(Top) Earl of Orkney and Baron of Roslin Coats of Arms. (Bottom) Statue of Henry Sinclair in the compound of the Noss Head Lighthouse by sculptor Shawn Williamson.[1]
Henry I Sinclair, Earl of Orkney, Lord of Roslin (c. 1345 – c. 1400) was a Scottish nobleman. Sinclair held the title Earl of Orkney (which refers to Norðreyjar rather than just the islands of Orkney) and was Lord High Admiral of Scotland under the King of Scotland. He was sometimes identified by another spelling of his surname, St. Clair. He was the grandfather of William Sinclair, 1st Earl of Caithness, the builder of Rosslyn Chapel. He is best known today because of a modern legend that he took part in explorations of Greenland and North America almost 100 years before Christopher Columbus. William Thomson, in his book The New History of Orkney,[2] wrote: "It has been Earl Henry's singular fate to enjoy an ever-expanding posthumous reputation which has very little to do with anything he achieved in his lifetime."[3]
Rosslyn or Roslin Castle, seat of the Sinclairs who were Barons of Roslin, reconstruction image
Henry Sinclair was the son and heir of William Sinclair, Lord of Roslin, and his wife Isabella (Isobel) of Strathearn.[4] She was a daughter of Maol Ísa, Jarl of Orkney. Henry Sinclair's maternal grandfather had been deprived of much of his lands (the earldom of Strathearn being completely lost to the King of Scots).[5]
Sometime after 13 September 1358, Henry's father died, at which point Henry Sinclair succeeded as Baron of Roslin, Pentland and Cousland, a group of minor properties in Lothian.[6]
Although the Norwegian Jarldom of Orkney was not an inheritable position, successive appointments had operated as if it had been. After a vacancy lasting 18 years, three cousins – Alexander de L'Arde, Lord of Caithness; Malise Sparre, Lord of Skaldale; and Henry Sinclair – were rivals for the succession. Initially trialing de L'Arde as Captain of Orkney, King Haakon VI of Norway was quickly disappointed in de L'Arde's behaviour, and sacked him.[6]
On 2 August 1379, at Marstrand, near Tønsberg, Norway, Haakon chose Sinclair over Sparre, investing Sinclair with the Jarldom or Earldom in the Peerage of Scotland.[4][7][8] In return Henry pledged to pay a fee of 1000 nobles before St. Martin's Day (11 November), and, when called upon, serve the king on Orkney or elsewhere with 100 fully armed men for 3 months. It is unknown if Haakon VI ever attempted to call upon the troops pledged by Henry or if any of the fee was actually paid.[6]
As security for upholding the agreement the new jarl left hostages behind when he departed Norway for Orkney. Shortly before his death in summer 1380, the king permitted the hostages to return home.[9] In 1389, Sinclair attended the hailing of King Eric in Norway, pledging his oath of fealty. Historians have speculated that in 1391 Sinclair and his troops slew Malise Sparre near Scalloway, Tingwall parish, Shetland.[6][10]
Sinclair is later described as an "admiral of the seas" in the Genealogies of the Saintclaires of Roslin by Richard Augustine Hay. This refers to his position as the Lord High Admiral of Scotland while in service to the King of Scotland.[11] It is a title he is said to have inherited from his father William Sinclair in 1358 but it's more likely he acquired it much later in life.
It is not known when Henry Sinclair died. The Sinclair Diploma, written or at least commissioned by his grandson states: "...he retirit to the parts of Orchadie and josit them to the latter tyme of his life, and deit Erile of Orchadie, and for the defence of the country was slain there cruellie by his enemiis..." We also know that sometime in 1401: "The English invaded, burnt and spoiled certain islands of Orkney." This was part of an English retaliation for a Scottish attack on an English fleet near Aberdeen. The assumption is that Henry either died opposing this invasion, or was already dead.[5][6]
Henri Santo Claro (Henry St. Clair) signed a charter from King Robert III in January 1404. It is supposed that he died shortly after that although his son did not take the title until 1412. Therefore, he died somewhere between 1404 and 1412, killed in an attack on Orkney, possibly by English seamen.[12][6] Or in an attack from the south.[7]
Two hundred and fifty years ago this month, a young Scottish engineer took a Sunday walk across Glasgow Green – and changed the world. Thanks to the idea dreamed up by James Watt that Sunday in May 1765, human beings became masters of power generation and so transformed our planet.
At the time, Watt was merely fixated with the problems posed by the primitive and inefficient steam engines that were then being used to pump water from mines, and had already made several futile attempts to improve them. Then, on his Sunday walk, the idea for a new device – which he later called the separate condenser – popped into his mind.
It was a notion that would have stunning consequences. The separate condenser changed the steam engine from a crude and inefficient machine into one that became the mainstay of the industrial revolution. Britain was transformed from an agricultural country into a nation of manufacturers.
Today, many scientists believe the processes unleashed by Watt have begun to alter the physical makeup of our planet. After two-and-a-half centuries of spewing out carbon dioxide from plants and factories built in the wake of his condenser’s invention, the atmosphere and crust of the Earth are beginning to be transformed. Watt truly changed the world, it seems.
Indeed, that walk on Glasgow Green remains “one of the best recorded, and most repeated, eureka moments since Archimedes leaped out of his bathtub”, according to William Rosen in his book The Most Powerful Idea in the World: A Story of Steam, Industry and Invention, published in 2010.
In 1765, Watt – then an instrument-maker based at Glasgow University – was working on a Newcomen pump, a state-of-the-art device in which steam pushed a piston through a cylinder. Water was then sprayed into the cylinder, cooling it and causing the steam to condense, creating a vacuum behind the piston that sucked it back into its original position. More steam was pumped in and the piston was pushed forward again.
It was a very powerful process but also a very inefficient one. Constantly heating and then cooling the engine’s huge cylinder required huge amounts of heat and coal. Steam engines like these had only limited usefulness.
Then Watt set off on his walk. When he was halfway across the green, the idea of a separate condenser came into his mind. Such a device would, he realised, create a vacuum that would help suck in the engine’s piston but still allow its main cylinder to operate at a constant temperature. “I had not walked further than the golf-house when the whole thing was arranged in my mind,” he later recalled.
The earliest known portrait of James Watt, painted by Carl Fredrik von Breda in 1792. Photograph: SSPL via Getty Images
Watt would have gone to work straight away but was constrained by the dictates of the Scottish sabbath. He quickly made a model of his device, nevertheless, and this is now displayed in the Science Museum in London. Four years later, he patented the condenser – and triggered the industrial revolution.
“Watt’s condenser tripled the efficiency of the steam engine and that meant that mill or mine owners got three times more mechanical work for every tonne of coal they had to buy,” says Colin McInnes, professor of engineering science at Glasgow University. “It meant that Britain’s coal stocks had been effectively trebled. He made a tremendous difference to the rate at which industry spread through Britain and subsequently the rest of the world.”
Until Watt, human enterprise was constrained by the process of photosynthesis, says McInnes. “In other words, we had to rely on natural living sources for the power we needed to run our factories or plants: fast-flowing water or horses or burning wood. By making the steam efficient, Watt changed all that. He gave us the means to exploit energy-dense fossil fuels in an effective manner. It changed the world and ended the era of renewable energy.”
This point is backed up by Ben Russell, curator of mechanical engineering at the Science Museum, and author of James Watt: Making the World Anew, published last year. “Before Watt, industry had to rely on water power, and there was a strict limit to the number of factories you could build on the banks of fast-flowing rivers,” he says.
“After Watt invented the separate condenser, you could build highly efficient factories almost anywhere you wanted. It made it possible to build plants that were driven by cheap, relatively easy sources: coal and steam. The cotton industry was transformed. So was brewing. And mining. Watt brought wide acceptance of steam as a power source.”
Within a few decades of Watt’s breakthrough, networks of factories and mines, linked by railways, were spreading across the country, triggering a national frenzy for fossil fuels that has since become a global obsession. Steam power no longer dominates global industry but our reliance on fossil fuels such as coal, oil and gas still lingers – with growing impacts on the planet.
Indeed, the Nobel-prizewinning chemist Paul Crutzen now argues that the greenhouse gases produced by burning fossil fuels have brought about such profound changes that we must accept the world has entered a new epoch. He calls it the “anthropocene”.
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According to Crutzen and many other scientists, the planet is no longer being shaped primarily by natural processes but by ones set loose by human beings. We are raising levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, scarring the planet’s surface in our search for coal and metals, cutting down forests to make way for factories and homes, and acidifying the oceans. Humans have become planet changers.
As to the event that triggered this onslaught, there are few better candidates than Watt’s stroll across Glasgow Green 250 years ago – though for such a momentous event, it is still afforded remarkably little recognition.
Indeed, it was only relatively recently, in the 1980s, that Glasgow’s councillors decided to install a small boulder in what is Glasgow’s oldest park, with a simple inscription: “Near this spot in 1765, James Watt conceived the idea for the separate condenser for the steam engine.”
By contrast, a few metres away, a 40-metre obelisk dedicated to Horatio Nelson was erected in 1806, only a year after his death at Trafalgar. Thus a remote battle was celebrated with a grandiose monument while an invention that gave birth to the industrial revolution and changed the world had to wait almost two centuries for recognition – in the form of a small stone.
On the other hand, Watt’s striking achievement will be recognised on 5 June, when Glasgow University stages a seminar, The Invention that Changed the World, focusing on Watt and his revolutionary separate condenser, as part of the Glasgow Science Festival.
“Watt was a real product of the enlightenment,” says the seminar’s organiser Lesley Richmond, deputy director of Glasgow University’s archives. “He was self taught, yet went on to work at Glasgow University at a time when Adam Smith and Joseph Black were teaching there.
“He was far more than just the inventor of the separate condenser, though that was the device that was to have the greatest impact. He also invented a machine for copying documents, for example – an early photocopier, in effect.
“And there is so much we can still learn about him. Many of his devices and papers have still to be properly archived and studied. In 2019, we will mark the bicentenary of Watt’s death. By then, we want to have all his work in digital form. Then we will get a real chance to appreciate his fantastic achievements.”
Isla Oak: la leyenda del tesoro que ya se cobró seis víctimas y cientos de frustraciones
Vinculada con numerosos personajes históricos, mitos y leyendas, este enclave canadiense en el Atlántico norte motivó numerosas exploraciones, textos y el célebre documental de History Channel
La leyenda de la isla Oak está ligada a las palabras “botín” y “tesoro” y, por ende, a los piratas (foto ilustrativa)LA NACION
Desde finales del siglo XVIII hasta la fecha, el misterio ha sido una constante en torno a la isla Oak. Seis personas han muerto y otras cientos de almas han vivido penurias intentado desenterrar un supuesto tesoro del que poco se sabe.
Ubicada en el condado de Lunenburg, sobre la costa sur de Nueva Escocia, en Canadá, la Isla Oak -o “Isla del Roble”- es una de las cientos que conforman la Bahía de Mahone. Con una superficie de 57 hectáreas y una altura máxima de 11 metros sobre el nivel del mar, encierra uno de los misterios arqueológicos más grandes de América del Norte.
El enigma involucra a personajes como el Capitán Kidd y su pozo del tesoro, o joyas de la decapitada reina de Francia, María Antonieta, o manuscritos que demostrarían que parte de la obra de William Shakespeare (1564-1616) habrían sido escritos por Francis Bacon.
También está vinculada a un joven Franklin Delano Roosevelt que, antes de convertirse en el 32° presidente de Estados Unidos, patrocinaba a la firma Old Gold Salvage Company y se interesó por el supuesto tesoro.
Hasta hubo historiadores que sugieren que la isla Oak está emparentada con los tesoros de los Caballeros Templarios.
Independientemente de los nombres y personajes históricos con los que se la relaciona, la leyenda de la isla Oak está ligada a las palabras “botín” y “tesoro” y, por ende, a los piratas.
Vinculada con numerosos personajes históricos, mitos y leyendas, este enclave canadiense en el Atlántico norte motivó numerosas exploraciones, textos y el célebre documental de los hermanos LaginaYouTube History
Entre 1690 y 1730, los historiadores hablan de un período de oro para los corsarios. Muchos viajaban hacia y cerca de la isla Oak por sus vastos recursos naturales y porque era el lugar ideal para esconder bienes robados.
Tres muchachos, un pozo y el comienzo del sueño
Así fue que un grupo de tres muchachos creyeron haber encontrado en la isla Oak el tesoro que, según la leyenda, había enterrado allí el escocés William Kidd, un experimentado pirata ejecutado en Londres 1701. En 1795, Daniel McGinnis, John Smith y Anthony Vaughn descubrieron un pozo con forma circular en ese lugar al que llamaron “Money Pit” (”el pozo del dinero”) y decidieron comenzar a cavar.
Entre sus esfuerzos y paladas encontraron losas sueltas, piedras y fragmentos de roble de gran tamaño. Pero la gran envergadura de esos troncos enterrados hizo que los tres jóvenes depusieran su búsqueda del supuesto tesoro millonario.
Ocho años después, la compañía Onslow emprendió viaje a la isla Oak motivados por el rumor de lo que habían iniciado McGinnis, Smith y Vaughn. Con equipamiento necesario para este tipo de tareas descendieron hasta los 28 metros. A esa profundidad, descubrieron una placa con inscripciones extrañas.
“12 metros más abajo hay 2 millones de libras enterradas”, indicaban lo símbolos de acuerdo con una traducción de la época. No obstante, al remover la placa el agua comenzó a inundar todo y debieron salir.
Réplica de la piedra con la que se toparon uno de los primeros grupos de exploradoresOakIslandMoneyPit.Com
Gracias a la colaboración de Vaughn, la recientemente conformada Truro Company -que había incorporado a exmiembros de Onslow y otras personas respetadas en la materia- desembarcó en la isla Oak en 1845 con el anhelo y la ambición de hacerse del tesoro. Pero pese al entusiasmo inicial solo pudieron comenzar a excavar hacia 1849.
Decididos a resolver el misterio, montaron una estructura de madera sobre la que su taladro pudiese operar con mayor facilidad. Casi de modo secuencial, las capas de tierra, madera y metal se repetían a medida que descendían algunos metros.
Monedas de oro, inundaciones y muerte
Como publica Daily Choices, un buen día los miembros de la Truro Company taladraron algo que parecían dos cofres que contenían monedas de oro.
El supuesto descubrimiento indicaba una cosa: que el tesoro estaba más abajo de lo que creían. Pero continuar descendiendo conllevaba un problema adicional dado que el pozo se llenaba de agua. Eso los llevó a la conclusión que el terreno que rodeaba a la perforación había sido creado artificialmente, como producto de una vieja represa. Si bien en un primer momento evaluaron crear una nueva represa para drenar el lugar y poder seguir excavando, la falta de fondos hizo que todo quedara en la nada.
Mapa de la isla Oak creado por Joe Nickell en 1999OakIslandMoneyPit.Com
En 1861, un nuevo grupo probó suerte para intentar resolver el misterio. Autodenominados Oak Island Association, acordaron con el dueño del predio, Anthony Graves, que le entregarían un tercio de los tesoros que encontraran.
Con las ganas a flor de piel y el tiempo necesario para cumplir con su objetivo realizaron dos nuevos pozos en paralelo. La idea era llegar al botín cavando horizontalmente una vez que alcancen la profundidad deseada. Pero a muy poco de llegar al objetivo el agua inundó los dos túneles.
Desafortunadamente, el equipo experimentó una tragedia hacia el otoño boreal de ese año. Mientras intentaban drenar uno de los túneles inundados, una caldera explotó y un operador murió a raíz de las quemaduras. Varios otros resultaron heridos.
Finalmente, en 1866, la compañía renunció a sus derechos en el sitio y puso fin a una campaña costosa y accidentada.
Nuevos bríos
Mientras que las esperanzas por encontrar tesoros en la isla Oak parecían esfumarse, el hallazgo de casi 500 gramos de cobre en la superficie provocó entusiasmo. Si bien las piezas aparecieron lejos de la excavación original, algunos entusiastas creyeron que podría ser evidencia de lo que yacía enterrado.
Las distintas zonas exploradas de la isla OakOakIslandMoneyPit.Com
En 1893, Frederick Blair y S.C. Fraser crearon la Oak Island Treasure Company en Maine, Estados Unidos. Gracias a un contrato de explotación 30.000 dólares, la firma se aseguró los derechos exclusivos de todos los tesoros descubiertos por un período de tres años. Pero, pese a sus esfuerzos, no lograron encontrar nada.
Cuatro años más tarde, más precisamente el 26 de marzo de 1897, la isla se cobró otra víctima mortal: un hombre llamado Maynard Kaiser, que se encontraba trabajando en una de la perforaciones de la zona.
Tres meses más tarde nuevos, otro grupo de excavadores probó suerte. En esta ocasión, el taladro atravesó capas de piedra blanda, roble y algo que parecían piezas sueltas de metal. Pero, al continuar descendiendo, chocaron con una barrera de hierro y debieron interrumpir las tareas.
Cuando el taladro volvió a la superficie y el equipo examinó las perforaciones extraídas del pozo, la emoción rápidamente se desvaneció. Pese a que se pensaba que la capa era de metal suelto, los hombres solo encontraron trozos de fibra de coco -utilizado en esa época para empacar-, astillas de roble y más escombros sueltos.
El papiro con la inscripción 'VI' encontrado en una de las excavaciones cuya autenticidad fue confirmada por expertos de la Universidad de HarvardOakIslandMoneyPit.Com
Parte de los escombros extraídos en la isla Oak fueron trasladados a Amherst. Allí, el Dr. A.E. Porter hizo un estudio minucioso de los materiales desenterrados. Entre la tierra y los escombros, encontró un pergamino inconfundible con lo que parecían ser las letras ‘VI’ escritas en uno de los lados del material, que fue inspeccionado por especialistas de la Universidad de Harvard que verificaron su autenticidad.
Roosevelt y la búsqueda en el siglo XX
En 1909, a la edad de 27 años, Franklin Delano Roosevelt se unió a las filas de la Old Gold Salvage and Wrecking Company. De excelente posición económica y formado en Harvard, pasó ese verano frente a las costas de Nueva Escocia.
Roosevelt, el tercero desde la derechaDaily Choices
De la misma manera que cualquier otro buscador de tesoros, Roosevelt estaba muy esperanzado de encontrarlo. Como consigna Oak Island Money Pit, en una carta dirigida a una amigo personal se interesó por el misterio la isla y tenía intenciones de regresar a la Bahía Mahone.
Motivado por lo que había visto en 1897, Chappell regresó a Canadá desde Australia y junto con Frederick Blair, que había conservado el contrato de arrendamiento, se involucró en la búsqueda. Sus primeras excavaciones arrojaron hallazgos: un hacha, un ancla y una púa, elementos que los llevaron a creer que podían ser rastros de alguna antigua civilización.
Blair, Chappel, su hermano Renerick, su hijo Melbourne y su sobrino Claude, comenzaron a trabajar en 1931. Como ya había ocurrido, el grupo se topó con más dificultades que soluciones. Buscaron el “pozo del dinero” pero, para ese entonces, el sitio había sufrido casi 140 años de excavaciones y la superficie de la isla lucía confusa. No sabían por dónde empezar.
Tras haber leído sobre el tema en un artículo en el New York Times de 1928, un hombre llamado Gilbert Hedden se interesó en el Pozo del dinero y la isla Oak. Ese interés devino en obsesión y tras comprar parte de la isla y negociar con Blair, consiguió los medios necesarios comenzó a trabajar en la zona en 1936.
En los primeros meses, el equipo de Hedden no tuvo mayores descubrimientos, pero en 1937 todo cambió. Al excavar en uno de los muchos túneles auxiliares que marcan la isla, el equipo tropezó con una serie de elementos fascinantes. A 20 metros de profundidad dieron con una lámpara minera y dinamita sin explotar. A 30 metros desenterraron masilla de arcilla nunca antes vista en la isla.
Si bien su interés por el tesoro de la isla Oak nunca disminuyó, en 1938 Hedden cambió de planes y decidió abocarse a los asuntos comerciales de la industria del acero.
La tragedia de los Restall
Desde el mismísimo primer intento de los tres intrépidos muchachos de 1795, un gran número de creencias fantásticas se tejieron en torno a al destino de la isla Oak. Algunas profecías presagiaban que para desenterrar el tesoro debían morir al menos siete personas. Y la familia Restall no hizo más que agrandar la leyenda.
Robert Restall llegó a la isla en 1959 después de firmar un contrato con uno de los terratenientes. Se instaló con Bobbie, su hijo mayor de 18 años, en una cabaña sin agua potable, pero con la creencia firme de que lograrían encontrar el elusivo tesoro.
Robert Restall y su familia en el sitio denominado Pozo del dineroBeautifulTrendsToday.Com
La mañana del 17 de agosto de 1965, Robert se encontraba sobre el borde de una de las perforaciones cuando aspiró el gas que emanaba de una máquina perforadora. Se desmayó y cayó al pozo. Al ver lo que sucedía con su padre, Bobbie se acercó para tratar de ayudarlo y corrió la misma suerte.
Al ver que padre e hijo Restall habían caído, los operarios Karl Graeser y Cyril Hiltz intentaron ayudarlos, pero también sucumbieron. Al término de la jornada, cuatro personas habían muerto.
Una placa inaugurada en el segundo centenario de la primera excavación recuerda a las seis personas que murieron mientras buscaban el supuesto tesoroOakIslandMoneyPit.Com
Tras la muerte de los Restall y los obreros, el inversor y geólogo Robert Dunfield se hizo cargo de la exploración de la isla. Los primeros trabajos se llevaron a cabo ese mismo año y tras un breve descanso se retomaron el mismísimo día de Año Nuevo de 1966.
Sin mayor éxito más que haber encontrado fragmentos de porcelana similares a los de expedicionarios anteriores y la incursión de Fred Nolan Dunfield puso fin a su proyecto. Tras haber invertido miles de dólares regresó a California con las manos vacías.
Después de haber hecho trabajo de campo en el área y una tregua con los demás buscadores de tesoros, en 1969 Daniel C. Blankenship y David Tobias conformaron la Triton Alliance Limited. Al explorar la zona de Old Smith Cove, el equipo descubrió una formación de troncos en forma de U, tijeras de hierro forjado, un trineo de madera y otros artefactos de hierro, como clavos y púas.
Según reportes de la época, el equipo dumergió una cámara y en la superficie analizaron lo que parecía ser una mano, un fragmento de un cadáver y varios cofres. Esto motivó a que se realizaran 10 inspecciones con buzos, pero todas fueron infructuosas: no se extrajo ningún tesoro como resultado de esa investigaciones.
A comienzos de los 1980, Blankenship y Tobias le dieron un giro comercial a su empresa: comenzaron a explotar la veta turística de la isla Oak. De manera casi exclusiva comenzaron a recibir a visitantes interesados tanto en la geografía como en los hallazgos y las historias contadas a lo largo de los siglos.
Sobre el final de la década de 1990, Tobias decidió vender sus acciones de la propiedad. La Sociedad de Turismo de la isla Oak le solicitó fervientemente al gobierno de Canadá que comprara el terreno y lo abriera al público, pero la iniciativa no prosperó.
Marty (izquierda) y Rick (derecha) Lagina, los hermanos que encabeza el reality show de History ChannelYouTube
Pese a los pedidos de la organización, en 2006 la mayor parte de la isla fue vendida a los hermanos Marty y Rick Lagina de Kingsford, Michigan.
A comienzos de 2014, History Channel estrenó el reality show, The curse of Oak Island en el que, a través del uso de tecnología moderna, los hermanos buscan descubrir artefactos históricos enterrados en Oak.
Hasta ahora, los intentos de los Lagina por dar con el tesoro tampoco rindieron frutos. Sí encontraron una fuente de riqueza inesperada en el programa, que ya lleva ocho temporadas al aire.
Now let us look at 'Resonance #7', which had to do with a deadly shooting on the date of the sinking of the Titanic, at Mormon church library which happens to be the world's top center for genealogical research. This event seems to continue the symbolic thread of the 'Ark' associations, for it's my understanding that the Mormons are very concerned with biblicalbloodlines. And those who have even casually looked into the Grail tradition should be aware that the tradition has been often viewed as an allegorical story about the 'Royal Blood' (viewed as the "bloodline of Jesus", etc., and this bloodline goes back to King Solomon and David with whom the Ark is intimately associated thus linking it with the 'Grail' tradition). The date of the event coinciding with the Titanic sinking is also significant for it allegorically represent the story of the Great Flood and Noah's 'Ark' as masterfully depicted in the enormously popular movie, 'Titanic' (so again the Ark of Noah and the Ark of the Covenant seem to converge). In the movie 'Titanic', the notion of the Grail/Ark bloodline is also implied, especially near the end of the movie where Rose is floating in the ocean on a wooden chest, i.e. the 'ark', depicting how the bloodline of Rose, the 'Rose-line', somehow survived the "Flood". Note that there is 'Rosslyn Chapel' at 'Roslin' (i.e. 'Rose Line') in Scotland, which is a famous and mysterious chapel very intimately associated with the Templar/Masonic/Grail tradition (also, the Knights Templar themselves were closely associated with the symbol of the 'rose'). In the succeeding scene in the movie, Rose hides from her oppressive fiancé (representing the bloodline/tradition going 'underground') and comes face to face and be identified with (what else?) the Statue of Liberty holding the torch high, declaring freedom.
Mary’s Chapel may only be open to fellow Freemasons, but its location is anything but a secret (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Conspiracy theories abound about the Freemasons. But Scotland’s true Masonic history, while forgotten by many for centuries, remains hidden in plain sight.
With its cobblestone paving and Georgian façades, tranquil Hill Street is a haven in Edinburgh’s busy New Town. Compared to the Scottish capital’s looming castle or eerie closes, it doesn’t seem like a street with a secret.
Amanda Ruggeri
Tranquil and historic, Edinburgh’s Hill Street attracts few tourists (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Walk slowly, though, and you might notice something odd. Written in gold gilt above a door framed by two baby-blue columns are the words, “The Lodge of Edinburgh (Mary’s Chapel) No 1”. Further up the wall, carved into the sandstone, is a six-pointed star detailed with what seem – at least to non-initiates – like strange symbols and numbers.
Located at number 19 Hill Street, Mary’s Chapel isn’t a place of worship. It’s a Masonic lodge. And, with its records dating back to 1599, it’s the oldest proven Masonic lodge still in existence anywhere in the world.
Amanda Ruggeri
At 19 Hill Street, look up to see this six-pointed star, a Masonic symbol (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
That might come as a surprise to some people. Ask most enthusiasts when modern Freemasonry began, and they’d point to a much later date: 1717, the year of the foundation of what would become known as the Grand Lodge of England. But in many ways, Freemasonry as we know it today is as Scottish as haggis or Harris tweed.
From the Middle Ages, associations of stonemasons existed in both England and Scotland. It was in Scotland, though, that the first evidence appears of associations – or lodges – being regularly used. By the late 1500s, there were at least 13 established lodges across Scotland, from Edinburgh to Perth. But it wasn’t until the turn of the 16th Century that those medieval guilds gained an institutional structure – the point which many consider to be the birth of modern Freemasonry.
Take, for example, the earliest meeting records, usually considered to be the best evidence of a lodge having any real organisation. The oldest minutes in the world, which date to January 1599, is from Lodge Aitchison’s Haven in East Lothian, Scotland, which closed in 1852. Just six months later, in July 1599, the lodge of Mary’s Chapel in Edinburgh started to keep minutes, too. As far as we can tell, there are no administrative records from England dating from this time.
“This is, really, when things begin,” said Robert Cooper, curator of the Grand Lodge of Scotland and author of the book Cracking the Freemason’s Code. “[Lodges] were a fixed feature of the country. And what is more, we now know it was a national network. So Edinburgh began it, if you like.”
Amanda Ruggeri
The Grand Lodge of Scotland, also known as Freemasons Hall, stands in the heart of Edinburgh’s New Town (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
I met Cooper in his office: a wood-panelled, book-stuffed room in the Grand Lodge of Scotland at 96 George Street, Edinburgh – just around the corner from Mary’s Chapel. Here and there were cardboard boxes, the kind you’d use for a move, each heaped full with dusty books and records. Since its founding in 1736, this lodge has received the records and minutes of every other official Scottish Masonic lodge in existence. It is also meant to have received every record of membership, possibly upwards of four million names in total.
Amanda Ruggeri
One of the items on display at the Grand Lodge of Scotland’s museum is its membership record with the signature of famed Freemason Robert Burns (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
That makes the sheer number of documents to wade through daunting. But it’s also fruitful, like when the Grand Lodge got wind of the Aitchison’s Haven minutes, which were going for auction in London in the late 1970s. Another came more recently when Cooper found the 115-year-old membership roll book of a Scottish Masonic lodge in Nagasaki, Japan.
“There’s an old saying that wherever Scots went in numbers, the first thing they did was build a kirk [church], then they would build a bank, then they would build a pub. And the fourth thing was always a lodge,” Cooper said, chuckling.
Amanda Ruggeri
The curator of the Grand Lodge of Scotland, Robert Cooper, looks over the lodge’s museum (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
That internationalism was on full display in the Grand Lodge of Scotland’s museum, which is open to the public. It was full of flotsam and jetsam from around the world: a green pennant embroidered with the “District Grand Lodge of Scottish Freemasonry in North China”; some 30 Masonic “jewels” – or, to non-Masons, medals – from Czechoslovakia alone.
Of course, conspiracy theorists find that kind of reach foreboding. Some say Freemasonry is a cult with links to the Illuminati. Others believe it to be a global network that’s had a secret hand in everything from the design of the US dollar bill to the French Revolution. Like most other historians, Cooper shakes his head at this.
“If we’re a secret society, how do you know about us?” he asked. “This is a public building; we’ve got a website, a Facebook page, Twitter. We even advertise things in the press. But we’re still a ‘secret society’ running the world! A real secret society is the Mafia, the Chinese triads. They are real secret societies. They don’t have a public library. They don’t have a museum you can wander into.”
Amanda Ruggeri
Cooper points to the Masonic symbols on one of the many historic documents in the lodge’s archive (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Some of the mythology about Freemasonry stems from the mystery of its early origins. One fantastical theory goes back to the Knights Templar; after being crushed by King Philip of France in 1307, the story goes, some fled to Argyll in western Scotland, and remade themselves as a new organisation called the Freemasons. (Find out more in our recent story about the Knights Templar).
Others – including Freemasons themselves – trace their lineage back to none other than King Solomon, whose temple, it’s said, was built with a secret knowledge that was transferred from one generation of stonemason to the next.
A more likely story is that Freemasonry’s early origins stem from medieval associations of tradesmen, similar to guilds. “All of these organisations were based on trades,” said Cooper. “At one time, it would have been, ‘Oh, you’re a Freemason – I’m a Free Gardener, he’s a Free Carpenter, he’s a Free Potter’.”
At one time, it would have been, ‘Oh, you’re a Freemason – I’m a Free Gardener, he’s a Free Carpenter, he’s a Free Potter’ – Robert Cooper
For all of the tradesmen, having some sort of organisation was a way not only to make contacts, but also to pass on tricks of the trade – and to keep outsiders out.
But there was a significant difference between the tradesmen. Those who fished or gardened, for example, would usually stay put, working in the same community day in, day out.
Not so with stonemasons. Particularly with the rush to build more and more massive, intricate churches throughout Britain in the Middle Ages, they would be called to specific – often huge – projects, often far from home. They might labour there for months, even years. Thrown into that kind of situation, where you depended on strangers to have the same skills and to get along, how could you be sure everyone knew the trade and could be trusted? By forming an organisation. How could you prove that you were a member of that organisation when you turned up? By creating a code known by insiders only – like a handshake.
Amanda Ruggeri
Edinburgh's Lodge of Journeyman Masons No. 8 was founded in 1578; this lodge was built for it on Blackfriars Street in 1870 (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Even if lodges existed earlier, though, the effort to organise the Freemason movement dates back to the late 1500s. A man named William Schaw was the Master of Works for King James VI of Scotland (later also James I of England), which meant he oversaw the construction and maintenance of the monarch’s castles, palaces and other properties. In other words, he oversaw Britain’s stonemasons. And, while they already had traditions, Schaw decided that they needed a more formalised structure – one with by-laws covering everything from how apprenticeships worked to the promise that they would “live charitably together as becomes sworn brethren”.
In 1598, he sent these statutes out to every Scottish lodge in existence. One of his rules? A notary be hired as each lodge’s clerk. Shortly after, lodges began to keep their first minutes.
“It’s because of William Schaw’s influence that things start to spread across the whole country. We can see connections between lodges in different parts of Scotland – talking to each other, communicating in different ways, travelling from one place to another,” Cooper said.
Amanda Ruggeri
This oil painting at the Grand Lodge of Scotland shows Robert Burns’ inauguration at Lodge Canongate Kilwinning No. 2, which was founded in 1677 (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Scotland’s influence was soon overshadowed. With the founding of England’s Grand Lodge, the English edged out in front of the movement’s development. And in the centuries since, Freemasonry’s Scottish origins have been largely forgotten.
“The fact that England can claim the first move towards national organisation through grand lodges, and that this was copied subsequently by Ireland (c 1725) and Scotland (1736), has led to many English Masonic historians simply taking it for granted that Freemasonry originated in England, which it then gave to the rest of the world,” writes David Stevenson in his book The Origins of Freemasonry.
Amanda Ruggeri
Hidden in plain sight on Brodie’s Close off of Edinburgh’s Royal Mile, the Celtic Lodge of Edinburgh and Leith No. 291 was founded in 1821 (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Cooper agrees. “It is in some ways a bit bizarre when you think of the fact that we have written records, and therefore membership details, and all the plethora of stuff that goes with that, for almost 420 years of Scottish history,” he said. “For that to remain untouched as a source – a primary source – of history is really rather odd.”
One way in which most people associate Freemasonry and Scotland, meanwhile, is Rosslyn Chapel, the medieval church resplendent with carvings and sculptures that, in the wake of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, many guides have explained as Masonic. But the building’s links to Masonry are tenuous. Even a chapel handbook published in 1774 makes no mention of any Masonic connections.
Amanda Ruggeri
Mary’s Chapel may only be open to fellow Freemasons, but its location is anything but a secret (Credit: Amanda Ruggeri)
Scotland’s true Masonic history, it turns out, is more hidden than the church that Dan Brown made famous. It’s just hidden in plain sight: in the Grand Lodge and museum that opens its doors to visitors; in the archivist eager for more people to look at the organisation’s historical records; and in the lodges themselves, tucked into corners and alleyways throughout Edinburgh and Scotland’s other cities.
Their doors may often be closed to non-members, but their addresses, and existence, are anything but secret.
This story is a part of BBC Britain – a series focused on exploring this extraordinary island, one story at a time. Readers outside of the UK can see every BBC Britain story by heading to theBritain homepage; you also can see our latest stories by following us onFacebookand Twitter.
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A blog dedicated to discussion of exploration of North America before Columbus
Welcome
I've created this blog to share and exchange ideas relating to the research contained in my novel, Cabal of the Westford Knight: Templars at the Newport Tower. The story itself is fiction, but its premise rests on firm ground: Numerous artifacts and sites in and around New England (see attached images) clearly evidence a history of pre-Columbian discovery and exploration of North America. Specifically, the evidence points to a group of Northern Europeans island-hopping across the North Atlantic in the late 1300s. Who were they, and why did they come? Well, that's where the fun begins. If you come to this site with an open mind, you are welcome to participate in what I hope is a lively discussion.
A Review of CABAL OF THE WESTFORD KNIGHT by the Ohio Record-Courier
I am a graduate of Tufts University and Georgetown Law School. CABAL OF THE WESTFORD KNIGHT is my fourth novel. (Click on "My Books" link above for more info.) I am a former Director of New England Antiquities Research Association (NEARA). I live in Westford, MA with my wife and our two daughters. In my spare time I coach youth sports and Special Olympics and also play on adult ice hockey and softball teams.
Medieval stone tower ... in Rhode Island. Does it look like any other Colonial structure you've seen? Recent carbon dating of the mortar indicates 1400s construction date (see post below).
The Westford Knight Sword
Medieval Battle Sword ... in Westford, Massachusetts. Can anyone deny the pommel, hilt and blade punch-marked into the bedrock?
The Spirit Pond Rune Stone
Medieval Inscription ... in Maine, near Popham Beach. Long passed off as a hoax, but how many people know the Runic language? And how is it that some of the Runic characters match rare runes on inscriptions found in Minnesota and Rhode Island? Carbon-dating of floorboards at nearby long house date to 1405.
The Narragansett Rune Stone
Medieval Inscription ... in Rhode Island's Narragansett Bay. This Runic inscription is only visible for twenty minutes a day at low tide--is this also the work of a modern-day, Runic-speaking hoaxster?
The Westford Boat Stone
Medieval Ship Carving ... in Westford, MA. Found near the Westford Knight site. Weathering patterns of carving are consistent with that of 600-year-old artifact. And why would a Colonial trail-marker depict a knorr, a 14th-century ship?
The Kensington Rune Stone
Medieval Inscription... in Minnesota. Forensic geology confirms the carvings predate European settlement of Minnesota--so did Runic-speaking Native Americans carve it?
The Hooked X Rune
Medieval Runic Character ... on inscriptions found in Maine, Minnesota and Rhode Island. But this rare rune was only recently found in Europe. This conclusively disproves any hoax theory while also linking these three artifacts together.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2018
Columbus and the Templars
Was Columbus using old Templar maps when he crossed the Atlantic? At first blush, the navigator and the fighting monks seem like odd bedfellows. But once I began ferreting around in this dusty corner of history, I found some fascinating connections. Enough, in fact, to trigger the plot of my latest novel, The Swagger Sword.
To begin with, most history buffs know there are some obvious connections between Columbus and the Knights Templar. Most prominently, the sails on Columbus’ ships featured the unique splayed Templar cross known as the cross pattée (pictured here is the Santa Maria):
Additionally, in his later years Columbus featured a so-called “Hooked X” in his signature, a mark believed by researchers such as Scott Wolter to be a secret code used by remnants of the outlawed Templars (see two large X letters with barbs on upper right staves pictured below):
Other connections between Columbus and the Templars are less well-known. For example, Columbus grew up in Genoa, bordering the principality of Seborga, the location of the Templars’ original headquarters and the repository of many of the documents and maps brought by the Templars to Europe from the Middle East. Could Columbus have been privy to these maps? Later in life, Columbus married into a prominent Templar family. His father-in-law, Bartolomeu Perestrello (a nobleman and accomplished navigator in his own right), was a member of the Knights of Christ (the Portuguese successor order to the Templars). Perestrello was known to possess a rare and wide-ranging collection of maritime logs, maps and charts; it has been written that Columbus was given a key to Perestrello’s library as part of the marriage dowry. After marrying, Columbus moved to the remote Madeira Islands, where a fellow resident, John Drummond, had also married into the Perestrello family. Drummond was a grandson of Scottish explorer Prince Henry Sinclair, believed to have sailed to North America in 1398. It is, accordingly, likely that Columbus had access to extensive Templar maps and charts through his familial connections to both Perestrello and Drummond.
Another little-known incident in Columbus’ life sheds further light on the navigator’s possible ties to the Templars. In 1477, Columbus sailed to Galway, on the west coast of Ireland, from where the legendary Brendan the Navigator supposedly set sale in the 6th century on his journey to North America. While there, Columbus prayed at St. Nicholas’ Church, a structure built over an original Templar chapel dating back to around the year 1300. St. Nicholas’ Church has been compared by some historians to Scotland’s famous Roslyn Chapel, complete with Templar tomb, Apprentice Pillar, and hidden Templar crosses. (Recall that Roslyn Chapel was built by another grandson—not Drummond—of the aforementioned Prince Henry Sinclair.) According to his diary, Columbus also famously observed “Chinese” bodies floating into Galway harbor on driftwood, which may have been what first prompted him to turn his eyes westward. A granite monument along the Galway waterfront, topped by a dove (Columbus meaning ‘dove’ in Latin), commemorates this sighting, the marker reading: On these shores around 1477 the Genoese sailor Christoforo Colombo found sure signs of land beyond the Atlantic.
In fact, as the monument text hints, Columbus may have turned more than just his eyes westward. A growing body of evidence indicates he actually crossed the north Atlantic in 1477. Columbus wrote in a letter to his son: “In the year 1477, in the month of February, I navigated 100 leagues beyond Thule [to an] island which is as large as England. When I was there the sea was not frozen over, and the tide was so great as to rise and fall 26 braccias.” We will turn later to the mystery as to why any sailor would venture into the north Atlantic in February. First, let’s examine Columbus’ statement. Historically, ‘Thule’ is the name given to the westernmost edge of the known world. In 1477, that would have been the western settlements of Greenland (though abandoned by then, they were still known). A league is about three miles, so 100 leagues is approximately 300 miles. If we think of the word “beyond” as meaning “further than” rather than merely “from,” we then need to look for an island the size of England with massive tides (26 braccias equaling approximately 50 feet) located along a longitudinal line 300 miles west of the west coast of Greenland and far enough south so that the harbors were not frozen over. Nova Scotia, with its famous Bay of Fundy tides, matches the description almost perfectly. But, again, why would Columbus brave the north Atlantic in mid-winter? The answer comes from researcher Anne Molander, who in her book, The Horizons of Christopher Columbus, places Columbus in Nova Scotia on February 13, 1477. His motivation? To view and take measurements during a solar eclipse. Ms. Molander theorizes that the navigator, who was known to track celestial events such as eclipses, used the rare opportunity to view the eclipse elevation angle in order calculate the exact longitude of the eastern coastline of North America. Recall that, during this time period, trained navigators were adept at calculating latitude, but reliable methods for measuring longitude had not yet been invented. Columbus, apparently, was using the rare 1477 eclipse to gather date for future western exploration. Curiously, Ms. Molander places Columbus specifically in Nova Scotia’s Clark’s Bay, less than a day’s sail from the famous Oak Island, legendary repository of the Knights Templar missing treasure.
The Columbus-Templar connections detailed above were intriguing, but it wasn’t until I studied the names of the three ships which Columbus sailed to America that I became convinced the link was a reality. Before examining these ship names, let’s delve a bit deeper into some of the history referred to earlier in this analysis. I made a reference to Prince Henry Sinclair and his journey to North American in 1398. The Da Vinci Code made the Sinclair/St. Clair family famous by identifying it as the family most likely to be carrying the Jesus bloodline. As mentioned earlier, this is the same family which in the mid-1400s built Roslyn Chapel, an edifice some historians believe holds the key—through its elaborate and esoteric carvings and decorations—to locating the Holy Grail. Other historians believe the chapel houses (or housed) the hidden Knights Templar treasure. Whatever the case, the Sinclair/St. Clair family has a long and intimate historical connection to the Knights Templar. In fact, a growing number of researchers believe that the purpose of Prince Henry Sinclair’s 1398 expedition to North America was to hide the Templar treasure (whether it be a monetary treasure or something more esoteric such as religious artifacts or secret documents revealing the true teachings of the early Church). Researcher Scott Wolter, in studying the Hooked X mark found on many ancient artifacts in North American as well as on Columbus’ signature, makes a compelling argument that the Hooked X is in fact a secret symbol used by those who believed that Jesus and Mary Magdalene married and produced children. (See The Hooked X, by Scott F. Wolter.) These believers adhered to a version of Christianity which recognized the importance of the female in both society and in religion, putting them at odds with the patriarchal Church. In this belief, they had returned to the ancient pre-Old Testament ways, where the female form was worshiped and deified as the primary giver of life.
It is through the prism of this Jesus and Mary Magdalene marriage, and the Sinclair/St. Clair family connection to both the Jesus bloodline and Columbus, that we now, finally, turn to the names of Columbus’ three ships. Importantly, he renamed all three ships before his 1492 expedition. The largest vessel’s name, the Santa Maria, is the easiest to analyze: Saint Mary, the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus. The Pinta is more of a mystery. In Spanish, the word means ‘the painted one.’ During the time of Columbus, this was a name attributed to prostitutes, who “painted” their faces with makeup. Also during this period, the Church had marginalized Mary Magdalene by referring to her as ‘the prostitute,’ even though there is nothing in the New Testament identifying her as such. So the Pinta could very well be a reference to Mary Magdalene. Last is the Nina, Spanish for ‘the girl.’ Could this be the daughter of Mary Magdalene, the carrier of the Jesus bloodline? If so, it would complete the set of women in Jesus’ life—his mother, his wife, his daughter—and be a nod to those who opposed the patriarchy of the medieval Church. It was only when I researched further that I realized I was on the right track: The name of the Pinta before Columbus changed it was the Santa Clara, Portuguese for ‘Saint Clair.’
So, to put a bow on it, Columbus named his three ships after the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, and the carrier of their bloodline, the St. Clair girl. These namings occurred during the height of the Inquisition, when one needed to be extremely careful about doing anything which could be interpreted as heretical. But even given the danger, I find it hard to chalk these names up to coincidence, especially in light of all the other Columbus connections to the Templars. Columbus was intent on paying homage to the Templars and their beliefs, and found a subtle way of renaming his ships to do so.
Given all this, I have to wonder: Was Columbus using Templar maps when he made his Atlantic crossing? Is this why he stayed south, because the maps showed no passage to the north? If so, and especially in light of his 1477 journey to an area so close to Oak Island, what services had Columbus provided the Templars in exchange for these priceless charts?
It is this research, and these questions, which triggered my novel, The Swagger Sword. If you appreciate a good historical mystery as much as I, I think you’ll enjoy the story.
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bloodline/tradition going 'underground') and comes face to face and be identified with (what else?) the Statue of Liberty holding the torch high, declaring freedom.
