IRON GIANT. How Was the 20,000-Ton Ship "Great Eastern" Built in 1858?

Have you ever wondered why in mid-9th century black and white dgeray types, people look like bewildered ants crawling over the ruins of cyclopian structures?

We're told that this is the era of the industrial revolution. An era when

industrial revolution. An era when gentlemen in top hats and frock coats, having barely cleaned the street mud and horse manure from their boots, suddenly decide to build something that outpaces

its time not by decades, but by an entire century.

You have been deceived. Everything you

knew about 19th century technological progress is a smokec screen, a beautiful theatrical backdrop behind which lurks a terrifying emptiness.

Welcome to the year 1858, London, Milwall Shipyard on the aisle of dogs.

Here, amid flimsy wooden scaffolding and manual labor, stands a monster.

The ship Great Eastern or Great East, originally named Leviathan, and that name suits it far better. Official

history feeds us a saccharine tale about the genius engineer Ismbard Kingdom Brunell, who supposedly designed and built this marvel almost single-handedly

by the sheer force of his intellect. But

let's set aside the textbooks commissioned by ministries of education and switch on cold logic, engineering analysis, and healthy skepticism.

Before us is a vessel with a displacement of 22,000 tons. Hull length

692 ft. Beam nearly 100 ft. So you grasp the scale of the disaster for the official version of history. This vessel

outclassed any existing ship of the time in volume by six times. Not by 10%, not twofold, but six-fold.

This is not technological evolution.

This is an anomaly. Such things don't happen in nature or engineering. Imagine

that today when we drive ordinary sedans, someone in a garage co-op rolls out a vehicle the size of an aircraft carrier capable of flying to Mars and

claims he assembled it from scrap metal using a cordless drill. Sounds like

madness, but that's precisely the madness historians force us to believe when recounting the Great Eastern. Look

closely at the construction photographs.

What do we see? We see a perfectly smooth riveted steel hull rising into the sky like a skyscraper wall. And

nearby, pitiful wooden platforms, crooked ladders nailed from rough sorn boards, rotten ropes, and crowds of workers in rags wielding primitive

hammers. We're told this steel city was

hammers. We're told this steel city was built using those sticks and ropes.

That's called cognitive dissonance. The

construction site's technological setup lags hundreds of years behind the technological sophistication of the vessel itself.

Let's talk about the metal. The official

version states that the ship was made from iron plates 1 in thick. The hull

was double layered, a revolutionary solution that ship building would only return to half a century later after the Titanic disaster. Double bottom, double

Titanic disaster. Double bottom, double sides, cellular structure. This isn't

just a ship. It's a floating bunker.

Construction used up 30,000 iron plates, each weighing 1/3 of a ton. And here's

where it gets most interesting.

Where, may I ask, in the mid 19th century were the rolling mills capable of producing such a volume of perfectly even standardized rolled iron. The

industry of that time consisted of artisal workshops and the first very temperamental furnaces.

To roll out an iron sheet of such area and thickness requires gigantic rollers, the most powerful steam drives and above all quality control technology that

officially didn't exist yet.

But the plates are there. They are

fitted to each other with jeweler's precision. No gaps. The whole geometry

precision. No gaps. The whole geometry is perfect.

Who made them? At what factory?

Historians mumble vague names of manufacturies that according to documents went bankrupt a year after supposedly fulfilling this order.

Convenient, isn't it?

Ends in water. And now the numbers that would make any engineer's hair stand on end. 3 million rivets.

end. 3 million rivets.

3 million. Ponder that number. The

official legend claims they were all installed by hand. A riveting crew consists of a heater, a feeder, a holder, and two hammermen.

It's hellish labor. To properly set one rivet of that diameter, it must be heated red hot, inserted into the hole, and hammered down with heavy

sledgehammers before it cools. One rivet

takes a minimum of 5 to 10 minutes from an experienced crew. Let's do the math.

Working 12 hours a day without weekends or holidays, how many manh hours are needed to drive 3 million rivets? Even

if hundreds of crews worked at the yard simultaneously, construction timelines stretch into decades.

But the Great Eastern was assembled remarkably quickly for such volume. and

the riveting quality was such that the ship couldn't later be dismantled even with explosives when it was scrapped at the end of the 19th century. That process took longer

19th century. That process took longer than the construction itself.

Tearing down isn't building, you say? In

this ship's case, tearing down proved harder. The metal rang and resisted.

harder. The metal rang and resisted.

Tools broke. This was not the spongy, puddled iron described in our textbooks.

This was highquality steel, the recipe for which was apparently lost or hidden.

And there this steel giant stands on the slipway. But it stands not bow first

slipway. But it stands not bow first toward the water as it should, but sideways.

Why? Brunell explained it by the temps being too narrow. But any ship builder will tell you that a side launch of such mass is suicide. The risk of twisting,

keel breakage, capsizing, colossal.

Yet, they decide to launch it sideways.

And that's when the real drama begins.

More like fumbling with instructions for an alien artifact than a planned engineering process.

Giant chains were run under the hull, powerful hydraulic presses and winches installed.

It seemed everything was calculated.

But when the launch command was given, this 20,000 ton monster shifted three feet and stood fast.

Winch drums splintered into shards, killing and maming workers. Presses

burst. Hydraulic fluid sprayed like blood. The Leviathan refused to go into

blood. The Leviathan refused to go into the water. It was as if rooted to the

the water. It was as if rooted to the ground. Historians say error in friction

ground. Historians say error in friction calculations, but there's another version.

Maybe they didn't build it. Maybe they

just unearthed it. Imagine the scene. A

huge hull stands on the shore, half buried in soil. They find it, clean it, build those stick scaffolding around it to create the illusion of construction,

and try to shove it into the water. But

it's too heavy. It's not meant for these primitive methods. For three months,

primitive methods. For three months, they struggled to budge the ship. Three

months of shame, accidents, and inexplicable deaths.

Does that look like the triumph of Victorian engineering?

It's more like a cargo cult where savages try to launch a plane found in the jungle by poking it with sticks.

Take a look at the propeller design. The

Great Eastern had two propulsion systems, paddle wheels on the sides and one giant screw at the stern. Propeller

diameter 25 ft. Weight 36 tons, four blades.

Casting such a monster as a single piece in 1858 is an asterisk level challenge even for modern foundaries.

Uniform metal cooling must be ensured to avoid internal stresses and cracks.

Where is that casting mold? Where are

those furnaces?

We're shown engravings of bearded men in aprons bustling around some pit.

Seriously, 36 tons of molten metal in a pit and perfect geometry at the end. But the

funniest part isn't even that. The

funniest part is the engines.

To rotate the wheels and propeller required steam engines of monstrous power. 4,000 horsepower for the

power. 4,000 horsepower for the propeller and another 4,000 for the wheels. The cylinders of these machines

wheels. The cylinders of these machines were so large that an adult could walk inside upright without stooping. And

again, the same question. On what lathes were these cylinders bored?

Piston fit precision had to be to the millimeter. Otherwise, steam would

millimeter. Otherwise, steam would whistle and the engine wouldn't deliver power. At that time, machine tools were

power. At that time, machine tools were driven by belt transmissions from a common shaft, vibrations, slop, inaccuracies.

How did they achieve such machining cleanliness?

Or were these engines simply extracted from the depths, cleaned of century old grease, and passed off as the latest invention?

The ship's interior deserves a separate discussion. It was a floating palace.

discussion. It was a floating palace.

Vast halls, high ceilings, crystal velvet gilding.

The Great Eastern could take aboard 4,000 passengers.

That's the population of a small town.

For comparison, ordinary transatlantic liners of that time carried 300 to 400 people. Why was such a giant needed

people. Why was such a giant needed officially for voyages to India and Australia without coing stops?

Supposedly, it could carry a coal supply for a circumnavigation.

15,000 tons of coal. Do you grasp that volume?

It's a mountain. How did they load it?

With baskets, ropes? How much time would it take to load 15,000 tons of coal by hand?

Weeks, months. The entire logistics around this ship crumbles like a house of cards as soon as you pick up a calculator.

But the main question isn't even the coal. The main question is the people.

coal. The main question is the people.

Where did such passenger flow come from in the mid 19th century?

4,000 people per voyage. Those were

times when travel was a luxury or an immigration necessity.

Who were these people meant to fill the giant cabins?

The world was empty. Cities were small.

We'll get to the demographic oddities a bit later, but already now the ship's scale seems excessive for the population that officially lived on the planet. It

was built for another world, for a world with more people, higher technology, and where such ships were the norm, not a one-ofa-kind wonder of

the world. Now look at the deck

the world. Now look at the deck photographs. It's desolate, vast spaces

photographs. It's desolate, vast spaces with nothing on them except sparse superructures in those massive funnels.

Five funnels, six masts, sail rigging just in case. It looks like eclecticism, like an attempt to adapt an incomprehensible device to familiar

needs. Sails on a 20,000 ton steel

needs. Sails on a 20,000 ton steel monster are like orars on a nuclear submarine.

They are useless.

But 19th century engineers added them because that's how it was done. Because

they didn't understand the true nature of the energy that could power this ship. They saw it as just a big boat to

ship. They saw it as just a big boat to be pushed by steam and wind. What if

entirely different installations were there originally? What if the giant

there originally? What if the giant cargo holds were meant not for coal, but for something else? Something that was removed before showing the ship to the

public. And that's where we come to the

public. And that's where we come to the most interesting fact. The ship's first captain, William Harrison, drowned in a lifeboat even before the first

commercial voyage. Brunell himself

commercial voyage. Brunell himself suffered a stroke and died right after the trials.

A strange chain of deaths for those who knew too much about the Leviathan's design. As if the ship claimed the lives

design. As if the ship claimed the lives of anyone bold enough to call themselves its creator.

Let's peer into the very heart of this mechanical beast, its engine room.

Official history proudly tells us that the engines for the Great Eastern were built by John Scott Russell's company.

But if you know even a little about mid9th century metaly, this information will only elicit a bitter smirk.

The crankshaft of the engine that drove the propeller weighed 25 tons. It was a single forged piece, 25 tons of steel

that needed not just to be cast, but forged into a complex geometric shape, then machined to micron precision. In

1858, you're joking. At that time, the

you're joking. At that time, the pinnacle of precision was the Verier caliper, and most parts were hand fitted with a file on site. How do you machine

a 25 ton billet with a file? Where is

that lathe capable of clamping such a monster? Its bed would have to be

monster? Its bed would have to be house-sized, and the cutting tools made from alloys that officially didn't exist yet. If the slightest imbalance were

yet. If the slightest imbalance were present in this crankshaft, the monstrous vibration on the first rotations would have splintered the ship's stern to pieces.

But the crankshaft worked perfectly. It

spun for years without metal fatigue.

This tells us only one thing. The level

of surface finishing and balancing matched late 20th century standards, not the era of steam boilers and cast iron flat irons.

And now remember the explosion during the first sea trial when the ship had barely left the temp's estie. A

catastrophe occurred on board. The

cooling jacket of one of the funnels exploded.

The blast was so powerful that it tossed the multi-tonon funnel into the air like a feather, ripping up the deck.

Five stokers died on the spot. Many

suffered horrific burns. The official

commission stated someone forgot to open the valve on the steam vent pipe.

Classic scheme, blame it on human error.

But let's look at it from another angle.

The Great Eastern was stuffed with technologies whose operating principles the new owners, those very builders, understood only approximately.

They tried to start complex systems using primitive coal fired steam. They

supplied pressure where perhaps a completely different substance should have circulated.

Ether mercury atmospheric electricity.

We don't know. But the system couldn't withstand such barbaric handling. The

ship rejected the primitive energy of fire and water, spewing it back into the faces of the hapless operators.

This explosion wasn't an accident. It

was a clash of technologies from different eras. What they called funnels

different eras. What they called funnels could well have been wave guides or resonators that simply overheated from improper use.

Moving on.

Double hull. The distance between the outer and inner hull was nearly 5 ft.

Engineers say for safety and ballast.

But 5 ft is too much for simple ballast and too little for useful cargo. This

space permeated the entire ship, creating a giant cellular structure.

Imagine a thermos the size of an aircraft carrier or more likely a giant capacitor.

If you look at the sectional drawings, the hole resembles a complex circuit board scheme where a dialectric should be between layers of metal. What if this

double hole served to accumulate charge?

What if water entering there acted as an electrolyte?

We see the Great Eastern as a boat, but it could have been a floating power plant capable of powering cities.

That's exactly why they couldn't launch it for so long. It needed to be grounded or conversely isolated in a specific

way, which the 19th century restorers didn't account for. After the explosion and repairs, the ship suddenly sharply changes its purpose. From a luxurious

liner for transporting thousands of people, it turns into a cable layer.

What a humiliating fall, isn't it? Or a

brilliant cover up. We're told that the Great Eastern was the only vessel capable of taking aboard thousands of miles of transatlantic telegraph cable.

The cable's weight was measured in thousands of tons. And here, the logistics crack at the seams. Again, imagine the loading process. The cable

needed to be carefully coiled into the holds in huge loops.

That's manual labor for hundreds of people that should take months. The

cable is fed from the shore. Where is

the factory that produced such a length of continuous wire without a single break? Gutaperta insulation technology

break? Gutaperta insulation technology was in its infancy then. Copper quality

abysmal.

Yet they managed to lay a communication line between the old and new worlds along the ocean floor.

What if they weren't laying the cable?

What if they were retrieving it? Or even

more terrifying, using this ship to connect to an already existing ancient global network on the ocean floor. The

Great Eastern plowed the Atlantic, making strange maneuvers, stopping in mid ocean. Officially, cable repair or

mid ocean. Officially, cable repair or splice break. But what was really

splice break. But what was really happening there far from prying eyes?

Maybe they were searching for surviving nodes of a pre flood civilization.

After all, it was precisely after these missions that the world suddenly began to web itself with telegraph lines at suspicious speed. As if someone found

suspicious speed. As if someone found the main switch and turned on the information age. Take a look at the

information age. Take a look at the interiors of the great saloon, the ship's main hall. ceiling height, door sizes, scale of stair landings.

All this seems disproportionate to an ordinary person, 5'7 tall. Door handles

are positioned inconveniently high.

Stair treads too wide. This is a classic example of giant architecture which we see in St. Isaac's Cathedral or the ruins of Balbeck.

19th century people against the backdrop of these interiors look like children who climbed into their parents' house.

They set out their little chairs, hang their tasteless curtains, trying to inhabit a space that overwhelms them with its grandeur.

This isn't designed for a Victorian era human. This is ergonomics for beings

human. This is ergonomics for beings nearly 10 ft tall. And this explains why the ship could hold 4,000 passengers.

By giant standards, there were, say, 1 and a half thousand seats. But if you pack it with ordinary people, like sardines in a barrel, you get 4,000.

All those luxury cabins were just partitioned off sections of larger compartments.

We see traces of secondary use, remodeling, euro renovation over ancient grandeur.

And one more detail that sends chills down the spine. During the ship's dismantling at the end of the century, skeletons were found between the double

hulls. The official tale states, "These

hulls. The official tale states, "These are the unfortunate riveters who were accidentally walled up alive, and it was their restless souls that brought

misfortune to the ship."

Do you believe that? How could you accidentally wall up a person when riveting proceeds sequentially, inch by inch?

Everyone would hear his screams. His absence would be noticed at roll call.

No, this wasn't an accident.

This was either a ritual sacrifice embedded in the structure by those who built or restored the ship, or these are the remains of those who were inside the

vessel at the moment of a catastrophe that occurred long before 1858.

Maybe the ship wasn't just found, but excavated along with its crew, and the 19th century builders simply cleaned what they could, but didn't reach the

hard to access spaces between the hulls.

A skeleton in riveted armor is an excellent symbol of this whole story.

The truth is walled up deep inside the official lie. And to extract it, you

official lie. And to extract it, you need to saw through the entire framework of the history we're used to.

Think about the fuel coal. The Great

Eastern devoured it at an incredible rate. 420 tons a day.

rate. 420 tons a day.

420 tons.

That's seven railroad cars of coal every day.

Imagine the stokehold. It should be hell on earth. Hundreds of half- naked people

on earth. Hundreds of half- naked people in coal dust ceaselessly shoveling black gold into the furnaces.

Where did they live? Where did they sleep? There should have been hundreds

sleep? There should have been hundreds of them just for tending the furnaces.

But on the ship's diagrams, we don't see huge barracks for stokers. We see

luxurious saloons.

So either the coal consumption figures are a lie or the ship originally didn't run on coal. The coal bunkers could have been just empty cavities adapted for

fuel. And the smoke billowing abundantly

fuel. And the smoke billowing abundantly from the funnels and paintings is more likely an artistic device meant to show the power of steam traction.

In many photos, the ship is underway without smoke, though the propellers are clearly working. How is that possible?

clearly working. How is that possible?

Maybe coal was just an auxiliary means, a smoke screen for starting the real generators hidden in the hall's depths, whose operating principles we still can't unravel.

Everything points to this being a highly complex hybrid, a cyborg from the shipb building world, where the body of an Atlantean was sewn with the head and

legs of the steam age. Have you ever wondered who this ship was really built for? Let's look at the demographics of

for? Let's look at the demographics of the mid 19th century. We're assured that the Earth's population then was just over 1 billion people. Most of them were

peasants who never left their villages.

People were born, lived, and died within a 12mi radius.

And suddenly, amid this agrarian, horsedrawn, feudal reality, a vessel appears capable of transporting the population of a small county town to the

other end of the world in one voyage.

4,000 passengers, plus 400 crew members.

Who were these people? Official

statistics speak of mass immigration to America and Australia. But allow me, a ticket on the Great Eastern cost a fortune. Converted to modern money,

fortune. Converted to modern money, that's tens of thousands of dollars.

Peasants from Ireland or workers from Liverpool couldn't afford even to step onto the gang way of this palace. And

there weren't that many rich aristocrats willing to risk their lives on a transatlantic crossing.

Demand and supply don't match here. This

is economic absurdity.

Building such a giant for a handful of tycoons is like deploying an aircraft carrier to ferry one oligarch fishing.

And for the poor, it was inaccessible.

Then for whom?

The answer may shock you with its simplicity and horror. Perhaps this ship wasn't built for commercial voyages.

It was prepared for evacuation or for resettlement.

Imagine a scenario of global catastrophe. The elite knows a flood,

catastrophe. The elite knows a flood, war of the gods, or pole shift is coming. They need an ark. Not a wooden

coming. They need an ark. Not a wooden biblical box, but a technological monster capable of withstanding tsunami impacts, existing autonomously for

months, and carrying the gene pool of the best people.

That's what these endless warehouses, giant coal reserves, and double hull are for. The Great Eastern is not a cruise

for. The Great Eastern is not a cruise liner. It's a survival capsule for the

liner. It's a survival capsule for the apocalypse.

That's exactly why it differs so greatly from all ships of that time. It's from

another league, another purpose. Its

passenger capacity is calculated not for tourists with suitcases, but for dense packing of survivors.

But the catastrophe either passed by or happened earlier and the ship came to us as a trophy, the meaning of which we've lost.

Let's talk about infrastructure.

This is the most devastating argument against the official version. Any

engineer will tell you first they build the port, then the ship for that port.

Channel depth, peer length, crane equipment, cargo delivery logistics, all this must match the vessel's parameters.

What do we see in the case of the Great Eastern? It couldn't enter any existing

Eastern? It couldn't enter any existing port of that time, neither in London, nor New York, nor Bombay. It was too

enormous. It always rode at anchor, far

enormous. It always rode at anchor, far from shore. Passengers and cargo were

from shore. Passengers and cargo were fed to it in small boats. This is

nonsense. This is a logistical nightmare.

Imagine building a train wider than any existing railroad.

Why? This is possible only in one case.

If this ship belongs to a transport system that was destroyed in that previous civilization, there were ports capable of accepting such a giant. There

were cranes able to load it in an hour, not a month. There were deep water canals, but all that disappeared. Only

the ship remained.

And the new owners of the world, we with you, or more precisely those who control us, were forced to service it with their primitive rowboats, creating the illusion that this was how it was

intended.

We built it, but forgot to build a dock for it. That's what historians tell us,

for it. That's what historians tell us, and we believe.

Now, let's touch on the topic that is conventionally hushed up. Food and

waste.

4 and a half thousand people on board.

That's the population of an urban type settlement. Each person consumes a

settlement. Each person consumes a minimum of 2 to three quarts of water and 2 lb of food per day. That's 15 tons

of supplies daily. For a transatlantic voyage, hundreds of tons. Where are the refrigerators?

There were none. Where are the desalinators officially? Primitive steam distillers

officially? Primitive steam distillers that would devour coal faster than the engines. How to keep tons of meat,

engines. How to keep tons of meat, vegetables, milk fresh for a month at sea without electric refrigeration.

Salting, drying. But the menu lists fresh oysters, champagne, delicacies.

This is impossible without reefers.

Either they're lying about the menu or the ship had climate control systems operating on other physical principles.

Maybe the cold was generated not from an outlet but chemically or using compressed ether. And an even dirtier

compressed ether. And an even dirtier question sewage.

Where did the waste from 4,000 people go? Into the sea? Straight through holes

go? Into the sea? Straight through holes in the hull. Imagine the sanitary conditions on a vessel where 4,000 people use the toilet and all this flows

through pipes. What kind? Without

through pipes. What kind? Without

high-pressure pumps, the smell should have been such that ladies in corsets fainted on approach to the port. Cholera

and typhus epidemics should have mowed down passengers by the thousands. But

history is silent on this. The Great

Eastern was considered a clean ship.

How? The answer is simple. We don't see the real life support system on the blueprints. What they show us is

blueprints. What they show us is primitive heads for sailors. And the

complex waste recycling systems, closed loop water supply cycles that may have been on the ship originally were either dismantled or walled up because the 19th century natives didn't know how to

maintain them.

They turned a high techch ark into a floating barracks using only a fraction of its capabilities.

Take a look at the project's economics.

The ship never turned a profit. It

bankrupted all its owners. The company

that built it went bankrupt. The company

that operated it went bankrupt. It was

auctioned off for pennies for £25,000 the scrap value. Why? Because operating

it in 19th century conditions was impossible. It's like finding a Boeing

impossible. It's like finding a Boeing in the Middle Ages and trying to haul hay on it by hitching horses to it. It

devours resources. It breaks down. It

demands fuel you don't have.

Official history calls the Great Eastern a commercial failure. But I call it proof of a technological discontinuity.

The object's existence outpaced its habitat. This is a classic out of time

habitat. This is a classic out of time artifact. If built in the 20th century,

artifact. If built in the 20th century, it would fit perfectly. But in 1858, it was a white elephant, a foreign body.

This tells us that the chronology of technological development is a fake.

Someone artificially inserted this ship into the steam age to hide a hole in history. Or conversely, the steam age

history. Or conversely, the steam age was artificially stretched to conceal the degradation after the fall of a high civilization.

Note the comparison with the naval fleet. The pride of the Royal Navy at

fleet. The pride of the Royal Navy at that time. Wooden ships of the line,

that time. Wooden ships of the line, beautiful sailpowered, but hopelessly obsolete against the Great Eastern. If

Britain had the technology to rivet 656 ft steel hulls, why did they keep building wooden tubs for war? The

military always gets advanced technology first. But here we see a paradox. A

first. But here we see a paradox. A

civilian vessel supposedly built by a private individual outclasses the Empire's warships by a mile. This is

impossible.

The Admiral would never allow a private person to possess a technology of strategic superiority that the Navy lacked.

The only explanation, the Admiral didn't build it, and couldn't replicate it. The

Great Eastern was a unique one-off specimen that fell into humanity's hands, not created by it. They couldn't

copy it because they didn't understand how it was made. They could only look at it, exploit it to exhaustion, and spin tales about the genius Mr. Brunell.

And here we come to the most important question that shatters the entire world view. If they couldn't build it,

view. If they couldn't build it, couldn't operate it normally, and couldn't even copy it, where did it come from? Maybe it had always been there, or

from? Maybe it had always been there, or at least long before shipyards appeared on the banks of the Tempames. Recall the

engravings with ruinists where people wander among giant arches and remnants of majestic buildings.

Maybe the Great Eastern is such a remnant, an iron skeleton that survived the flood, the mudslide that buried cities.

They simply unearthed it just as they excavated the first floors of buildings in all world capitals.

It was buried in silt and clay. That's

why they cleaned it for so long. That's

why the first launch failed. It was

simply stuck in the ground tighter than they thought. We look at the

they thought. We look at the construction in old photos. But in

reality, we see the process of restoration and excavation.

The scaffolding around the ship. It's

not construction scaffolding. It's

archaeological platforms. They weren't building it upward. They

were freeing it from the prison of oblivion.

And this explains everything. The

absence of factories, the strange deaths, the incomprehensible technologies.

We are a civilization of vultures living off the ruins of titans.

Now that we've dissected the technical and logistical inconsistencies, it's time to call things by their names.

The Great Eastern is not a wonder of the Victorian era.

It's evidence.

It's a giant rusting finger pointing to the fact that a global civilization reboot occurred in the mid 19th century.

We look at this ship and see the pinnacle of progress in it. But in

reality, we see the remnants of former greatness that was destroyed.

Think for yourself. Technological

evolution is a smooth process. From cart

to locomotive, from boat to steamer.

But here we have a break, an abyss.

On one side, wooden sailing ships and horsedrawn transport. On the other, a

horsedrawn transport. On the other, a steel monster with a double bottom and electric search lights. Yes, they were

there. Ark lamps powered by who knows

there. Ark lamps powered by who knows what. This ship fell out of its time, or

what. This ship fell out of its time, or more precisely, our time was artificially rewound backward, and the ship remained as a monument to that real

era. The entire history of the Great

era. The entire history of the Great Eastern's construction if you read between the lines of official reports, looks more like a salvage expedition or

looters report. Recall those 3 months of

looters report. Recall those 3 months of failed launch attempts.

Why wouldn't the ship budge?

The official version, friction of the ways. But there's another far more

ways. But there's another far more terrifying conjecture.

The ship wasn't standing on the slipway.

It was lying in the ground. It was

embedded into the temp's bank by flows of mud and clay that had covered the world not long before.

Brunell and his team weren't building it from scratch.

They were excavating it. Those very

hydraulic presses that burst under strain were trying not to launch the vessel into the water, but to rip it out of the clay prison.

This was an operation to extract an artifact from a pre flood civilization.

That's exactly why the hull was so dirty and strange in the first photos. That's

why crowds of workers with shovels bustled around it, not engineers with blueprints.

They were clearing the perimeter.

Why was such a ship needed at all in a world where a cataclysm had just occurred?

The answer is obvious.

It's an ark.

Not a biblical symbol, but a technical means of salvation.

Whoever designed this ship knew what was coming.

Global flood, mud flow, pole shift, call it what you will, the Great Eastern was created to survive the apocalypse.

Its double hull is protection against collisions with civilization debris floating in the ocean of chaos. Its

autonomy is the necessity to survive from months in a world without ports and coal. Its giant capacity is an attempt

coal. Its giant capacity is an attempt to save the gene pool, the elite, or those chosen to be kept alive for repopulating the devastated Earth.

Perhaps the catastrophe happened faster than planned, and the ship simply wasn't used for its intended purpose in time.

It remained standing on the shore, buried in silt, until the new masters of life found it and tried to adapt it to their primitive needs.

Look at the demographics of the 19th century from this angle. We're told

about explosive population growth. From

where did women start giving birth to 10 children each and all survived in conditions of anti-sanitary practices and lack of medicine? That's a lie.

The sharp population surge is either mass cloning or unpacking of preserved people or the arrival of settlers from other lands or from underground.

The Great Eastern could have been part of this repopulation program, transport for delivering new colonists to cleared territories in America and Australia.

That's exactly why it carried thousands of people one way. This wasn't

immigration. This was settling an empty planet. People were loaded like cattle,

planet. People were loaded like cattle, like biological material necessary to launch the economy of a new, simplified civilization.

The ship served as an intercontinental bus for new slaves who remembered nothing of the past. We live in a cargo

cult world. We pray to technologies we

cult world. We pray to technologies we don't understand. Brunell is the high

don't understand. Brunell is the high priest of this cult. They attributed

authorship to him to legitimize the find. If we admit that the ship was

find. If we admit that the ship was found, we'd have to answer uncomfortable questions.

Who lived here before us? Where did they go? Why did their technology surpass

go? Why did their technology surpass ours?

Those in power don't need that. It's

easier for them to invent a fairy tale about a genius inventor than to admit that we are merely a secondary civilization living amid the ruins of titans. We use their sewers, their

titans. We use their sewers, their foundations, their roads, and their ships, calling it our own achievements.

The Great Eastern is proof that history was rewritten.

Its existence in 1858 is impossible from the viewpoint of linear progress. It's a

glitch in the matrix, a bug in the history simulation that they forgot to erase. Think about the metal again.

erase. Think about the metal again.

20,000 tons of steel. After the

catastrophe, with factories destroyed and supply chains broken, obtaining such a volume of metal is impossible.

But if this metal was already in the form of a ship, it could simply be cleaned and painted. The entire

industrialization of the 19th century was possibly a process of restoration, not creation.

We learned to flip switches on surviving factories. We learned to patch holes in

factories. We learned to patch holes in old boilers. The Great Eastern was a

old boilers. The Great Eastern was a textbook.

They learned on it to understand the principles of ship building of the ancients. And judging by the fact that

ancients. And judging by the fact that we still don't build riveted ships with 3 million rivets by hand, we never fully grasped the lesson. Or conversely, we

understood that replicating it with our civilization's resources is impossible.

This ship is a witness to a crime of planetary scale. The crime of concealing

planetary scale. The crime of concealing our true past.

It screams to us that before us there was a highly advanced civilization possessing technologies of metalwork, energy, and logistics that we couldn't even dream of.

They could build cities on water. They

could cross oceans in days, not weeks.

And they were destroyed.

The Great Eastern is their Titanic, which didn't sink, but got stuck in the sands of time, so that after a century, we would look at it and ask the right question.

Aren't they fooling us?