This book is a grievous failure--that is, if the merits of books are to
be adjudged with their titles. The writer is the author of _Stories of
Waterloo_, from whom better things might have been expected. He has
taken for his model, Mr. Lloyd's really excellent _Field Sports of the
North of Europe_; but he has woefully missed his mark. The title of
the work before us is equivocal: a reader might as reasonably expect the
Sports of the Western World, as adventures in Ireland, such as make up
the present volumes. What we principally complain of is the paucity of
Sports among their contents. It is true that the title also promises
Legendary Tales and Local Sketches, but here they are the substance, and
the Wild Sports mere shadow. We have too little of "the goodly rivers,"
"all sorts of fish," "the sweet islands and goodly lakes, like little
inland seas," "of the most beautiful and sweet countrey," as Spenser
phrases it in the author's title-page; and there is not so much as the
author promises in his preface, of shooting the wild moors and fishing
the waters, of days spent by "fell and flood," and light and joyous
nights in mountain bivouacs and moorland huts. There is too much
hearsay, and storytelling not to the purpose, and trifling gossip of
"exquisite potatoes" and "rascally sherry"--details which would disgrace
a half-crown guide book, and ought certainly not to be set forth with
spaced large type in hotpressed octavos at a costly rate. Nevertheless,
the work may suit club-room tables and circulating libraries, though it
will not be allowed place for vivid display of Wild Sports. We quote two
extracts--one, a narrative which the author knows to be substantially
true; the other, relating to the attack of eagles, (though we omit the
oft-told tale of the peasant attempting to rob an eagle's nest, and his
hair turning white with fright):--
_The Blind Seal._
About forty years ago a young seal was taken in Clew Bay, and
domesticated in the kitchen of a gentleman whose house was situated on
the sea-shore. It grew apace, became familiar with the servants, and
attached to the house and family; its habits were innocent and gentle,
it played with the children, came at its master's call, and, as the old
man described him to me, was "fond as a dog, and playful as a kitten."
Daily the seal went out to fish, and after providing for his own wants,
frequently brought in a salmon or turbot to his master. His delight in
summer was to bask in the sun, and in winter to lie before the fire, or,
if permitted, creep into the large oven, which at that time formed the
regular appendage of an Irish kitchen.
For four years the seal had been thus domesticated, when, unfortunately,
a disease, called in this country _the crippawn_--a kind of
paralytic affection of the limbs which generally ends fatally--attacked
some black cattle belonging to the master of the house; some died others
became infected, and the customary cure produced by changing them to
drier pasture failed. A wise woman was consulted, and the hag assured
the credulous owner, that the mortality among his cows was occasioned
by his retaining an unclean beast about his habitation--the harmless
and amusing seal. It must be made away with directly, or the crippawn
would continue, and her charms be unequal to avert the malady. The
superstitious wretch consented to the hag's proposal; the seal was put
on board a boat, carried out beyond Clare Island, and there committed to
the deep, to manage for himself as he best could. The boat returned, the
family retired to rest, and next morning a servant awakened her master
to tell him that the seal was quietly sleeping in the oven. The poor
animal over night came back to his beloved home, crept through an open
window, and took possession of his favourite resting-place.
Next morning another cow was reported to be unwell. The seal must now
be finally removed; a Galway fishing-boat was leaving Westport on her
return home, and the master undertook to carry off the seal, and not
put him overboard until he had gone leagues beyond Innis Boffin. It was
done--a day and night passed; the second evening closed--the servant
was raking the fire for the night--something scratched gently at the
door--it was of course the house-dog---she opened it, and in came the
seal! Wearied with his long and unusual voyage, he testified by a
peculiar cry, expressive of pleasure, his delight to find himself at
home, then stretching himself before the glowing embers of the hearth
he fell into a deep sleep.
The master of the house was immediately apprized of this unexpected
and unwelcome visit. In the exigency, the beldame was awakened and
consulted; she averred that it was always unlucky to kill a seal, but
suggested that the animal should be deprived of sight, and a third time
carried out to sea. To this hellish proposition the besotted wretch who
owned the house consented, and the affectionate and confiding creature
was cruelly robbed of sight, on that hearth for which he had resigned
his native element! Next morning, writhing in agony, the mutilated seal
was embarked, taken outside Clare Island, and for the last time
committed to the waves.
A week passed over, and things became worse instead of better; the
cattle of the truculent wretch died fast, and the infernal hag gave
him the pleasurable tidings that her arts were useless, and that the
destructive visitation upon his cattle exceeded her skill and cure.
On the eighth night after the seal had been devoted to the Atlantic, it
blew tremendously. In the pauses of the storm a wailing noise at times
was faintly heard at the door; the servants, who slept in the kitchen,
concluded that the _Banshee_ came to forewarn them of an approaching
death, and buried their heads in the bed-coverings. When morning broke
the door was opened--the seal was there lying dead upon the threshold!"
"Stop, Julius!" I exclaimed, "give me a moment's time to curse all
concerned in this barbarism."
"Be patient, Frank," said my cousin, "the _finale_ will probably
save you that trouble. The skeleton of the once plump animal--for, poor
beast, it perished from hunger, being incapacitated from blindness to
procure its customary food--was buried in a sand-hill, and from that
moment misfortunes followed the abettors and perpetrators of this
inhuman deed. The detestable hag, who had denounced the inoffensive
seal, was, within a twelvemonth, hanged for murdering the illegitimate
offspring of her own daughter. Every thing about this devoted house
melted away--sheep rotted, cattle died, 'and blighted was the corn.'
Of several children none reached maturity, and the savage proprietor
survived every thing he loved or cared for. He died _blind_ and
miserable.
"There is not a stone of that accursed building standing upon another.
The property has passed to a family of a different name, and the series
of incessant calamity which pursued all concerned in this cruel deed is
as romantic as true."
_Visit to the Eagle's Cliff, in Inniskea._
We ascended the hill (while the crew were clearing and baiting their
spillets) in the vague hope of getting a shot at these predatory birds,
of whose spoliations we had heard so much on the preceding evening.
On reaching the bottom of the rock, in whose face the aërie stands, we
discovered that the old birds were absent, and as the nest was formed in
a deep fissure, we could not ascertain its situation exactly. But that
the eagles' dwelling was above us was evident, enough: the base of the
cliff was strewn with bones and feathers, and the accumulation of both
was extraordinary. The bones of rabbits, hares, and domestic fowls, were
most numerous, but those of smaller game, and various sorts of fish,
were visible among the heap.
Many attempts are annually made to destroy this predatory family. It is
impossible to rob the nest. Situated two hundred feet above the base of
the rock, it is of course unapproachable from below, and as the cliffs
beetle over it frightfully, to assail it from above would be a hazardous
essay. An enterprising peasant, some years since, was let down by a rope
and basket,--but he was fiercely attacked by the old birds, and the
basket nearly overturned. Fortunately the cord was strong and had
sufficient length to allow his being lowered rapidly, or he would have
undoubtedly sustained some bodily injury from the wings and talons of
those enraged and savage birds.
The village of Dugurth suffers heavily from its unfortunate proximity to
the aërie. When the wind blows from a favourable point, the eagle in the
grey of morning sweeps through the cabins, and never fails in carrying
off some prey.
To black fowls eagles appear particularly attached, and the villagers
avoid as much as possible rearing birds of that colour.
A few days before, one of the coast-guard, alarmed by the cries of a
boy, rushed from the watch-house; the eagle had taken up a black hen,
and, as he passed within a few yards, the man flung his cap at him. The
eagle dropped the bird; it was quite dead, however, the talons having
shattered the back-bone. The villagers say (with what truth I know not)
that turkeys are never taken.
That the eagle is extremely destructive to fish, and particularly so to
salmon, many circumstances would prove. They are constantly discovered
watching the fords in the spawning season, and are seen to seize and
carry off the fish. One curious anecdote I heard from my friend the
priest. Some years since a herdsman, on a very sultry day in July, while
looking for a missing sheep, observed an eagle posted on a bank that
overhung a pool. Presently the bird stooped and seized a salmon, and a
violent struggle ensued; when the herd reached the spot, he found the
eagle pulled under water by the strength of the fish, and the calmness
of the day, joined to drenched plumage, rendered him unable to extricate
himself. With a stone the peasant broke the eagle's pinion, and actually
secured the spoiler and his victim, for he found the salmon dying in his
grasp.
When shooting on Lord Sligo's mountains, near the Killeries, I heard
many particulars of the eagle's habit and history from a grey-haired
peasant who had passed a long life in these wilds. The scarcity of
hares, which here were once abundant, he attributed to the rapacity of
those birds; and he affirmed, that when in pursuit of these animals, the
eagle evinced a degree of intelligence that appeared extraordinary. They
coursed the hares, he said, with great judgment and certain success; one
bird was the active follower, while the other remained in reserve, at
the distance of forty or fifty yards. If the hare, by a sudden turn,
freed himself from his most pressing enemy, the second bird instantly
took up the chase, and thus prevented the victim from having a moment's
respite.
He had remarked the eagles also while they were engaged in fishing.
They chose a small ford upon the rivulet which connects Glencullen with
Glandullagh, and posted on either side waited patiently for the salmon
to pass over. Their watch was never fruitless,--and many a salmon, in
its transit from the sea to the lake, was transferred from his native
element to the wild aërie in the Alpine cliff; that beetles over the
romantic waters of Glencullen.
[The volumes are handsomely printed, and embellished with aqua-tint
plates and clever vignettes: some of the latter, by Bagg, are spirited
performances on wood.]
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