[Illustration: THE SOUND AND ISLAND OF DALKEY, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]
The little rocky island of Dalkey forms the south-eastern extremity of
the Bay of Dublin, as the bold and nearly insulated promontory of Howth
forms its north-eastern termination. It is separated from the mainland of
the parish from which it takes, or to which, perhaps, it gives its name,
by a channel called Dalkey Sound, which is about nine hundred yards long,
three hundred and eight yards wide at its south entrance, and two hundred
and nine yards wide at its north entrance; the soundings in mid-channel
varying from ten to five fathoms. This channel was anciently considered
a tolerably safe and convenient harbour, and was the principal anchorage
for ships frequenting the little castellated seaport town of Dalkey, from
which merchandise was transferred to Dublin, as well by boats as by cars.
Hence also the harbour of Dalkey was frequently used in former times on
state occasions for the embarkation or landing of the Irish viceroys and
other state officers. The Lord Deputy Philip de Courtney landed here
in 1386, and Sir John Stanley, the deputy of the Marquis of Dublin, in
the following year. In 1414, Sir John Talbot, then Lord Furnival, and
afterwards the renowned Earl of Shrewsbury, landed here as Viceroy of
Ireland; and in 1488, Sir Richard Edgecombe embarked at this harbour
for England, after having taken the homage and oaths of fidelity of the
nobility who had espoused the cause of Lambert Simnel. Here also landed
Sir Edward Bellingham, Lord-Lieutenant in 1548, and Sir Anthony St Leger
in 1553; and it was from this harbour that the Earl of Sussex, in 1558,
embarked a large body of forces to oppose the Scottish invaders at the
isle of Rathlin; and lastly, again, it was here that the unfortunate Sir
John Perrot landed as viceroy in 1584. The conversion of this sound into
an asylum harbour was at one time contemplated by government, and a plan
for the purpose was proposed by the Committee of Inland Navigation; but
from certain objections which were made to it, the project was abandoned.
The situation would certainly have been a more imposing and magnificent
one than that ultimately chosen.
The island of Dalkey is of a nearly oval form, having a very irregular
surface, in part rocky, and in part consisting of a fertile salt marsh,
very valuable for the cure of sick cattle, who by feeding on it quickly
recover and fatten. It is five hundred and twenty-eight yards long from
north to south, and three hundred and eight yards wide from east to west,
and comprises about twenty-nine acres of pasture. Its shore is rocky,
and in some parts precipitous, and it commands the most beautiful views
of the bays of Dublin and Killiney. Among several springs of fresh water
on it, one on its south-west side has long been considered to possess
sanative properties, and was formerly much resorted to for the cure of
scurvy and other diseases. On the same side there are the roofless walls
of an ancient church dedicated to St Benet or Benedict, the patron of
the parish; and at its south-eastern extremity there is a battery, and a
Martello tower which differs from all the other structures of this class
erected on the Irish coast, in having its entrance not at the side but
on its top. It is traditionally stated that during the remarkable plague
which visited Dublin in 1575, many of the citizens fled to this island
for safety.
Dalkey island has several smaller ones contiguous to it, one of which,
denominated Lamb Island, is covered with grass, while the others present
a surface of bare granite. Of the latter islets one is called Clare Rock,
and another the Maiden Rock, an appellation derived from a tradition said
to be of twelve hundred years’ antiquity, that twelve young maidens from
Bullock and Dalkey having gone over to this rock to gather _duilisk_,
they were overtaken by a sudden storm so violent as to prohibit
assistance from the larger island, and all miserably perished. To the
north of these islands is situated the group of rocks called the Muglins,
extending one hundred and thirty-two yards in length, and seventy-one in
width. On those rocks, in 1765, the pirates Mac Kinley and Gidley were
hanged in chains for the murder of Captain Glass.
Most of the features we have thus noticed, together with a portion of the
adjacent shore of the bay, are exhibited in our prefixed illustration;
and to the older citizens of our metropolis, as well as to many others of
our countrymen, they must, we think, awaken many stirring recollections
of the striking changes in the appearance of the scenery in many
districts adjacent to the city, as well as in the character of the
citizens themselves, which have taken place within the present century.
It does not, indeed, require a very great age for any of us Dublinians
to remember when the country along the southern shore of our beautiful
bay, from Dunleary to the land’s-end on Dalkey common, presented a
nearly uniform character of wildness and solitude--heathy grounds,
broken only by masses of granite rocks, and tufts of blossomy furse,
without culture, and, except in the little walled villages of Bullock
and Dalkey, almost uninhabited. The district known as the Commons of
Dalkey, which extended from the village to the eastern extremity of the
bay, “the Sound,” or channel lying on its north-east, and the rocky hill
of Dalkey on its south--this in particular was a locality of singularly
romantic beauty, a creation of nature in her most sportive mood, and
wholly untouched, as it would appear, by the hand of man. Giant masses of
granite rocks, sometimes forming detached groups, and at others arranged
into semicircular and even circular ledges, gave the greatest variety and
inequalities of surface, and formed numerous dells of the greenest sward,
so singularly wild and secluded that the elves themselves might justly
claim them as their own. To these natural features should be added those
of the rocky iron-bound coast, with its little coves, commanding from its
cliffs the most delightful views of Killiney Bay, the Sound, the Island
of Dalkey, and the Bay of Dublin. These latter features still remain,
and can never change; but of all the others which we have noticed, what
is there left? Scarcely a vestige that would remind the spectator of
what the locality had been. The rocks have been nearly all removed, or
converted into building materials for an assemblage of houses of all
kinds of fantastic construction, surrounded for the most part by high and
unsightly stone walls; and, except in the views obtained from some spots
in it, the picturesque beauty of Dalkey common is gone for ever.
The common of Dalkey is now a place of life--a suburb, as we might
say, of the city; but at the period to which we have alluded, it was
ordinarily a scene of the most desert solitude. A few cottages stretching
from the village along its southern boundary, and a solitary cabin
originally built by miners, and which still remains, were the only
habitations to be seen. But though thus uninhabited, it was not at all
times a scene of loneliness. On Sundays and other holidays its rocks and
dells were peopled with numerous pic-nic or sod parties of the middle
class of the citizens. The song went round, and the echoes were startled
by the merry notes of the fiddle or the flute, to which the several
groups of happy dancers footed the Irish jig and country dance. Nor
were such pic-nics confined exclusively to the citizens of the middle
class--the sporters of jaunting cars and jingles. Parties of the higher
ranks occasionally assembled here on week days, and had their rural fetes
on a larger and more magnificent scale. It was our own good fortune to be
an invited guest to one of these, of which we may be permitted to give
some account, as an example of a state of manners and usages of society
in Ireland now no longer to be found in persons of the class to which we
refer. It was a pic-nic party given by the Alexanders, the Armits, and
the present popular and deservedly honoured veteran the Commander of the
Forces in Ireland--then lieutenant-colonel of the 18th or Royal Irish
Fusileers, which were at the time quartered in Dublin. On the morning of
as beautiful a day in June as ever came, the inhabitants of the leading
thoroughfares of the city, and those along the road side from Dublin to
Dunleary, were surprised by the unusual crowds of open carriages of all
kinds conveying the youth and beauty of the aristocracy of the metropolis
to the chosen scene; and when the fine band of the Fusileers, in their
magnificent full-dress uniforms of blue and gold, were seen to pass along
on the same route, innumerable parties of the inferior ranks of the
inhabitants of the city and south-eastern suburbs were hastily formed to
follow in their wake. At noon, or a little after, not only the majority
of the original party were assembled in a beautiful and extensive
green amphitheatre, surrounded by rocky cliffs, but those cliffs were
themselves covered by a crowd of smaller parties--tributary stars around
the more splendid galaxy that occupied the centre of the brilliant scene.
Two splendid marquees were erected at an early hour in the morning--one
for the accommodation of the ladies, the other for the dinner party; and
two beautiful pleasure-yachts which conveyed a portion of the invited
to the scene, rested at anchor in the Sound, and with their white sails
and coloured streamers contributed their share of life and beauty to the
landscape. Let the reader then imagine what a spectacle was presented
when the groups of quadrille-dancers--the beauty and gallantry of the
metropolis and its vicinity--commenced dancing on the greensward to the
music of one of the finest of military bands--what a delight to the happy
multitude of spectators who looked on at the graceful and tempered gaiety
of high life! The mind of the accomplished painter Watteau, in his finest
pictures of the _fetes champetres_ of the French, never conceived any
thing so exquisitely beautiful and romantic.
This party did not disperse till after sunset. After an early dinner,
dancing was again resumed; and it is worthy of remark that throughout
the day there was not a single instance of rudeness or indecorum on the
part of the uninvited spectators--no attempt even to approach beyond the
natural rocky boundary which they had chosen for themselves--and that
the festivities were concluded with mutual pleasure to all the parties
who had participated in them. Alas! of the gay party then assembled--the
gentle maidens in all the bloom of youthful beauty, the frank young
soldiers, the men of fortune, the delighted parents--of all these how
many now lie low! More, reader, than you could possibly imagine! Nor can
we avoid exclaiming again, alas that such scenes of rational pleasure, in
which the higher and the humbler classes came together in healthful and
innocent enjoyment, are not now to be seen in our country as they were
heretofore!
But while our memory with changeful feelings of pleasure and of pain
fondly lingers on the brilliant scene we have attempted to sketch, we
must not forget that our subject requires of us a notice of festivities
of a very different character of which Dalkey was in former times the
scene--when Dublin and its suburbs poured forth their crowds to enjoy
the fun and drolleries of the crowning of Dalkey’s insular king!--when
Dalkey, its Common, its Sound, and its Island, on a June day annually
for several years, presented a spectacle of life, gaiety, good-humour,
and enjoyment, such perhaps as was rarely ever exhibited elsewhere.
What a glorious day was this for the Dunleary, Bullock, and Dalkey
boatmen! Generous fellows! they would take over his majesty’s lieges
to his empire for almost nothing--frequently for nothing; but, being
determined enemies to absenteeism, they would not allow them to depart
on the same terms, but would mulct those with taxes _ad libitum_ who
desired to abandon their country. And again, what a glorious day was
this for the jingle-drivers of the Blackrock, the noddy-drivers, and the
drivers of all other sorts of hired carriages in Dublin! Has it never
occurred to the Railroad people to revive these forgotten frolics? What
a harvest they might reap! But what do we say? The thing is impossible.
The mirthful temperament, the thoughtless gaiety, the wit and humour
that characterised the citizens in those days, are gone for ever. The
Dublinians have become a grave, thoughtful, and serious people--we had
almost said, a dull one. Their faces no longer wear a cheerful and happy
look; the very youths of our metropolis seem to be ignorant of what
merriment is, or at best to suppose that it consists in puffing tobacco
smoke!
Ah! very different were the notions of their predecessors, the nobility
and gentry of his Majesty the King of Dalkey! Smoking would not at all
have suited their mercurial temperament: it would have been the last
thing that they would have thought of to have had their tongues tied and
their mouths contorted into ugliness in the ridiculously serious effort
to hold a cigar between the lips, and look absurdly important! These
fellows thought that mouths were given for a very different purpose--to
sing the manly song, to throw forth, not clouds of tobacco smoke, but
flashes of wit and humour; and we are inclined to think they were right.
We are not about to describe the annual ceremony of the coronation of the
Dalkey king, though we should gladly do so if we had the power, for the
memory of it, as an interesting illustration of the character of Irish
society in days not very remote, should not be allowed to die. We have
indeed been an eye-witness of some of these brilliant follies, but we
were young at the time, and our memory only retains a general impression
of them. We can recollect that the green island figured in our woodcut,
as well as the common, presented one mass of living beings, gaily dressed
and arranged into groups of happy parties, each with its own musicians.
We can recollect also that the dress of the ladies was almost invariably
white, with green silk bonnets--a costume that gave a singularly
brilliant effect to the scene. A large marquee was erected about the
centre of the island for the use of his Majesty and attendant nobles, and
a cordon was drawn around it, within which none others were permitted to
enter. There was a military band in attendance upon the royal party; and
while the noblemen and ladies of the court danced upon the sod within the
bounds, to the music of the state minstrels, the subjects of the monarch
danced outside.
But these were only the evening festivities. The day was devoted to
graver purposes--the landing of his Majesty and nobles from the royal
barge under a salute of twenty-one guns, the band playing “God save
the King,” and the assembled multitude rending the air with their
acclamations! Then the ceremony of his coronation, and afterwards
his journey through his dominions, attended by his nobles! At an
early hour the monarch with his court proceeded in ludicrously solemn
procession from the palace to the church--the roofless ruin figured in
our cut--in which the ceremony was performed with a mock gravity which
was, however thoughtlessly profane, still irresistibly humorous. The
nobles, with painted faces and a profuse display of stars and ribbons,
had their titles and appropriate badges of office. There was the grand
chamberlain, with his bunch of old rusty keys--the archbishop with his
paper mitre and his natural beard of a month’s growth! The very titles
of these great personages were conferred in a spirit of drollery, and
made characteristic of the peculiarities of the individuals who bore
them. Thus there was a Lord of Ireland’s-eye--a grave-looking gentleman
who had lost one of his visual organs; a Lord Posey--a gentleman who
was remarkable for his habit of carrying a bunch of flowers at his
breast; and so on. All the nobility were wits, orators, and generally
first-rate vocalists, and the royal visitors were similarly gifted.
Charles Incledon, the prince of ballad-singers of his time, here sang his
“Black-eyed Susan” and other charming ditties, and John Philpot Curran,
the greatest wit of the world, set the table in a roar with his meteor
flashes. But the prime spirits of the court were his Majesty himself,
Stephen Armitage, his Lord High Admiral Luke Cassidy, and his archbishop
---- Gillespy. The long coronation sermon of the latter was one of the
richest treats of the day, and produced effects such as sermon never
produced before.
During this august and imposing ceremony, the church was not only
crowded to excess, and its ruined walls covered with human beings, but
it was also surrounded with a dense mass of anxious listeners. As to his
Majesty himself, he was at times the gravest and at times the merriest
of monarchs, much of his humour consisting in the whimsical uncertainty
of his movements, for there never was a crowned head more capricious
or changeable in disposition than the King of Dalkey. He would set
out attended by his court on a journey to some distant region of his
dominions, change his mind in a minute and alter his route elsewhere, and
again change it within a few minutes; and all these mutations of purpose
were most loyally approved of and sympathised in by his majesty’s nobles
and subjects. Another trait in King Stephen’s character was his love for
song; and when the word ran through his empire that at the royal banquet
his majesty had commenced or was about to commence his favourite “Love is
my passion and glory,” there was scarcely one of his subjects, male or
female, who did not make a rush to get within earshot of him. Peace be
with thee, Stephen! thou wert a king “of infinite jest, of most excellent
fancy;” and though thy reign was short and thy dominions small, thou
madest more of thy subjects truly happy than many monarchs whose reigns
were as much longer as their possessions were more extensive!
Imperfect as these recollections of the Dalkey festivities are, they will
perhaps convey to many who have not hitherto heard of them some slight
idea of their character; and they will, we trust, excite some surviving
actor in them to preserve their memory in a fuller and more graphic
record. They were, it will be seen, a sort of extemporaneous acted drama
of the Tom Thumb kind, admirably preserving the unities of time and
place--the time being one day, and the place--his majesty’s empire! As to
the theatre on which it was acted, it was most admirably adapted for the
spectacle, and had the most abundant accommodation for the audience. The
scenery too was real scenery--not painted canvass, that required distance
to give it the effect of reality: the greensward, the blue sky and bluer
sea, the rocky islands, the distant hills and mountains, were painted
by the hand of the greatest of all Artists; and the theatre, instead of
miserable foot-lights, had its illumination from the glorious sun, the
greatest of all His visible works!
It may be supposed that these annual festivities must have been
productive of scenes of drunkenness and quarrelling, and we cannot state
of our own knowledge whether they were so or not: but we have been
informed that they did not lead to such results; and the statement would
seem true, from the fact that no accident ever occurred to any of those
engaged in them--a singular circumstance, if we consider the dangers to
which so many persons were exposed in consequence of having to cross the
sound in crowded boats at a late hour in the evening.