Will the Editor of "N. & Q.," or any of his correspondents, kindly inform
me of the true circumstances from which the following legend has sprung?
The locality which was the scene of the tragedy is the little village of
Ballybunion, situated within a few miles of Kerry Head. The scenery around
is of the wildest and most striking description. Frowning, rugged cliffs,
rising abruptly out of the water to the height of over one hundred feet,
and perforated with numerous caves, into which the ocean rushes with
fearful fury in winter,--for it is a stormy coast, and rarely does a month
pass without beholding some dead, putrified body washed ashore; while
inland, a barren, uncultivated plain, consisting mostly of bog, stretches
away to nearly the foot of the Reeks, which, looming in the distance, seem
to rear their giant masses even to the sky, and form, as it were, an
impenetrable barrier between the coast and the interior. On the brink of
one of those precipices we have mentioned, there stands the ruins of a
castle, seemingly of great antiquity. Nothing now remains but the basement
storey, and that seems as if it would be able to withstand the war of winds
and waves for hundreds of years longer. According to the legend, this
castle was inhabited by a gallant chieftain at the period of the incursions
of the Danes, and who was the father of seven blooming daughters. He was
himself a brave warrior, animated with the greatest hatred against the
Ostmen, who, at that period, were laying every part of Erin waste. His
sword never rested in its sheath, and day and night his light gallies
cruised about the coast on the watch for any piratical marauder who might
turn his prow thither. One day a sail was observed on the horizon; it came
nearer and nearer, and the pirate standard was distinguished waving from
its mast-head. Immediately surrounded by the Irish ships, it was captured
after a desperate resistance. Those that remained of the crew were
slaughtered and thrown into the sea, with the exception of the captain and
his six brothers, who were reserved for a more painful death. Conveyed to
the fortress, their wounds were dressed, and they were allowed the free
range of the castle. Here, gradually a love sprung between them and the
seven Irish maidens, who yielded to their ardent protestations, and agreed
to fly with them to Denmark. Everything was arranged for the voyage, and
one fearfully stormy night in winter was chosen for the attempt. Not a
single star shone in the sky, the cold blast came sweeping from the ocean,
the rain fell in torrents, and the water roared and raged with terrific
violence amid the rocky caverns. Escaping down from the battlement by a
rope-ladder, they discovered to their horror, that on reaching the ground
they were surrounded by armed men. Not a word was uttered; but they {466}
well knew into whose hands they had fallen. Conducted again within the
fortress, they found themselves face to face with their injured father. One
deadly glance of hatred he cast on the prisoners, and, muttering some few
words to one of his attendants, he pointed towards his daughters. The man,
on receiving the command, recoiled a few paces, transfixed with horror; and
then he advanced nearer, and seemed as if remonstrating with him. But the
parent's face assumed an absolutely demoniac expression; and more
peremptorily repeating his order, he stalked out of the room. And now
commenced a fearful scene. The lovers were torn from each other's arms, and
the women were brought forth again. The storm had grown more violent, and
the spray was dashing far over the cliff, whilst the vivid flashes of
lightning afforded a horrible illumination to the dreary scene. Proceeding
along the brink of the precipice, they at length came to a chasm which
resembled somewhat the crater of a volcano, as it was completely closed,
with the exception of the opening at the top, and one small aperture below,
through which the sea rushed with terrible violence. The rolling of the
waters sounded fearfully on the ear of those around, and now at length the
sisters divined their fate. One by one they were hurled into the boiling
flood: one wild shriek, the billows closed again, and all was over. What
the fate of their lovers was, the legend says not. The old castle has
crumbled into ruins--the chieftain sleeps in an unknown grave, his very
name forgotten; but still the sad ending of the maidens is remembered, and
even unto this day the cavern is denominated the "Cave of the Seven
Sisters." Such is the above legend as it still exists amongst the
peasantry, and any of your contributors would extremely oblige by informing
me of the name of the Irish leader.