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Breakup by Mildred Restall

It was well into March before the breakup came. I think everybody we knew was glad to see the end of winter. “Worst winter we have had in years,” the natives said. It was certainly the worst for me.

As the ice began to break away from the mainland, it floated past our island. Great slabs, some big enough to put a fair-sized house on, went floating by, and many swirled around the end of our wharf to lodge in the cove. They piled up on the beach where the receding tide left them, making miniature cliffs from four to ten feet high.

The western side of the island, on down to the gap, was clear of ice in no time, as was the part of the mainland lying to the west. So by docking at that part of the mainland, we were able to use the boat once again.

Before the men could put the boat into the water, it was necessary to clear away some of the ice that was floating in the cove. To the boys, this was great sport. Taking long poles, they jumped from one ice mass to the next until they were nearly at the outer edge. Then pushing with all their might, they forced the ice out to where the current would take it past the island. Often, when they got back, they would find ice right back in the path they had cleared, and would have to go through the whole business again. Some of the slabs were nearly three feet thick. Hard work.

While living on the island, Bob and I had made it a custom to go for a long walk every Sunday. At present, it was best to walk through the woods, as the whole shore was ice-covered, but this particular Sunday, we decided to go down to the cove to see what effect the rough weather was having on the ice. From the top of the hill we could see the white caps dancing on the water and we knew that this would really make an impression on the ice still left along the mainland coast. Down at the cove waves were flinging themselves over the ice ledge on the beach, and huge cakes were ramming against the dock. The cove was full of floes that dipped and bobbed with the waves.

Ricky and the dog were with us, and we all huddled under the apple tree by the boys’ shack, out of the wind. Suddenly I saw a dark brown object moving along the beach. I nudged Bob and we all watched as a little brown animal hurried with an undulating movement over the ice. It stopped by the wharf, right in front of where we were standing, then began to poke among the seaweed. We stood very still and quiet, studying the animal bobbing up and down in search of something edible.

“It looks like a weasel,” said Bob softly.

“Can’t be,” I whispered back. “Its coat would be white at this time of the year, just like the rabbits.” Then I saw the little white patch under the animal’s throat. This confirmed my suspicions. “It’s a wild mink,” I said firmly, confident in my new knowledge of wild animals, courtesy Red Rose Tea.

Just then the dog spotted the mink. Off she went, after it. The little animal leapt from the dock and landed on the floating ice. Carney followed, but the mink jumped from one ice platform to the next. Soon it was on the outer rim of floes. The dog gave up the chase as soon as she landed on a piece of ice that rocked up and down with the waves. Meanwhile the mink, without hesitating for an instant, dove head first into the heaving sea and soon we saw a little brown head bobbing up and down as it swam along with the waves. About a hundred feet down the beach it turned toward the Island and began to come into shore. I saw with what force the waves were dashing onto the ice ledge, and wondered if the mink would be injured. But by gauging its distance and waiting for the right wave, the mink rode a crest and landed safely, then quickly disappeared into the woods.

In April, at Fred’s suggestion, Dad made a quick trip to Hamilton to give a presentation to a group of prospective investors. Although there was keen interest, and some of those people did invest later, there were no immediate results. So that the trip would not be a total waste of money and effort, Dad brought back a load of the family’s belongings from storage.

Comforts of Home by Mildred Restall

When we first set up housekeeping on the island we had bought all the necessities as cheaply as possible. Our mattress was felt, and was downright uncomfortable until we put an air mattress we had underneath. As time went by it became increasingly difficult to keep the mattress filled with air. It was getting porous and added to that, the bed was used to sit on during the day, so had a lot of wear.

Every night I had to make our bed over, for it would be somewhat rumpled. I found I had to give the air mattress a few puffs also. As the days rolled by, more and more puffs were needed to bring it up nice and tight. First one side and then the other. Night after night, I blew my little heart out while my big lug of a husband sat reading. Finally one night, as I lay back on the bed exhausted and looked at the room spinning and tilting at crazy angles I told my husband, “Something has got to be done, I can’t take it anymore.” So he said he would take care of it and he blew the darned thing up. He did, that is, for one night. The next day he got hold of a bicycle pump and expected that to be the answer to his problem. It didn’t take many nights of pumping like a fiend to find out that this, too, was hard work. He knew he would be going back to Ontario soon and vowed he would bring our own bed back. And that’s what he did two weeks later.

It was April when Bob went back home. He had gone to take care of the usual problem … money and to arrange more permanent storage for our furniture in Hamilton. He came back loaded with stuff he thought I might need. Our box spring and mattress, books, clothes, and, of all things, two huge mirrors from the backs of the dressers. “Whatever did you bring those things for?” I asked. “There wasn’t any place to put them,” he said. “Besides, I thought we could use them.” It was useless to argue. It was done and that was that. So we put one in the boys’ cabin and one in ours.

We installed our bed in the cabin and stored the felt mattress. Along side of the bed we put the mirror, where every time you went near the bed, like it or not, you could see yourself.

Several times the first day I stopped, momentarily surprised by my own reflection, then remembered. It was only me. About the third time I really looked at myself. Was that really me? True, I had lipstick on, but wasn’t it a little cockeyed? And while my hair had some curl, it was kind of long and stringy looking. And this shirt of my son’s that I was wearing didn’t really do anything for me. Up to now we had only a small hand mirror. I hadn’t seen myself full length for nearly a year. And now before me was a bedraggled stranger, not matching at all my memory of myself.

The next time Bob went ashore, I went too. I had my hair cut, bought some face cream, a home permanent, and set about making myself presentable. From then on, I kept a closer watch on myself — shaken by how easily I had slipped off the scale of presentable.

Here is another piece written about events that took place around the same time.

CBC by Mildred Restall

Sometime toward the end of March, Lloyd McInnis from CBC called in to see if an interview could be arranged for his program “Gazette.” It was to be one of those “on the spot” interviews.

It was a rare spring day on the last Saturday of April when the camera crews and staff arrived to do the shooting. They began to bring their equipment over to the island at 9 o’clock in the morning. By 10:30 cameras were set and we had been briefed on what type of questions would be asked. Then they began to shoot.

Mr. Chappell was there, of course. Since he retained all movie rights pertaining to Oak Island, CBC had to get his permission to take the film. He and I stood to one side, well out of the working area. The cameras were rolling and light reflectors were up, and the interview with my husband was taking place. It looked so professional and business-like. I was quite interested, and Mr. Chappell looked very, very pleased. After watching for awhile he nudged me playfully, and said, “Hollywood next.”

At this time, no one knew about our connections with show business. We had not wanted our unusual background to eclipse the work we were doing on the Island. We had let it be known that my husband had been in the construction business all his life. Which is true. Bob always worked at least part time at his plumbing and steamfitting trade. But, show business was a line he went into years before I met him as a means to travel and see the world. It also served as a means of earning a good living when jobs were scarce in the building trade. And they often were, during those first few years after he brought me to Canada.

As for me, I was born and brought up in the theatre world, a dancer. Bob and I knew the ins and outs of the theatre business, and we both knew the outdoor show business well. But the art of putting a show on film was new to us. We had been interviewed in a studio, but our experience ended there. Now we were eager students.

Under the expert guidance of Glen Sarty, the show was wrapped up and we had the island to ourselves by 2:00 p.m. Three weeks later Bob received a check for $100 and a letter telling him when the show would be on. We all went to a friend’s house to watch, and learned a little more.

That summer, Cyril Robinson and photographer Louis Jacques came to the island to get a story and pictures for the Weekend Magazine. Right away Louis Jacques recognized me from a story he had worked on five years before, out West. At that time, he had been with another writer and they had been doing a story of the Western Fairs. He had seen our motorcycle act, and met us all then, while travelling around with the show.

We all squeezed into the shack, had lunch, and a good long talk. It was a happy visit for me. It was like talking with old friends. Louis took his pictures, and Cyril had his story. But it definitely let the cat out of the bag about our show business past.

From that time on, articles on Oak Island referred to us as stuntmen or daredevils.

With no contract and no investment money coming in, Dad and Bobby kept on digging. They located a gravel bed eighteen inches under the roadbed, but it did not look promising. Then they brought the winch up to the clearing from the beach and started to look for the 118-foot shaft sunk by treasure hunters in 1850 near the Chappell and Heddon shafts. Bobby’s journals comment on finding “all sorts of odds and ends … nails, old 3/4” die, wire, etc.” They had to pull out old drill rods to continue their digging. They got down past stones to clay and started hitting wood towards the north.

Soon they abandoned this work and returned to the beach. They needed to relocate the drilled rock referred to in all the Oak Island lore so that they could triangulate markers and shafts in the area. Bobby noted this in his journal.

May 19, 1961

Finished taking brush off main shaft [put in for insulation during winter]. Dad found drilled rock about 6 ft. south of its alleged position [according to measurements provided in early written accounts of markers on Oak Island].

Three large stones have been found on Oak Island. Two are white, fairly large, and bear identical hand-drilled holes. The other is slate, bearing a matching hand-drilled hole. They are thought to be marker stones left by the people who buried the treasure, possibly as a reminder of where things lay under the ground. They have become part of the puzzle for searchers. Lines are measured from the stones, drawings are made, hypotheses are formed. They are thought to be an integral part of the solution to the Oak Island mystery.

Having relocated the drilled rock, Dad and Bobby continued probing at the beach, now working out from the drilled rock, noting the composition of the earth near it and running lines between the drilled rock and other markers or shafts.

June 2, 1961

Located a vertical hole about 12” in diameter. Found small dome of beach stones and hollow space below. It is about 8 ft. SE of drilled rock.

June 6, 1961

Found hole to be about 18” across and possibly 5 ft. down. Bar passes through stones at about 8 ft. and enters open space. Ran Big Pump with no effect on water in hole.

The dome of stones that Dad and Bobby found was slightly inland at Smith’s Cove. When they pumped out the Money Pit they hoped to see the water rise or fall in this new hole, indicating that it was connected to the sea water inlet tunnel and the Money Pit. When there was no perceptible change, they cribbed the hole with twelve-foot two-by-fours then, using the compressor, forced a half-inch pipe down to about forty-three feet below zero tide level and ran the big pump again. This time, listening through the pipe, they thought they could hear water moving.

They were certain that the hole with its dome of stones was the work of those who had buried the treasure. It had not been discovered by earlier treasure hunters. At last they had uncovered something new and significant. By now they were calling this hole the Vertical Shaft.

With nerve-racking anticipation, Bobby and Dad concentrated all their attention on this shaft for weeks. Then Dad wrote Fred a letter.

July 4th, 1961

Dear Fred:

We got [found] the drilled rock OK and also the old original Shaft. Dug this shaft down to 2’ above Zero low tide so that I could examine exactly how it was built. It was 12” to 13” in diameter lined with stones and had a stone dome over it. Half the stone dome and part of the stone lining had gone down, over the 256 years.

I was able to carefully examine about six feet of it. Then we put 2 lengths of 3/4” pipe and with a 125 lb air hose on it got it down to 43’ below Z low tide level. It was partly stopped at three levels with stones and clay. However, had no real trouble getting the pipe down. Found the level the drain joined it from the five drains and also the level the drain leaves it to go inland. The shaft was completely clear between these two levels. I then put it down to the lower level and with the Air wide open I blew up about 75 lbs of very small stones scoured by the Water (approx 1/4” dia stuff). There was no way that we could get further information from it. We then got a 2” casing down with a steel point that we removed with a 3/4” pipe key. Then, by holding the point down and raising the casing we had an open 2” casing right where we wanted it. We got everything ready in advance that we possibly could.

Got a mixer over and screened a lot of sand. On Thursday we tried but got rained out.

So put up canvas for Saturday, rain or shine. We got a new shipment of cement just arrived from Cement Co. Got an Air Ram built from 10” pipe with a blank with gauge 1” plug for dip stick, a 3/4” pipe for the float valve, a feed valve for air and an air exhaust valve. Mixed 2 sand 1 cement with water and Quick Set. Got 1st load down and air blew it all away. Float valve did not cut off air when cement had gone down because of bumps in cement. As we had cement down now with Quick Set, had no alternative but to continue.

Took float valve out and put next load (about 3 cu. ft.) down by balanced air pressure. No go. The sand was so sharp it packed in casing. This load the casing was already full and pressure did no good. Spent 3/4 hr. clearing casing with 3/4 pipe and 125 lbs air; got it clear at last (also a cement bath) put balance down no sand. Very tricky with balanced air pressure; however, got it all down, each load taking a little more pressure than the one before, showing by the gauge that it was packing in great. However last load was trouble as by this time pressure needed was greater than the seal around the casing would stand. Our seal was canvas around the casing then spread flat with 5 ft of sand and gravel to hold it down. We actually had it, but it blew up through our seal on the last half of our last load.

Nothing we could do about it. Impossible to know how much pressure the seal would take (blew at 55 lbs). We now could pull the casing, wash it out and try again or because it blew upward the chances seemed good that the bottom 2/3 of the cement would be OK and do the job. Decided to let it set and see. Let it set 48 hrs. Pumped the water down 37 ft and 7 ft came back in 1 hour. That is about 350 gal. a minute and right exactly at that pressure difference. So now we knew the air had penetrated it all and the cement had gone out the drain at low tide with 3 lb of pressure, approximately, to help it along.

Now our casing is full of cement (bottom half and has a lump of cement on the end large enough so we could not budge it with a hydraulic jack. Bobby got a bad whack when the jack slipped. [He chipped a front tooth and split his lip.] Managed to get the top half of the casing by screwing it apart at the coupling.

Our whole effort was shot through such a small trifle. Who would ever think that they have lumps in all their cement down here. When they want some smooth, they sift it.

We can, of course, get another casing down and now we have the levels, and the pressure the seal will take is another story. Instead of a flat rubber to close the float valve I will have a metal needle about 45 degrees on the face that will close every time, lumps or no lumps.

It was discouraging after going to so much trouble to have everything right.

The telephone I was using has been moved from the booth, and everyone in the restaurant can hear what you are talking about.

If you have any of those people show a little interest, try to get them to come in on the thing.

When I found this stuff I just couldn’t take the chance of making a single all-or-nothing attempt. I am trying everything that I can from this end.

By, the way, send me down [name withheld]’s proper address, would you. … Would be glad to get all these addresses as soon as is possible.

It seems to me incredible that after 156 years of searchers working here, it has been possible to get all the real facts so straight, and separate the misleading records that caused such confusion.

Best regards to all from all of us. Never thought it could take so long, but we’re getting there.

Yours truly,

Bob

As he had been convinced that the Vertical Shaft was the shut-off point where the pirates planned to stop the sea water to recover the treasure, Dad was palpably disappointed. Despite his best efforts, most of the cement that should have sealed off the intake water tunnel had instead, under pressure, blown out to sea.

Next they brought Professor Hamilton’s drill rig over to the island and began to probe into the Vertical Shaft. Work did not go easily. Bobby’s journals report more than a month of drilling in the shaft and adjacent ground. Exceptionally hard stones played havoc with the drill bits. Ultimately, the drilling bore no fruit.

Fred was already on the island working with Dad and Bobby on the Vertical Shaft when my husband, Doug, and I and our three children arrived on August 5 for a two-month stay. Dad described the Vertical Shaft to us. He was clearly disappointed that his attempt at cementing the shaft had spoiled that location. Cement could not be tried there again.

During our time on the island, Doug and the kids and I slept in the tent trailer that Dad had built and took turns — the five of us, then the four of them — eating in Mom and Dad’s cabin. Our daughter, Sandy, was four, our son Barry three, and our other son, Brook, just two. The kids and I played on the beach, dug for clams, dove for mussels, and picked buckets of huge blackberries in the overrun gardens of farmers many years departed. This was Shangri-la.

Meanwhile, Doug enjoyed his own version of paradise as he laboured alongside the men on the beach and down the pits.

I expected solitude on the island, but tourists were everywhere, taking pictures and asking questions. A steady stream of locals also came to the island to picnic by the famous rose bush. Some expressed disapproval at all the activity on what they considered to be their private island.

Media-wise, Oak Island had never had so much attention. The CBC crew with Lloyd MacInnis started it all off with their documentary. Cyril Robinson and photographer Louis Jacques kept the excitement alive with their Weekend Magazine article. A reporter from the Chronicle-Herald came over to take pictures and gather information for an upcoming article. Several others followed, including a reporter and photographer from the International Harvester Truck News. That piece contained an excellent photograph of Dad and Mom in front of the A-frame over the Money Pit with Mom holding the 1704 stone.

Dad was delighted with all the publicity. He was confident that sooner or later it would generate interest from someone in a position to invest in his search.

In spring, Dad had written to Fred telling him that he feared that if he were unable to raise adequate financing, Chappell would insist on him taking in a moneyed partner. After this much work Dad did not relish the thought of giving a large, perhaps major, portion of the booty to some latecomer. One side effect of all the publicity was that after years of being besieged by enthusiastic treasure hunters with virtually no money, Chappell now was being courted by very wealthy adventurers.

Dad’s fears came true when Chappell connected with a wealthy man from Boston who offered to back Dad’s search. But as discussions progressed, the newcomer revealed that he wanted to direct the recovery operation. At that, Chappell balked, telling the man that he wouldn’t hear of anyone having any say in how Bob Restall did the job.

Dad was grateful for that vote of confidence, but his reprieve was short-lived. That summer, Chappell introduced yet another prospective treasure hunter. I will refer to him as Mr. Z. He was a multi-millionaire who arrived on the island in his twin-engined Beechcraft airplane, accompanied by his son and his pilot/bodyguard.

This affluent interloper was prepared to finish the job, but not in any partnership; he wanted control of the island to conduct his own search. However, after seeing the island, he said that he would prefer to set up a big dragline and screening plant and open-pit the whole end of the island. Chappell blanched at the thought of his beloved Oak Island being destroyed, and that was the end of that … for the moment.

Finally, the summer was over and the tourists vanished. The work continued. On September 12, Dad wrote to Fred describing the current work:

We got nowhere on the hole we were starting when you left. We couldn’t get through the mess of boulders. We got cribbing and built a bucket to use with the power winch and put an 8 ft. extension on that shaft on the beach. Made really good progress and got down as deep as the other one. Eleven feet below Zero low tide, 23 ft. below the ground where we drive the Plymouth back and forth to beach the boat. Now we know for sure the drain was not north of our shaft and it appears that we were most likely right when we thought last October that it would be south of the shaft.

Every time you learn something. We sure worked hard on this one. It appears that by the old fashioned process of elimination it has to be to the south. We’re going to try 8 ft. south of our shaft and if we don’t get the drain we will go right ahead at the Money Pit. [The rest of the letter refers to mechanical problems and proposed solutions.]

The next letter, written on October 19, described the work in the same area. They had put an eight-foot cribbed shaft directly north of the last shaft on the beach. Much to their disappointment, they did not intersect the sea water inlet tunnel; instead, they intersected an underground sand streak with surface water coming in at twelve feet below the surface.

Despite unwieldy boulders they then put in a four-foot by three-foot tunnel that ran from the shaft eight feet to the south. But they ran into hard clay on both sides of their shaft, thereby showing it was not part of the work of those who buried the treasure. Through these attempts they learned that the Vertical Shaft ran to a depth of thirty-two feet and deduced that the sea water tunnel was considerably lower than previously thought. Now they set up Hamilton’s drill slightly inland to probe across the line where they believed the inlet tunnel lay (see Figure 5).

Figure 5: Enclosed with letter of October 19, 1961.

Certain that he was nearing success, Dad wrote to Fred, “I have sent up to Montreal for a couple of revolvers (Just to have them on hand before we start working down the Heddon Shaft).” Further in the letter, Dad described pressure from Chappell for success, and commented that he didn’t blame him. Dad then returned to the never-ending topic of money: “Regarding money, we are still OK and can make it till the end of November [Fred was supplying them with cash infusions]. I should think that with the publicity, it might be possible to raise a bit. If you or anyone you know wants to put in $500 that may be all we will need. If you can get someone to put some in don’t turn it down. The most we will take into the project is another $1,000 and as far as we know half of that may be enough …” The rest of the letter dealt with requests for equipment such as a blower to provide fresh air down the Money Pit.

The fact that Dad sent to Montreal for revolvers indicates how certain he was that they were within days of finding the treasure, and that he knew it would be all too easy for a well-organized group to hijack the treasure the instant it surfaced.

A month later he did not sound so confident:

Nov. 18th 1961

Dear Fred:

We received everything OK. The Blower is just right. We found the original trench dug by these people 14 ft. to 15 ft. across and 19 ft. down our beach shaft.

We found the drain to be definitely lower than we thought. Figures say (with our new information) 3 1/2 ft. to 7 ft. deeper. So we set up Prof. Hamilton’s Diamond Drill to bore 10 holes across this trench 10 to 11 ft. deep. We are No.8 hole now. No’s 6, 7 and 8 all struck close-set boulders at 3 ft. and on down. In no. 6 hole we hit a very hard stone that carbeloid won’t cut. We will come back to this later if we haven’t got the drain. No.8 hole is only 3 ft. deep yet. We are most anxious to finish this one and No’s 9 and 10. We will only put in an 11th if this stone work continues and we haven’t got the drain.

From what we have done here so far it appears that the cut is wider than necessary and that the drain was built on the North side of it. The floor on the south apparently being used for work space. We hope to finish this in a week. We got some of these holes down in a day and a half. Unfortunately it’s all a matter of the type of stone. Some drill very well with carbeloid.

It’s a lot of red tape drilling [in] this weather. The suction hose and water pump, etc. have to be drained each night.

In any case, our finances and the owner dictate that we must get down the Money Pit after the loot, starting December 1st. So the hour has finally come.

We got 18 barrels of gas over 10 days ago, took 12 up for the pump and left 4 at the beach shack. Also got over 2 barrels of stove oil. The weather here has been unseasonably warm. Mosquitoes (they don’t bite now), flies and moths are really out again …

Don’t know where I am going to dig up money this time. Expect this to be the very last. Would like very much to wind this up soon, successfully of course.

Well, I must close now, let me hear from you. I will keep you posted as regards results. Best regards to all from all of us here.

Yours truly,

Bob

Where was the money coming from to buy those drums of gas and oil? Since I know for certain that no outside investment capital came in, Fred must have come through. Several of Dad’s letters to Fred that year mention small amounts of money received in Fred’s letters, and in one letter Dad refers to having received a cheque for $440. In another, Dad mentions that he hopes Fred got the $1,500 job he was bidding on; possibly part of that had been earmarked for Oak Island. Throughout the years of Dad’s search, Fred worked assiduously at his plumbing and steamfitting business, and his son, Eddie, told me that many times his father’s attitude was, “Twenty dollars for us, twenty dollars for the Restalls. We can’t have them starving to death out there.”

In December, my husband flew down from Ontario to bring a diamond drill to the island, then stayed for a few weeks drilling with Dad and Bobby.

Dec. 12, 1961

Dear Lee: