One of my favourites.
In the empty Atlantic, 17 miles to the west of the Hebrides, lie the Flannan Islands; known to seafarers as the Seven Hunters. The largest and most northerly of the islands is called Eilean Mor, translated as "big island".
These bleak islands received their name from a 17th century bishop called St. Flannan, who built a small chapel on Eilean Mor. Hebridean shepherds would often ferry their flock over to graze on the richer and healthier grass, but they themselves would never spend the night there, believing the islands to be haunted. (By spirits and the "Little Folk")
In the last decades of the 19th century, as Britain's sea-trade increased, many ships sailing north or south from Clydebank were wrecked on the Flannans. This prompted the Northern Lighthouse Board to announce, in 1895, that a lighthouse was to be built on Eilean Mor.
They expected the construction of it to take two years, but a combination of rough seas and the problems of hoisting stones and girders up a 200ft high cliff, made it impossible to stick to that schedule. The Eilean Mor lighthouse was finally founded on the rough seas between Lewis and the Flannans.
Eleven days before Christmas in 1900, the light went out.
The weather was far too stormy for the Northern Lighthouse Board steamer to go out and investigate, even though the lighthouse had been built with two landing-stages (one to the west and one to the east), so one of them would always be sheltered from the prevailing wind.
Joseph Moore, waiting on the seafront at Locj Roag, felt a sense of helplessness as he stared westward towards the Flannans. Eilean moore was manned by three people, James Ducat, Donald MacArthur and Thomas Marshall; it was inconceivable that all three could have fallen ill simultaneously and virtually impossible that the lighthouse itself could have been destroyed by the storms.
On Boxing Day, 1900, the dawn was finally clear and the seas were less rough. A steamer ship called The Hesperus left harbour soon after daylight broke. Joseph Moore was so anxious, he refused to eat breakfast; pacing the deck and staring out towards the islands.
The swell was still heavy and the Hesperus had to make three approaches before she was able to moor by the eastern jetty. No flags had answered their signal and there was no sign of life.
Moore was the first to reach the entrance gate; it was closed. He shouted for the keepers and, hearing no response, hurried up the steep path. The main door was closed and still no one answered his calls. The lighthouse was empty.
In the main room, the clock had stopped and the ashes in the fireplace were cold.
Moore waited until he was joined by two other sailors before he ventured upstairs, afraid of what he might find there. In the sleeping quarters the beds were neatly made and the place was tidy. James Ducat, the chief keeper, had kept records on a slate. The last entry was for December 15th at 9am, the day that the light went out. But this had not been caused by lack of oil, the wicks were trimmed and the lights all ready to be lit.
Everything was in order; so it was clear that the men had completed their basic duties for the day before some kind of tragedy struck them. When evening came, there had been no one to light the lamp; but the 15th of December had been a calm day.
The Hesperus returned to Lewis with the men's christmas presents still on board.
Two days later, investigators landed on Eilean Mor and tried to reconstruct what had happened. At first, it looked as if the explanation was fairly straightforward. On the westward jetty, there was evidence of gale damage; a number of ropes were entangled round a crane which was 65 feet above sea level. A tool chest that had been kept in a crevice 45 feet above this, was missing.
It looked as if a 100ft wave had crashed in from the Atlantic and swept it away, as well as the three men. The fact that the oilskins belonging to Ducat and Marshall were also missing, seemed to support that theory; they only ever wore the oilskins to visit the jetties.
So the investigators had a plausible theory. The two men had feared that the crane was damaged in the storm, they had struggled to the jetty and had then been caught by a huge wave. But, if that was the case, what had happened to the third man, Donald MacArthur, whose oilskins were still in the lighthouse? Had he rushed out in order to help them and been swept away himself?
All these theories came crashing down when someone pointed out that December 15th had been a calm day, the storms had not started until the following evening. Perhaps Ducat had simply entered the wrong date by mistake? That theory also had to be abandoned when, back at Loch Roag, Captain Holman of steamer ship The Archer, told them that he had passed close to the islands on the night of the 15th and the light was already out.
So what if the three men had been out on the jetty on a calm morning, which would explain why MacArthur was not wearing his oilskins, when one of them slipped into the water? Perhaps the other two had jumped in to save him and drowned. But then, there were ropes and life-belts on the jetty; why should the men leap into the water when it would have been easier to throw the man a life-belt?
Suppose the man was unconscious and couldn't grab the life-belt? In that case, only one of his companions would have jumped in after him, leaving the other on the jetty with a rope.
Another theory was that one of the men had gone insane and pushed the others to their deaths, then throwing himself into the sea. It is possible, but there isn't even the slightest shred of evidence to support it.
Broadcaster, Valentine Dyall suggested the most plausible explanation in his book, Unsolved Mysteries.
In 1947, a scottish journalist called Iain Campbell visited Eilean Mor on a calm day. He was standing near the west landing when the sea suddenly gave a heave and rose 70 feet over the jetty. After about a minute, it subsided back to normal.
It could have been some freak of the tides, or possibly an underwater earthquake. Campbell was convinced that anyone on the jetty at that time would have been sucked into the sea. The lighthouse keeper told him that this curious "upheaval" occurs periodically and several men had almost been dragged into the sea.
But it is still difficult to understand how three men could have been involved in such an accident. Since MacArthur was not wearing his oilskins, we can presume that he was in the lighthouse when it happened, if it happened. Even if his companions had been swept away; why would he then rush down to the jetty and fling himself into the sea?
Only one thing is clear, that on a calm December day at the turn of the century, some accident snatched three men off Eilean Mor and left not even a shred of a clue to the mystery.