EP05 I The Flannan Isles Mystery & The Missing Keepers

On December 26, 1900, a relief ship cut through the freezing North Atlantic Ocean toward a remote lighthouse off the coast of Scotland. The three keepers stationed there were due for a scheduled crew rotation, but as the ship pulled up to the island, the cliffs were completely empty. The ship sounded its horn and fired a signal rocket into the gray sky, but there was still no response. Racing for the worst, relief keeper Joseph Moore went ashore and climbed the steep stone steps to the lighthouse. Inside, everything seemed to be in order. There was nothing obviously wrong, nothing that could explain where the three men had gone. The equipment had been tended to, the lamp was ready to be lit, and there was nothing to suggest that the men had been planning to leave. But all three lighthouse keepers were gone, and they would never be seen again. This is the story of the Flannon Isles mystery and the lost keepers. Today's story is one that's been told and retold for more than a century. It's inspired poems, books, movies, ghost stories, and some pretty wild theories. But somewhere along the way, the legend merged with the facts, and some of the details you may have heard about aren't actually true. Which is interesting because once you strip away all of the myths and the rumors, the true story of what happened at the Flannon Isles Lighthouse is still incredibly strange. And that is exactly what we're diving into today. But before we get started, if you're enjoying the Real Unreal, please take a second to follow, subscribe, or leave a rating wherever you're watching or listening. I release new full episodes every other Monday, and you can also follow the show on Instagram and TikTok for clips, updates, and more from each episode. And without further ado, let's get into the story. About 20 miles off the coast of Scotland's outer Hebrides, seven rocky islands rise from the cold North Atlantic. They're known as the Seven Hunters, and the largest of them is Ellen Moore, the island at the center of this story. And when I say island, I wouldn't picture a charming little Scottish village with a cozy pub and fluffy sheep wandering around. Nobody lived permanently on Ellen Moore. It's a brutal, isolated chunk of stone surrounded by sheer cliffs and totally exposed to weather coming straight off the ocean. Now, there were signs that humans had used the island long before. The ruins on Ellen Moore included an ancient stone dwelling and what is believed to have been a seventh-century chapel. But by the end of the 19th century, there was absolutely no community there, no shops, no neighbors, no harbor town, just the wind, the sea, and eventually a lighthouse. Due to the fact that these cliffs were a notorious death trap for ships, approval was given in 1896 to build a beacon on the cliffs. But building anything out there was a logistical nightmare. Every single brick and bag of cement had to be brought in by boat and hauled straight up the cliffs. Workers had to carve out landing platforms, steep staircases, and a small cable-operated tramway just to get the supplies up to the top. By December of 1899, the Flannel Isles lighthouse was finally operational. The tower stood about 75 feet high, but because it sat on the highest point of Ellen Moore, the light itself soared more than 300 feet above sea level. And on a clear night, its brilliant white flash could be seen from 20 miles away. And someone had to keep that light burning. Interestingly, I have a close friend who has told me more than once that she thinks she would love to be a lighthouse keeper. And look, I get that fantasy. You picture yourself in some beautiful old tower with the ocean churning outside, reading books, sipping tea while a storm rolls in, completely removed from everybody's everyday nonsense. And honestly, there are days when that sounds pretty good to me, too. But I'm genuinely curious whether she'll still feel that way after she listens to this episode. Let's just say lighthouse keeping on Ellen Moore in 1900 was not the cozy romantic version. There was zero radio communication with the mainland, no phone to pick up if somebody got hurt. The keepers worked in strict rotations with three men stationed on the island while a fourth remained ashore. And relief visits were scheduled every two weeks, but those visits depended entirely on the mercy of the weather. If the sea was too rough to land a boat, you just waited. And in December of 1900, the three men trapped out on Ellen Moore were James Ducott, Thomas Marshall, and Donald MacArthur. Ducott was the principal keeper and the anchor of the group. He'd spent roughly two decades in the Lighthouse service. He was a dedicated family man, and back on the mainland, his wife Mary and their four children were waiting for him. Thomas Marshall was 28 and unmarried. And before joining the Lighthouse service in 1896, he had spent several years working as a merchant seaman. The third man, Donald MacArthur, wasn't actually part of the Flanning crew. He was an occasional keeper, which is essentially a substitute, and he had been sent to Ellen Moore at the last minute because the regular first assistant, William Ross, had fallen ill. So by sheer chance, MacArthur found himself on the island that December along with Ducat and Marshall. One person who knew the keepers well was Robert Muirhead, superintendent for the Northern Lighthouse Board. Muirhead had actually recommended the men for the station and had worked right alongside Ducat and Marshall during the Lighthouse's grueling construction. And just a few weeks before the disappearance on December 7th, he visited Ellen Moore during a routine relief run. He later described Ducott and Marshall as two of the board's most efficient and reliable keepers, and MacArthur as an incredibly competent substitute. During that visit, everything was in perfect working order. There was absolutely no reason for Muirhead to think anything was amiss or that he was looking at his friends for the very last time. Muirhead boarded his ship and he left the island. The three men remained behind, turning back towards their stone tower. And for the next week, the light flashed, the logs were signed, and everything went exactly as it was supposed to. Until the calendar hit December 15th. Because on that night, the light suddenly went dark. And whatever happened on that island next would ensure not a single one of them was ever seen alive again. This is where the timeline of the story starts becoming very important. So lean in because the paper trail left behind on this island is incredibly eerie. The formal leather-bound lighthouse logbook had been filled out completely through December 13th. But for December 14th and the morning of Saturday, December 15th, the notes were written temporarily on a slate. Now, this was normal practice. Keepers would chalk their notes on a slate first, double-check them, and then transfer them neatly into the official logbook later. And there was nothing unusual on the slate. There was no desperate warnings, no frantic messages scratched into the stone. Instead, it was just the mundane, ordinary data of a typical day in the office. There were routine weather observations, the exact time the giant lamp was extinguished that morning, and the exact kind of data that lighthouse keepers were expected to record in the course of their day. At 9 o'clock on the morning of Saturday, December 15th, someone, likely James Ducott, recorded the barometer and thermometer readings and noted the wind and the conditions. It was also noted that the lamp was cleaned, the oil fountain was filled, and the equipment was prepared for the coming night. And sometime after that, something happened. Because later that same day, a cargo steamer called the Arctor was making its way from Philadelphia towards Leith. Around midnight, as the ship passed the Flannon Isles, its captain expected to see the lighthouse, but he didn't see a thing. The Flannon light was completely dark, which tells us that whatever happened to Descott, Marshall, and MacArthur had almost certainly happened before the time that the light should have been illuminated on the evening of December 15th. But nobody on the Arcter knew that three men were missing. All they knew was that the lighthouse that should have been visible wasn't. It was common practice for lighthouse keepers to follow a strictly choreographed routine whenever a relief ship would come in. They would raise the flag as the ship approached and they would head down to the landing to meet it and help bring in the supplies. But on this afternoon, the flagstaff was completely bare, and when the Hesperus arrived that afternoon, there was no one there to meet it. Captain Jim Harvey, who was in charge of the relief ship on December 26, ordered his crew to fire a signal rocket into the sky. It burst overhead in a flash of sound, but still there was no response. Joseph Moore was the fourth member of the Flannon Isles lighthouse team. He'd been onshore duty on the Isle of Lewis and was now returning to Ellen Moore to begin his rotation and relieve one of the men that were stationed there. When the three men still didn't appear, Moore and a couple of sailors got into a small rowboat and headed for the island. Once they reached the island, Moore went ashore alone and made his way up the long staircase, climbing the cliff toward the lighthouse. When he reached the living quarters, he unlocked a heavy outer door and walked inside. The air was freezing cold. He called out for his friends, but the silence inside was absolute. When Moore reached the kitchen, he found the room in order. And that's important because some of the most famous details of the Flannon Isle mystery supposedly happened right here. If you already know this story, you've probably come across the tale of a half-eaten meal left on the table, an overturned chair, and a dead canary in a cage, all of which might lead you to believe that the men had left in a hurry. Except none of that was true. If we strip away the dramatic rumors, Joseph Moore's official report revealed a much tidier yet far more puzzling reality. The kitchen was clean, the pots and pans were washed and put away, and there was no food left out. However, two very real, very haunting clues were waiting for him. The grandfather clock had stopped at 9 30. No one had wound it, and the fireplace was cold. It had nothing but ashes left behind, suggesting that the fire had gone out sometime before. Moore turned to the entrance wardrobe to check the clothing pegs, and what he found there completely shattered the idea that the men had left under normal circumstances. Hanging neatly on the pegs were the keeper's heavy, waterproof coats and sea boots. Only one remained, and it belonged to Donald MacArthur. Ducot and Marshall had apparently dressed for the weather before going outside, and MacArthur hadn't, suggesting that whatever brought him out of the lighthouse may have happened quickly. By now it was clear that something was seriously wrong. Moore scrambled back down the rocks, boots slipping on the whetstone, heart pounding. He reached the Hesperus and he told Captain Harvey straight. The lighthouse was empty. The keepers were gone. And just like that, routine relief turned into an unexplained disappearance. Moore broke the news and a hush fell over the deck. The weather had been rough, but the absence didn't quite add up. They couldn't sit on that island forever. They needed to alert the mainland. Captain Jim Harvey immediately ordered his men to return to the ship, but he left Joseph Moore behind on the rock, along with two sailors to keep the lighthouse lit for the coming night. Harvey raced the Hesperus to the nearest telegraph station on the Isle of Lewis. The moment he docked, he fired off an urgent, breathless telegram to the Northern Lighthouse Board headquarters in Edinburgh. Word spread quickly about the empty lighthouse because the message Harvey sent was deeply unsettling. He wrote, A dreadful accident has happened at the Flanens. The three keepers have disappeared from the island. The clocks were stopped, and other signs indicated that an accident must have happened about a week ago. Poor fellows, they must have been blown over the cliffs or drowned trying to secure a crane. While Harvey's telegram carried the news to the mainland back on Ellen Moore, Moore stayed with the three men from the Hasperus, settling in for a very uneasy night. Just hours earlier, he thought he'd be swapping places with three colleagues. Instead, he was now standing watch in their place with no idea what had happened. As evening set in, Moore began looking more closely around the lighthouse. Everything seemed to be in order. The oil was topped up, the machinery was cleaned, and the lamp was ready for another night. Whatever had happened, the keepers had done their morning routine. On December 29th, the Northern Lighthouse Board Superintendent Robert Muirhead arrived on Ellen Moore to investigate the disappearance of the three lighthouse keepers. He knew these men personally, which made the task all the more difficult. But he had a job to do, and he began by examining the physical evidence left behind on the island. He inspected the lighthouse, checked the records, walked the island, and when he got to the West Landing, he encountered a scene of total devastation. The West Landing was a steep cliffside platform used for receiving cargo when the winds made the East Landing too dangerous. Muir had recorded that the sheer force of the winter waves had done things to the platform that didn't even seem possible. Heavy iron railings bolted deeply into the solid stone, had been bent, twisted, and completely sheared out of shape like pipe cleaners. A massive wooden supply box containing mooring ropes, which had been securely anchored to a concrete pad over 100 feet above sea level, had been violently ripped from its mountings and smashed into splinters. Even crazier, a massive block of stone weighing over a ton had been violently dislodged from the cliff face and thrown down onto the path, completely blocking the railway track. Muir had looked at the broken iron and the shattered wood, and he put together a theory that the British government ultimately accepted. He concluded that on the afternoon of Saturday, December 15th, a massive, unexpected swell began hitting the west side of the island. He believed that Ducott and Marshall realized that the equipment down by the West Landing was at risk of being washed away. They put on their heavy oil skins, walked down the long flight of cliff steps, and began securing the ropes. Meanwhile, Donald MacArthur was left behind inside the lighthouse to keep watch. As he looked through the window, he could see a monstrous freak wave surging towards the western cliffs. Realizing his crew members were about to be overwhelmed, MacArthur panicked. He didn't even take his coat. He just bolted out the door in his shirt sleeves and raced down the steps to save them. But he was too late. The wall of water slammed into the landing, crested the cliffs, and dragged all three seasoned mariners down into the freezing depths of the North Atlantic. Because of the brutal undertow, their bodies were carried out to the deep sea, never to be recovered. It was a plausible explanation, and one that the authorities accepted. While the Northern Lighthouse Board worked to bring the case to a close, another kind of tragedy was quietly unfolding on the mainland. The disappearance of the three keepers had captured everyone's attention, but behind the mystery were families whose lives had been turned upside down. And for these families, the loss went far beyond the heartbreak of losing a father, a husband, or a son. The reality was lighthouse keeping was something of a package deal. It provided a steady income, a degree of security, and in many cases, a home. The cottages where keepers lived with their families belonged to the lighthouse service, which meant that when a keeper died, his family could lose not only their primary source of income, but also the roof over their heads. And that was an unsettling possibility for the families left behind. James Ducot and Donald MacArthur both left widows and children, while Thomas Marshall, who was unmarried, left behind his father and siblings. All three families were grieving, and the disappearance had also brought financial uncertainty into their lives. For Mary Ducot, who had four children, the situation was especially daunting. As far as she was being told, her husband James was never coming home. And if that wasn't devastating enough, the family home on the Isle of Lewis was tied to the employment with the Lighthouse service. With James gone, security that came with his position was suddenly uncertain. Imagine that for a moment. Your husband disappears under circumstances that nobody can explain. And you have four children depending on you, no body to bury, and no real understanding of what even happened. And while you're still trying to come to terms with all of that, you're forced to confront what life will look like without his income and the security his job provided. The authorities did provide financial assistance to the bereaved families. In March 1901, pensions and gratuities were authorized for Mary Ducott and her family, while gratuities were approved for Donald MacArthur's widow and children. But these payments couldn't restore the stability the families had lost or erase the uncertainty of having to build a future without the men they depended on. And then there was Donald MacArthur's family, whose circumstances were complicated by the fact that he wasn't even a permanent keeper at Ellen Moore. His widow and children were included in the board's compensation arrangements, but their situation was another reminder that the consequences of the tragedy extended well beyond the island itself. Thomas Marshall's family also had to navigate the aftermath. His father, John Marshall, pursued a financial claim following his son's death, but the Northern Lighthouse Commissioners ultimately declined it. Financial hardship wasn't the only burden that these families faced. In the small coastal communities of Scotland, news of the disappearance spread quickly. And as people tried to make sense of what had happened, speculation began to take on a life of its own, as it often does. The Flannins already had an eerie reputation with their remote location, rugged cliffs, and long history of maritime folklore. It wasn't difficult to imagine how talk of curses and supernatural forces might find its way into conversations about three men who had seemingly vanished without a trace. And as years passed, the disappearance became the subject of increasingly elaborate stories. Newspaper accounts, poems, later retellings added dramatic details that had little connection to the historical record. And while those stories fascinated the public, the families were living with something much more painful. Their husbands, fathers, and sons were becoming characters in a mystery that strangers could endlessly debate, while the people who had actually known and loved them were left without answers. And while the rest of the world could indulge in the fascination of the Flannon Isles, these families couldn't simply put down the story. The Northern Lighthouse Board had accepted Superintendent Muirhead's conclusion that the three men had most likely been swept away into the Atlantic by an enormous wave. Given the damage he'd found, that was a reasonable explanation. But not everyone was convinced. And it was exactly those doubts that fueled the speculation that followed. Because official accounts left unanswered questions, people began filling the gaps with theories of their own. Some were grounded in the evidence, others drifted much further into the extraordinary. There were details that didn't quite fit, questions the investigation hadn't answered, and assumptions about the men's final moments that couldn't be verified. For one thing, all three men were experienced principal keepers. They understood the dangers of working at a remote lighthouse surrounded by the unpredictable North Atlantic. So why would seasoned keepers risk their lives to save ropes and supplies? Then there was the detail of Donald MacArthur's missing coat. When Joseph Moore arrived, the coat was still inside. That hinted at a hurried departure, perhaps an emergency. But what kind? Did he see trouble from the lighthouse? Did he hear a shout? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, his departure raised another question. Why had all three men left the lighthouse unattended? Standard procedure required that at least one keeper remain in the lighthouse at all times, especially in rough weather. An emergency might explain breaking that rule, but there was no direct evidence to say what that emergency was. Muirhead's evidence of the sea's power was compelling, but it couldn't fix the moment in time. Had the keepers been at the landing when those waves struck, or had some of that destruction come later? The evidence showed the potential of a devastating force of storm waves, but it couldn't establish if the keepers had actually been caught in them. And that's the gap in Muirhead's theory. It was reasonable, but speculative, without witnesses, without bodies, and without a record of their last moments. It explained how they might have disappeared, but it stopped short of proving it. But here's something interesting. While Muirhead couldn't prove exactly what had happened to the three keepers, the physical evidence he discovered at West Landing raised a question that could be investigated. Could the Atlantic really produce a wave powerful enough to cause that kind of destruction? And as our understanding of ocean behavior has advanced over the years, scientists began learning much more about how enormous waves can form, sometimes with very little warning. Their findings would give us a new way to look at what might have happened on Ellen Moore. One thing oceanographers have established is that waves can behave very differently when they approach land. Powerful Atlantic swells can travel enormous distances, carrying energy from the storms far out at sea. But when those waves encounter shallow water and steep coastal cliffs, they can grow even more destructive, sending enormous volumes of water surging upwards against the rock. This phenomenon is called wave runup, and under the right conditions, the water can reach astonishing heights above sea level. Scientists have also documented rogue waves, unusually large waves that can develop suddenly when different wave systems interact, producing a wave that is much larger than those surrounding it. Now, let's consider Ellen Moore. This wasn't a sheltered coastline. It was an isolated island surrounded by the open North Atlantic, with steep cliffs exposed to powerful ocean swells. And the destruction Muir had documented at the West Landing tells us just how violent those conditions could become. The twisted iron railings, the shattered rope box, and the enormous stones dislodged from the cliff were physical evidence that waves of extraordinary force had struck the island. So modern science helps us to understand how a wave powerful enough to cause that destruction was physically possible, but it still can't tell us whether the three keepers were standing at the West Landing when it happened or why all three would have been there in the first place. The Flannon Isles Lighthouse wasn't abandoned after the tragedy. The Northern Lighthouse Board continued staffing the station, and generations of keepers would go on living and working on the very island where Ducat, Marshall, and MacArthur had disappeared. The lighthouse remained operational for another 70 years before it was automated in 1971. And that brings us to something worth considering. When the three men disappeared in December 1900, the lighthouse had only been operational for a year. They were experienced keepers, but Ellen Moore was still a relatively new station with its own particular hazards. They knew the Atlantic could be dangerous, but they may not have fully appreciated just how violently the sea could strike the island's exposed landing platforms. The keepers who followed them had something the original crew didn't: the knowledge of what had happened in December 1900. Every time they approached the West Landing in rough weather, they knew three experienced men had disappeared there, possibly while trying to protect the station's equipment. And although the tragedy couldn't tell them exactly what had happened, it had served as a grim warning about the dangers of working so close to the sea. So now we've looked at the physical evidence, the official investigation, and the extraordinary power of the Atlantic Ocean. And there's a pretty compelling case that the three keepers were swept away by a massive wave, but the official explanation was far from the only one. Over the years, the disappearance of the three lighthouse keepers has inspired some truly extraordinary theories involving everything from foreign spies and mystery ships to ancient curses and even visitors from another world. And some of them are pretty wild. Some theories have a longer history than others, and many of the more elaborate details come from later retellings rather than contemporary records. So we're entering a world of speculation here, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun exploring it, because some of the theories are pretty fascinating. So let's start with the foreign spy theory. Remember, this disappearance happened in 1900 at a time when the great European powers were becoming increasingly suspicious of one another. Britain had the most powerful navy in the world, Germany was expanding its fleet, and military intelligence was becoming increasingly important in international competition. So imagine for a moment that the three keepers saw something they weren't supposed to see. Perhaps an unfamiliar vessel appeared near the island, perhaps it was conducting some sort of secret naval operation using the remote waters around the outer Hebrides to avoid attention. And maybe Ducat, Marshall, and MacArthur realized that something wasn't right. This theory goes that the men were abducted to prevent them from reporting what they'd witnessed. So picture the scene: a strange vessel approaching through the darkness, a small boat making its way towards the landing, three lighthouse keepers suddenly confronted by people who had absolutely no business being there, and then silence. The next relief crew arrives to find an empty lighthouse with no explanation for where the men have gone. It's practically the opening of an espionage thriller. Of course, the historical records don't establish that any such encounter took place, but as the alternative explanation for why three men disappeared together, it's certainly an imaginative one. And it raises an interesting possibility. What if the keepers didn't disappear because of something the ocean did? What if they disappeared because of something they saw? But the spy theory has nothing on the stories and superstitions that had surrounded the Flannon Isles long before the lighthouse was ever built. Because Ellen Moore already had a pretty unsettling reputation, and the disappearance of the three keepers would only add to that. For centuries, the island had been visited by shepherds and fishermen from surrounding communities. Ellen Moore was also associated with St. Flannin, and the remains of an ancient chapel still stand there today. Over generations, the island became surrounded by customs and warnings and superstitions. And according to traditional accounts, many visitors observed certain rituals when approaching the chapel, avoiding speaking specific words out loud, and treating the island with an unusual degree of reverence. And when you consider the setting, it's not that difficult to understand why. Imagine visiting this isolated cluster of islands hundreds of years ago, surrounded by the unpredictable North Atlantic, with towering cliffs, violent seas, and no permanent settlement. It was the sort of place where stories about supernatural forces could easily take hold, especially when generations of islanders passed those stories down. Among the eerie tales associated with the seven hunters was that of a phantom boat supposedly carrying the spirits of the dead. In descriptions of the legend, the vessel appeared in the waters around the island, and its ghostly occupants made it clear that this was no ordinary boat. When the three lighthouse keepers disappeared, the story offered a particularly chilling possibility. What if Ducot, Marshall, and MacArthur had seen the strange vessel approaching the West Landing? Perhaps they believed someone aboard was in trouble and went down to investigate. Or perhaps as a supernatural version of the story would have it, something aboard the boat had deliberately lured them out of the lighthouse. Whatever drew them outside, the men never returned, leaving the station deserted and the mystery of the disappearance unsolved. And there's something especially eerie about the timing. The lighthouse had only begun operating in December 1899, bringing a permanent human presence to an island that had been treated with such reverence and superstition for centuries. Just one year later, three of its keepers were gone. For anyone who believed the old warnings about Ellen Moore, the disappearance could have seemed like a terrible confirmation that the island was not a place where people were meant to remain. This next theory takes the mystery in a different direction, suggesting that the disappearance might have been connected to something far more ordinary: money. And at the center of that theory was a ship called the SS Arctur, which, if you remember, had passed the Flannon Isles on December 15th and noticed that the lighthouse was dark. Now, the Arcter really did pass the island, but what if the presence in those waters wasn't so innocent? One particular elaborate theory imagines that the ship was involved in some kind of illegal maritime operation, perhaps transporting contraband, concealing valuable cargo, or participating in insurance fraud. In the latter scenario, a shipowner might deliberately arrange for a vessel or its cargo to be lost in order to collect an insurance payout. With an enormous sum of money potentially at stake, anyone who witnessed the operation could become a serious problem. And that's where the lighthouse keepers enter the story. Imagine Ducot, Marshall, and MacArthur spotting suspicious activity from their isolated station. Maybe they saw cargo being transferred between vessels, or noticed something happening aboard the Arctur that its operators desperately wanted to keep secret. That theory suggests that someone from the ship went ashore to silence the witnesses, forcing the three men aboard before they could report what they had seen. By the time the relief crew arrived, the Arctor was long gone, leaving behind an empty lighthouse and three missing men. It's an extraordinary scenario, and it certainly has all of the ingredients of a maritime thriller. But there's an important distinction. While the Arctor and its reports of the missing light are part of the historical record, I haven't been able to establish that this particular smuggling or insurance fraud accusation was ever independently documented. So it's just a theory. There's no credible evidence connecting its crew to the disappearance. Still, it's easy to see why the idea of a secret operation at sea makes for such an intriguing alternative explanation. Instead of three men being swept into the Atlantic, it imagines that they were deliberately taken from the island. So I've spent a lot of time thinking about this story, and there's one detail that I have trouble with. These weren't inexperienced men as we know. They were seasoned lighthouse keepers who understood the responsibility that came with their jobs. And one of the most important rules of lighthouse keeping was the station was never supposed to be left unattended. At least one keeper needed to remain behind to make sure that the lighthouse stayed burning. And yet, somehow, all three men ended up outside. Whatever drew them out to the lighthouse must have been important enough for them to abandon a responsibility that they took very seriously. And I have a hard time believing that they would have made that decision lightly. Then there's Donald MacArthur. According to Mirrorhead's theory, MacArthur was inside the lighthouse when he realized Ducott and Marshall were in danger. He supposedly rushed outside without even grabbing his coat, hoping to save them from an enormous wave. But I keep coming back to the same question. What could he have realistically done in a scenario like that? If the sea was violent enough to tear iron railings from the cliffs and sweep two grown men into the Atlantic, what chance did MacArthur have of saving them? He would have understood how incredibly dangerous that would be. And by leaving the lighthouse, he wasn't just putting his own life at risk. He was leaving the station unattended, potentially endangering the ships that depended on that light to navigate safely through the Atlantic. In fact, the extinguished light was one of the earliest indications that something had gone terribly wrong. So we're supposed to believe that three experienced keepers, men who understood both the dangers of the sea and the importance of their duties, all abandoned the lighthouse because of some equipment at the landing and attempted a rescue. I'm not saying that couldn't happen. People make extraordinary decisions in emergencies, and even experienced professionals can get caught off guard. But I really do struggle with that explanation. And I wonder if Superintendent Muirhead struggled with it too. Now, that's entirely my own speculation. I have no way of knowing what Muirhead privately believed. He had physical evidence of the tremendous surge damage, three missing men, and no witnesses to tell him what happened. He couldn't simply write that something inexplicable had occurred and leave it at that. He needed to offer the most reasonable explanation that the available evidence would support. And perhaps that's exactly what he did. But I can't help wondering whether he knew there were pieces of the story that didn't quite fit. I also think that's why this disappearance has inspired so many different theories over the years. When an official explanation leaves an important question unanswered, people naturally start looking for other possibilities. Not necessarily because they want something supernatural or sensational to have happened, but because they're trying to make sense of something that doesn't entirely add up. And I think those questions deserve to be taken seriously. For me, the biggest question isn't whether a wave powerful enough to kill three men could have struck Ellen Moore. We know that the Atlantic is capable of tremendous destruction. My question is what happened before that? What was going on outside that lighthouse that caused all three men to leave their post? What could have been so urgent that they abandoned the one responsibility that they knew they were supposed to never neglect? Because if we could answer that question, I suspect we'd be a lot closer to understanding what really happened on Ellen Moore. And now I'm curious to hear what you think. Was this simply a tragic accident, just as Meerhead had concluded? Or do you think something else happened on that island? I'd love to hear your theories, so leave me a comment on YouTube, Instagram, or TikTok. I'm genuinely interested in what your thoughts are on this story. So that's it for this episode of The Real Unreal. I release new episodes every other Monday, so if you enjoyed this one, please follow or subscribe wherever you're watching or listening. I'm Leanne Owen, and until next time, keep an eye out for the unbelievable.