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
