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Welcome to Aaron Manke's Cabinet of Curiosities,

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a production of iHeartRadio and Grimm and

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Mild. Our

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world is full of the unexplainable,

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and if history is an open book, all

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of these amazing tales are right

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there on display, just waiting

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for us to explore. Welcome

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to the Cabinet of Curiosities.

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Walk around New York City today and you're surrounded

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by a feast for the senses. You might

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hear sidewalk conversations or a subway

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car rumbling underfoot. You might also

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smell peanuts roasting on the stand

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on the corner, and you'll definitely see

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massive buildings reaching towards the sky

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overhead. Oh and cars,

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lots of cars, spewing exhaust

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into the air and honking at all hours

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while the eats clog up. New York

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City today can feel almost clustrophobic

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with everything going on around us. But it

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wasn't always like this. Once upon a

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time, it looked a lot different. Eighteen

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hundreds of New York was just becoming the hustling,

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bustling metropolis it is today. The

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streets were packed with horse drawn carriages

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and pedestrians. Stores lined

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the avenues, selling all kinds of goods

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before long chain coffee shops and fast

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food places took over. But even

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though the city was growing and evolving, it

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still faced the same problem as every city

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in America. The weather. Summers

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were blisteringly hot, and winters

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in New York were especially hard to face.

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Feet of snow would bring everything to a

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halt, but New Yorkers didn't let flurries

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and blizzards slow them down. If anything,

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they got faster. In January

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of eighteen thirty, the bitter cold had led

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to inches of snow coating the ground,

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trees, and storefronts. Over the following

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days, that blanket of white would get crushed

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and compacted until it was hard and flatten

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to walk on, but most of the time people

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would use another means of transportation

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to get around. That month, Scottish

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politician James Stewart came to visit

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and saw firsthand how the locals dealt

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with the snow. The New York

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Carnival began and the beautiful,

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light looking slaves made their appearance.

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He wrote, he watched as people

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strapped horses to their slaves and took

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to the streets, zooming through Manhattan,

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and I quote at the rate of ten

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or twelve miles an hour. You see,

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until the end of the nineteenth century, men,

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women and children took advantage of the otherwise

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harsh conditions, making the best of them. These

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carnivals lasted for hours, but

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most people ventured out between three and five

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PM. During those times, thousands

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of Manhattan residents would steer their

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slaves through the city. Central

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Park was one of the most popular locations,

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and people used whatever they had available

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to dash through the snow. There were

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even public slaves like buses

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that would pull groups of people all at a time.

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But eventually New York realized that the carnivals

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needed a little friendly competition. In

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the late eighteen hundreds, the city's streets

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were transformed into racetracks for

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sleigh races. Small models

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called cutters would fly through the upper

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avenues with the wind whipping the faces

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of the people handling them. But despite

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the dangerous speeds achieved by racers,

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the press called these contests something

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deceptively calm, trotting races,

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which doesn't sound fast or furious.

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In December of eighteen sixty nine, dozens

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of racers set out to prove themselves after

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a major snowstorm. An article

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in the New York Herald described them as

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and I quote, Roman chariots

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spitting flakes of snow in their wake as

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they careened across Harlem. Local

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businesses also got in on the action. McGowan's

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Pass Tavern on one hundred and fourth Street

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held a yearly race for anyone who wanted

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to participate. Winners were given a bottle

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of champagne every year until the

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tavern was torn down in nineteen fifteen.

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Unfortunately, as New York continued

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to expand and formalized throughout

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the nineteenth century, both the carnivals

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and the sleigh races faded out of fashion.

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These events had helped city dwellers past

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the dreary winter months with ease. After

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all, it was hard to stay sad when every

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fresh snow meant another chance to

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beat your neighbor to the finish line. The

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advent of the automobile, though, brought all of

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that to an end, because it was hard to navigate

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a sleigh through Boston around all of those

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cars. Today, tourists and couples

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can take a horse drawn carriage ride on demand,

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enjoying a scenic trot through Central Park,

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but little do they know that over one hundred years

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before, that peaceful outing might

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have looked and sounded very different with

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a lot more snow and a lot

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less traffic. Lighthouses

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are contradictory places for lost

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ships. They signal the safety a home

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shore at the same time they warn of dangers

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hidden beneath the seas. Their symbols

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of civilization on a deserted sea.

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And yet, for the lighthouse keepers on the remote

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Flannin Isles off of Scotland, their

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job kept them far away from the rest of

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society. That kind of isolation

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was hard to get used to. As you might imagine,

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the keepers quickly found that when something

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strange happened, there was no one they could tell,

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and when something went terribly horribly

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wrong, there was no one to hear

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them scream. On December twenty

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sixth of nineteen hundred, the crew of the small

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ship Hesperus approached the lighthouse

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on Alan Moore, the largest of the Flannin

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Isles. The ship had been delayed several days

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by a storm, but it had finally arrived

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to relieve the three lighthouse keepers stationed

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on the island. The crew was surprised when

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no one came out to greet them. The captain of

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the Hesperus blew his ship's whistle and

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even fired off a firecracker to alert

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the keepers, but James Duckett, Thomas

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Marshall, and Donald MacArthur were nowhere

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to be seen. Inside the lighthouse,

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it felt as if the three Missa keepers had

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only just stepped out. Their beds weren't

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made, and there was half eaten food left out

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in the kitchen. The door was unlocked and

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a chair was found overturned. The

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oil in the lamps was full, but the clock

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had stopped, and while two of their heavy oilskin

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raincoats were missing, the third was

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hanging right there by the door. The

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clues the relief team found inside didn't offer

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much more enlightenment. A box of supplies

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near the western boat landing had been smashed

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and its contents were strewn about the shore.

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Iron railings had been wrenched out of their concrete

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bases. Even a one ton boulder

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had moved to a new resting place. But

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most unusual were the last three entries

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the keepers had left in the log book. On

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December twelfth, fourteen days before

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the hespers had arrived, Keeper Thomas

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Marshall had recorded a storm. According

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to him, there were and I quote severe

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winds, the likes of which I have never seen

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before in twenty years. He also

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noted that keeper William MacArthur had

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been crying. This entry concerned

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the crew of the Hespers for two reasons. For

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one thing, William MacArthur had a reputation as

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a tough man who loved to fight. Crying

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was out of the ordinary for him. For another,

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according to reports from the nearby coast, the

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logbook was wrong. There was no storm

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on December twelfth of nineteen hundred. Thomas

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Marshall's entry the next day on December thirteenth

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noted that the storm was still raging and

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the three keepers had taken to praying for it

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to end. Finally, on December fifteenth,

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he wrote the last entry in the logbook

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storm ended. See calm God

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is over All. All of

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this left the Northern Lights Board, which managed

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the lighthouse there with a mystery. They

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had the pieces of the puzzle, but no clear

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solution. As news of the keeper's

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disappearance came to light, speculation

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ran rampant. Some people familiar

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with William MacArthur's quick temper wondered

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whether he suffered a violent outburst and

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murdered his two companions. Not

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wanting to face the consequences of what he had

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done, he somehow dumped the bodies in

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the sea and escaped or jumped

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into the waves himself. Believed

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that the sea wasn't to blame. They hadn't

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been taken by the natural world, but by something

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supernatural. Flann and Isle was named

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after Saint Flannin, a sixth century Irish

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bishop who built a church on the island,

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and according to legend, even Saint Flannin

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himself wouldn't stay there past nightfall

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due to the evil spirits that ran amok

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after sundown. Superstitious people

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thought that it must have been those dark forces that kidnapped

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the three lighthouse keepers. Without

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evidence, these speculations were hard

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to prove. It didn't help that investigators

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from the Northern Lighthouse Board were missing their

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biggest clue, the lighthouse keepers

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themselves. The three men's bodies had

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never been found. With the facts

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they had on hand, the board came to

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the following conclusion. During a storm

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on the island, strong winds or waves must

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have caused extreme damage to the western

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landy Duckett and Marshall had grabbed

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their oilskins and left to go secure their

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supplies when a freak wave dragged

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them into the sea. MacArthur grew worried

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and followed them, going against lighthouse board

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rules to keep one keeper in the lighthouse at

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all times. He must have been so panicked

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he left his coat behind. When he reached

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the landing, he too fell into the sea

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and was lost. We may

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never discover what really happened in

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December of nineteen hundred on that small

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isolated island. Searching for the answers

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is a bit like holding up a lantern in a cave.

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Sometimes the brighter you shine the light, the

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deeper the shadows grow. I

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hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of

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the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe

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for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn

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more about the show by visiting Curiosities

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podcast dot com. The

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show was created by me Aaron Mankey

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in partnership with how Stuff Works. I

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make another award winning show called

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Lore, which is a podcast, book

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series, and television show, and

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you can learn all about it over at the Worldoflore

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dot com. And until next

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time, stay curious.