ROSS, INNISFALLEN, AND THE LOWER LAKE
Ross is only separated from the mainland by a narrow cut through a
morass, which gives it its claim to be an island.
This division is probably artificial, and made in former days to
strengthen the fortifications of the Castle. A carriage road from the
town of Killarney crosses the small connecting bridge and brings the
tourist under the walls of Ross Castle, where there is a landing-place
for those who come by water.
Ross Castle is still a splendid old fortress, far less injured by time
or mischance than most of its contemporaries in Kerry. A tall and
stately building, it is seen from far, dominating Lough Leane and
adding additional charm to the view, with its massive buttresses and
battlements, reminders of the old fighting days. It is but a short
distance between Ross and Muckross, yet the character of the scene is
utterly changed. Say what we will of the other lakes, Lough Leane
remains the lake of enchantment.
Ross is a very ancient Castle, built by some far-back O'Donoghue, the
precise date unknown. Within is a spiral staircase of stone mounting
to the top, from whence a marvellous panorama lies before you.
In 1652 Ross Castle was held by Lord Muskerry for the King, during the
Parliamentary wars, against General Ludlow. It was well garrisoned and
provisioned, and the defenders were prepared vigorously to repel the
foe, yet they surrendered almost at once. There was an old prophecy
that Ross Castle would never be taken till warships were seen on the
lake, and when the garrison beheld the boats which General Ludlow had
built and conveyed overland approaching to attack, they yielded. The
prophecy was fulfilled: it was useless to fight against fate. But it
is more to legendary than historical lore that Ross Castle owes the
fascination which surrounds it.
The guides of Killarney deserve mention here, for they add to the
enjoyment of the various excursions, knowing every legend, each
association, the origin of every name, and are even capable of
inventing on the spur of the moment romances the most picturesque,
wonders the most thrilling, discerning at a glance on whom to expend
their powers of imagination. "All sorts and conditions of men" come
under their ken. In the tourist season scarce a land but has its
representative, to some of whom Ireland was a sealed page till they
listened to the tales of Killarney from her guides.
Here they point to you the very window from which the great O'Donoghue
leaped into the lake below. There he reigns in the regions of
enchantment, greater and happier than in his earthly sovereignty. Once
in every seven years on a May morning, before the first beams of the
sun have arisen over the mountain tops, the sweetest strains of fairy
music are heard, and the great chieftain may be seen on a splendid
snow-white charger, shod with silver shoes, riding over the lake,
preceded by a joyous band of youths and maidens scattering flowers
before him. Well it is for the mortal who sees him; prosperity will
follow from that day forth.
Just, generous, and greatly beloved were the O'Donoghues of Ross, and
their memory is perpetuated among a people who do not easily forget.
Wander where you will, you find some association with the name,
particularly among rock and crag on the Lower Lake, of which
O'Donoghue's Horse is the most remarkable. This rock has been fretted
and worn away by the action of the waters into a curious semblance of
a horse in the act of drinking. Then there is O'Donoghue's prison, his
table, his pulpit--each with its story.
You will be told, too, how at the deepest part of this lake, more than
60 fathoms down, at a spot between Ross and Innisfallen, a great
carbuncle may be seen, which on a dark night lights up the rocks at
the bottom of the lake, and shows the palaces and towers of the
ancient city which the waters now cover.
Ross is the largest island on the lake. It contains about 80 acres. On
the southern point is a famous copper mine, opened in 1804 by Colonel
Hall, who found clear proof that it had been worked at a very remote
period. Rude stone hammers of very ancient make were discovered--Danes'
hammers, the people call them--and the traces of fire were found. The
vein, however, gave out after four years, during which time, says
Crofton Croker, "nearly £60,000 worth of ore was disposed of at
Swansea, some cargoes producing £40 per ton."
The country round the lakes is very rich in ores of various kinds.
Lead ore has been discovered, and the mountains abound with iron.
Specimens of ore which contain tin are also found.
Killarney has treasures, however, which better suit the witchery of
her beauty. Pearls are found in Lough Leane, and still more often in
the River Laune, which runs out of it. These are, of course, very
inferior to the Oriental jewel, but now and again a fine specimen is
obtained. "A little Kerry pearle" was not considered an unworthy
present to a great man in 1756; also "a dozen Kerry stones," these
probably being the beautiful amethysts found in the cliffs near Kerry
Head. These have always been valued. A set of ear-rings, a necklace,
and other ornaments composed of these amethysts were presented to
Queen Caroline (wife of George II.) by the Countess of Kerry, and most
graciously received. A like gracious reception was given to an Irish
pearl presented by the Bishop of Limerick to the great Anselm,
Archbishop of Canterbury in 1074.
[Illustration: THE ISLAND OF INNISFALLEN.
In the lower lake of Killarney. It once possessed a monastery
where the "Annals of Innisfallen," now at the Bodleian, were
written.]
Very brilliant are the "Kerry diamonds," and very pretty, but
valueless save to the children who pick them up, and perhaps to that
fairy world whose standards are not the sordid ones of mortals. To
them these lovely crystals, whether clear or coloured, may be the true
treasure.
Beautiful Innisfallen, with hill and glen, creek and harbour, and
cliffs overhung by trees shading the many bays. The Gem of Killarney
it is called. "Not heaven's reflex, but a bit fallen out of heaven
itself," were Macaulay's words, and they express the feeling called
forth by its rich verdure, its wonders of foliage and of colour, the
ineffable beauty which clothes it as a mantle. Yet so great are its
contrasts that in this island of 24 acres are woods as gloomy as the
ancient Druidical forests, thick with giant ash and enormous hollies.
As you approach the island you seem to draw near such a forest, so
close are these great trees, extending into the water. On landing, you
find they encircle a lawn of the deepest and most vivid green. Open
glades through the trees give enchanting vistas--the lofty peaks of
Toomies and Glena, the misty summits of the Purple Mountain, Ross
Castle and its wooded shores, sunny islands and sparkling waters,
sometimes so still as to reflect the woods and mountains as in a
mirror. In the morning hour the mountains bordering on the Lower Lake
are left in shadow, but as the day goes on the sun glides
imperceptibly along the line of the great chain, and darts his rays on
that side of the mountains which lies next to the lake. All their bold
irregularities are then revealed--their protruding rocks, their deep
glens, and the lake is illuminated amid its dark and wooded isles by
the long gleams which pass athwart its waves.
At such hours it looks too fair a world for sin and sorrow, but yonder
stands the Castle, with ruined battlements and many a grim sign of the
stormy past, while fair Innisfallen itself contains a ruin where once
holy men maintained a warfare equally deadly against the powers of
evil, though fought with no mortal weapons.
Little remains of the Abbey of Innisfallen, founded in the sixth
century by St. Finian. Even the walls are levelled save for the
remains of an oratory, whose western gable contains a doorway with
rich decorations. This monastery, however decayed, will always be
famous, because the _Annals of Innisfallen_ were written here.
The original work is in the Bodleian Library. It is on parchment and
in medium quarto, and contains fifty-seven leaves. Extracts from the
Old Testament and a history of the ancient world down to the arrival
of St. Patrick in Ireland in 432 form the earlier part. From this
period it deals exclusively with the affairs of Ireland, terminating
with 1319. It seems to have been the production of two monks, one
carrying it to 1216, the other continuing it to 1320. It is one of the
earliest of Irish histories, and considered by savants as taking high
rank among them.
In 1100 the Abbey was plundered by Mildwin O'Donoghue of a great
treasure of gold, silver, and rich goods of the adjacent country,
which had been deposited there as secure sanctuary. Many of the clergy
were slain by the MacCarthys, "But," writes the monk, "God soon
punished this act of sacrilege and impiety by bringing many of its
authors to an untimely end."
Well, there is peace now in fair Innisfallen. The visitor bears away
its impress with the memory of one of the fairest spots on earth.
"Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well,
May calm and sunshine still be thine;
How fair thou art let others tell,
To feel how fair yet still be mine."
Glena, the "glen of good fortune," is one of the most eagerly sought
out beauty spots of Killarney. Glena Bay is the first part of the
Lower Lake if it is entered from the Long Range, but by whatever way
you reach it the picture which meets the eye is unsurpassed.
The mountains of Glena and Toomies are densely wooded to their base,
the trees hanging over their sides and coming down in rich luxuriance
to the water's edge. A very forest of the finest arbutus, with berry
and blossom together in autumn, with oak, ash, pine, birch and alder,
white thorn, yew, and holly, it must be seen to realize the colour
effect or the matchless tintings of gorse and heather, a great mosaic
quivering in the sunshine. The varieties of this immense scenery of
forest are impossible to describe, the woods extending about six miles
in length, and from half a mile to a mile and a half in breadth, while
the inequalities of the ground produce wondrous effects of light and
shadow.
Glena is all soft loveliness, but rugged rock and crag, and the stern
grandeur of Torc Mountain on the other side, strike again that minor
chord never far from Killarney's brightest scenes.
[Illustration: IN A TYPICAL COTTAGE.]
Lough Leane has upwards of thirty isles, large and small, and as the
boat is rowed past Glena shore you see them in all their varied form
and colour, from Ross to tiny Mouse Island. It is a fair sight. There
is a little bay at the foot of the Toomies where you can land to reach
O'Sullivan's Cascade, one of the greatest of the Killarney waterfalls,
not only from its size, but from the peculiar formation of the bed
down which it dashes. It really consists of three falls. "The
uppermost, passing over a bridge of rocks, falls about 20 feet
perpendicularly into a natural basin; then, bursting between two
hanging rocks, the torrent hastens down a second precipice into a
second receptacle, from which it rolls over into the lowest chamber of
the fall. It is about 70 feet high. The roar of the descending water
can be heard from afar, and is almost deafening when near. Beneath a
projecting rock overhanging the lowest basin is a grotto, with a seat
rudely cut in the rock. From this little grotto the view of the
cascade is peculiarly beautiful. It appears a continued flight of
three foamy stories. The recess is overshadowed by an arch of foliage
so thick as to interrupt the admission of light."
The forest about Toomies is still the haunt of the old red deer of
Ireland, and a grand stag hunt is occasionally organized, the cries of
the hounds, the shouting of the hunters, the firing of the signalling
cannon, combining to awake the mountain echoes for many miles around.
It is a cruel sport, though the stag is now, as a rule, saved from
death. Yet its gallant attempts to save itself, its struggles to get
free from the cordon of enemies around, its agonies of terror as,
bounding for refuge to the heights, it is confronted by shouting men,
and turned to confront the savage pack, are cruel enough. It leaps
from rock to rock and chasm to chasm with sobbing breath and big
tears, and plunges into the lake in desperation, to be met by the
boats watching for it. Of late years it is set free, but it is not
sentimentality to imagine that the grim experience it has passed
through will render the life given to it a thing of terror, haunted by
the bay of the hounds and the shouts of the hunters.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN HOMES OF THE KILLARNEY DISTRICT.]