[Illustration: Initial: "The Enchanted Island"]
On the afternoon of Sunday, July 7, 1878, the inhabitants of Ballycotton,
County Cork, were greatly excited by the sudden appearance, far out at
sea, of an island where none was known to exist. The men of the town and
island of Ballycotton were fishermen and knew the sea as well as they knew
the land. The day before, they had been out in their boats and sailed over
the spot where the strange island now appeared, and were certain that the
locality was the best fishing-ground they had.
"And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew," for the day was clear
and the island could be seen as plainly as they saw the hills to the
north. It was rugged, in some parts rocky, in others densely wooded; here
and there were deep shadows in its sides indicating glens heavily covered
with undergrowth and grasses. At one end it rose almost precipitously from
the sea; at the other, the declivity was gradual; the thick forest of the
mountainous portion gave way to smaller trees, these to shrubs; these to
green meadows that finally melted into the sea and became
indistinguishable from the waves.
Under sail and oar, a hundred boats put off from the shore to investigate;
when, as they neared the spot, the strange island became dim in outline,
less vivid in color, and at last vanished entirely, leaving the
wonder-stricken villagers to return, fully convinced that for the first
time in their lives they had really seen the Enchanted Island. For once
there was a topic of conversation that would outlast the day, and as the
story of the Enchanted Island passed from lip to lip, both story and
island grew in size till the latter was little less than a continent,
containing cities and castles, palaces and cathedrals, towers and
steeples, stupendous mountain ranges, fertile valleys, and wide spreading
plains; while the former was limited only by the patience of the listener,
and embraced the personal experience, conclusions, reflections, and
observations of every man, woman, and child in the parish who had been
fortunate enough to see the island, hear of it, or tell where it had been
seen elsewhere.
For the Enchanted Island of the west coast is not one of those ordinary,
humdrum islands that rise out of the sea in a night, and then, having
come, settle down to business on scientific principles, and devote their
attention to the collection of soil for the use of plants and animals. It
disdains any such commonplace course as other islands are content to
follow, but is peripatetic, or, more properly, seafaring, in its habits,
and as fond of travelling as a sailor. At its own sweet will it comes,
and, having shown itself long enough to convince everybody who is not an
"innocent entirely" of its reality, it goes without leave-taking or
ceremony, and always before boats can approach near enough to make a
careful inspection. This is the invariable history of its appearance. No
one has ever been able to come close to its shores, much less land upon
them, but it has been so often seen on the west coast, that a doubt of its
existence, if expressed in the company of coast fishermen, will at once
establish for the sceptic a reputation for ignorance of the common affairs
of every-day life.
In Cork, for instance, it has been seen by hundreds of people off
Ballydonegan Bay, while many more can testify to its appearance off the
Bay of Courtmacsherry. In Kerry, all the population of Ballyheige saw it a
few years ago, lying in Tralee Bay, between Kerry Head and Brandon's Head,
and shortly before, the villagers of Lisneakeabree, just across the bay
from Ballyheige, saw it between their shore and Kerry Head, while the
fishermen in Saint Finan's Bay and in Ballinskelligs are confident it has
been seen, if not by themselves, at least by some of their friends. It has
appeared at the mouth of the Shannon, and off Carrigaholt in Clare, where
the people saw a city on it. This is not so remarkable as it seems, for,
in justice to the Enchanted Island, it should be stated that its
resemblance to portions of the neighboring land is sometimes very close,
and shows that the "enchanter" who has it under a spell knows his
business, and being determined to keep his island for himself changes its
appearance as well as its location in order that his property may not be
recognized nor appropriated.
In Galway, the Enchanted Island has appeared in the mouth of Ballinaleame
Bay, a local landlord at the time making a devout wish that it would stay
there. The fishermen of Ballynaskill, in the Joyce Country, saw it about
fifteen years ago, since when it appeared to the Innisshark islanders. The
County Mayo has seen it, not only from the Achille Island cliffs, but also
from Downpatrick Head; and in Sligo, the fishermen of Ballysadare Bay know
all about it, while half the population of Inishcrone still remember its
appearance about twenty years ago. The Inishboffin islanders in Donegal
say it looked like their own island, "sure two twins couldn't be liker,"
and the people on Gweebarra Bay, when it appeared there, observed along
the shore of the island a village like Maas, the one in which they lived.
It has also appeared off Rathlin's Island, on the Antrim coast, but, so
far as could be learned, it went no further to the east, confining its
migrations to the west coast, between Cork on the south and Antrim on the
north.
Concerning the island itself, legendary authorities differ on many
material points. Some hold it to be "a rale island sure enough," and that
its exploits are due to "jommethry or some other inchantmint," while
opponents of this materialistic view are inclined to the opinion that the
island is not what it seems to be, that is to say, not "airth an' shtones,
like as thim we see, but only a deludherin' show that avil sper'ts, or the
divil belike, makes fur to desave us poor dishsolute craythers." Public
opinion on the west coast is therefore strongly divided on the subject,
unity of sentiment existing on two points only; that the island has been
seen, and that there is something quite out of the ordinary in its
appearance. "For ye see, yer Anner," observed a Kerry fisherman, "it's
agin nacher fur a rale island to be comin' and goin' like a light in a
bog, an' whin ye do see it, ye can see through it, an' by jagers, if it's
a thrue island, a mighty quare wan it is an' no mishtake."
On so deep and difficult a subject, an ounce of knowledge is worth a pound
of speculation, and the knowledge desired was finally furnished by an old
fisherman of Ballyconealy Bay, on the Connemara coast, west of Galway.
This individual, Dennis Moriarty by name, knew all about the Enchanted
Island, having not only seen it himself, but, when a boy, learned its
history from a "fairy man," who obtained his information from "the good
people" themselves, the facts stated being therefore, of course, of
indisputable authority, what the fairies did not know concerning the
doings of supernatural and enchanted circles, being not worth knowing. Mr.
Moriarty was stricken in years, having long given up active service in the
boats and relegated himself to lighter duties on shore. He had much
confidence in the accuracy of his information on the subject of the
island, and a glass of grog, and "dhraw ov the pipe," brought out the
story in a rich, mellow brogue.
"Faith, I'm not rightly sure how long ago it was, but it was a good while
an' before the blessed Saint Pathrick come to the counthry an' made
Crissans av the haythens in it. Howandiver, it was in thim times that
betune this an' Inishmore, there was an island. Some calls it the Island
av Shades, an' more says its name was the Sowls Raypose, but it doesn't
matther, fur no wan knows. It was as full av payple as it could howld, an'
cities wor on it wid palaces an' coorts an' haythen timples an' round
towers all covered wid goold an' silver till they shone so ye cudn't see
for the brightness.
"And they wor all haythens there, an' the king av the island was the
biggest av thim, sure he was Satan's own, an' tuk delight in doin' all the
bloody things that come into his head. If the waither that minded the
table did annything to displaze him, he'd out wid a soord the length av me
arrum an' cut aff his head. If they caught a man shtaling, the king 'ud
have him hung at wanst widout the taste av a thrial, 'Bekase,' says the
king, says he, 'maybe he didn't do it at all, an' so he'd get aff, so up
wid him,' an' so they'd do. He had more than a hunderd wives, ginerally
spakin', but he wasn't throubled in the laste be their clack, for whin wan
had too much blasthogue in her jaw, or begun gostherin' at him, he cut aff
her head an' said, beways av a joke, that 'that's the only cure fur a
woman's tongue.' An' all the time, from sun to sun, he was cursin' an'
howlin' wid rage, so as I'm sure yer Anner wouldn't want fur to hear me
say thim blastpheemies that he said. To spake the truth av him, he was
wicked in that degray that, axin' yer pardon, the owld divil himself
wouldn't own him.
"So wan time, there was a thunderin' phillaloo in the king's family, fur
mind ye, he had thin just a hunderd wives. Now it's my consate that it's
aisier fur a hunderd cats to spind the night in pace an the wan thatch
than for two wimmin to dhraw wather out av the same well widout aitch wan
callin' the other wan all the names she can get out av her head. But whin
ye've a hunderd av 'em, an' more than a towsand young wans, big an'
little, its aisey to see that the king av the island had plinty av use fur
the big soord that he always kept handy to settle family dishputes wid.
So, be the time the row I'm tellin' ye av was over an' the wimmin shtopped
talkin', the king was a widdy-man just ten times, an' had only ninety
wives lift.
"So he says to himself, 'Bedad, I must raycrout the force agin, or thim
that's left 'ull think I cant do widout 'em an' thin there'll be no ind to
their impidince. Begorra, this marryin' is a sayrious business,' says he,
sighin', fur he'd got about all the wimmin that wanted to be quanes an'
didn't just know where to find anny more. But, be pickin' up wan here an'
there, afther a bit he got ninety-nine, an' then cud get no more, an' in
spite av sendin' men to ivery quarther av Ireland an' tellin' the kings'
dawthers iverywhere how lonesome he was, an' how the coort was goin' to
rack an' ruin entirely fur the want av another quane to mind the panthry,
sorra a woman cud be had in all Ireland to come, fur they'd all heard av
the nate manes he tuk to kape pace in his family.
"But afther thryin' iverywhere else, he sent a man into the Joyce
Counthry, to a mighty fine princess av the Joyces. She didn't want to go
at first, but the injuicemints war so shtrong that she couldn't howld out,
for the king sint her presints widout end an' said, if she'd marry him,
he'd give her all the dimunds they cud get on a donkey's back.
"Now over beyant the Twelve Pins, in the Joyce Counthry, there was a great
inchanter, that had all kinds av saycrets, an' knew where ye'd dig for a
pot av goold, an' all about doctherin', and cud turn ye into a pig in a
minnit, an' build a cassel in wan night, an' make himself disappare when
ye wanted him, an' take anny shape he plazed, so as to look to be a baste
whin he wasn't, an' was a mighty dape man entirely. Now to him wint the
princess an' axed him phat to do, for she didn't care a traneen for the
king, but 'ud give the two eyes out av her head to get the dimunds. The
inchanter heard phat she had to say an' then towld her, 'Now, my dear, you
marry the owld felly, an' have no fear, fur av he daars to touch a hair av
yer goolden locks, I'll take care av you an' av him too.'
"So he gev her a charm that she was to say whin she wanted him to come an'
another wan to repate whin she was in mortial danger an' towld her fur to
go an' get marr'ed an' get the dimunds as quick as she cud. An' that she
did, an' at foorst the king was mightily plazed at gettin' her, bekase she
was hard to get, an' give her the dimunds an' all she wanted, so she got
on very well an' tuk care av the panthry an' helped the other wives about
the coort.
"Wan day the king got up out av the goolden bed he shlept an, wid a
terrible sulk an him, an' in a state av mind entirely, for the wind was in
the aiste an' he had the roomytisms in his back. So he cursed an' shwore
like a Turk an' whin the waither axed him to come to his brekquest, he
kicked him into the yard av the coort, an' wint in widout him an' set down
be the table. So wan av the quanes brought him his bowl av stirabout an'
thin he found fault wid it. 'It's burned,' say he, an' threw it at her.
Then Quane Peggy Joyce, that hadn't seen the timper that was an him, come
in from the panthry wid a shmile an her face an' a big noggin o' milk in
her hand. 'Good morrow to ye,' she says to him, but the owld vagabone
didn't spake a word. 'Good morrow,' she says to him agin, an' thin he
broke out wid a fury.
[Illustration: "Howld yer pace, ye palaverin' shtrap"]
"'Howld yer pace, ye palaverin' shtrap. D' ye think I'm to be deefened wid
yer tongue? Set the noggin an the table an' be walkin' aff wid yerself or
I'll make ye sorry ye come,' says he.
"It was the first time he iver spake like that to her, an' the Irish blood
ov her riz, an' in a minnit she was as mad as a gandher and as bowld as a
lion.
"'Don't you daar to spake that-a-way to me, Sorr,' she says to him. 'I'll
have ye know I won't take a word av yer impidince. Me fathers wore crowns
ages afore yer bogthrottin' grandfather come to this island, an' ivery wan
knows he was the first av his dirthy thribe that had shoes an his feet.'
An' she walked strait up to him an' folded her arrums an' looked into his
face as impidint as a magpie. 'Don't think fur to bully me,' she says. 'I
come av a race that niver owned a coward, and I wouldn't give that fur you
an' all the big soords ye cud carry,' says she, givin' her fingers a snap
right at the end av his nose.
"Now the owld haythen niver had anny wan to spake like that to him, an' at
first was that surprised like as a horse had begun fur to convarse at him,
no more cud he say a word, he was that full o' rage, and sat there,
openin' and shuttin' his mouth an' swellin' up like he'd burst, an' his
face as red as a turkey-cock's. Thin he remimbered his soord ah' pulled it
out an' stratched out his hand fur to ketch the quane an' cut aff her
head. But she was too quick for him entirely, an' whin he had the soord
raised, she said the charm that was to purtect her, an' afore ye cud wink,
there stood the blood-suckin' owld villin, mortified to shtone wid his
arrum raised an' his hand reached out, an' as stiff as a mast.
"Thin she said the other charm that called the inchanter an' he come at
wanst. She towld him phat she done an' he said it was right av her, an' as
she was a purty smart woman he said he'd marry her himself. So he did, an'
bein' that the island was cursed be rayzon av the king's crimes, they come
to Ireland wid all the payple. So they come to Connemara, an' the
inchanter got husbands fur all the king's wives an' homes fur all the men
av the island. But he inchanted the island an' made it so that the bad
king must live in it alone as long as the sun rises an' sits. No more does
the island stand still, but must go thravellin' up an' down the coast, an'
wan siven years they see it in Kerry an' the next siven years in Donegal,
an' so it goes, an' always will, beways av a caution to kings not to cut
aff the heads av their wives."
[Illustration: "Howlin' wid rage"]