Chapter Three
Excavations for Fun or Profit?
For the next few weeks the house was a complete hubbub of activity. Right across from the house there was a small body of water called Brown’s Inlet. It was surrounded on three sides by houses, and a narrow piece of park land that spread out at the far end, right across from their living room window. It was in this park that the search commenced. Under the protective cover of night they snuck out across the street and for a week— with their collectors copy of “The Boys Own Guide To Surveying” — proceeded to map and grid the entire area.
At the Friday they had a complete representation of the “Loch”, its surrounding park and some very interesting stories of the mating habits of their younger neighbours, complete with illustrations made by moonlight.
Albert and Horatio ‘Potomus, being the most aquatic of them all, had donned green garbage bags—as protection from the questionable contents of the water—and had explored the depths of the pond. No wreckage of Pyrate ships was found and they gave up hope for the easy solution to finding the lost horde. Actually they would have all been sorely disappointed if they had discovered it so easily. As you know there is no honour in the easy victory.
The next stage now commenced. First of all they went out and bought Wellington’s—black with red trim, then they got Zita to taxi them all out to the big Lee Valley store where they bought excavating tools, the nice ones, nickel-plated with rosewood handles. On the way home they stopped at a chip wagon and bought Zita lunch and offered her 3% of the projected loot, which seemed fair, since she had lent them the money for their new boots and the digging equipment—and her lunch.
Naturally BT-McG apologized for the oversight, “’Fraid we must have left our wallets at home.”
(Zita had heard this excuse before. Whenever they ran out of money while waiting for the next dividend cheque, or pension, or disability payments, they were always too embarrassed to admit the unfortunate condition, and took to misplacing their wallets to disguise the fact. Zita understood and always professed to believe them. It was a small price to pay to sustain their pride, and they more than repaid it by always having the time to make the tea and to sit quietly and listen to whatever was on her mind. And then to tell her, “It will always be all-right. That under All The Great Heavens, there is no obstacle too enormous, no fear too deep, no enemy too strong that a good heart, true friends, a nice cup of hot chocolate with buttered scones, and three or four skillfully placed kilos of plastic explosive can’t put to rights.”)
One morning, a few days after the shopping expedition Craig questioned Haemish and Dugal about the all too obvious excess. Their common reply was “....if you have a task that requires you to be quite splendid; best not scrimp on the tools.” They said they had learned this lesson during their secondment to the Teheran rescue attempt.
So most mornings Craig went off to work, Zita went to the hospital for therapy and the rest of the household busily went about the task of decrypting the maps and finding the extravagant treasure.
They had tried to be inconspicuous about their interest in the area, and had bought a big basket and under the guise of picnicking intended to dig a series of exploratory trenches. This had caused problems, not the least of which was how to get the picnic basket across the street, down the cliff, and over to the far side of the water, safely, without curdling the cream dip or deflating BT-McG’s chutney soufflé surprise. One day as he drove home with the roof off, appreciating the wonderful summer sky, Craig saw, with no small concern two of the smaller Imperious TeddyBears astride a large hamper, which was suspended from a rope running from their second story balcony, across the street to the big elm tree where it was looped over a limb and tethered to a rock at the edge of the water.
They both waved.
When he got in the house and noticed another hamper being lowered down from upstairs he said to no-one in particular, “I am sure there is an explanation for all this, though I despair of a reasonable outcome.”
“We had need to transport the comestibles and the beach paraphernalia from here to there with some degree of regularity and circumspection—the overhead trolley seemed like a reasonable solution.”
“Well I knew that there would be an answer Haemish. How about an explanation?”
“Achhh weel nooo — y’see, each morning we bring over the willow picnic hampers and the subtlety coloured Coca-Cola Beach umbrellas, that my cousins in Toronto sent us. Said they had enough. Then we break out the silver service — the plate not the Sterling—set up the ‘brollies and spread out the blanket — pinning it securely to the ground with tent pegs. This takes quite a time. Then we break for the picnic — must keep up the cover y’see and then those of us still awake slide under the blanket. Safely hidden from curious eyes and passing sunbathers we dig our exploratory pits, searching for clues of the treasure’s true location.”
“There are so many distractions,” said the Big White TeddyBear, who was in charge of the logistics, “Big noisy black dogs come around and scare Ms. Lou and Osgoode Small as they try to keep track of all the explorations on the maps. Young women come over and spread their blankets close by, and ask Beauregard and BT-McG to help them open their Perrier bottles, and then both of them are gone for the rest of the day and don’t help a smidgen with the digging — they say they are protecting our flanks — if its true it’s at the expense of other flanks I must say!; and where to put the tailings?
We have watched “The Great Escape” many times but we don’t seem to be able to let the dirt dribble out our pant legs—as most of us don’t wear pants and well our legs are a little short if we are to be brutally honest, so we pack the dirt in the picnic hamper from underneath, and when we have finished a hole we pour all the dirt back in and then we all jump up and down on the blanket to pack it down, but when we do this all the Peoples in the park think it’s a exercise folk dance and come over and ask if we give lessons at the Glebe Community Centre.
So now LBP and Colonel Dugal have to give classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and have been pre-occupied trying to make up “low impact dances” for all the ladies in the neighbourhood. We are sure that Beauregard and BT-McG are very upset they didn’t think of it themselves. But it’s much more difficult then we expected or imagined. If we are out there every day, the Peoples will think we are layabouts or might even guess that we have interior motives. Mind you motives less base than those of Beauregard, Albert and BT-McG; who are all making fools of themselves, if I must say, over Miss Tanya, who drives the old Alfa Coupe, and lives down the street. She always seems to need help with her suntan lotion or synchronizing her carburetors.”
Actually Zita had noticed that all of the accused seemed to be even more picky then usual about their attire in recent weeks and hoped that it would not get too far out of hand.
The Assemblage
Two days later the Animeaux held a general conclave—to discuss their current undertaking.
Dugal convened the meeting and LBP read the minutes of the previous meeting. After the dispersal of biscuits and hot chocolate a review the accumulated intelligence on Project-X commenced.
“Firstly. Our continued presence on the Common can’t go on. It is causing far too much comment, and inquisitiveness in the neighbourhood. Secondly, I feel that I, as senior officer present must bring some unfortunate truths to light. Our first 18 holes have come to naught. Unfortunately that can not be said for our net weight gain. A more healthy way of disguising our excavations than daily picnics has to be developed before new wardrobes are needed—an expense that is quite out of the question at the moment.
Now about try 19 -- The one on the north side of the Loch, about where the big willow tree stood ‘till the storms sundered it, has been more encouraging. LBP and Albert have unearthed an ancient bottle of no-name Port and a rusty Albanian made pickaxe; both definitely Pyrate in origin. So here is the dilemma. Our first positive evidence is bracketed by the need for a more circumspect—and leaner way of explorations. Now I need some remedies more substantial than using diet dressings on the salads.” He said looking over at Beauregard, who immediately peered into his cup of hot chocolate.
“How about a tunnel?, said the small brown TeddyBear Angus SteadFastt, “From the house, under the street and down into the park. We can make a big storage room over there for our treasure hunting implements so that we needn’t haul them hither and yon.
“How will we know where we are underground?” asked Beauregard.
“We can use compasses underground and the dragons can fly overhead and we will stick one of the swords up and wiggle it. They will confirm our bearings and we will mark it on the map, it wont be hard I promise. Anyway when we find the treasure we will have need of new wine cellars and we can convert the tunnel into a grand repository for rare vintages and brews.”
Well, as you might guess this suggestion was met with great enthusiasm and a tunnel planning committee was struck, with orders to report to Dugal no later then the next day with an approach, time table, proposed search topography and an estimate of the number of barrels it could eventually hold. The conclave was adjourned and they all went downtown to check out the new Japanese bakery and dessert boutique.
Two days later the Salvation Army delivered a very used washing machine to the back door. It was dissembled on the spot and carted piece by piece down into the basement. The ruins of several old wheelchairs were salvaged and four large wheels were attached to the edges of the frame mounting the washer motor and agitator blade. The Nova donated its jack and it was attached to the rear of the frame with super-glue.
The First Brevet Animeaux Sapper Division now had a mechanized tunnel borer at its disposal. They moved Craig’s imposing and useful collection of big cardboard boxes that he kept stacked against the basement wall, at the foot of the stairs, and placed it on sheets of plywood—equipped with wheels.
From then on every day at 9am the first shift of excavators went down into the basement, pushed the box collection aside and plugged in the Great Boring Machine and keeping careful track of themselves with their compass, pushed the excavation under the street, down the slope to the point where the Store-room-bacchanal retreat was to be constructed. The second shift started a 1:30 and went to 6:00.
Within two weeks they had reached the near slope of the north bank, and started to expand the tunnel into their storeroom. The refuse from these efforts was simply pushed into the sewer that they had inadvertently hit on the second day and which the TeddyBear with the Red Toque claimed was divine intervention.
Both Craig and Zita were immeasurably impressed with the single-mindedness with which everyone approached the tunnel excavations and they both began to have second thoughts about the apparent preposterousness of the Pyrate treasure theory.
Everything now became secondary to the completion of the storeroom and all the clothes though much grimier then usual, fit much better.
The constant drone of the erstwhile washing machine became an aural companion to the household. Dugal hated to think of the forthcoming electric bill and hoped that recovered riches would cover the expenses and leave enough to admonish the Pyrates with a memorable demonstration of excess.
He was worried though, the cost of the search was greater then had been expected—the underground work required more investment then he was comfortable with, but they had to put safety and neatness first, and the new Gore-Tex smocks kept the fellows quite dust free, and provided a rather regimental look to the proceedings that he appreciated. But he wished the had some of his Cornish relatives here, they were all more familiar with “underground” escapades. He sat back in the chair and thought of the past. He had always thought that omnibuses were quite sufficient and had never used the “Underground” when he was in town anyway’. All stuff and nonsense. This thought made him feel better—and he picked up his favourite reference book “Famous Stills and Streams of Caledonia”. As Beauregard had often said “Tomorrow is another Day.”
Chapter Four
The Expedition to the Eastern Front — A Near Run Thing!
The entire contingent of Animeaux had become oblivious to the hustle and bustle of daily life as their tunnel snaked under the street and sloped down under the pond. There were of course delays. The storeroom was under construction for well over a month, awaiting the weekly pilfering of the neighbourhood trash baskets (they decided not to tell Zita about this; Craig’s comment about sleeping dogs was well placed they felt) for structural supports for the room, its antechamber and the sauna/shower station. As this slowly progressed everyone busied themselves planning for the next stage, the as yet undeveloped strategy for the systematic probing of the depths of the north side of the pond.
On a beautiful August morning Craig and Zita were sitting on the front porch having their Sunday morning coffee when the screen door opened and the fraternity of Animeaux poured out and settled themselves on the stairs.
“We’re here to discuss your approaching vacation to the Eastern Coast, and some associated possibilities,” said Haemish.
“Oh really,” said Craig, as he looked up from his new copy of “The Absolute Sound” that he had been cross-examining, worrying his mind as to the utility of $25,000 turntables or magnetically charged pieces of tin foil.
“Well, The Queen’s Own Pigs have being doing their usual bang up job of research for us. As a support to our underground efforts they have been dissecting the Oak Island mystery, naturally concentrating on the terrific tunnels. They think that a site visit would prove most beneficial to our endeavours. As it happens, we have ascertained, pouring over the atlas, that this island is not too far off the beaten track, and if you modified your travel plans ever so slightly you might be able to transport Callum and BT-McG, who have drawn the short straws, to the vicinity, saving them an arduous bout of hitch-hiking.”
“You’re coming on vacation with us?” said Zita with some concern.
“Well not really on your vacation. We would very much appreciate a ride to and from the infamous Oak Island, and perhaps if we could borrow some room for the tent, the laser theodolite, the portable sonar unit and our other camping paraphernalia.” said Callum.
“Well that seems almost reasonable. We are leaving next Thursday, early. So if you make your plans accordingly we will be delighted with your company.”
When the day arrived all was set. The Blue Car had been packed, new tapes had been made BT-McG and Callum had all their equipment stashed in the back seat behind the chair. Good-byes were said. The Lady that’s Known as Lou, had made peanut brittle and fudge sandwiches for them and had put two weeks supply of green and yellow chutney in BT’s special thermos. They were given maps that showed where everyone’s great aunt or second cousin lived - just in case — and then they were off.-
The first crisis occurred when Callum and BT-McG realized that the route to Nova Scotia required them to cross into America. You see McG had naturally left his passport at home and Callum, having being hijacked during his archaeological vacation in the middle east had no passport at all and had forgotten to have a new one issued. They were quite loath to use them anyway as neither wanted anyone to know of their whereabouts - Pyrates had connections everywhere.
They began planning their entry, “Perhaps we can wrap our selves in protective blankets and squeeze in on top of the mufflers, or unlimber the hang-glider and make a quick low level crossing.”
Craig said to stop worrying, he had it all figured out. When they reached the border station Callum and BT scrambled into the front seat and sat on Zita’s knees, so they could look out the window — and prepared to jump.
When the guard asked where they came from Craig replied “Saskatchewan” and Zita produced her Irish passport. The guard looked up with a start and said “My grandmother came from County Kerry. She was married to one of the Dark McLoughlan brothers from Clare. Would you know them by any chance?”
Zita replied “Well to be sure if my mother isn’t a McLoughlan, though she is from County Clare.”
“Close enough. Welcome to the USA cousin Kavanagh.” and he waved them a good day.
The two Animeaux breathed a long steady sigh of relief, “Nice to have relatives in high places!”, they said and changed the disk to Willie Nelson.
They reached Bar Harbour late that night and snuck their two friends into the room in Zita’s knapsack. That’s when crisis two occurred. When Callum looked out the window he saw, first of all the sea, and then the ferry dock and suddenly realized that they were about to take a long boat ride.
“My goodness. What about Pyrates! On aboard all alone with only the two of us to protect you from hordes of Pyrates! Oh dear — this is chancing a lot. We didn’t bring along a lot of munitions you know, being a bit cramped for space and all.”
Craig ignored the complaints and tried to explain that the ferry to Yarmouth was hardly ever attacked by Pyrates. There was a very large U.S. Navy base in New Haven, which was not too far away and this usually kept them at bay.
BT-McG interrupted “Colonel Dugal’s cousins says ya can’t take the U.S. Navy very seriously; no matter how big it is. Seems they can’t have Rum Toddies on board. And what’s a sailor without Rum Toddies, they say.”
“Well be that as it may” said Craig, cursing the two ex-Royal Marine Commandos under his breath, “I am certain we will manage to reach Canada again with out incident.”
“Canada again. Oh oh! -- What about our documents. They will never fall for that — my mothers from Ireland — trick at the Canadian border I bet.” said Callum with some agitation.
“They wouldn’t dare t’give me the troubles,” said BT-McG indignantly “I’m a veteran — have my Legion card in my hat band. Post 24, The United Counties of Lanark-Glengarry-Dundas. They’ll not look sideways or I’ll....”
Zita said “How about we stop worrying and go get some big bowls of clam chowder. This distracted them, and after BT found his thermos bottle they all went to dinner.
The next morning they drove onto the ferry. Craig and Zita left the Animeaux in the Car to protect the contents from any Pyrates, disguised perhaps as a bus tour. This assignment also made Zita breathe easier as it also would prevent them from relentlessly scanning the horizon with their telescopes and disconcerting the other passengers with their pyratical concerns.
Fortunately, for all involved the Canadian border passed without incident, and they all now felt that the vacation had truly begun. They consulted their maps and after a vote (Craig lost) decided to take the coast highway up towards Halifax. They settled in, and Callum, sitting on the pillow, on the suitcase, kept up a running commentary as he read from his tattered copy of The Royal (Rhinosasauris) Auto Club’s Good Guide to Great Food and Pyrate Observations.
Even Zita had to admit it was fascinating—although she felt there was an over emphasis on the whereabouts of fresh homemade pickles and seaweed chutney shops for her taste. But the information that the Animeaux had gathered over the centuries of the history of Peoples and their doings was quite astonishing. Callum had a virtually life story of each cove they passed through or each abandoned house they saw. Complete with who did what, and who got caught and who got elected. They had a great time.
Late in the afternoon, Callum said, with some reluctance, that there was a rather pleasant Inn listed in his guide just across from their destination, but he didn’t want to prejudice them as both he and McG were quite looking forward to a bracing quick hike before settling in.
Zita said that would be silly and un-necessary. They would both be their guests for dinner that night, if Callum would read them the directions from his map.
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