Читать книгу The Unsolved Oak Island Mystery 3-Book Bundle - Lionel and Patricia Fanthorpe - Страница 9

Nature study had never been a big part of Mom’s life before the move to Nova Scotia, but with plenty of time for exploration and observation, she and Ricky found themselves captivated by the ever-changing sea and the animal and bird life that flourished on Oak Island.

On the other hand, Dad and Bobby had little time to enjoy the pleasures of nature, though they often felt the brunt of it. For them, life on Oak Island was hard physical labour, but they revelled in it. There were never enough daylight hours.

Due to numerous searches on the island, the original Money Pit had become so eroded and damaged that a new shaft was put down in 1931 by Mel’s father, William Chappell, where the original Money Pit had been. Later, Gilbert D. Heddon built another shaft right beside Chappell’s. Neither of them was exactly over the original Money Pit, but together they had it covered. Chappell’s shaft was now breaking down, but Heddon’s shaft was still in good condition; Dad planned to use that for his descent into the Money Pit.

It was a struggle to get the pump in place. Dad and Bobby were glad they had taken the time to build the A-frame bridge over the Money Pit. They used it to lower the pump down the shaft to 145 feet and to keep the weight of the massive pump off the cribbing of Heddon’s shaft. Dad was surprised and pleased to find that the fish oil grease generously lathered all over the pump parts had kept the pump in perfect condition all those years, even though it had been used to pump salt water.

July 25th, 1960

Dear Fred,

Got the wire rope Friday, July 22nd, thanks very much.

Got the pump completed and the cooling problem licked about 14th. Pumped out 30 ft. water July 15th approx and on July 17th pumped out 50 of water in 6 1/2 hrs.

We now have everything ready at last and this next four to five weeks should bring it up. It’s a nerve-shattering job. So many unforeseen things come up, it seems just to plague you. This thing is a pressure job.

The long drain across the island is full of sand and when you pump it down 10 ft. it comes in slowly. When you pump it down further it comes in at a rate just in proportion to the pressure difference … Now we definitely know that at the level we are interested in (118 ft. from the hilltop) we have to remove 140 or 130 ft. [of water]. Measuring from the hilltop, this is from 98 to 108 ft. of water or 49 to 54 lbs. pressure and at this depth the inflow is 450 gallons of water a minute.

This is well within the capacity of the pump but even though the motor is mechanically like new, you can break pump shafts. They have done it before and with motors you can have trouble. If we have to shut down, the water comes in so fast you have to pump 3 days (6 barrels of gas) to get the water out again.

We have this drain problem pretty well untangled. It’s crazy how things go but we couldn’t check the drains with Fluorescent Quinine as planned because nature has made this bay full of this stuff. Dye is no use because it spreads so and gets so much weaker with mixing, and the sand in the tunnel filters out half the salt from the water and takes out anything like clay. So all our attempts of this kind only gave us a lot of knowledge of what didn’t, wouldn’t or couldn’t work.

No wonder this thing has been unsolved 165 years. When all these things failed to trace the tunnel, we went back to digging and sure worked at it. We now have got the solution the hard way. I am enclosing a few pictures.

We are all ready to wind up this job and bring up that loot. As I wrote you before, I need the rest of the money as this stage of the job has to be carried right through. We have finally found exactly how the pirates intended to shut the water off, and we are going to do it their way except that we will use cement.

Regards to all. It won’t be long now.

Sincerely

Bob

The pictures are of the A-frame over the Money Pit, both under construction and completed. There is also a picture of a heavy flow of water coming out of the pump discharge pipe. A note on the back in Dad’s handwriting says, “The first time water has been pumped out since 1942.” Bobby’s journal reports that the water was salty: sea water, no doubt coming from Smith’s Cove.

Dad’s comment about knowing “exactly how the pirates intended to shut the water off” pertained to his belief that the original design would have included a place to intercept the inlet tunnel. Perhaps they planned to remove some stones and earth, put a sail from their ship into it, and pack it with clay. That would have served as sufficient obstruction to the sea water. No sails and clay for Dad, however; he would use cement.

The men went back to trying to locate the inlet tunnel in Smith’s Cove to stop the flood of sea water. In light of the cost of running the pump, this was the most economical solution and would allow a leisurely search in the Money Pit area. It was also the safest way to retrieve the treasure.

Always one to put safety first, Dad believed that working down the Money Pit with pumps running should be a last resort. This was no freshly excavated mine in hard rock or clay. The Money Pit and the surrounding plateau were now honeycombed with shafts and tunnels left by those who did the original work and all of the searchers who followed. The connections and near connections created an underground labyrinth. Once, when Dad pumped water from the Money Pit, a hole melted in the ice covering the large pond (dug in 1951 by Mel Chappell) that was two hundred feet northwest of the Money Pit. Another time, when Dad pumped water from the Money Pit, air bubbles came up in the Cave-in Pit, approximately four hundred feet east. In addition, all those shafts and tunnels were cribbed with timbers that had been lying under water for years. Who could predict how those timbers would react once the tunnels were emptied and relieved of pressure, especially with water rushing in at 450 gallons per minute, scouring passages with sand and clay? Dad and Bobby continued to doggedly search for that sea water inlet tunnel down at the beach of Smith’s Cove.

As the men laboured on, my mother and Rick enjoyed the pleasures of Oak Island.

End of Summer, 1960 by Mildred Restall

Skin-divers from far and near came to the bay. The water, nearly always calm and clear in the summer, is a wonderful place for underwater exploration. We had two skin-diving enthusiasts come all the way from New Jersey to try our waters. They arrived at the island early one Saturday morning intending to leave around 3:00 p.m. Long before then Ricky had become friendly with them. He kept an eye on their gear while they were in the water, and in return one of the divers lent him a mask and snorkel and gave some instruction on the correct use of these. By 3:00 p.m. they had decided to stay until 6:00 p.m.; it was such a beautiful day they wanted to enjoy every minute of it. They speared some flounder later in the afternoon, enough for all of us. I cooked it, and we all squeezed inside the shack to drink tea and eat freshly caught flounder. What a treat! What a different flavour fish has, when it comes right out of the water and straight into the pan. After we all had our fill, Bob took our new friends on a tour of the Island. It was dark by the time they left the Island, and this meant they would have to drive all night, as they had to be back at work in New Jersey by Monday morning. Just before leaving, one of them gave Ricky a mask and snorkel as a gift … This opened a whole new world to my young son.

For the balance of the swimming season Ricky spent hours cruising along by the beach, studying the fascinating sea animal life to be found among the rocks and seaweed. He collected jars and jars of strange looking creatures, and in spite of the fact that I loathe all crawly things, I found myself intensely interested at these oddities.

After the Labour Day weekend our visitors dropped off noticeably. Children have to go back to school and this included Ricky. I had applied for, and received, a correspondence course from the Nova Scotia Government to take care of Ricky’s education. Books, paper, and stamped envelopes were supplied free. The lessons came in blocks of six, being six weeks’ work in each block. Along with the work, an instruction book is sent for the teacher; me, in this case. Each day’s assignment for the different subjects is clearly explained. The first few weeks we breezed through the work during the mornings. Afternoons were recreation time, for the weather was so good. Evenings, now getting longer, were for study and reading.

The summer was over. “The best summer we’ve had in years,” said the natives. For me it was the best summer I had ever had, anywhere, anytime; so I was quite happy to stay on Oak Island.

Although the weather remained unbelievably warm, signs of fall were evident everywhere. The leaves were changing colour and thinning on the trees; we were able to see our small, red, squirrel friends much better instead of just hearing them. They were busy gathering cones and berries, dashing around, chasing one another through tree branches and all over the bridge at the pits. Now that the grass was limp and brown, the smaller furry animals were also more noticeable. Our brightly coloured song birds were gone, only the blue jays were left. The bees flitted from flower to flower in frantic haste and the ants scurried back and forth madly. All life was caught up in a tempo that seemed to say, “Hurry, Hurry, winter will soon be here.”

Ricky began to turn his interests inland. He collected frogs, toads, lizards, and even baby lemmings. He kept his zoo in cardboard cartons that we got from the food stores when we carried home our groceries. It got so that I was almost afraid to pick up a box, for I never knew what I might find inside. Needing a box one day, I looked them over carefully, and seeing one with only a handful of grass inside, I reached in and grabbed … To my horror I found myself holding a fistful of baby snakes along with the grass. “You’ve got to do something,” I shouted at my husband. “Get him a dog, anything, but do something.” So, a dog it was.

It was toward the end of October when we bought the dog. Bob Jr. was all set for a big, savage German Shepherd. Something that would keep people at a distance. I thought so too. We went to Halifax, taking Ricky, so that among other business, we could look for a dog.

By the time Bob had done all the things he had to do, there wasn’t much time left if we were to get back home before dark. We visited a couple of places, but no German Shepherds.

We wound up at one place where a man had a Belgian Sheepdog, but only six weeks old. I explained that we wanted a grown dog to be a watchdog and to be company for Ricky. The man said this would grow into a big dog and would be a good watchdog. He advised me to get a pup as it would be easier to train, told me what to feed it, said it wouldn’t cost much in food, so we bought it.

Later we realized we had the friendliest dog in all creation, with not a watchdog bone in her body; and eat … my God how that dog could eat … three times a day with the portions getting bigger each day.

But that day we hurried back to Western Shore with Ricky sitting happily on the back seat of the car with his pup. By the time we reached the place where we were to be picked up by Bobby, it was raining and getting dark. During our absence a storm had come up and the seas were really rolling. I felt sick at the thought of going in our small boat in such rough weather. We put on raincoats, put the pup into a cardboard carton, and took off. As we drew away from shore, the boat began to heave and roll. It bucked and reared like a wild horse. The waves sloshed over the deck, up over the windshield, right into my face. I had the dog on my lap in her carton, so couldn’t crouch down like the others. I sat bolt upright, getting thoroughly drenched every time we hit a wave. I daren’t put the box down for fear that the dog would be injured, for after each wave, the hull of the boat smacked back onto the water with a wallop that shook it from end to end. I was so occupied with trying to see (nearly impossible), and with the rain and the waves and concern for the dog that I forgot to be afraid. I had never been out in such rough weather. Since that night, I have been out in far worse weather, but somehow I am not afraid anymore.

We called the dog Carney, taking the name from Carnation milk. She didn’t see a person other than our family members until she was about six months old. When she did, she was so frightened that she whined and shook until I thought she was going into convulsions. Around that time she also saw her first dog. Someone came over to the Island hunting, and had a beagle at his side. Carney looked at this other dog and was smitten. She trailed after the dog (at a safe distance) and was oblivious to our calls to her as she followed, star struck, down to the end of the island. Bobby had to go after her; he came back about an hour later with the dog in his arms. She had refused to come back with him, so he had to carry her the length of the island. She weighed around forty pounds by then.

As for Ricky, he was delighted with his companion. The dog attached herself to him and they had a great time. He took her tobogganing, skating, and rambling through the woods, where they tracked the different animals. Boy and dog were inseparable.

In the meantime, Dad and Bobby were busy digging on the beach at Smith’s Cove. They rigged an A-frame, hoist, and bucket to carry excavated earth out into the water of the cove. They had to contend with huge stones as well as various qualities of soil, ranging from oozy, previously dug earth to hard clay.

The central part of the beach work put down by those who buried the treasure was thought to be a large reservoir that held water ready to flow into the Money Pit when needed. Later, Dad and Bobby would disagree with this interpretation of the reservoir. But for now, they believed it to be accurate.

More than once, their work was completely destroyed by storms during high tide. Occasionally they were lucky, and after the tide returned to normal and the sea water was pumped out, their beach shaft was intact. Again and again, as they worked, they encountered clues that indicated they were on the right track, as Bobby recorded in his journals.

Wednesday, September 28, 1960

Dad cleared off beach and found drilled rock [handdrilled rock, first found by Hedden in 1937] at low tide line about 4 ft. from dock. I cut cribbing. Dad welded up engine mount and water runoff for small sump pump.

Thursday, September 29, 1960

Scooped area down below north big rock near dock to start down tomorrow if possible. Went to Chester for coupling for smaller sump pump and braces to fix boat windshield. Coupled up Clinton mill to pump and tested.

Friday, September 30, 1960

Found north edge of reservoir just about 3 ft. north of big rock near wharf. Rained rest of day.

Saturday, October 1, 1960

Worked in same hole again and possibly found NW corner of reservoir exactly 7 ft. true east of half-buried rock near wharf.

Sunday, October 2, 1960

Worked on south end of beach in general area of SW corner of reservoir. Cleared an area off down to stones, but found only clay below. We have to go closer to the water, according to measurements [of earlier treasure hunters].

Monday, October 3, 1960

Rigged up sump pump so coupling won’t slip. Worked in hole at S end of cofferdam. Cleared off two areas for excavating. [The cofferdam consisted of the remains of a crescent-shaped stone wall built by earlier searchers to hold back the sea and permit them to examine the reservoir.]

Tuesday, October 4, 1960

Worked on beach but results were uncertain. Picked out centre of 242 ft. ends of old cofferdam and found sand in layers according to coarseness. Apparently water passing through sand in volume caused this.

Wednesday, Oct. 5, 1960

Worked on the beach. Found an area just inland of sandy area that has rocks like reservoir but mixed with clay and a layer of clay on top.

Thursday, Oct. 6, 1960

Made adaptor for heater. Fixed windshield of boat. Worked on beach and put in one long trench and two small holes towards wharf and one to the south. Apparently found reservoir about 10 ft. down from high tide.

Friday, Oct. 7, 1960

Locate approximate position [of reservoir] shown in old photo in booklet “Pirate Gold” by Freda. [They compared what they could see of the reservoir with a very old publication.] Worked on beach. Set up log dam with rocks and started to level off the area for a hole.

Saturday, Oct. 15, 1960

Chappell and Johnson, a treasure hunter negotiating for rights to work on another part of the Island, came to the Island. Work was shut down while they hashed things over and finalized an agreement. [This was one of the several occasions when Chappell granted rights to someone else to work on parts of the island while my dad’s contract was in force. Dad was to receive a percentage of any Johnson recovery.]

Tuesday, October 25, 1960

Storm last night was probably the worst since we came here. Completely filled 18’ shaft [on the beach], tore out the log dam in front of it. Ripped out stone dam and drove log dam back, and completely filled the hole we were working on. Went to Chester for machine work, etc. Pulled stakes, cleared debris and started digging again.

Work continued on the beach. On November 6 they found something significant. My brother Rick recorded his recollection of that discovery.

The 1704 Stone by Richard Restall

It was a beautiful day, and my mother and I went for a walk on the beach, near where my father and brother were digging a great many small holes in an effort to solve the mystery of the flooding Money Pit. The material from these excavations was loaded on a dumper suspended on a cable between two poles, which allowed dumping below the tidemark. The tide would wash away the lighter debris, leaving the stones. These stones ranged in size from that of an ostrich egg to that of a football, though they all tended to have at least one flat side.

It was early in our time on the Island, a happier time than what was to come, and both my mother and I were still enjoying this change from suburban Hamilton, Ontario. As an immature boy, I was mostly interested in the sea life that teemed in the tidal pools along the Smith’s Cove shore, and my mother was of course interested in seeing I didn’t pocket any aquatic life forms that would make her job, laundry, any more difficult than it already was in a wild overgrown place that hosted innumerable muddy holes old and new.

Something in a pile of freshly washed stones caught her eye, and she carefully pulled out a slate rock and tilted it under the afternoon sun.

“Oh, look at this. I wonder …”

It took a lot of squinting to see that the stone bore some chiseled characters. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but my mother thought “the men” should be informed.

I ran down the beach at her request, to tell my father that something of interest was at hand. It took so long for the two men to stop work that my mother had left the spot and was coming to them. A discussion ensued as to precisely where the stone had been, and a subsequent search revealed that this was the only number-bearing stone. My father and brother, at first annoyed that their work had been interrupted, both voiced the idea that this was some local’s idea of a joke. But as the days passed, the men began to think less that it was a practical joke, and more that the stone had some connection to the Island’s mystery.

What joker would leave the stone’s discovery to pure chance, buried in among countless other stones, under a deep layer of beach sand? The darkness of the carving indicated it had been buried for some time, and immersed as well, for as the stone dried out, the carving became lighter, so that in a few months it was easy to read in any light, “1704.”

N.B.: Beneath the beach sand there was a layer of coconut fiber over a layer of what was thought to be eel grass, though most of this was decomposing dark matter resembling black jelly. Under these was the layer of stones that fit together to form a paving layer.

The carving on the stone was later examined for authenticity. It was verified that both the seven and the four were carved in a style that was common in England in the year 1704. The stone itself was not sent for carbon dating or any other scientific testing because my parents had already learned that everything that left the island to be analyzed or authenticated never returned. They were determined that the stone would not meet the same fate. The 1704 stone is still in the family’s possession.

Here is another little piece Mom wrote that fall.

Culinary Delights by Mildred Restall

Fall was well underway. Although the days were fairly warm, the nights were getting quite cool. Too, the evenings were getting longer. I was beginning to find out how awkward this camp life was. Rick was no longer breezing through this school work, he was past the review stage and now really had to work at his lessons. I had to read ahead and make sure I was ready for each lesson. I thought we deserved a reward.

By this time, our daily fare was monotonous, so I decided the time had come for a change. Having to spend more time indoors with Ricky I thought to put it to good use by preparing more elaborate meals. Up to now we had only had stove-top meals. But now I wanted to start using the oven for foods like casseroles or cookies.

Along with the fridge, a huge monstrosity of a stove had been sent. It took up nearly the whole side of the room. It was an old relic but it had an oven. One day I decided to make some hot biscuits to accompany our stew, so I lit the oven. It had a thermometer, but no oven control dial, and the oven wasn’t insulated. As the temperature of the oven rose, so did the temperature of that small room. I opened one window, then the other, and finally the door, wide. Now the oven registered the 425 degrees I wanted. I lowered the flame and popped my biscuits in, and turned, as I heard a voice call out, “Why is the door open?” Bobby stood in the doorway. I started to explain, then thought of my biscuits. I saw the thermometer now registered over 500. I took the biscuits out and left the oven door open to cool a little. “What are these things,” asked Bobby, poking at the twelve black cinders. “Shut up,” I responded. Just then Bob Sr. came in; it was supper time. I popped the rest of the biscuits into the oven and shut the door. I quickly set the table and ladled out the stew and went to take the biscuits from the oven. They had flattened out and looked like little plastic doll plates. We all sat down to eat, silently, faces lobster-red from the heat. So much for my first attempt at baking.

Figure 2: Bobby Restall’s map. Original size between borders: 16 5/8” x 12 5/8”.

On November 22, 1960, Dad wrote to Fred Sparham. He started with small talk and then indicated the direction that future work would take.

Our position regarding the place is this. He [Chappell] has promised us the place next year. It’s not in writing. We intend getting next year. Our plans for this next six weeks are to get after the treasure in the 118 ft. shaft and we are slow principally because, in our state (financial) we cannot take the chance of pumping day and night while we work down the shaft. …

I don’t know if I told you before but apparently Prof. Hamilton put a well-cribbed tunnel within three or four feet of where we feel sure the 118 ft. treasure is. I will close now. Will keep you posted. I’ll bet I am more impatient than you are, it’s just the most annoying thing in the world. If you get time, drop me a line.

Yours truly,

Bob

When Dad said that he would go after the treasure in the 118-foot shaft, he was referring to a shaft that was put down by the Truro Company in 1849 about twenty feet south of the Money Pit, as shown on Bobby’s map (see Figure 2). At a depth of 118 feet searchers tunneled towards the Money Pit. The water that usually floods the Money Pit broke through the earth between the Money Pit and the new tunnel. It flooded the tunnel and the new shaft, bringing with it the end of a yellow keg and other debris believed to be from the treasure. Dad and Bobby now believed that the treasure would have come to rest in that Truro Company shaft at the 118-foot level. That is where they planned to concentrate their search.