The Reluctant Treasure Hunter: Part Two by Mildred Restall
When school closed for the summer holidays, I took Ricky, then nine years old, down to Nova Scotia. He thoroughly enjoyed the train trip to Halifax and was quite excited at the prospect of living on an island for the summer. As for myself, I wasn’t as enthusiastic. “Anyway, it’s only for a couple of months,” I told myself.
My husband met us in Halifax, and the three of us drove down to the island.
What a difference. The island was a riot of colour. The magnificent firs a rich green. The grass a thick carpet. And up in a clear blue sky, the sun shone bright and golden. Sailboats were gliding over a sparkling sea and small craft skimmed around the bay. The air was fragrant with the perfume of wild roses that grew in abundance all over the island. Standing on the beach and looking out over Mahone Bay, with emerald islands dotted here and there, I thought that never, anywhere, had I seen a place more beautiful.
Ricky and I quickly settled down to island living. For Ricky, it was a long summer of swimming, boating, exploring, and all the fascinating things a 9-year-old boy can find to do on an island of his own. As for myself, I soon settled into routine. Forgotten were the miseries of the fall before.
During the winter months the men had built another shack down near the beach. It was 8 feet by 12 feet, big enough to hold two or three barrels of gas as well as the tools. We emptied the shack and constructed two bunks for the boys. This gave us more room in the shack on the hill and some privacy.
They had also made a cradle for the boat. It was a plywood platform, slightly V-shaped, long enough and wide enough to hold a sixteen-foot boat. It rested on two axles with wheels, and a tongue at the front allowed for easy steering in and out of the water, as needed. The old car that Bobby had driven down to Nova Scotia was used to pull the float, as we called it, out of the water and up the slope of the beach. It was quite easy to wheel the float down into the water using only manpower.
While I was away the car had been towed behind our boat to the island on a raft made of planks and gas barrels. A compressor was brought over in this manner too. Bob told me that they nearly lost the whole works when they were loading them at the mainland. The car came in very handy on the Island for transporting barrels of gas, groceries, lumber, etc. from the beach up the hill to the Pit area.
Across the big pit, on an angle, a forty-foot span had been erected. This was to hold a huge pump and motor. The pump was on the island ready to be fitted together and put into place. Along the side of the span, against the end of the shaft, was a mining hoist on tracks. This was to be used to send tools or anything that was needed down the shaft when the men were working there. Right now it was an ideal place to keep our foodstuff. A motor operated the hoist up or down “The Hole,” as we called this particular pit [the Money Pit], and we found that our food stayed nice and cool down at the thirty-foot level.
With July came the tourists. They came from all over both Canada and the U.S.A. The Bounty was being built in Lunenburg about 15 miles further down the coast. This attracted many tourists and of course a lot of them journeyed on to see Oak Island.
The boatmen who brought the tourists to the island also acted as their guides. They would bring them up to see the pits, tell them the history of the place, show them around, and then take them back to the mainland. Some of the tales these guides told their customers were out of this world. One man in particular told of the hair-raising, narrow escapes he had experienced while working with the treasure hunters … cave-ins, water rushing in, timbers cracking. It was enough to scare anybody to death. I know it did me, there inside the shack listening, even though I knew he had only been employed to ferry supplies to the island.
All our laundry had to be done by hand. I didn’t have a washing machine and the nearest laundry was several miles away. It was too much trouble to cart things over in the boat and then on by car, and anyway, the men could’t spare the time for a special trip to take me ashore. So nearly every day I stood outside scrubbing the clothes in a big tin tub. At first I used to feel rather silly if any of the visitors caught me doing my washing, for they seemed to delight in snapping my picture at such times.
Often the visitors would chat with me. The men were like kids at a picnic … looking around with shining eyes as they eagerly asked questions, listened intently to the answers. Some then would stand silently, looking far off. Perhaps they were seeing themselves at the head of a gallant crew who bravely went down into the pits, and against all odds finally emerged, triumphantly bringing up the treasure.
The wives were a little more practical. They were interested in knowing what it was like to live on an island. These were split into two groups, “For” and “Against.” With both, the dialogue was somewhat the same; only the tone inflection was different.
“All alone on the island?”
“No electricity?”
“No telephone?”
“No TV?”
And with each confirming nod or shake, the faces of the ‘For’s” beamed brighter and brighter. Talking, looking around at the beautiful scenery, then eyeing me in my shorts, bare feet, looking something like Al Capp’s Dogpatchers, it was plain to see that they were utterly fascinated by the whole idea. Inhaling deeply of the sweet scented air, they would turn to go, saying, “My, how I envy you.”
Those “Against” would run through the same routine but by the time they reached the “No TV?” bit, often their voices had sunk to an incredulous whisper. Then, looking at me pityingly, they would say, “My dear, you have so much courage.” That was my cue to straighten up and put on my bravest, martyr-like air. But frankly, I could not have cared less.
The weather was ideal. Even in summer the nights were always cool enough to need warm covering, and lying in bed, snuggled under the blankets, once in awhile, when atmospheric conditions were just right, you could faintly hear the mainland noises coming in through the open window. A soft hum of sounds blended together — traffic, voices calling to one another, a dog’s bark, and occasionally the deep rumble of a transport truck. Nearer, the call of the night birds, a gentle rustling of the leaves in the trees. It was like a lullaby. I had no trouble getting to sleep now. It was wonderful to wake up every morning refreshed after a good night’s sleep and feel eager to face the new day. For the days were long and sunny, with fresh westerly winds that prevented the awful sticky heat that is so usual in cities during the summer months.
It was almost, but not quite, perfect. True, the nights were sweet, and the days heavenly … but evenings were hell.
Every evening, not long after the sun had set, the mosquitoes arrived. They came in swarms from out of the woods and from off the swamp. Heaven help anyone who was foolish enough to be out then. It seemed useless to put on repellant for they still found some place to bite, and could they bite, even through thick clothing. I had never encountered such monsters before, or so many of them.
Sometimes, sitting in the cabin waiting for the lantern to be lit, I could hear angry buzzing outside the screened windows, like a swarm of bees. Once the door was shut tight and the light on, we never ventured outside. Even then we were not entirely free, for they would fold up their wings and crawl in at the crack by the door. There was always at least one zooming around, followed by four pairs of eyes, until someone managed to swat it. I tried stuffing the crack with tissues, but still they got in. I soaked the tissues with rubbing alcohol; even that didn’t stop some of them, but these were a lot easier to get, probably because they were half gassed from the alcohol fumes. Then around 10:30 with the chill of the night settling in, their ranks would thin, and suddenly they were gone. Then, and only then, did the boys take off down the hill to their cabin.
Just before I left home, arrangements had been made to ship a gas refrigerator to the island. The “Hole” was fine to keep water, fruit, or juices, but a lot of food spoiled when kept down in that damp shaft. What excitement when the refrigerator came! It was quickly unloaded off the boat and placed on a dolly to be brought up the hill. It was towed behind the car, slowly, up, over the rough, uneven path, but then, with only