The Oak Island Mystery

by Lionel

  Soil, once cleared, became good, fertile farmland. Timber was abundant and could be felled and sold, or used for building houses and ships. The sea was unpolluted and teeming with fish. Despite its hardships and dangers, Mahone Bay was a place where people could live and prosper.

  On that fateful summer’s day in 1795, young Daniel McGinnis was taking a few hours off work to explore some of the hundreds of islands scattered across the bay like mushrooms in a meadow. He reached Oak Island, scarcely two hundred metres off shore, and began to wander through the huge old red oaks that gave the island its name. Reaching a clearing close to the eastern end of the island, he was intrigued by a circular depression, approximately thirteen feet across. The earth here had subsided as if a wide shaft had been excavated and refilled long ago, and the soil had subsequently settled.

  Above this depression stood a great oak with one large branch lopped off short so that its end was now more or less over the centre of the depression. From that shortened branch hung a very old and fragile ship’s block and tackle.

  Knowing the history of the area, and especially the many rumours and legends of buccaneers burying their treasure off the coast of Nova Scotia, Daniel’s first thought was that this must be the top of a pirate’s cache.

  He went to fetch two young friends to show them what he had discovered, and it is interesting to note here that the Puritan work ethic prevailing in Nova Scotia at the time was such that Daniel felt it very unlikely that adult members of his family would have offered much encouragement. He probably suspected that he would be reprimanded for “wasting his time on idle fancies” instead of getting on with some “important work” in connection with farming, fishing, or lumbering!

  Daniel had judged his two young friends rightly: his contemporaries, John Smith and Anthony Vaughan, were as excited by the discovery as Daniel, and accompanied him eagerly back to Oak Island equipped with mattocks and spades. A few minutes’ work at the site told them that Daniel’s first suspicions about the circular depression had been right.

  The loose earth came out with surprising ease. What they were removing now was soil which had clearly been taken out before. Around the edges of the broad shaft they were excavating, the boys saw the pick marks which had been left by whoever had dug there before them.

  The lads noticed that the rotting block and tackle were fixed to the “Y” shape formed between the ends of the lopped branch by means of an old wooden peg of the type described by shipbuilders of the time as a “tree” or “tree-nail.” This peg had apparently once formed a secure triangle in conjunction with the ends of the lopped bough.

  Dr. Ogilvie’s prodigious eight-volume Imperial Dictionary, which was published early in the nineteenth century, refers to various types of such shipbuilders’ wooden pegs as “chess-trees,” “trestle-trees,” “cross-trees,” and so on.

  Had that lifting equipment been left by the original excavators of the Money Pit, or had some subsequent opportunist visitors to Oak Island — prior to Daniel and his friends in 1795 — seen the same circular depression and decided to excavate it with the aid of a block and tackle pegged to a convenient oak?

  Two or three feet down the boys discovered a layer of flat stones, obviously placed there quite deliberately by someone who had been digging and refilling the pit before them. Their local knowledge told them that those stones could not have originated on Oak Island. The only similar ones, as far as they knew, were from the vicinity of Gold River, which lay roughly two miles north.

  As Michael Bradley has pointed out in his painstakingly researched and superbly written Holy Grail Across the Atlantic (Toronto: Hounslow Press, 1988), there are two Oak Islands, one on each side of the peninsula. There are also two important rivers — each of which is adjacent to one of the Oak Islands. The southern Oak Island which contains the Money Pit is close to Gold River. The northern Oak Island (which ceased to be an island in the 1930s when dykes were built as part of a work program during the Great Depression) is close to the Gaspereau River.

  The name Gold River as a possible clue to the Oak Island mystery is self-evident; but what of the name Gaspereau? Over the years a “g” and a “c” easily become interchangeable. Cas can mean a box or case, perhaps a treasure chest, or even a sarcophagus. Cas can mean a hut, a cabin, or even a square on a chessboard — and chessboards figure very prominently in both Templar and Masonic symbolism. Par means with, or by, and eau is water. The cas could equally well have been casse meaning breakage or damage, or even cassette, a casket or money box. Casque, meaning helmet, is another strong possibility. This all reinforces Michael Bradley’s intriguing argument that crossing the Atlantic, locating an island covered with non-indigenous oaks, and sailing up the river beside it would lead to a certain building, to a helmet (or to some honoured military leader who wore a helmet), to the square of destiny on life’s metaphorical chessboard which the travellers were trying to reach, or to a sanctuary where that which was damaged could be restored, i.e., a place where an early sailing ship battered by the ordeal of an Atlantic crossing could be repaired and refitted.

  Between the source of the Gaspereau River (“the-treasure-box-reached-by-water”) and Gold River lie the mysterious and controversial ruins the McKays showed to Michael Bradley. Perhaps something like a pentagonal early medieval castle once stood there: there’s enough left on the ground to be very interesting — but there’s not quite enough to be absolutely certain about it.

  Bradley’s ingenious theories fit in well with the layer of Gold River stones which the young treasure hunters found near the top of the Money Pit.

  There could be no surer indication that a connection had to be made between Gold River and Oak Island than to place a layer of Gold River stones over the highly significant pit. What could those stones have meant? Were they intended as a barrier, a “keep out” sign, to those who were initiated into some ancient mystery? Or were they intended to be something like a name plate on a door saying “Yes, you’re right. This is the place. Dig here!” McGinnis, Vaughan, and Smith interpreted them as a sure indication that they were on to something very interesting indeed, and that pirates’ gold, or some other great treasure, lay not far below.

  When the human mind is set enthusiastically on one particular course, it gallops with the uncompromising directness of a blinkered horse: this is especially true when the chemistry of youth is effervescing vigorously and teenage adrenalin is coursing through the veins. Those three lads would have had nothing on their minds except pirate treasure, and wonderful dreams of escaping from the back-breaking toil of farming, fishing, and tree-felling. The last thing that would have occurred to them as they dug so eagerly was that they were up against one of the most cunningly constructed hiding places ever built, and that for the next two centuries the subtlety of the original designer would defeat the best efforts of modern engineering skill and technology.

  Pirates deservedly acquired a reputation for ruthless greed and bloodthirsty viciousness, but not for industry. Pirates were traditionally careless, badly organized, lazy — and drunk most of the time. McGinnis and his friends did not expect the treasure they were looking for to be very deeply buried: six or seven feet down would be the most a pirate would dig. The layer of stones must have encouraged the lads to think that the chest of gold and jewels lay not much farther below. So they dug and they dug … and they found nothing.

  Then, at last, ten feet below the surface, they hit a layer of tough old oak logs. This, they thought, had to be it. The ends of the logs were wedged securely into the firm clay of the pit’s sides, although — like the ancient block and tackle — the wood itself was showing signs of decay on the surface. They prised the logs with some difficulty, and saw that the soil below them had settled two or three feet — but there was still no sign of any chest or cask filled with pirates’ gold and jewels. Tired and disappointed, the boys dug on …

  They got over some of their disappointment and frustration by reasoning among themselves that whatever
was buried at this kind of depth had to very valuable indeed. At the twenty-foot level they encountered another platform of oak logs, but still no gold.

  At the thirty-foot level they found more oak logs — and very understandably decided that enough was enough. There was a limit to the amount of time which their families would allow them to spend away from the all important farming, fishing, and lumbering on which their economic survival depended. Reluctantly, and with their dreams of wealth undiminished by their hard work and disappointment, the three boys marked the area carefully with wooden stakes, covered over the top of the pit with brushwood and branches, and went back to their normal daily routines.

  As time passed John built a house near the pit and managed to acquire plots fifteen to twenty, thus becoming the owner of the whole twenty-four acres at the eastern end of the island. The original little settlement town of Shoreham eventually grew into the modern fishing village of Chester. The Shoreham Grant contained approximately one hundred thousand acres (roughly forty-one thousand hectares) in all, and the 128 acres of Oak Island were a very small fraction of the total involved. Records show, however, that in 1759 Oak Island was owned by former New England families named Young, Lynch, Seacombe, and Monro. It is highly probable that our good friend and very knowledgeable Oak Island informant, George Young, a Nova Scotian surveyor, was related to that same Young family who were part owners of Oak Island under that original Shoreham Grant.

  The earliest existing deed showing a change of land ownership on Oak Island indicates that Timothy Lynch bought plot nineteen from Edward Smith on March 8, 1768. Both men lived in Chester, and the plot was sold for five pounds sterling.

  It seems likely that it was Edward Smith who sold his land to Timothy Lynch, and gave his name to Smith’s Cove. The two Smiths don’t seem to have been related, as early records suggest that the John Smith who later bought the eastern end of Oak Island had originally come from Boston and had been in Nova Scotia only since 1790.

  With stakes to mark the place, brushwood over the top of the pit and John Smith in legal possession of the plot which contained it, the first attempt to get at the treasure ended. No one else, it seemed, was willing to put time or money into helping the three young adventurers who had made their great discovery in 1795. It was not only pressure of work which discouraged the local settlers from getting involved with Oak Island. The place had a sinister reputation. Oak Island was, in many local minds a place of ill omen.

  It was by no means unusual for pirates to bury a watchman with their treasure, so that his aggrieved and restless spirit would act as a vengeful, supernatural guardian of their hidden wealth. There are also curious legends of a great black dog having been seen on the island from time to time.

  This links up with various legends of hell hounds from many ages and many lands. Most of those legends can be traced back to Cerberus, the three-headed dog of Roman mythology who was believed to guard the entrance to the underworld. Hercules succeeded in dragging the monster up to earth, and then let him go again. Orpheus lulled him to sleep by playing his lyre. The Sibyl who conducted Aeneas through the underworld put Cerberus to sleep with a cake made from poppies and honey. Brewer’s famous Dictionary of Phrase and Fable suggests that the Cerberus myth arose from the ancient Egyptian custom of using fierce dogs to guard graves from would-be thieves and desecrators.

  In our own native Norfolk in England, we are familiar with very persistent legends of the Black Shuck, a ghostly dog who is said to haunt the north Norfolk coast, travelling between the graves of two brothers who once owned him but were drowned at sea. Their bodies were washed ashore and buried in different village churchyards; the faithful hound spends one night on each grave in turn. A far less sentimental East Anglican legend is the story of the Black Dog of Bungay — described as the size of a pony and with eyes like live coals. This monster was said to have broken into Bungay Church one night and savaged many of the worshippers. Another explanation for these supernatural hound stories is the legend of the Wild Hunt.

  There is an ancient German version of this legend concerning the Black Forest, and a French version involving the woods at Fountainebleau. The English tale concerns Herne the Hunter who is associated with Herne’s Oak and Windsor Forest. All these wild spectral huntsmen were accompanied by their hounds.

  If, as Michael Bradley thoughtfully suggests, there is strong evidence that the Oak Island treasure has a medieval European connection, then it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the Oak Island Hound story is connected with one of the wild hunt legends. Herne, it must also be remembered, was strongly associated with oak trees, as were the ancient Druids. If a medieval Wild Hunt legend filtered across to Oak Island, was it carried there by medieval voyagers?

  The search for the treasure was in abeyance for a year or two, and then John Smith had a momentous meeting with Simeon Lynds.

  - 3 -

  The Work of the

  Onslow Company in 1803

  The next adventurer to take up the challenge of Oak Island was Simeon Lynds, although there is some confusion about how he came to be involved. One version relates that he was a doctor from Truro, Nova Scotia, who attended the birth of Mrs. Smith’s first child in 1802. According to this account, while they were waiting for the baby to arrive, John told Dr. Lynds about the Money Pit, and the unsuccessful attempts which he, Daniel and Anthony had made seven or eight years previously. Records appear to indicate, however, that the Smiths’ first child had already been baptized in 1798.

  Another more widely known and more likely version makes Simeon Lynds a local businessman from either Truro or nearby Onslow, who was a friend, or relative, of Anthony Vaughan’s or John Smith’s father — possibly of both men. On a visit to Vaughan or Smith, senior, Lynds heard about the boys’ adventures in 1795, went over to the island with them to look around and came away convinced. The third version places Lynds as a business visitor to Chester who met Anthony Vaughan there and heard the Money Pit story from him. An article from The Colonist dated January 2, 1864, refers to “the late Simeon Lynds” as a relative of Vaughan’s father, who was let into the Money Pit secret because of his family ties with the Vaughans. This Colonist source also suggests that it was Simeon’s father, Thomas Lynds, who had the money and the right social connections to get the Onslow Company launched.

  Relative, doctor, family friend, or travelling businessman, Simeon Lynds was intrigued by the account he had heard. He, or his father, certainly organized an effective consortium of business and professional men in and around Onslow, which became known as the Onslow Company. One member was Sheriff Tom Harris, another was Colonel Archibald, a town clerk and justice of the peace. He may well have been the father, or grandfather, of the other Archibald who was involved some fifty years later in the Pitblado episode.

  The Onslow men dug away steadily, unearthing platforms of oak logs at regular ten-foot intervals as they cleared out more and more of the pit, but they encountered other curious layers as well. There are minor discrepancies and divergences in the accounts of what precisely was discovered at which level, but as the digging continued layers of putty, charcoal, and coconut fibre were pulled out.

  There was so much putty spread over one layer of oak logs, according to one account, that it was used to glaze the windows of more than twenty local houses.

  Hiram Walker was a ship’s carpenter who lived in Chester at the time, and worked on the Money Pit. Years later he told his granddaughter, Mrs. Cottnam Smith, that he had seen “bushels of coconut fibre” being lifted out of the shaft as the work progressed.

  These points about the quantities of putty and coconut fibre are significant ones. Those earlier investigators who have tried to suggest that the Money Pit was merely a natural sink-hole in the limestone, and that the tunnels connecting it to Smith’s Cove and the southern shore were just fortuitous faults in the rock, have argued that the oak logs, fibre, putty, and charcoal had either slid into the shaft over many years, or been carried in
up the tunnels gradually by the tides of centuries.

  The actual descriptions of the pit and the accounts of how the work proceeded tell very different stories. A little coconut fibre might have drifted in, a few kilograms of putty might have been washed ashore from a wreck, a chunk or two of charcoal from a campfire, or a burnt-out vessel might have got down a natural shaft. The imagination can even stretch to a few oak branches blowing down in a gale and sliding together like a “platform” down the natural sinkhole.

  One “oak platform”? One or two nuggets of marine putty? A handful of charcoal? A few yards’ drift of sparsely distributed coconut fibre? That much might just have got down there naturally. But there were at least ten oak platforms, at regular intervals, all wedged firmly into the hard clay of the shaft’s walls. There was a full, flat, regular layer of charcoal, and a similar one of putty. There was enough coconut fibre to fill several bushel baskets. But the most damning pieces of contradictory evidence were the original diggers’ pick marks clearly visible in the hard clay walls in 1795.

  Another very intriguing find for the Onslow Company was the large, flat stone encountered just above the ninety-foot level.

  The diggers tried to decipher the coded message but without success, wondering whether it was a vital clue to the whereabouts of the treasure, or to the identity of the original miners.

  Almost as great a mystery as the strange inscription is the curious riddle of what subsequently happened to the stone itself. John Smith was halfway through building a fireplace in his Oak Island farmhouse: he incorporated the stone into that — partly to keep it safe, and partly to provide a conversation piece.

  In 1865 the stone was taken from the Smith homestead and placed on display in the window of the bookbindery belonging to A. and H. Creighton in Halifax. A.O. Creighton was at that time treasurer of one of the Oak Island treasure hunting syndicates, and it was hoped that the displayed stone would encourage new shareholders to participate in the search. A witness named Jefferson MacDonald is reported to have said that he had seen the stone at close quarters, had helped to move it in fact, and that there was no doubt at all that there was a coded inscription on it which no one had been able to solve.