Fifteen Minutes Sealed His Fate: The Tragic Legend of Scotland's 'Robin Hood'

The legend of Robin Hood is well-known and has been depicted in numerous stories and movies. His existence as a real person is uncertain, though there have been people with similar names who may have been the basis for the folk tales.

However, one historical figure is considered the Scottish Robin Hood.

During my recent trip to Scotland, a guide told us about James “Jamie” MacPherson, and I have since learned his life and death involved thievery, prejudice, and deceit. But he was—and to some extent, still is—admired by Scots for his bravery, daring, and musical ability.

James MacPherson was born in northeast Scotland in 1675, the illegitimate son of a nobleman and a beautiful Traveller woman who met at a wedding.

To understand the context, we need to take a side-trip: Travellers in Scotland refers to diverse, unrelated nomadic communities, speaking a variety of different languages and holding to distinct customs, histories, and traditions. Also known as Gypsies, Tinkers, and Romani, they lived in England and Scotland as early as the 1200s, and some groups, including the Scottish Highland Travellers, are considered indigenous. However, society considered them deceitful and criminal. Believing they originated in Egypt, they were often referred to as “Egyptians,” and in 1530 and 1554, English laws called the Egyptians Acts were passed, aimed at expelling them. In 1609, the Scottish Parliament passed the “Act against the Egyptians,” which made it lawful to condemn, detain and execute Gypsies if they were known or reputed to be ethnically Romani. This unfortunate law eventually became the death sentence for Jamie MacPherson.

A common practice of noblemen at the time was to acknowledge an illegitimate son and raise him in their own household. And so Lord MacPherson did, taking him into Invereshie House in Inverness-shire. His mother may have visited him annually, maintaining a relationship and sharing knowledge of the Travellers. When the boy was still young, the laird was killed, reportedly by cattle thieves, and young Jamie went to live with his mother’s clan.

AI-generated image via ChatGPT

Apparently Jamie fit in well with his mother’s folk and learned the music, songs, and stories of this rich culture (which is still active today). He is described by one writer as having “beauty, strength and stature rarely equalled.” In other words, he was “tall, strong, and handsome,” and he is known to have been a skilled swordsman and proficient fiddler. Because of his charisma, he became the leader of a band of catarans (cattle-thieves), as well as a legitimate horse dealer.

The reason he is considered the Scottish Robin Hood is that his band of outlaws stole only from those “who could afford to be parted from their possessions,” and that at least some of his ill-gotten gain was shared with the poor. According to one source, “no act of cruelty, or robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed was ever perpetrated under his command.”

Growing more confident—or arrogant, he and his men would march into a town during a fair or market day, following a piper, and rob merchants and nobles. Though the common folk admired him, this boldness made enemies among the ruling class. One man in particular, Lord Alexander Duff of Braco, particularly hated him and sought to have him arrested and killed.

At least two times, MacPherson was captured but escaped. But in the autumn of 1700, his men marched into the town of Keith during the St. Rufus’ Fair. Duff and his supporters ambushed them and engaged in hand-to-hand combat. One of MacPherson’s outlaws was killed. According to the stories, MacPherson himself was captured when a woman threw a blanket over him from the upper window of a house, preventing him from using his sword.

In addition to being charged with his crimes of thievery, he was tried for being an “Egyptian,” which allowed for execution. Four of the outlaws were found guilty by the “hereditary judge,” who is believed to have been a friend of Duff. Hereditary judges were untrained in law but given the power to hold trials in their region.

Two of his men were given a stay of execution, but Jamie and one other man were sentenced to death. While imprisoned in the Banff tollbooth, MacPherson played his fiddle and composed a song which became known as “MacPherson’s Rant.”

The order called for Jamie to be executed in Banff between the hours of 2 and 3 o’clock on November 16, a market day.

According to one story, Jamie’s mother sought a reprieve for him and was successful. However, as she rode desperately toward Banff, Duff learned she was coming with the reprieve. To ensure the sentence was carried out before she arrived, he ordered the town clock to be set forward by 15 minutes.

James MacPherson's broken fiddle, on display
at the Clan MacPherson Museum

Several versions of the hanging exist, but the most romantic is that MacPherson was allowed to play his fiddle beneath the gallows. He played the lament he had written while imprisoned, and then offered to give his fiddle to anyone who would play it at his burial. No one accepted, and he broke the fiddle so that no one would ever play it again. The broken fiddle is displayed at the Clan MacPherson Museum in Newtonmore.

His lament was written down within a year, and some years later, Robert Burns revised it with the title of “MacPherson’s Farewell.” The song has become a staple of the Scottish musical scene and is frequently played at Burns Suppers, celebrations of the poet’s life and works. It includes these lines:

O what is death but parting breath? 

On many a bloody plain

I've dar'd his face, and in this place

I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,

And bring me to my sword;

And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.

 Legend has it that the Banff magistrates were reprimanded for changing the clock, and that the town clock remained 15 minutes fast for many years.

Many details of Jamie MacPherson’s life and death have been blurred and embellished, but it seems clear that he was, indeed, a heroic Robin-Hood-like figure, beloved by the common folk but killed through treachery.

Sources:

James Macpherson, Outlaw: Biography on Undiscovered Scotland

Our Legal Heritage: James Macpherson – hung for being an ‘Egyptian’ | Scottish Legal News

“My heart broke into a million pieces” – A Scottish Traveller mother's tale of an outlaw son | Travellers Times

A Parcel of Rogues: Jamie MacPherson - Making a song and dance over the fate of Scotland's Robin Hood | The National

Story behind the song… Macpherson's Rant - Issuu

Scottish Romani and Traveller groups explained

Multi-award-winning author Marie Wells Coutu finds beauty in surprising places, like undiscovered treasures, old houses, and gnarly trees. All three books in her Mended Vessels series, contemporary stories based on the lives of biblical women, have won awards in multiple contests. She is currently working on historical romances set in her native western Kentucky in the 1930s and ‘40s. An unpublished novel, Shifting Currents, placed second in the inspirational category of the nationally recognized Maggie Awards. Learn more at www.MarieWellsCoutu.com.

When the lights of Broadway dim, Delia leaves the city behind. But will her family welcome her home again?

The historical short story, “All That Glistens,” was included in the 2023 Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction collection and is now available free when you sign up for Marie's newsletter here. In her newsletter, she shares about her writing, historical tidbits, recommended books, and sometimes recipes. Soon she'll be sharing a historical romantic short story set in Scotland.

Who is Oscar, and Why Thank Him?

By Kathy Kovach

November is the month to give thanks. We find ourselves grateful for our God, our family, our friends. For the turkey that thawed out in time, the Jello salad that set despite the amount of shredded carrots Mom added to it, and for the pumpkin pie that didn’t burn this year, even though the top is suspiciously dark. And whipped cream.

With that in mind, let’s explore the most thanked man in history, the Academy Awards tiny mascot, the Oscar.

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) was established on May 11, 1927. Film producer and co-founder of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) studios Louis B. Mayer created the venture to mediate labor disputes and improve the industry’s image.

A dinner was held to discuss goals for the new organization. A decision to honor outstanding achievements in all facets of motion picture production was proposed.

Thus, was born the Academy Awards.

Of course, every award ceremony needs a trophy. MGM art director, Cedric Gibbons, sketched a figure of a knight holding a sword. Behind him was a film reel, the five spokes representing the original branches of the Academy—actors, directors, producers, technicians, and writers. The knight symbolized a crusader of the industry.

Once the design was finalized, it went to sculptor George Stanley. The final product became a 13 ½ inch, 8 ½ pound bronze statuette, now standing atop the film reel, and plated in 24-karat gold. The first recipient was Emil Jannings, who accepted the Best Actor award in the 1929 debut ceremony for his role in two movies, The Last Command (1927) and The Way of all Flesh (1928.) This first event was actually a private dinner held at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel in Los Angeles, California. There were 270 people in attendance for the 15-minute ceremony at the cost of $5 per guest.

The statuette’s official title is the Academy Award® of Merit. It has never wavered from the original design except for the base. It was made wider in 1945 to accommodate a plaque to be engraved with the recipient’s name and achievement. Before that a smaller, less impressive, panel could be applied. The only time the material changed was during WWII when metal was scarce due to the war effort. From 1942-1945, the trophy was made of plaster.

How did it get its nickname? Was it named after a titan of the industry? Or a patron of the organization? Was it an acronym (O.S.C.A.R.) to showcase the importance of the achievements awarded?

No.

In fact, a mystery revolves around the popular name bestowed upon the knight in shining gold. The prevailing theory comes from academy librarian, and eventually executive director, Margaret Herrick who joked that the back of the statuette looked like her Uncle Oscar. The nickname stuck and was already popular by 1934 when a reporter referred to Katharine Hepburn’s first Best Actress win as an “Oscar success.” The Academy finally adapted it into its ceremony in 1939, and Uncle Oscar became emblazoned in the hearts and minds of movie-goers everywhere.

This year, I may not have Oscar to thank, but I am grateful for my readers and for the opportunity to share fun trivia here on this blog. May you all have a happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

Titanic: Legacy of Betrayal

A TIME-SLIP NOVEL

A secret. A key. Much was buried on the Titanic, but now it's time for resurrection.

Follow two intertwining stories a century apart. 1912 - Matriarch Olive Stanford protects a secret after boarding the Titanic that must go to her grave. 2012 - Portland real estate agent Ember Keaton-Jones receives the key that will unlock the mystery of her past... and her distrusting heart.

To buy: Amazon

Kathleen E. Kovach is a Christian romance author published traditionally through Barbour Publishing, Inc. as well as indie. Kathleen and her husband, Jim, raised two sons while living the nomadic lifestyle for over twenty years in the Air Force. Now planted in northeast Colorado, she's a grandmother and a great-grandmother—though much too young for either. Kathleen has been a longstanding member of American Christian Fiction Writers. An award-winning author, she presents spiritual truths with a giggle, proving herself as one of God's peculiar people.

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Gold Mining Methods in 1830s Georgia

Sluice box

by Denise Farnsworth

My last two posts introduced the Georgia Gold Rush and its first boom town, Auraria. Today let’s look at the gold mining methods used in the early days of the bonanza.

The typical picture we imagine of a miner bent over a creek with pan in hand reflects placer or deposit mining. Prospectors often searched for a bend in the stream where the eroding bank might reveal a gold-bearing layer. Gold flakes washed into the stream would be caught at the bend with other rocks and minerals in a gravel layer. The process of plunging and swirling water over the contents would eventually reveal the heavier gold flakes on the bottom of the pan.

Other early methods were not much more advanced and consisted of washing the gravel layer of a stream through a sluice box or a splint basket into a trough rocker, a hollowed-out log about a dozen feet long. While the water from the sluice box passed through the trough, it was kept in constant motion. The gold sank to the bottom through the continually moving silt and was caught by transverse cleats.

Diving bell on its side with bottom exposed.

Enterprising miners with some cash on hand soon broadened efforts by drifting flatboats on the Chestatee and Etowah rivers to dredge the bottom. In early 1833, a diving bell was launched on the Chestatee by a former Tennessean named McCallom.

Eventually, placer mining petered out, and hard rock mining was required. To locate a vein mine, a miner would begin at a spot in the creek known to have placer deposits and work their way upstream, test-panning as they went. An abrupt drop in the gold content indicated a vein in the surrounding hills. Soil testing continued until it was located. Then tunneling operations would begin. 

The ideal tunnel was seven feet square, but most ran only two to four. Timbers were needed to reinforce the rock riddled with fissures. Wheelbarrows or tracks and carts might be employed depending on the size of the mining operation. Vertical shafts were also dug, usually twenty to thirty feet deep but occasionally over a hundred. Once the ore was extracted from the vein mines, it was taken to a stamp mill to be crushed. These mills ranged from a single stamp hung from a bent sapling to as many as ten stamps powered by a water wheel.

The more complex mining methods required organization and financing. A number of gold mining companies were formed during the Gold Rush. Some of these included: 

• Augusta Mining Company, Habersham Mining Company, and Naucoochy Mining Company, 1832
• Pigeon Roost Mining Company and Belfast Mining Company, 1834
• Georgia Mining Company, Chestatee Mining Company, and Cherokee Mining Company, 1835
• Lumpkin County Mining and Manufacturing Company, 1837

The easy gold played out by the early 1840s so that when gold was discovered in California, prospectors were all too eager to abandon the Georgia hills. They took their tools, their expertise, and even their town names with them. But later in the 1800s, another surge of hard rock mining occurred with the use of high-powered drills and hydraulic mining methods. Many Georgia mines continued lucrative operations well into the 1900s.

Look for further upcoming posts about the Georgia Gold Rush. Book one of my Twenty-Niners of the Georgia Gold Rush, The Songbird and the Surveyor, set in Auraria in 1833, is now available! A marriage of protection. A past full of pain. In Georgia's wild gold country, love might strike when it's least expected. https://www.amazon.com/Songbird-Surveyor-Twenty-Niners-Georgia-Gold-ebook/dp/B0F556951W/

Denise Farnsworth, formerly Denise Weimer, writes historical and contemporary romance mostly set in Georgia and also serves as a freelance editor and the Acquisitions & Editorial Liaison for Wild Heart Books. A wife and mother, she always pauses for coffee, chocolate, and old houses.

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Pizza Pizza

By Suzanne Norquist

When the family gathers on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, what do you feed them? Pizza? Or maybe you save that for Saturday when everyone is tired of turkey. I tried to hide the leftover turkey pieces on a homemade pizza one year, but my family saw right through it.

Pizza didn’t make an appearance in the United States until around 1900. Then, it didn’t become popular until after World War II when soldiers returned from Italy. Over time, several varieties grew popular.

Throughout history, various societies have placed toppings on flatbread, creating a sort of pizza. However, the kind we know today didn’t appear until the late 1700s and early 1800s in Naples. The tomato, which was native to Peru, didn’t reach Naples until about that time.

The basic pizza, called pizza marinara, was initially made by sailors’ wives (la marinara) for their husbands, hence the name.

Street vendors sold early varieties to the working poor in Naples. They were inexpensive and could be eaten on the go. Upper-class society turned its nose up at the dish.

Rumor has it that pizza Margherita was named for Queen Margherita of Italy in 1889. When she visited Naples, she grew bored with the typical food of the upper crust and decided to try some street fare. She requested an assortment from a pizzeria in the city and tried them. Her favorite was topped with mozzarella cheese, tomatoes, and basil. It had been called mozzarella pizza, but was renamed Margherita pizza.

These basic ones made their way to Italian communities in major cities in the United States. It’s unclear when the first pizzeria in New York City started. Records indicate it was around 1900. Italian names were often misspelled in directories, and pizza makers may have been simply listed as bakers.

After World War II, pizza took off in the United States. An article in the New York Times predicted that pizza could be as popular as hamburgers.

Giant, floppy slices of New York Pizza came into vogue in the 1940s. Customers who were short of cash could purchase a single slice instead of the whole pie. They could eat folded pieces on the go with one hand.

Not to be outdone, Chicago bakers created their own hearty, deep-dish variety, which was more like a pie. Ike Sewell and Richard Riccardo developed this in 1943 for Pizzeria Uno.

Saint Louis Pizza went the opposite direction, with crust so thin that it was almost a cracker. In 1945, famous tenor Amedeo Fiore opened a restaurant with his wife, which served this variety. Detroit Pizza was originally baked in a square auto parts pan in the 1940s, a nod to the automotive industry.

Greek Pizza was invented in 1955 by Costas Kitsatis in Connecticut. It had a light, spongy crust. It is typically heavier on sauce and includes more Greek toppings.

Hawaiian Pizza with pineapple and ham (or Canadian bacon) was created in Canada in 1962. Sam Panopoulos was inspired by Chinese dishes, which mixed sweet and savory flavors.

Of course, California needed its own version. In the 1970s, Ed LaDou selected unusual ingredients—mustard, ricotta, pate, and red pepper.

As a Colorado girl, I enjoyed Colorado Pizza at Beau Jo’s in Idaho Springs. Developed in 1973, this pie boasts an outside crust so thick that it needs to be eaten with honey at the end of the meal.

No matter which style is your favorite or what toppings you prefer, it’s probably better than my homemade, turkey pizza post-Thanksgiving.

Bon appetite. 

*** 

Love In Bloom 4-in-one collection

“A Song for Rose” by Suzanne Norquist

Can a disillusioned tenor convince an aspiring soprano that there is more to music than fame?

“Holly & Ivy” by Mary Davis

At Christmastime, a young woman accompanies her impetuous younger sister on her trip across the country to be a mail-order bride and loses her heart to a gallant stranger.

“Periwinkle in the Park” by Kathleen E. Kovach

A female hiking guide, who is helping to commission a national park, runs into conflict with a mountain man is determined to keep the government off his land.

“A Beauty in a Tansy”

Two adjacent store owners are drawn to each other, but their older relatives provide obstacles to their ever becoming close.

Republished from Bouquet of Brides

Buy links: https://books2read.com/u/bOOx8K

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Bloom-Mary-Davis/dp/B0FPLFYCXR/

 

Suzanne Norquist is the author of two novellas. Everything fascinates her. She has worked as a chemist, professor, financial analyst, and even earned a doctorate in economics. Research feeds her curiosity, and she shares the adventure with her readers. She lives in New Mexico with her mining engineer husband and has two grown children. When not writing, she explores the mountains, hikes, and attends kickboxing class.

The Bridge That Changed Chincoteague

  _By Tiffany Amber Stockton

For centuries, both Chincoteague and Assateague Island existed as a world unto themselves. They sat as a barrier between the mainland and the sea, a salt-scented haven surrounded by marsh and tide.

Four miles! That's how far the island sat from the mainland.

Islanders relied on boats and ferries to reach the mainland. Groceries, mail, supplies, and even doctors came by water, and life flowed with the rhythm of the tides. That isolation shaped a culture of self-reliance and a close-knit community that became as much a part of the island’s identity as the oysters and ponies.

Then came the bridges. Six, to be exact.

When the Island Connected to the Mainland

The causeway and drawbridge officially opened in 1922, and it served as the beginning of transformation. The wooden planks stretched across the marsh like an invitation to progress. Locals watched the slow transition as cars replaced boats, tourists arrived with cameras, and new businesses cropped up along Main Street to serve them. For the first time, Chincoteague was accessible to anyone curious enough to cross.

This is an excerpt from the book: You Wouldn’t Believe: 44 Strange and Wondrous Delmarva Tales, written by Jim Duffy.

"The road was quite an engineering feat. A canal was dug out alongside the proposed route so that crews and supplies could access the construction area. Humongous “mud-digger” machines scooped up muck from here and there, then dropped that muck inside of pilings sunk into the marsh. Multiple layers of oyster shells went atop that mud. Heavy rollers packed those shells down. More mud went atop the shell layers. Six separate bridges would be built to carry the roadway over the various creeks, sounds, and narrows between Chincoteague and the mainland. One of those bridges would have a newfangled drawbridge to let boats through."

At first, some celebrated. Others worried. Older islanders spoke wistfully of quiet nights when only the sound of gulls and wind filled the air. Eventually, talk of land sales, vacation cottages, and “outsiders” occupied most conversations.

Yet the bridges and causeway also brought opportunity. Children could more easily attend mainland schools, fishermen could sell their catch to more markets, and merchants found steady income beyond the tourist season.

This was the era when families like mine witnessed firsthand the island’s shift from insular to interconnected. I remember my grandfather talking about seeing the very first automobile on the island after it crossed the drawbridge. And for my great-grandfather, the growth eventually brought new clients into his barbershop, which helped him better feed his family.

In hindsight, that bridge became a symbol. It connected not only two pieces of land but two ways of life. It tested the island’s resilience and reminded its people that progress, though sometimes uncomfortable, can coexist with preservation. The islanders have made sure of that by honoring the traditions handed down from generation to generation while valuing the natural beauty and wildlife of the islands.

Today, visitors drive across the modern causeway (the six bridges are now each less than 30 years old) with little thought to the history beneath their tires.

Yet, Chincoteague still balances that same tension. It teeters between holding fast to its roots while also welcoming change. The bridge stands as both a literal and metaphorical link between past and present, reminding us that even when the tide of time brings new currents, the heart and resiliency of the island endures.

Another island strikes this same balance, although the governing leaders decided to not allow gas-powered vehicles there. Read more about Mackinac Island between the larger part of Michigan and the Upper Peninsula.

NOW IT'S YOUR TURN:

* Have you ever visited a place that felt “frozen in time” until modern development changed it? How did you feel about that shift?

* What do you think communities lose or gain when they become more connected to the wider world?

* If your hometown had a “bridge moment” that changed its history, what would it be?

Leave answers to these questions or any comments on the post below.

** This note is for our email readers. Please do not reply via email with any comments. View the blog online and scroll down to the comments section.

Come back on the 9th of each month for my next foray into historical tidbits to share.

---

BIO

Tiffany Amber Stockton has embellished stories since childhood, thanks to a very active imagination and notations of talking entirely too much. Honing those skills led her to careers as an award-winning and best-selling author and speaker, while also working as a professional copywriter/copyeditor. She loves to share life-changing products and ideas with others to help them get rooted in truth and live a life of purpose.

Currently, she lives with her husband and fellow author, Stuart Vaughn Stockton, along with their two children, two dogs, and five cats in southeastern Kentucky. In her 20+ years as a professional writer, she has sold twenty-six (26) books so far and has agent representation with Tamela Murray of the Steve Laube Agency. You can find her on Facebook and GoodReads.

Joe Rochefort: The Man Who Turned the Pacific Theater of WWII

by Martha Hutchens

image by @everett225, deposit photos

He was an unlikely sort to be able to make such a claim. While he was a naval officer, he was by all accounts an indifferent seaman. He was known to wear slippers and a smoking jacket to his most important WWII assignment. His work was not even acknowledged until years after his death. He was politically inept and narrowly escaped a court-martial in 1921, when the tanker he was duty officer on dragged its anchor in San Francisco Bay.

And yet, all of the war in the Pacific turned on this single man.

To understand this, you have to understand the Battle of Midway, fought on June 4–7, 1942. At this point, much of the U.S. Pacific Fleet was still on the ocean floor at Pearl Harbor. The U.S. had at best three functional carriers, but two was more accurate. Japan had ten operating carriers. The Battle of Coral Sea was fought in May 1942 and stopped Japan’s advance but was technically a draw. The Battle of Midway was the first clear U.S. victory in the Pacific and ended with the sinking of all four Japanese carriers there. Most historians consider it the turning point of the war in the Pacific.

So what was Rochefort’s assignment? He led Station HYPO, the Navy’s codebreaking unit.

Rochefort first started work in cryptanalysis in 1925. Codebreaking was not a prestigious assignment. Everyone knew you had to go to sea to get promoted. But it appealed to Rochefort. In 1929, he was posted to Japan for three years, where he was to learn the language. He then spent several years at sea until returning to Pearl Harbor in late 1939.

In late 1940, the U.S. Army broke the Japanese code Purple. This was a diplomatic code, not a military one. The equivalent Navy code was designated JN-25, and it became Station HYPO’s main objective.

image by @zim90, deposit photos

In December 1941, JN-25 remained unbroken. Traffic analysis told the team that the Japanese were planning something big, but the target was elusive. For months, Rochefort had been tracking large units of the Japanese fleet, but in mid-November Admiral Yamamoto put up a dense “electronic smokescreen” that allowed the carriers that attacked Pearl Harbor to slip through. The team at Station HYPO was devastated at their intelligence failure, which in reality belonged equally to the Army, the Navy, and Washington politicians.

Not long after Pearl Harbor, Rochefort told his team to “Forget Pearl Harbor and get on with the war.”

When Admiral Nimitz was assigned to be the Pacific Commander-in-Chief, he was not impressed with Rochefort, who narrowly kept his position.

Rochefort was not responsible for the actual codebreaking—that task fell to Lieutenant Commander Thomas Dyer, who led the work beautifully. By mid-January 1942, HYPO was decrypting fragments of messages. By the end of March, Americans were reading a substantial number of JN-25 messages.

Rochefort’s responsibility was to determine the significance of these messages, a difficult task considering well more than half of the messages they received remained unbroken. And in early 1942, his record was spotty. He did accurately predict an air raid on Hawaii on March 4, 1942. Buried in the minutiae of these decryptions was the Japanese designation for Midway: AF.

In early May, HYPO was receiving between 500 and 1,000 intercepts per day and reading parts of around 60% of them. Rochefort told Nimitz it was clear the Japanese were planning a major new initiative, but he didn’t know where.

Many potential targets were considered—Pearl Harbor, the U.S. West Coast, even the Aleutian Islands (where there was a small incursion, but that’s a different blog post).

image by @PhotoWorks, deposit photos

But on May 13, a decryption landed on Rochefort’s desk. A Japanese ship was to load supplies and proceed to Affirm Fox—AF. With tens of thousands of messages between the two of interest, Rochefort remembered that AF was Midway. Nimitz sent Captain Lynde McCormick to “the dungeon," the home of Station HYPO. It took a full day, but Rochefort and crew convinced him that Japan intended to commit four carriers to Midway. Then they had to convince Washington, and no one there had much confidence in Rochefort.

But Nimitz did, and this was confirmed by another intercept on May 16. But how to convince Washington?

Here comes one of the most impressive sleights of hand in military history. One of Rochefort’s subordinates, Jasper Holmes, suggested sending an encrypted message to the naval air station on Midway. It instructed the officers there to send an unencrypted message reporting difficulties with their distillation plant.

Midway had no source of fresh water and depended entirely on these plants. Not long after, HYPO decrypted a message saying there was a water problem on AF. The ruse had worked.

The battle at Midway was hard fought, and the victory required both skill and a measure of luck. But America’s fleet wouldn’t have even been there if it weren’t for Joe Rochefort.

He was nominated for a Distinguished Service Medal, but the recommendation was quashed. In Washington, Rochefort was considered an insubordinate cuss, difficult to work with and unpleasant to be around. He was relieved of duty at Station HYPO in October 1942.

Joe Rochefort died in 1976. In 1985, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal posthumously. And even today, few know his name or the pivotal role he played in WWII.

Best-selling author Martha Hutchens is a history nerd who loves nothing more than finding a new place and time to explore. She won the 2019 Golden Heart for Romance with Religious and Spiritual Elements. A former analytical chemist and retired homeschool mom, Martha occasionally finds time for knitting when writing projects allow.

Martha’s debut novel, A Steadfast Heart, is now available. You can learn more about her books and historical research at MarthaHutchens.com.

When his family legacy is on the line, rancher Drew McGraw becomes desperate for someone to tame and tutor his three children. Desperate enough to seek a mail-order bride. But when the wrong woman arrives on his doorstep, Drew balks.

Heiress Kaitlyn Montgomery runs straight from the scandal chasing her toward a fresh start on a secluded ranch. She strikes a bargain with Drew—a marriage convenient for both of them.

But the more Kaitlyn adapts to ranch life and forms a bond with Drew’s children and their enigmatic father, she realizes that this ranch is where she is meant to be. And then her past catches up with her…

From Plymouth to Plymouth

Over four hundred years ago, the people we now know as "Pilgrims" set out from Plymouth for the New World, seeking relief from religious persecution in their home country. Every Thanksgiving, children don paper hats and cardboard bonnets to reenact the life of these settlers after their arrival. Their difficult journey as well as salvation at the hands of the local Native American tribes is the stuff of legends (as well as the basis for a national holiday).

But how much do you know about the Pilgrims before they were Pilgrims?

The Pilgrims, in fact, never called themselves Pilgrims. Instead, they were "Separatists" or "Saints," a congregation of disgruntled English Protestants from the village of Scrooby in Nottinhamshire. They did not want to pledge allegiance to the Church of England, an entity they viewed as a merger between church and state and one that, in their opinion, was as corrupt as the Catholic Church it had replaced not so long ago. Not only did Separatists believe that true worship must progress from an individual relationship with God rather than state-mandated religion, they also saw many of the church's doctrines and practices as direct contradictions to the Christian gospel to which they claimed to adhere. For example, the Church of England's Book of Common Prayer was viewed as blasphemous, having not been inspired by God nor having no scriptural justification. The Separatists wished to break away and form their own independent churches guided by the Holy Spirit rather than government assignation. (This was a split from another group of Separatists known as Puritans who sought to reform the government church.)

But, at a time in which church and state were combined, any break from the church was viewed as treason, and the Separatists were forced to flee to Holland. Although they found religious freedom in their new home, they also found themselves struggling to adapt to the realities of living in a foreign country, one in which they didn't speak the language nor understand the prevalent culture or customs. The language barrier prevented all but the lowest-paying jobs, and the relatively "modern" society was viewed as sinful and depraved.

It was soon clear that Holland was not the answer to their quest. They needed a place where they could establish their own culture, form their own society, and worship in a way free of government influence. The best place for this, they decided, was somewhere far from England, uninhabited and away from distraction.

A place like the New World.

Photo Credit: history.com

The Separatists returned from Holland, hoping to formulate a plan and secure finances for this new adventure. The Virginia Company, already staking claim in what would soon be America, gave the Separatists permission to establish a plantation on the East Coast between 38 and 41 degrees north latitude (roughly between Chesapeake Bay and the mouth of the Hudson River). The King of England, perhaps seeing the voyage as a solution to the headache the Separatists were causing, bid them a hearty farewell, so long as "they carried themselves peaceably."

Joining the Separatists on their journey was a group of not-so-kindly named "Strangers," non-religious people simply seeking fortune or a new life in America. Approximately 102 people bid England farewell in August 1620 aboard two merchant ships, the Mayflower and the Speedwell.

They returned only a few days later.

The Speedwell had begun to leak almost immediately, forcing the travelers to return to port and, after a thorough inspection, was deemed unseaworthy for the voyage. Rather than delay any longer and await, not only the finances for another ship, but also the unlikely availability, the passengers and crew of TWO ships instead merged onto one. The Mayflower now carried double the people, in addition to double the food supply, double the weapons cache, and an overwhelming assortment of live animals, including sheep, goats, chicken, and dogs).

When the Mayflower finally set sail on September 16, 1620, she was over-burdened and had also missed the window of opportunity for a smooth voyage, setting sail right in the height of the Atlantic storm season. In addition, the ship itself was never meant for a cross-ocean trip; more suitable for short crossings, its high, wall-like sides made it difficult to sail in the strong winds that often blew across the Atlantic. A voyage that should have taken a month instead lasted 66 days, causing illness, food shortages, poor tempers, and even a few deaths.

Even more hardships waited for them upon arrival. They landed well north of their allotted land, in the midst of Native American land in which they had no right to be (although the "right" of the Virginia Company to its own claimed land is still up for debate as well). The long journey had depleted their supplies and broken their bodies, and the New World wasn't at all what they had expected it to be.

Photo Credit: brittanica.com 

And yet they persisted, establishing a colony for the glory of God and the right to worship in the way they saw fit. Their determination and drive set the precedent for what we now know as the "American Spirit"--and became the basis for our modern day Thanksgiving celebration. 

Jennifer L. Wright grew up wanting to be a reporter, but it only took a few short months of working in journalism for her to abandon those aspirations for fiction writing instead. She loves to reimagine and explore forgotten eras in history, showcasing God's light amidst humanity's darkest days. Her books have won multiple awards, including Golden Scroll and Angel awards. She currently lives in New Mexico with her husband, two kids, a couple of hyperactive dachshunds, and an ever-growing herd of guinea pigs.