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.
The Grip Tightens
CHAPTER 8
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
