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FAR in Western seas, where the winds and the rains of
the Atlantic hold high carnival amid a wildness and an eerie solitude that
is broken only by the dashing of the breakers against the base of the
great and venerable cliffs that descend perpendicularly to the ocean, and
by the noisy intrusion of the feathered visitors that come up from the
sea, lie the ‘Seven Hunters,’ as the Flannan Isles were termed long ago.
The renowned chronicler who accompanied some islesmen
there on a fowling expedition rather
over-estimated the distance seaward of the Flannans when he wrote that the
‘Seven Haley Iles lye fifty myle in the Occident seas fra the coste of the
parochin Vye in Lewis (Parish of Uig) towarts the west north-west,’
because they are really situated within about twenty-two miles of Gallon
Head.
Though we know from ancient records dating back to the
fifteenth century that the Flannan Isles were uninhabited at that time,
there is ample evidence to prove that, at all events in early Christian
times, when the Irish Church took the lead in sending its emissaries to
the very remotest corners of Scotland, these islands were peopled by a
colony of monks, for some very interesting ecclesiological remains are
still to be seen, though they are naturally in a somewhat weather-beaten
and decayed condition.
At any rate, there was a large enough settlement there
to justify the reputation for sanctity with which for many centuries these
isles were associated. Buchanan, who calls them Insuloe Sacroe,
ascribes the earliest remains to the Druids.
On one of the Flannan Isles the ruins of a very old
chapel are still in a fair state of preservation. The ancient Gaelic
writers named this chapel Teampull Beannachadh, meaning the House
of Blessing; and from its structure there would appear to be little doubt
that it was originally the cell of some Columban hermit. Indeed, the
entire aspect of the place—its wildness, its inaccessibility, its
solitude—reminds one very much of Skellig Michael with its little beeskep-shaped
dwelling-places and its tiny oratories.
The Flannan Isles were long noted for their pasturage,
which in the olden days supported a large number of sheep. Sheep. An early
historian tells us that there were ‘infinit wyld scheipe therein quhilk na
man knawes to quhom the said scheipe apperteines within them that lives
this day of the country-men’; and we read that it was customary at certain
stated times of the year for MacLeod of Lewis, to whom the islands
belonged, to send a number of his clansmen to the Flannans, for MacLeod
‘huntis and slayis maney of thir scheipe.’ The same source informs us that
‘the flesche of thir scheipe cannot be eaten be honest men for fatnesse,
for ther is na flesche on them, bot all quhyte lyke talloune and it is
verey wyld gusted lykeways.’
Although Martin, in his Description of the Western
Isles of Scotland, which he wrote towards the close of the seventeenth
century, does not mention the actual hunting of sheep, he acquaints us
with the fact that the pastures of the Northern-Hunters, as the mariners
of his day called the Flannan Isles, maintained a considerable number of
sheep.
The Flannans are of further interest to us in that some
very quaint and remarkable customs were observed there by those who
visited these islands for the purpose of fowling. In the olden days a
small party of men from Lewis were accustomed once a year to set out for
these islands, and to return with large quantities of seabirds and their
eggs, together with quills, down, and feathers, all of which they
collected among the dangerous rocks and cliffs, and at great personal
risk. We are told that, if they happened to be sailing with an east wind
and the direction of the wind suddenly changed to the west, they would not
attempt to effect a landing, but would instantly make for home again, even
though they might be within fifty yards of the landing-place.
Then, Martin tells us that, if the crew should include
in its number any apprentice, who was inexperienced in the recognised
methods of fowling, and ignorant of the ancient, but essential,
observances with which it was associated, it was necessary that he be
placed under the supervision of some member of the fowling party who would
instruct him as to how he should conduct himself when on this hallowed
soil. We are further informed that the crew scaled up the cliff from the
wonted landing-place by means of
a wooden ladder, which was held in position by a huge stone in order to
prevent it from slipping back into the sea. When the fowlers had made the
customary deisul, and had thanked God for having conducted them in
safety to the islands, they removed their upper garments and approached
the aforesaid chapel, where they engaged in prolonged prayer and
meditation. It was considered a most heinous crime for any member of the
crew to kill a bird before every one of the party had climbed the ladder;
and the killing of a fowl by a stone was looked upon as ‘a great
barbarity, and directly contrary to ancient custom.’
Among these early seamen the use of
certain words was strictly forbidden while
their stay on the Flannans lasted;
and, in consequence, the designating
of a number of familiar things by their proper names was regarded as an
inexcusable and unforgivable breach of etiquette. For example, water was
called Burn, not Visk (Gaelic, uisge); a rock was termed Cruey
(Gaelic, cruaidh, meaning hard); and they referred to the seashore,
not as cladach, but as Vah (uamh, a cave).
In accordance with other curious
laws observed while on a visit to these islands, no one was permitted to
take home with him any sheep-suet: neither was any member allowed to
appropriate or eat anything without the cognisance of the remainder of the
party.
Martin remarked that in his time the
sheep of the Flannans were very fat: we learn from the passage already
quoted that another annotator a hundred years earlier found cause to
complain of their leanness.
But it must have been a grand sight
to watch the expedition returning to the shores of Lewis in a boat
overladen with sheep, fowls, fish, eggs, down, and feathers!
Around the lonely Flannan
Isles there clings an unsolved mystery, because at the
beginning of this century there occurred an
incident for which no satisfactory explanation has ever been given. There
had been a violent storm in the Atlantic; and for many long nights no
light appeared from the lighthouse on the Flannans. At first it was
thought that the light had been obscured by the dense sea-fogs which had
accompanied the storm: but, as the fogs cleared away, no light shone.
Now, about the tenth day the tempest
had subsided somewhat, and the relief steamer went to the Flannans in her
regular course of rotation in order to effect the relief that was now due.
When she reached the Flannans, however, the crew was surprised to find
that the usual landing-flag was not hoisted; and, though the steamer’s
whistle was sounded repeatedly and a rocket fired, no keeper appeared.
After a little difficulty the
relieving keeper was got ashore, and he hurried up the zigzag pathway,
which led to the lighthouse, to find that the door was closed—probably to
keep the lobby dry as the winds and rains were usually battering against
it—and that there was no one in the living-room. So he hastened back to
the landing -stage with the
information that there was no one on the island. Some of the boat’s crew
were then put ashore in order to carry out a thorough investigation. High
and low the lighthouse was ransacked, and the whole island was
searched—every nook and crevasse of it—but there was no sign of a living
soul; neither were any human remains discovered.
The mystery has never really been
properly solved, though several suggestions have been put forward as to
what actually may have happened. The conclusion come to was that the crane
or derrick at the west landing-place, which, when not in use, was lowered
and lashed to the rocks, was in danger of being carried away, and that the
three lighthouse men, having gone down to make it more secure, were swept
right off by a huge sea that without any warning dashed over them. It is
almost certain that at the time of the accident they had their oilskins
and jack-boots on, because these were never found. And on the living-room
table there stood a meal prepared; and on the floor beside it there lay an
overtoppled chair. Both of these facts strongly suggest that an emergency
had arisen, and that the men had suddenly rushed out to cope with it. In
the meantime the relieving keeper and some members of the ship’s crew
remained to keep the light burning until new arrangements were made.
The further facts that everything in
the lighthouse was afterwards found in perfect order, and that the time of
the last entry in the log -book
seemed to have been made shortly before the hour at which the tragedy is
supposed to have occurred, tend to bear this out.
A year or two ago I chanced to be on a visit to Ness
Lighthouse, at the Butt of Lewis; and, while I sat chatting with the
keeper in the lantern-room, that, with the great tower
below it, seemed to sway dizzily in the
gales that came out of the cold, uninviting north, suddenly the loud
buzzing of a wireless receiver began. It was the men on the lonely
Flannans ringing up to say that all was well there; and in return we
transmitted to them the time signal.
And, as the night fell, I waited
long in that lantern tower until the flash from the lighthouse on the
Flannans came streaming across the sea. And through my mind there passed
another flash—the flash of that tragedy; and I remembered
Three men alive on Flannan Isle,
Who thought of three men dead. |
