island, in 1961 not one cent of investment capital was secured.

Money raised by Dad went exclusively for the recovery operation. My parents lived in self-imposed penury, but the big pump in the Money Pit virtually inhaled money. Equipment and services had to be purchased. Workmen had to be hired. It would have been unsafe to run the big pump with Dad and Bobby working down the Money Pit together. One of them had to be on top to deal with emergencies.

For the recovery operation to have a chance, it needed a steady flow of capital. And that could be raised only with a contract of reasonable length. But Chappell was not one to give long contracts. It seemed he needed to wait until the end of one contract to be sure that work was progressing vigorously. Then he would entertain an extension. Even when he did promise a new contract, bad weather or the state of his health could delay the signing for weeks. More than once Dad had an investor, cash in hand, unwilling to part with it until the next contract was signed. Contract renewal was a serious source of concern for my parents, and delays resulted in several periods of time lost from the recovery operation.

Attempting to get contracts signed in a timely fashion was such a challenge that all else seemed trivial. Yet there were other frustrations. Chappell was continually contacted by people who promised to unlock the secret of Oak Island, and he seemed compelled to hear them out. He was bewitched by the idea that someone somewhere might come along with a unique idea that would instantly solve the mystery and yield results. He even expected Dad to play tour guide to these wannabe treasure hunters or to let them camp on the island. Sometimes he wrote asking Dad to provide measurements of certain landmarks so they could make more accurate drawings. Chappell seemed to need to inform Dad of all of his correspondence with these people. It was hard to take.

There were other players. A number of adventurers had theories that involved locations on the island that were not near the Money Pit. For a time Chappell entered into contracts with these people in three-way deals that obligated them to share any findings equally with Chappell and Dad. Later, Chappell divided the island for purposes of contracts. Dad had rights to only the Money Pit end of the island. Dad didn’t care about the other parts, but he would have much preferred no other presence on the island while he went about his own work.

It must have been very difficult to work so hard, make so many sacrifices, and then have to listen to Chappell’s enthusiasm for someone else to come in and raise the treasure. In the 103 letters from Chappell written between October 1959 and August 1965, Chappell’s comments and questions indicated that he was wholeheartedly behind Dad’s recovery operation. And yet in sixty-two of those letters he mentioned other people who wanted a chance at the treasure once the Restalls were finished, or while they were still working.