Haunts of the eagle : man and wild nature in Donegal

Each story keeps the passage it was read from. Open one to read the passage as the book has it, and, where the companion has written its own telling, that too.

1. Drover girls spinning with crottle dye near Errigal

   Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

   At the inn on Errigal's slope, two barefoot girls spun yarn that would be dyed with 'crottle' or golden lichen gathered from boulders near the sea, producing several tints for the excellent cloth to be woven from it.

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   Not far from the hearth sat two handsome girls, innocent of shoes and stockings, busily employed in spinning the yarn, which would ultimately be woven into excellent cloth. It would first have to be dyed with the ‘‘ crottle’’ or golden lichen, found on most of the boulders near the sea, from which several tints, so I was told, could be produced. The floor was of earth like that of any ordinary cabin, but

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 45

   As the companion tells it

   Right here on the slope of Errigal, there was an inn where two barefoot girls sat near the hearth, spinning yarn that would be woven into excellent cloth. First it would be dyed with crottle, the golden lichen gathered from boulders near the sea, which could produce several tints. The floor was just earth, like any ordinary cabin.

2. Eagles' Nest hollow in the cliffs of Slieve League

   Slieve League · mountain or mountain range · Donegal

   A great hollow in the rocks at Slieve League is known as the 'Eagles' Nest,' where white crags overhang the sea. The surrounding cliffs rise to nearly two thousand feet with sections of sheer perpendicular rock.

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   crowns the crags of a little headland opposite to the greater cliff, rising to a height of eleven hundred feet above the glassy green waters, and pillared upon almost perpendicular rocks. The inlet towards the east is ominously and with too good reason known as the ‘‘ Lair of the Whirlwinds,’’ within which cross currents of air often meet and result in terrific storms. The cliff which hems it in gradually rises to a height of nearly two thousand feet. For the most part it is inclined at an angle of about sixty degrees; but here and there it is quite perpendicular, while over the great hollow in the rocks called the ‘* Eagles’ Nest,” the white crags hang threateningly, as if a mere puff of the wind might hurl them headlong into the surging deep.

   Near the edge of the Bunglass cliff is a so-called ‘* Druid’s Altar,’’ though I strongly suspect no Druid ever set eyes upon it, which serves as a useful seat to the profane traveller who has come to feast his eyes upon the sublime prospect in front of him. There towers the stupendous cliff in all the majesty of its appalling height and extending for nearly two miles in length. I sat and gazed my fill upon the truly awful and soul-inspiring scene. The sun was shining with full morning splendour lighting up every crevice of the huge mass of time-worn rock. Every shade of colour blended into one another over the rugged surface. Wherever the native white flagstones showed themselves, they shone like patches of new-fallen snow darkened here and there with faint blue shadows. Big tufts of heather hung over the edge and wandered down the mighty buttresses, stooping down as if to catch the booming music of the waters, as they chanted their immemorial song in the depths far beneath. Green, orange, living gold, silver grey, fiery red, burnished bronze, glittering alabaster, steely blue, melted into one another forming a_ perfect harmony of many exquisite tints.

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 11

3. Errigal's twin peaks towering over the western valley

   Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

   From a mountain summit, Errigal's twin peaks tower to the west, appearing so close that one could almost leap from one mountain to the other. The mountain's distinctive twin-peak profile dominates and shuts off much of the surrounding view.

   Read the passage

   The prospect before me and around was magnificent: to the west towered the twin peaks of Errigal shutting off much of the view and seeming so close that one could almost leap from the one mountain to the other. The shining dome of Slieve Snacht lay to the south, the broad back of Muckish to the north. Through the gap Horn Head rose sheer and forbidding, and far away over the sea stood Tory Island lighted up into a deep drab hue, where its cliffs sank into the whitening waves. Beneath me stretched a mingled expanse of barren bog, distant villages, lower hills, countless lakes, bounded at its farthest edge by a riband of golden sand bordering the blue Atlantic wrinkled with swaying billows and gently laving the dark cliffs of innumerable islands. The murmur of myriads of insects, the low music of the bees swelling and diminishing as they sank or rose over the flowers, the continuous plash of falling water, the light sobbing of the swooning breeze blended into a soothing harmony of slumberous sound. I sat long feasting my eyes upon the tranquil grandeur of the landscape, which was all but entirely removed from the jarring noises and squalid sights of so many of man’s wonderful works in his towns and cities.

   A momentary hush sank upon the scene, still as that silence which often heralds the coming of thunder: even the insects seemed to sink into still.

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 7

   As the companion tells it

   You're on a summit here, and Errigal's twin peaks tower to the west, so close it seems you could leap from one mountain to the other. They shut off much of the view, dominating everything around. Slieve Snacht's shining dome lies to the south, the broad back of Muckish to the north. Through the gap, Horn Head rises sheer and forbidding, and far over the sea Tory Island stands in a deep drab hue, its cliffs sinking into whitening waves. Below stretches barren bog, distant villages, lower hills, and countless lakes, bounded at the far edge by a ribbon of golden sand bordering the blue Atlantic. The murmur of insects, the low music of bees swelling and diminishing over the flowers, the continuous plash of falling water, and the light sobbing of the breeze blend into a soothing harmony. A momentary hush can sink over it all, as still as the silence that heralds thunder.

4. Glashagh River at Temple Douglas precinct

   near Glashagh River · river · Donegal

   The Glashagh River flows past the precinct of the abbey at Temple Douglas, where the old monks would have been accustomed to catch their meals for fast-days. The author notes the instability of tradition compared to the ever-changing waters flowing to the sea.

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   The little abbey where he was baptized is still an object of veneration to many pilgrims at certain seasons of the year. To me it was sacred for his sake, when I paced meditatively its mouldering church. I attempted but in vain to summon up from the past the day on which his father and his mother brought him to the rude christening font, and the reverend abbot bade them to “‘ name this child.’’ It would be a very humble ceremony if compared with the gorgeous gathering at a royal baptism in our own time. The church would not hold a tithe of the throng which musters in Westminster Abbey on such occasions. Yet Columbkille was a child destined to grow into a man, who would achieve far more for the uplifting of his fellow-men than most royal personages taken all together have been able to achieve. The Glashagh River, if I remember its name aright, flows past the precinct, wherein the old monks would be wont to catch their meals. for fastdays. But its waters have long flowed, everchanging, into the sea, and the memory of tradition is no less unstable than they.

   Six miles from the Saint’s birthplace, on the road from Letterkenny to Dunfanaghy, are the ruins of the larger Franciscan Abbey of Kilmacrenan in a state of great dilapidation. The small square tower is still standing, and may date back to the early fourteenth century. The outline of the church can be traced:

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 87

   As the companion tells it

   The Glashagh River flows near here, past the precinct of a little abbey at Temple Douglas. The abbey is where Columbkille was baptized, and it is still an object of veneration to many pilgrims at certain seasons of the year. The author of the passage paced meditatively through its mouldering church and tried, in vain, to summon up the day when Columbkille's father and mother brought him to the rude christening font, and the reverend abbot bade them, in the words of the source, to name this child. It would have been a humble ceremony compared with the gorgeous gathering at a royal baptism in our own time. The church would not hold a tithe of the throng that musters in Westminster Abbey on such occasions. Yet Columbkille was a child destined to grow into a man who would achieve far more for the uplifting of his fellow-men than most royal personages taken all together have been able to achieve. The Glashagh River flows past the precinct, where the old monks would have been accustomed to catch their meals for fast-days. Its waters have long flowed, ever changing, into the sea, and the memory of tradition is no less unstable than they.

5. Horn Head promontory and Stewart estate

   near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal · 1700

   Horn Head derives its name from its resemblance to a pair of horns and supports several farms, the hamlets of Upper and Lower Claggan, and the mansion of the Stewart family. The estate was obtained around 1700 by an officer of King William III named Charles Stewart, who claimed descent from the Darnley Stewarts.

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   The promontory of Horn Head fronts the north and derives its name from its resemblance to a pair of horns. It supports several fairly flourishing farms, the tiny hamlet of upper and lower Claggan, and the mansion of C. F. Stewart, Esquire, if indeed he be still living. His ancestor, an officer of King William III., obtained the property in 1700: his name was Charles, and he claimed to be a descendant of the Darnley family of Stewarts, a claim still jealously preserved by his descendants to distinguish them from the Stewarts of Ards, who purchased that estate from the head of the race of Wray, whose lavish hospitality brought him to ruin. Enraged by what he deemed to be a breach of his legal rights, that same ancestor when old and gouty challenged Mr. ‘Wray of Ards, the offender, to fight a duel with him. The latter was not slow to accept the challenge but added the stipulation that the duel should be fought on the top of Muckish, which could only be surmounted after a stiff climb of over two thousand feet. That would have proved a hazardous enterprise for an elderly and gouty hero, even if his anger had lent unwonted lightness to his feet. Fortunately, friends intervened, so that peace was made between the two hotheads.

   The present representative of the family is, or it may be was, an elderly gentleman of a kindly disposition, who has a great affection for birds and animals. It is told of him, and what is more believed, that when sportsmen boated over to the cliffs beneath his house to shoot the blue rock pigeons which nested in a large cave, he was in the habit of taking up his position on the top and rolling down big stones into the water below. As the cliffs even at this point are hardly less than three hundred feet in height, the effect of this stratagem might well have been disastrous to the venturesome visitors,

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 27

6. Local Donegal variant of the Diarmid and Grania legend

   Kilclooney · townland · Cork

   An older countryman near the Kilclooney cromlech recounted the legend of Diarmid and Grania with a stateliness suggesting translation from Gaelic. The Donegal version of the story is described as pleasanter and more creditable to the lovers than the one told in County Sligo.

   Read the passage

   If a countryman be asked the name of this ancient monument, he will answer in Irish ‘‘ Leabbe Diarmidh agus Grainnue ’’—I am not sure of the spelling, so plethoric in unnecessary consonants is the Gaelic—or in. English ‘‘ The bed of Diarmid and Grania.’’ If he be one of the older men of the neighbourhood with but a few scattered traces of schooling about him, he may, if he chooses, tell a romantic story to account for the name. He will not tell the same story as is current in County Sligo to explain the same matter, but in my opinion, a pleasanter one and certainly more to the credit of the two lovers. No doubt the same name is given to most of the cromlechs, wherever they are found: but that fact matters little to a Donegal peasant, he has his own story to tell, and he tells it admirably. One such I met on the first occasion of my seeing the huge monument. He sat on the dry stone wall; though an old man he was remarkably active, and his mind was as quick in its movement as his body. He told me the legend with a stateliness which showed that he was translating from his native Gaelic: let me try to tell it in my own way, preserving his details, but not his manner of telling it,

   M

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 79

7. Niel Garv takes refuge at Magherabeg abbey

   Magherabeg · townland · Donegal · 1600–1601

   After being expelled from Donegal Abbey by his kinsmen, the traitor Niel Garv O'Donnell fled to the smaller abbey of Magherabeg a few miles away. He would likely have been destroyed there had Red Hugh not been summoned south to Kinsale.

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   1600-1 the traitor occupied Donegal Abbey for a brief space: when he was driven forth by his angry kinsmen, he took refuge at the smaller abbey of Magherabeg, a few miles away. Here he would almost certainly have been destroyed if the ‘‘ Red Hugh ” had not been summoned to join the Spanish force at Kinsale.

   Reluctantly he left the traitor behind him, having first destroyed his castle in Donegal that it might. not fall into the hands of his enemies and be a point of vantage to them. With his little army he made his way southward with a speed and good order truly astonishing: but where the leader is trustworthy the followers will go with him to death itself. Near Kinsale he found his father-in-law eagerly awaiting his presence. That prudent chief had scarcely been able to restrain the boastful Spanish commander from making a premature attack upon the English forces, which were strongly posted and ready to receive the onset. It may be, too, that he in his turn had been boasting to his ally of the valour and wise conduct of his son-in-law in terms not entirely flattering to that worthy or to his nation. At all events, the Spaniard appears to have goaded the “‘ Red Hugh ”’ into action by his taunts against the advice of O’Neil, while he himself proved to be - of little use when the time came to fight.

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 115

   As the companion tells it

   Somewhere around here, in 1600 to 1601, the traitor Niel Garv O'Donnell took refuge at the smaller abbey of Magherabeg. His angry kinsmen had driven him forth from Donegal Abbey, where he had occupied it for a brief space. He fled a few miles away, and here he would almost certainly have been destroyed, had Red Hugh not been summoned to join the Spanish force at Kinsale. Reluctantly Red Hugh left the traitor behind, having first destroyed his castle in Donegal that it might not fall into the hands of his enemies and be a point of vantage to them. With his little army he made his way southward with a speed and good order truly astonishing, for where the leader is trustworthy the followers will go with him to death itself. Near Kinsale he found his father-in-law eagerly awaiting his presence. That prudent chief had scarcely been able to restrain the boastful Spanish commander from making a premature attack upon the English forces, which were strongly posted and ready to receive the onset. It may be, too, that he had been boasting to his ally of the valour and wise conduct of his son-in-law in terms not entirely flattering to that worthy or to his nation. At all events, the Spaniard goaded Red Hugh into action by his taunts, against the advice of O'Neil, while he himself proved of little use when the time came to fight.

8. White-tailed eagle said to nest on Horn Head

   near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

   A local man, Mr. Harkin, claimed the white-tailed eagle still nested on Horn Head, but the author searched the cliffs six times without finding any trace. The author concluded the eagle had ceased to haunt the cliffs of Donegal, though the habitat remained suitable.

   Read the passage

   Mr. Harkin had assured me that the white-tailed eagle still built upon Horn Head, but I am confident that he was mistaken. I have tramped the full line of cliffs on six several occasions, both with and without a field-glass, and have never seen so much as a feather of its tail. I am far from denying that the place itself is eminently suitable for the great bird both as a nesting-place and a feeding-ground, which may have been seen by the watchers in the tower in an older time, but has ceased to haunt any part of the cliffs of Donegal. On this occasion I kept my eyes well about me, hoping in vain to catch a glimpse of the conspicuous white tail. Once I fancied that I had actually seen it about half-way down the rocky face; but when I looked more carefully, it was nothing more than a dark shadow cast by a flying cloud upon some moving plant leaning over the deep. Many other birds I did see, and some almost at as close quarters as the great blackbacked gull. But the king refused to put in an appearance, so that I concluded reluctantly that he had ceased to hold his court in these desolate fastnesses. A better equipped ornithologist may be more fortunate; but I did not even set my eyes upon the commoner peregrine, which is the noblest of the falcon-tribe.

   68 HAUNTS (OF THE “EAGLE

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 31

9. Columbkille founds Kells and its surviving cross

   Kells · town · Kilkenny

   Columbkille founded the monastery at Kells, where a cross dedicated to him can still be seen. The author suggests it is barely possible he may also have penned and illuminated the world-famous 'Book of Kells' there.

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   He also founded Kells, where a cross dedicated to him, if not cut by him, is still to be seen. It is barely possible that he may have penned and illuminated the world-famous ‘‘ Book of Kells,’’ which is the envy and the despair of modern illuminators. Be that as it may, his fame as a devoted Christian missionary and saint was growing all over Ireland. He is said to have been tall and stately, with handsome features and exceptionally brilliant eyes of that blue-grey so common amongst his countrymen, though he was destined to lose one of them, if tradition speak the truth. Like Saint Patrick he was not commissioned by Rome, nor did he owe any allegiance to the Papal See: he adopted the form of tonsure on the front instead of on the back of the

   Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 89

10. Columbkille's studies at Glasnevin school

    Glasnevin · townland · Dublin

    Columbkille studied at a noted school in Glasnevin run by an old fellow-pupil of his under St. Finnian. His studies there were cut short by the advent of the plague, which drove him back to his native county.

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    the chief of the bards of Leinster, Columbkille took orders in due course. From the poet he learned his love of the bards and their music, which enabled him to settle a dispute between their order and the Irish King at Drumceat, as will be seen in its place. Lastly, he spent some time in fitting himself for his self-chosen task at Glasnevin, where an old fellowpupil of his, under St. Finnian, held a noted school. His studies here were cut short by the advent of the plague, which drove him back to his native county. As he reached the boundary-stream he is said to have prayed that the pestilence might neyer cross their waters, with result that his prayer was answered. By this time he had won his name of Columbkille, by which he was known to his Irish contemporaries and I have therefore adopted. He looked about him to find a site suitable for his first monastic establishment, of which he was to found such a multitude in his long life.

    Just within the borders of County Donegal, on a hill overlooking the lovely waters of Lough Swilly, stood the ‘‘ Grianan of Ailleach,’’ or the ‘‘ plaisaunce’’ of the northern kings of Ireland. Near to this some of his great kinsmen had a lesser fortress known as Calgagh Derry, which they handed over to him out of admiration for his learning and his piety. Here he founded his first and favourite monastery on the site of the present City of Derry, which still bears its name from the oak-wood by the side of which the community settled. This foundation soon gained a high reputation throughout Ireland, and many monks from distant places came to study within its walls. Its memory is ‘preserved by the name of Long-tower Lane in the more modern city, where for many centuries stood a lofty round tower, which would not be built in his day. The Protestant Cathedral, which has the distinction of being the first Protestant Cathedral built in Ireland, has been dedicated to him, who well deserved the tribute to his memory.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 89

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Glasnevin, Columbkille came to prepare himself for his life's work. An old fellow pupil of his, who had studied under St. Finnian, held a noted school here, and Columbkille spent time fitting himself for his self-chosen task. His studies were cut short by the advent of the plague, which drove him back to his native county. As he reached the boundary-stream he is said to have prayed that the pestilence might never cross their waters, and his prayer was answered. By this time he had won his name of Columbkille, by which his Irish contemporaries knew him. He looked about him to find a site suitable for his first monastic establishment. Just within the borders of County Donegal, on a hill overlooking the waters of Lough Swilly, stood the Grianan of Ailleach, the palace of the northern kings of Ireland. Near to this, some of his great kinsmen had a lesser fortress known as Calgagh Derry, which they handed over to him out of admiration for his learning and his piety. Here he founded his first and favourite monastery, on the site of the present City of Derry, which still bears its name from the oak-wood by the side of which the community settled. This foundation soon gained a high reputation throughout Ireland, and many monks from distant places came to study within its walls. Its memory is preserved by the name of Long-tower Lane in the more modern city, where for many centuries stood a lofty round tower, which would not be built in his day. The Protestant Cathedral, which has the distinction of being the first Protestant Cathedral built in Ireland, has been dedicated to him.

11. Cromlechs and Cloghanmore stone-house on southern hill

    Cloghanmore · tomb · Donegal

    On the southern hill bounding the glen stands a prehistoric battleground with cromlechs and two curious structures. One is known locally not as a 'cashel' but as 'Cloghanmore' or 'the great stone-house,' a strong oval enclosure with two roofed chambers and boundary-lines of huge stones.

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    On the other side of the southern hill bounding the glen there has been a great battle-ground of prehistoric man. At one time many of his cromlechs were standing, some of them built of enormous stones. There are besides two curious structures, one of which may have been a stone fort or ‘* cashel,’’? while the other partakes of the nature of a sepulchral monument. Significantly it is not known as a ‘“‘ cashel’’ by the natives of the neighbourhood, but as ‘‘ cloghanmore’”’ or ‘‘ the great stone-house.’’ A strong oval enclosure contains two roofed chambers, though some of the cap-stones have fallen, boundary-lines of huge stones, and a long shelf or slab partitioned in one place, as if meant to support urns. Some of the finest of the cromlechs have since been thrown down and broken up by the hands of utilitarian vandals. This lonely part of County Donegal has perhaps been treated a little scurvily by antiquarian authorities, though it might prove worth their while to excavate the remains, as the coast is commonly too storm-swept to have been visited often by Scandinavian sea-rovers.

    It will therefore be seen that the ‘‘ Holy Glen”? may well have had a considerable number of barely civilized inhabitants at the time of Columbkille’s arrival thereat. Some most precious relics of his

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 93

12. Donegal Abbey's prominent tower in Donegal Bay

    near Donegal Bay · bay · Donegal

    The abbey at Donegal was handsomely built and well-situated, with a great tower visible to sailors in Donegal Bay. Its interior furnishings were exceptionally rich and sumptuous for its time in western Ireland.

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    Founded by a benefactor of princely generosity and sincere devotion to his ancient faith, the foundation itself, though small in comparison with the magnificence of Fountains or Furness Abbeys, was handsomely built and munificently endowed. Its situation was well chosen, and as far as can be judged from the remains, the church and conventual buildings were planned on a scale not common in western Ireland at that time. Its great tower would be seen from afar by all who sailed up the wide waters of Donegal Bay, and its hospitality was well-known to strangers from far around. Its inside furniture in all departments of the conduct of worship was exceptionally varied and sumptuous, though the monks themselves might live plainly enough for the most part. The abbots, rejoicing in the protection and devotion of the O’Donnell chieftains, would be men of great influence throughout the neighbourhood. Even in its decay it stands in marked contrast to the plainer and older abbey of Magherabeg, which lies a few miles away, at a little distance from the road to Ballyshannon.

    The sacristan has given an inventory of some of its treasures in his vigorous and pathetic narrative of the destruction of the abbey by fire in 1600-1. It was then occupied by an English garrison and was undergoing a stout siege. he unlucky soldiers were driven out just at the moment when a ship, laden

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 104

13. Doon Rock: sacred boulder in the bog

    Doon Rock · rock or rocks · Donegal

    The Rock of Doon is described as a colossal isolated ridge of grey stone rising above a dense fringe of low bushes in a wide bog. It held sacred associations and could be seen from a long distance by all approaching it.

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    Leaving Tory I must say something about the Rock of Doon and its far-famed Holy Well. I have already alluded to the Rock itself more than once, which has sacred associations of its own no less than the Well lying beneath its shadow. As I have said, the light railway was entirely in nubibus when first I saw it, so that its lonely grandeur, standing as it did in the midst of a wide bog, impressed me with an almost insufferable sense of solitude. It was like a colossal boulder, or rather two boulders joined together into a long ridge, rising to a considerable height and quite isolated in position. No other rock in any way approaching to its size lay near, so that it could be seen for a long distance by all who drew near to it from every side. It rose above a dense fringe of low bushes, in which many birds built their nests, and dominated the surrounding country with its deeply scarred face of dull, grey-looking stone.

    Beneath it, on 5th July, 1608, fell Sir Cahir O’Dogherty, the chieftain of Innishowen, after a brief but brilliant struggle for the liberation of his country. Brave, high-spirited and handsome he was the darling of his people and the terror of his foes, who did not shrink from libelling him with vile calumnies. To Sir Arthur Chichester, James I.’s Lord Deputy, he was a “ bloody traitor and rebel ’’; in the eyes of his countrymen he was the gallant champion of their freedom, whose name lived long amongst their mountains and glens. The treachery of a traitor in the Irish camp hastened his defeat and death. It is singular, that not a single one of the chieftains who almost succeeded in winning the independence of their country, escaped from the treachery of one of their trusted leaders. Their story is told with fine restraint and conspicuous fairness in Joyce’s fine ‘‘ Short History of

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 75

14. Finn tradition at Kilclooney cromlech

    Kilclooney · townland · Cork

    The author records encountering a vivid local tradition of Finn MacCumhal at the cromlech of Kilclooney, told with such clarity and detail as if the events had happened within the week. He considers the story older than Manus O'Donnell's fifteenth-century biography, reflecting the tenacious preservation of national traditions by the Irish peasantry.

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    The only other place in the county where I came upon a tradition of Finn has already been recorded in connection with the cromlech of Kilclooney. There the tale told to me was vivid in the telling and clear in every detail, as if the events narrated had happened within the week. As I have said before, the mind of the Irish peasant, like that of his kinsman the Scottish Highlander, is tenacious of his. national traditions. Hence I am confident that this particular story of Finn is older than the time of Manus O’Donnell. It is worth noting that Saint Columbkille’s relative and earlier biographer, Adamnan, credits him with a wonderful gift of prophecy no less than a capacity for working miracles. Hence it seems possible that this prophecy of his birth to Finn by means of his wonderful tooth may have grown out of that belief. Indefinite prophecies are often fulfilled; definite prophecies which are precise in detail are usually though not always posthumous.

    The Saint in all probability chose this retired spot for a monastery to secure the solitude and quiet needed for holy meditation. His biographer gives another reason for his choice. He says, in effect, that an angel warned Columbkille in a dream that his presence was needed in the ‘‘ Sean Glan ”’ to drive out a company of demons, who had fled thither from Croaghpatrick under the force of the heavy maledictions hurled at them by Saint Patrick. Columbkille was not ‘‘ disobedient to the divine vision.’? At once he made all needful preparations, which indeed were quite simple, and taking a band of his disciples with him, including Cearc, he set out on his journey to the lonely glen. When he arrived he found it covered with a darkling mist which hid it from his sight. Such regions of mist were always esteemed favourable to meditation by the early Irish monks, and many of their single cells and churches are to be found crumbling away in places far from the traffic of everyday life.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 91

15. Horn Head rising sheer through the mountain gap

    near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

    Seen through a gap in the mountains, Horn Head rises sheer and forbidding on the seaward horizon. The headland's stark profile forms part of the dramatic panoramic view from the mountain summit overlooking the western valley.

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    The prospect before me and around was magnificent: to the west towered the twin peaks of Errigal shutting off much of the view and seeming so close that one could almost leap from the one mountain to the other. The shining dome of Slieve Snacht lay to the south, the broad back of Muckish to the north. Through the gap Horn Head rose sheer and forbidding, and far away over the sea stood Tory Island lighted up into a deep drab hue, where its cliffs sank into the whitening waves. Beneath me stretched a mingled expanse of barren bog, distant villages, lower hills, countless lakes, bounded at its farthest edge by a riband of golden sand bordering the blue Atlantic wrinkled with swaying billows and gently laving the dark cliffs of innumerable islands. The murmur of myriads of insects, the low music of the bees swelling and diminishing as they sank or rose over the flowers, the continuous plash of falling water, the light sobbing of the swooning breeze blended into a soothing harmony of slumberous sound. I sat long feasting my eyes upon the tranquil grandeur of the landscape, which was all but entirely removed from the jarring noises and squalid sights of so many of man’s wonderful works in his towns and cities.

    A momentary hush sank upon the scene, still as that silence which often heralds the coming of thunder: even the insects seemed to sink into still.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 7

16. Lair of Whirlwinds inlet near Slieve League

    Slieve League · mountain or mountain range · Donegal

    An inlet to the east of the Slieve League cliffs is known as the 'Lair of Whirlwinds' because cross currents of air meet there and produce terrific storms. The cliff hemming it in rises gradually to nearly two thousand feet.

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    crowns the crags of a little headland opposite to the greater cliff, rising to a height of eleven hundred feet above the glassy green waters, and pillared upon almost perpendicular rocks. The inlet towards the east is ominously and with too good reason known as the ‘‘ Lair of the Whirlwinds,’’ within which cross currents of air often meet and result in terrific storms. The cliff which hems it in gradually rises to a height of nearly two thousand feet. For the most part it is inclined at an angle of about sixty degrees; but here and there it is quite perpendicular, while over the great hollow in the rocks called the ‘* Eagles’ Nest,” the white crags hang threateningly, as if a mere puff of the wind might hurl them headlong into the surging deep.

    Near the edge of the Bunglass cliff is a so-called ‘* Druid’s Altar,’’ though I strongly suspect no Druid ever set eyes upon it, which serves as a useful seat to the profane traveller who has come to feast his eyes upon the sublime prospect in front of him. There towers the stupendous cliff in all the majesty of its appalling height and extending for nearly two miles in length. I sat and gazed my fill upon the truly awful and soul-inspiring scene. The sun was shining with full morning splendour lighting up every crevice of the huge mass of time-worn rock. Every shade of colour blended into one another over the rugged surface. Wherever the native white flagstones showed themselves, they shone like patches of new-fallen snow darkened here and there with faint blue shadows. Big tufts of heather hung over the edge and wandered down the mighty buttresses, stooping down as if to catch the booming music of the waters, as they chanted their immemorial song in the depths far beneath. Green, orange, living gold, silver grey, fiery red, burnished bronze, glittering alabaster, steely blue, melted into one another forming a_ perfect harmony of many exquisite tints.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 11

17. Napoleonic signal tower on Horn Head

    near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

    A signal tower built during the Napoleonic wars stands as a stately ruin on the heights of Horn Head, larger than most others of its kind. It is a two-story structure with windows on all sides, surrounded by a thick earthen embankment, with an open space for signal fires.

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    From the spot where I was just then, I looked in front and saw the signal tower perched upon the height above, which seemed as if it had been built under an overhanging rock. But that was only an illusion of perspective; indeed the tower would have been of little use, had it not been exposed to all the winds of heaven. Once it had been of great importance during the Napoleonic wars; now it was a stately ruin of a much larger size than most others of its kind. It was built in a shallow hollow, which may have been scooped out by the hand of man, and surrounded by a thick earthen embankment of some height. It had two stories furnished with windows on all sides, so that any hostile intruder might be espied on his first appearance. The windows commanded a wide prospect, especially over the sea, nor could even a small boat approach the great headland without being sighted, while it was yet far away. The tower was calculated to accommodate a large contingent of watchers, and a wide open space lay in front, on which a signal-fire could be lighted at a moment’s notice.

    In those early days a large stack of wood was stored in the enclosure, and a big pile built up on the open space. For their private fuel the watchers would

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 29

18. Prehistoric forts on Dunmore Head

    Dunmore Head · promontory · Kerry

    A cluster of prehistoric forts stands on Dunmore Head beyond Narin, mostly reduced to mounds of shapeless ruins. Several small lakes in the area contain islets with stone cashels or bawans that once served as dwellings for petty chiefs.

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    Beyond Narin, on Dunmore Head, there is quite a cluster of prehistoric forts, which are in most cases little more than mounds of shapeless ruins. There are also several small lakes, in two of which—Lough Doon and Lough Birroge—are islets in each case almost covered with a ‘‘ bawan,’’ or stone ‘‘ cashel ”’ which was once the dwelling of some petty chief. Both may have been meant to serve as safe harbouring for cattle, as the larger one is connected with the story of a witch and her cow. It is one of those stories like that related of Inish Bofin in Connemara, where the witch was wont to drive her cow to pasture, and on its return to turn it into a stone for the night. On being struck by a fisherman, he and she were both turned into stones. Occasionally the cow is heard lowing beneath the waters, and has been known to come out and walk round the islet, lowing pitifully for her mistress, who exists no longer. The bawan on Lough Doon is the larger of the two, and in a fine state of preservation; that on Lough Birroge is much smaller and has been in ruins for a considerable time.

    A bright and cheerful old inhabitant of Narin told me the story of the two bawans with a liveliness and gusto which I cannot reproduce. Two sister-witches each owned one of these lakes respectively : one long

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 72

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about Dunmore Head, beyond Narin, there's a cluster of prehistoric forts, though most are now little more than mounds of shapeless ruins. Several small lakes nearby hold islets almost covered with bawans, stone cashels that were once the dwellings of petty chiefs. The bawan on Lough Doon is the larger and still in fine condition; the one on Lough Birroge is much smaller and has been in ruins for a long time. These fortified islets may also have served as safe harbouring for cattle. They're connected with a story of a witch and her cow, much like the tale told of Inish Bofin in Connemara. The witch would drive her cow to pasture and turn it into stone for the night. When a fisherman struck the cow, he and the witch were both turned to stone. Occasionally the cow is heard lowing beneath the waters, and has been known to come out and walk round the islet, lowing pitifully for her mistress, who exists no longer. An old inhabitant of Narin told the story of the two bawans with great liveliness, of two sister-witches who each owned one of the lakes.

19. Priest collects Tory Island folklore traditions

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    A priest who had formerly served the faithful on Tory Island collected the island's traditions and shared them with the author. He recounted these stories with admirable simplicity and a firm conviction in their truth.

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    A year or two ago he had been in charge of the faithful few in Tory Island, and he preferred its wild solitudes and its hearty fisher-folk to his present more comfortable quarters and larger parish. He had a deep strain of ‘poetry in his nature, which had inspired him to find out all of the traditions of the island, many of which he told me with admirable simplicity and a firm conviction of their truth. Some of these will appear in due course, but not in his matchless way of telling them. As I listened I was smitten with a keen desire to cross the dangerous Sound : but the weather broke the very day on which I had intended to set out, so that not even a coragh would have faced the boisterous fury of the waves, though I should have been well content to make the attempt in that frail but delightful craft. As we talked, we forgot all our fatigue, though the Professor had been fishing all day, and I had tramped at least twenty miles Irish, to say nothing of my ascent of Errigal. He gave me a vivid account of the murder of Inspector Martin, of which he expressed his abhorrence but temperately enough.

    This narrative he followed by the true story of Father MacFadden, whom he evidently admired as a parish priest, but condemned for failing to restrain his flock from the murder. In this way time flew along, till the good priest returned to Annagary, leaving the Professor and myself to seek the soothing arms of Morpheus. We needed no rocking that night: ten hours in that pure air were more ‘potent than many a sleeping-draught, ‘nor did either of us wake till seven the following morning. The clouds which had been threatening during the night may well have emptied themselves somewhere near, for the sun rose on a magnificently clear morning,

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 56

20. Ruined granite quarry in Glendowan valley

    near Glendowan · population centre · Donegal

    A deserted granite quarry on a lonely high road in the Glendowan valley bears the remnants of an abortive enterprise: a rusty crane, a ruined office with a rusty padlock, and piled stone blocks. The author speculates that drink, a geological fault, or excessive carriage costs may have caused its abandonment.

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    Bridge. I paused to take a final glance down that wild valley: the lake shone brightly in the blazing sunlight; the castle, not inappropriately, looked like a tiny drab blot rising directly out of the water on its wood-bordered margin; the Loughsalt Mountain stood out clear-cut above the lesser heights. My heart was full of the tragedy which had just been told me in the very scene wherein it had been enacted, when I turned to look at the bare Glendoan valley, before I went on to Ballygeeha Gap. It was a comparatively shallow but extensive hollow, lying along both sides of the Bulaba River, which flows into Gartan Lough and out again under the name of the Lennan at Gartan Bridge. Its surface was wholly made up of brown bog and heathy moorland dotted here and there with little farms, with the hamlet of Glendoan lying almost out of the world, and the deserted granite quarry on the lonely high road. The rusty crane was still to be seen; the ruined office with its rusty padlock reminded me of the “ thriving City of Eden,’’ as Martin Chuzzlewit found it, while large square blocks of grey granite lay piled up on each side of the road.

    It was a melancholy picture of ruined enterprise, . which, had it been well managed, might greatly have benefited the peasantry of that poverty-stricken neighbourhood. It may have been the little public-house at Glendoan, which tempted the quarrymen to spend their unusual earnings thriftlessly, which caused the closing of the quarry. It may have been true, as was told me, that a fault was found in the stratum, which rendered its working unprofitable. It may have been that the quarry itself was too far from the sea, and the carriage of the granite too expensive to allow it to pay its way. Whichever of these three causes may have led to its abandonment I cannot decide, though I think the last the most probable; but there it lies ruined like the silver mine on the other side of

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 60

21. Saint Columbkille's storm-watching tradition at Glen Head

    Glen Head · promontory · Donegal

    According to tradition, Saint Columbkille loved to climb to the top of Glen Head when Atlantic storms beat shoreward, drawing inspiration for holy meditation on the Almighty's power. When winds grew too furious, he would retreat to his cell beside his Bed to meditate.

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    I do not know if Columbkille ever found his way so far along the edge of the cliffs as the ‘* Giant’s Saw-pit.’”’ But it has been said of him that he loved to climb to the top of Glen Head when a storm was beating shoreward from the Atlantic. Nor could any situation be found better calculated to inspire him with holy meditations upon the power of the Almighty. He was not only intensely devout, his soul was steeped in the ancient poetry of his race. He is said to have illuminated three hundred manuscripts, and to have written three hundred poems. That is a pious exaggeration, but it does serve to show the pursuits which filled his scanty leisure. When the angry wind lashed the wild waves, and the Holy Glen was deep in blinding mist, his thoughts penetrated beyond earth and _ its passions; he was alone with God. When the wind grew too furious for him to gaze down the beetling crags or over the waste of waters, he would find his way to the cell which lay by his “ Bed ”’ to meditate upon the vanity of so much that men hold dear.

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 97

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about Glen Head, tradition says Saint Columbkille loved to climb to the top of the headland when a storm was beating in from the Atlantic. He was intensely devout, his soul steeped in the ancient poetry of his race. He is said to have illuminated 300 manuscripts and written 300 poems, which is a pious exaggeration but does show the pursuits that filled his scanty leisure. When the angry wind lashed the wild waves and the glen was deep in blinding mist, his thoughts penetrated beyond earth and its passions. When the wind grew too furious for him to gaze down the crags or over the waste of waters, he would find his way to the cell which lay by his Bed, to meditate upon the vanity of so much that men hold dear.

22. Steep ascent of Errigal mountain

    Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

    The author climbed Errigal by a direct steep route against local advice, scrambling over slippery screes above the heather line. The ascent was uncommonly steep but not genuinely dangerous.

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    I chose a part of the slippery slope close to the hollow, in which the public-house stood, which was covered with grass and heather near the base, and up I began to go. The hostess and her girls came out to see me off, and to protest that I should never get up that way. But their kindly meant protestations only served to stiffen my neck, and thanking them I turned towards the mountain and continued my ascent with such vigour as_ the ““home-brewed ”’ had put into me. I had only two hours to spend on the top, so that I had not much time to get there, for it was nearly two o’clock when I began my climb. Though not in any way really dangerous, the ascent was uncommonly steep: in some places had I bent forward to tie a boot-lace I should almost have kissed the slope of screes in front. I soon left vegetation behind me and found the aforesaid screes distinctly slippery, and showing a perverse tendency to bear me backwards down to the base. But by careful zig-zagging and taking advantage of every stray tuft of herbage, I went on at a good round pace. I turned to look back for an instant and found that the three women had evidently gone back to their work, no doubt blessing my folly, and wondering why I was mad enough to want to reach the top.

    For the rest of the way the steep slope was for the most part bare of herbage of any kind, when once the heather and the bents had been left behind.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 47

    As the companion tells it

    This is the steep ascent of Errigal mountain, right here. An author once climbed this slope by a direct route against the advice of a hostess and her girls from the public-house near the base. They came out to protest that he would never get up that way, but he thanked them and set off around two o'clock with the vigour the home-brewed had put into him. He had only two hours to spend on the top. The ascent was uncommonly steep but not in any way really dangerous. In places, had he bent forward to tie a boot-lace, he would almost have kissed the slope of screes in front of him. He soon left vegetation behind and found the screes distinctly slippery, showing what he called a perverse tendency to bear him backwards down to the base. By careful zig-zagging and taking advantage of every stray tuft of herbage, he went on at a good round pace. He turned to look back for an instant and found the three women had gone back to their work, no doubt blessing his folly and wondering why he was mad enough to want to reach the top. For the rest of the way the steep slope was for the most part bare of herbage of any kind, once the heather and the bents had been left behind.

23. Temple Breaga natural arch at Horn Head

    near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

    The author observes the natural arch of Temple Breaga, spanning the waves and hewn from solid rock, while walking the cliffs of Horn Head. He later sails through the arch in a traditional Donegal coragh, admiring the lichens and fairy-like patterns adorning its hard surface.

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    loveliness of form and colour; as it opened and shut its glorious wings, it seemed to appear and disappear, so dark and like a withered leaf is the underside. As it sat lazily sunning itself, it seemed to jewel its resting-place with rubies, topazes, and deep blue sapphires shading into amethysts. But a sidelong gust down the gap between the cliffs bore it over the steep rock seaward, where its brief, bright life would soon be at an end. As I followed its flight with a pitying glance, I caught sight of the noble natural arch of Temple Breaga spanning the boisterous waves, which had hewn it out of the solid rock. The sheldrake’s sudden apparition and disappearance had prevented me from seeing it sooner. But there it stood, high above the waters, which broke through and against its sturdy columns with angry. spite.

    For those who dare trust themselves to its frail canvas and matchwood lining, it is pleasant to sail through this fine arch in a coragh, as I found a little later during my stay in Donegal. With ordinary care this light and slender boat is comparatively safe, and its movement over the waters is delightfully easy and exhilarating. The voyager, who is not sitting on the thwarts at the oar, needs to accustom himself to the sailing, or he may think that the boat is breaking into splinters. As he sits on the bottom, he both feels and hears a great crash just beneath him and barely parted from him, which is simply the contact with a larger wave than usual. But the sea needs to sink into nothing more than ‘‘a rippling on the crag,’’ if the coragh is to sail round Horn Head in perfect safety. From _ this most ancient survival of our mercantile marine, Temple Breaga Arch is a wonderful sight: Time and Nature have joined to embroider fairy patterns upon its hard face, of most astonishing variety of line and colour. The dainty lichens and streams of metallic lustre might teach any human architect a

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 35

24. The Sturrall: locals scale precipitous Hog's back promontory

    Sturrall · minor feature · Donegal

    The Sturrall, a narrow and precipitous promontory north of Glen Head resembling a hog's back, is traversed by local people who climb its steep flanks to gather bundles of rich grass and set lobster pots. The cliff descent requires a firm foot, sound heart, and steady head.

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    From the Holy Well it is a short steep climb to the top of the Head itself, which commands an extensive view over particularly wild and desolate country. The most striking object a little to the north is the narrow and precipitous promontory known as the Sturrall, or ‘‘ Hog’s back,’’ to which it bears more than a slight resemblance. It is possible to walk along its crumbling edge, or to climb down its sloping sides; but three qualities are essential, a firm foot, a sound heart, and a steady head. The natives of the glen walk all over it from end to end; sometimes they climb down its steep flanks to little hollows, where abundant rich grass grows. This they bind up in a bundle and bring back with them as a priceless possession in a country where good grass is so sparse. In some places they are sure-footed enough to climb down to the water’s edge, where the waves almost always break at a great height. Beneath its rugged flanks they set their lobster-pots in suitable places, which they visit not only in their boats but from the summit itself.

    I saw a strongly built, handsome young fellow working his way down without a rope, and with an amazing rapidity if the difficulties of the descent be taken into consideration. Not many even experienced climbers are able to go down a cliff-side with the fierce waves roaring hungrily beneath them. An abyss is one thing; some have an unholy pleasure in standing on its edge and gazing down into its gloomy depths. But when the great deep is tossing beneath, it is quite another thing; it is so unstable in itself, that it seems to make the footing unstable too. But the young man minded the angry sea no more than level ground; he never

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 96

25. Tory Island's cliffs seen from the mountain summit

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    From the mountain summit, Tory Island is visible far out over the sea, appearing in a deep drab hue with its cliffs sinking into whitening waves. The island's remote cliffs form a distinctive feature on the seaward horizon.

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    The prospect before me and around was magnificent: to the west towered the twin peaks of Errigal shutting off much of the view and seeming so close that one could almost leap from the one mountain to the other. The shining dome of Slieve Snacht lay to the south, the broad back of Muckish to the north. Through the gap Horn Head rose sheer and forbidding, and far away over the sea stood Tory Island lighted up into a deep drab hue, where its cliffs sank into the whitening waves. Beneath me stretched a mingled expanse of barren bog, distant villages, lower hills, countless lakes, bounded at its farthest edge by a riband of golden sand bordering the blue Atlantic wrinkled with swaying billows and gently laving the dark cliffs of innumerable islands. The murmur of myriads of insects, the low music of the bees swelling and diminishing as they sank or rose over the flowers, the continuous plash of falling water, the light sobbing of the swooning breeze blended into a soothing harmony of slumberous sound. I sat long feasting my eyes upon the tranquil grandeur of the landscape, which was all but entirely removed from the jarring noises and squalid sights of so many of man’s wonderful works in his towns and cities.

    A momentary hush sank upon the scene, still as that silence which often heralds the coming of thunder: even the insects seemed to sink into still.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 7

26. Fomorian legends on Tory Island

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    Faint legends of the Fomorians, a mythical race said to have subdued all of Ireland, still survive on Tory Island, though their memory has faded elsewhere since their defeat at the battle of North Moytura.

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    HE oldest, but not too reliable traditions, tell that four races in turn found their way to Ireland, each of which succeeded in establishing itself, at least for a time, though except in one instance it never entirely conquered its predecessor. Of the Fomorians there are still faint legends in the Island of Tory, though they are said to have subdued the whole of Ireland. Elsewhere their memory has all but completely faded away since their defeat at the battle of North Moytura. Here it has been affirmed that they were all but destroyed by a band of mythical sea-rovers, known by the name of Nemedians, of whom hardly a trace remains, even in local folk-lore. Later arrived the Firbolgs, a short, strongly built, swarthy race, of which the lineal descendants may be seen in Connacht to-day. They were the users of flint and bone implements, who built the raths scattered so plentifully from one end of Ireland to the other. They were a primitive people, not improbably cannibals, wearing the skins of the animals which they 139

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 65

27. Tara described as a wattled palace

    Tara · parish · Meath

    The author notes that the once world-famous palace of Tara was simply a large wattled building, comparable in construction to the humblest hut. This reflects a primitive state of society where kings and noblemen lived almost as plainly as their subjects.

    Read the passage

    which is denied to me, else I do not doubt that I could have culled more vestiges of ancient beliefs and customs than the few I have tried to tell of ina far inferior fashion to that of their original narrators. The observer needs to have his eyes about him as well as his ears if certain customs, not immediately obvious, are not to escape him. Even so commonplace an action as spitting often has the same mystical meaning, which it has brought down with it from the past and is to be seen chronicled in many an old medical work issued by a learned physician. I have labelled the story of Diarmid and Grania quasi-historical: though it is in great part legendary and comparatively late, it may deal with historical personages. 1 am aware that some _ over-wise mythologists wish to elevate Finn MacCumhal to the region of a solar myth, in spite of the fact that such explanations have become a by-word amongst the authorities on these topics. Its importance consists in the fact that it does reveal a primitive state of society, when kings and noblemen lived almost as plainly as the lowliest of their subjects. The once world-famous palace of Tara was simply a large wattled building, just as the merest hut was a small wattled building. Such a state of things continued long after the passing away of Finn; nay, it may be said to have endured into the time when the annalists told the most gorgeous tales of unspeakable splendour. This legend does give a peep into primitive society, which is not entirely without its counterpart in our so-called Christian society. _Elopements are not unheard of to-day, though the bride-elect does not usually hocus the drink of the wedding-guests. But if she is determined to elope, there is no sound reason to prevent her, if that can in any way serve her turn. But I must not pursue these reflections further, though they are born naturally out of the subject. Of the religious ceremonial at the Holy Well of

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 84

28. The Giant's Saw-pit: sheer chasm on the coast near Port

    Port · townland · Donegal

    The Giant's Saw-pit is a narrow, sheer opening between two great rocks on the precipitous coastline toward Port, offering a dramatic platform overhanging the sea. In May sunlight, the Atlantic takes a deep sapphire hue while the rocks display shades of pearly grey fading into pink.

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    The whole of the.coast-line to Port is precipitous in the extreme; every turn of the grassy summit gives exciting pictures of marvellous sublimity, everywhere is heard the roaring of the sea and the thud of the waves against the iron rocks. In one spot is the ‘‘ Giant’s Saw-pit,’’ which is a narrow opening between two rocks absolutely sheer, and of a great height. It is possible to climb down the slope on its eastern side by hugging the smooth rock. A little platform overhangs the sea at a height of a few hundred feet above the boiling waves. I know of no other prospect of the kind, which so fully combines sublimity of outline with magnificence of colour. When the clear May sunlight shines brilliantly upon the Atlantic the tossing waters take a deep sapphire hue, above which the rocks rise bright, with a multitude of varying shades of pearly grey fading into an indescribably beautiful tone of pink. Bluish grey lichens lie close to the golden green circles of that other of their kind known as the “‘crottle.’? Wherever there is a niche with a particle of soil in it, dark-green cushions of the sea thrift lift their dainty blossoms, softened by the distance into an ethereal pink, and shivering with every stir of the breeze.

    Beneath is a crowd of sea-birds of many kinds, busily employed in making their ragged nests, or choosing convenient cavities wherein to lay their eggs. The waves roar like far-off thunder, ever and anon breaking with a mighty crash which seems to shake the solid rock. The foam was blown into

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 96

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere close to Port, the coastline drops away in sheer cliffs, and the Giant's Saw-pit is a narrow opening between two great rocks, absolutely sheer and of great height. You can climb down the slope on its eastern side by hugging the smooth rock, to a little platform overhanging the sea a few hundred feet above the boiling waves. In May sunlight, the Atlantic takes on a deep sapphire hue, and the rocks rise bright with shades of pearly grey fading into an indescribably beautiful tone of pink. Bluish grey lichens lie close to golden green circles of the kind called crottle, and wherever there is a niche with a particle of soil, dark-green cushions of sea thrift lift their pink blossoms, shivering with every stir of the breeze. Below, a crowd of sea-birds of many kinds are busy making ragged nests or choosing cavities to lay their eggs. The waves roar like far-off thunder, breaking now and then with a mighty crash that seems to shake the solid rock.

29. Columbkille founds his first monastery at Derry

    near Derry · city · Derry

    Columbkille received a lesser fortress called Calgagh Derry from his kinsmen and founded his first and favourite monastery there, on the site of the present City of Derry. The city's name derives from the oak-wood beside which the monastic community settled, and the foundation attracted monks from distant places.

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    Just within the borders of County Donegal, on a hill overlooking the lovely waters of Lough Swilly, stood the ‘‘ Grianan of Ailleach,’’ or the ‘‘ plaisaunce’’ of the northern kings of Ireland. Near to this some of his great kinsmen had a lesser fortress known as Calgagh Derry, which they handed over to him out of admiration for his learning and his piety. Here he founded his first and favourite monastery on the site of the present City of Derry, which still bears its name from the oak-wood by the side of which the community settled. This foundation soon gained a high reputation throughout Ireland, and many monks from distant places came to study within its walls. Its memory is ‘preserved by the name of Long-tower Lane in the more modern city, where for many centuries stood a lofty round tower, which would not be built in his day. The Protestant Cathedral, which has the distinction of being the first Protestant Cathedral built in Ireland, has been dedicated to him, who well deserved the tribute to his memory.

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 89

30. Falcarragh and its discarded battering-ram

    Falcarragh · town · Donegal

    From the mountain summit the author observes Falcarragh, noted for a discarded battering-ram, and glimpses the brown sails of its fishing fleet far out at sea, provided through the Congested Districts Board.

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    There lay the Poisoned Glen, its gleaming rocks snow-white, grim, sheer: I fancied that I could see Balor lurking behind the crag, when his grandson, MacKineely, thrust his spear through the envenomed eye, and so gave its illomened name to that savage recess. I could see the ‘“‘little red men ’’ riding on their enchanted steeds to work revenge on any who might have insulted or injured them. I could picture the “‘ good people ’’ weaving their mystic dance to the tune of their weird and unearthly music; I could hear the banshee wailing with the foreknowledge of the imminent death of some member of the family to which she was attached. I could imagine Columba in his coragh following his mystic staff across the stormy sound of Tory, to plant the Cross in that barren land. I could see the old church at Ray, where the huge cross which he is said to have cut in Tory, lies broken into four pieces. I could see Falcarragh with its discarded battering-ram, and far out at sea I could just catch a glimpse of the brown sails of the fishing fleet, hardly bigger than butterflies’ wings, provided by the wiser counsel of the Congested Districts Board.

    A whole pageant of the past mingled with my thoughts of the present, transforming what I saw into a phantasmagoria of wonderful beauty and pathos. Then I saw, or thought I saw, how the very lie of the land had divided its people into warring factions, which persist to this day. I could gather something of the unconquered spirit of the modern Irishman, his chief inheritance from the past, which

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 51

    As the companion tells it

    As you come through Falcarragh in Donegal, a discarded battering-ram lies in the town. From the mountain summit, the author looked down on this place and saw it. The Poisoned Glen lay below, its gleaming rocks snow-white, grim, and sheer. He fancied Balor lurking behind a crag, when his grandson MacKineely thrust his spear through the envenomed eye, giving that savage recess its ill-omened name. He saw the little red men riding enchanted steeds to work revenge on any who insulted or injured them. He pictured the good people weaving their mystic dance to the tune of weird and unearthly music. He heard the banshee wailing with foreknowledge of imminent death for some member of the family she was attached to. He imagined Columba in his coragh following his mystic staff across the stormy sound of Tory, to plant the Cross in that barren land. He saw the old church at Ray, where the huge cross said to have been cut in Tory lies broken into four pieces. And far out at sea, he just caught a glimpse of the brown sails of the fishing fleet, hardly bigger than butterflies' wings, provided by the wiser counsel of the Congested Districts Board. A whole pageant of the past mingled with his thoughts of the present.

31. Franciscan Abbey of Kilmacrennan ruins

    Kilmacrenan · town · Donegal

    Six miles from Columbkille's birthplace, on the road from Letterkenny to Dunfanaghy, stand the ruins of the Franciscan Abbey of Kilmacrennan in a state of great dilapidation. The small square tower is still standing and may date back to the early fourteenth century, with the outline of the church still traceable.

    Read the passage

    Six miles from the Saint’s birthplace, on the road from Letterkenny to Dunfanaghy, are the ruins of the larger Franciscan Abbey of Kilmacrenan in a state of great dilapidation. The small square tower is still standing, and may date back to the early fourteenth century. The outline of the church can be traced:

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 87

32. Glencolumbkille's wild and lonely landscape

    Glencolumbkille · town · Donegal

    Glencolumbkille, named after Saint Columbkille, is described as one of the wildest spots in Donegal, hemmed in by gloomy hills with savage sea-front precipices. The Murlin River flows through it into a tempest-swept bay crossed by a causeway needing constant repair from Atlantic gales.

    Read the passage

    It is not easy to date Columbkille’s visit to that wild glen, which was destined to bear his name to all time. Glencolumbkille to-day is one of the wildest spots in a singularly wild county: situated on each side of the Murlin River it is hemmed in by gloomy, hills, of which those having a sea-front present a series of savage precipices. Half the year it is said to be enveloped in mist and storm. A strong causeway crosses the upper end of the tempestswept little bay, into which the river flows. Strong as it is the causeway needs constant attention, so destructive are the waves driven against it by the fierce gales of the Atlantic. The modern village lies chiefly upon the southern slope of the glen: it is not attractive in itself, and does little to take away’ from the loneliness of the scene. A large Catholic chapel serves the needs of a wide but thinly populated area, while the neat little Protestant church was, when I last saw it, in charge of a rector whose reputation stood so high with the people of the neighbourhood that he was the arbiter of all disputes between Protestants and Catholics alike.

    In the time of Columbkille the glen would be absolutely solitary, especially when it was believed to be in the possession of evil spirits. Manus O’Donnell, his relative and latest biographer, has preserved a remarkable legend relating to Finn

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 90

    As the companion tells it

    You are coming through Glencolumbkille now, a place named for Saint Columbkille, whose visit to this glen is not easy to date. It stands among the wildest spots in a county already known for wildness, hemmed in by gloomy hills with savage precipices facing the sea. Half the year, the old account says, it is enveloped in mist and storm. The Murlin River flows through the glen into a small tempest-swept bay, crossed by a strong causeway that needs constant repair, so destructive are the Atlantic gales driving waves against it. The modern village sits on the southern slope and does little to soften the loneliness of the scene. A large Catholic chapel serves a wide, thinly populated area, and a neat Protestant church was looked after by a rector held in such regard that he settled disputes between Protestants and Catholics alike. In Columbkille's time the glen would have been absolutely solitary, and was believed to be in the possession of evil spirits. Manus O'Donnell, a relative of the saint and his latest biographer, preserved a legend relating to Finn connected with this place.

33. Inn on the southern slope of Errigal

    Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

    A little public-house built literally upon the southern slope of Errigal served as an oasis in the wilderness, frequented chiefly by drovers heading to fairs at Dunfanaghy, Creeslough, or Letterkenny. Its south-facing position made the road in front of it warm as a Riviera terrace.

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    Dunlewey, with its fine house and belt of woodland, shone like a green oasis amid the prevailing expanses of brown. Farther on lay its companion, Lough Nacung, just as bare-flanked as its neighbour was thick with stately trees. Behind the church the sides of the Poisoned Glen rose precipitous, rugged, and snow-white, splashed with faint grey shadows, while high above, Slieve Snacht towered to the south, shining like polished alabaster in the sunlight. Opposite stood in solemn grandeur the huge pyamid of Errigal, though its brow was out of sight; at once an insane longing to climb it took possession of my heart, which could only be appeased by an actual fulfilment. Winding round the broad base at last I caught sight of the little public-house, which was built literally upon the southern slope of the great mountain. Like Dunlewey itself, that was also an oasis, though of another kind: it was a spring in the wilderness, though water was only used for cooking within its walls. It faced due south and was sheltered from the east, so that the patch of road in front of it was warm as a terrace in the Riviera, nor was the prospect in any high degree less picturesque, though the sea was far away.

    My. heart rejoiced exceedingly, the moment that

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 44

    As the companion tells it

    Right here on the southern slope of Errigal stood a little public-house, an oasis in the wilderness. Drovers heading to fairs at Dunfanaghy, Creeslough, or Letterkenny were its chief frequenters. It faced due south and was sheltered from the east, so the patch of road in front of it was warm as a terrace on the Riviera. The writer who passed this way called it "a spring in the wilderness, though water was only used for cooking within its walls." The prospect was picturesque, though the sea was far away. Opposite, Errigal rose in solemn grandeur, and the sight of its huge pyramid gave the writer what he called "an insane longing to climb it." He noted too how Dunlewey, with its belt of woodland, shone like a green oasis amid all the brown expanse around, and how the Poisoned Glen rose precipitous and snow-white behind the church, with Slieve Snacht towering to the south, shining like polished alabaster.

34. Precipitous cliffs ending at the red sand of Maghera

    Maghera · townland · Donegal

    A long line of sheer, precipitous cliffs rises from the water and terminates at the red sand of Maghera. From a distance, the cliffs take on a mother-of-pearl lustre softened by patches of shadow.

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    Gweebarra estuary, the greater gulf of Lougnros More, parted by Loughros Point from the lesser inlet of Loughros Beg, seemed almost as near as Slieve Snacht itself. Beyond stood sheer out of the water the long line of precipitous cliffs, which come to an end at the red sand of Maghera; they were lighted up into a mother o’ pearl lustre blotted with patches of darker shadow, which robbed them of their terrors and tinged them with a tender loveliness of their own.

    No matter which way I turned, my heart thrilled within me with a sense of awe blended with exquisite delight. I longed to be one great seeing eye, one unforgetting memory, that I could take in all and keep it fast in recollection, so that when I was no longer able to climb the steep mountain it might cheer me with its wonder and beauty. Even the cheerless expanses of brown bog immediately below me no longer looked monotonous, but were lighted up into a matchless variety of shades, which baffle all description. The green splashes of treacherous moss were conspicuous from that airy height, and shot the russet bog-grass with large patches of — brilliant emerald. The sheep browsing upon the scanty herbage looked no bigger than fleecy mice, as they nibbled peacefully at such grass as they could find. Far down below I could hear the shrill barking of a dog, which sounded thin and faint as a voice from another world, as it rose in air. From some unseen farm I caught the proud challenge of the ‘‘ bird of gladness,’”’ which was taken up by another, and again by another, so that the loneliness of that bare summit seemed to grow all the lonelier. No other»sound vexed the deep stillness save the rustling of the tiny streamlet down the sheer slope, and the merry song of the sky-lark, which was higher in air than my lofty seat.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 50

35. View of Donegal town from the old landing-place

    Donegal · town · Donegal

    The most picturesque view of Donegal town is obtained from the old landing-place, which terminates in a fine two-arched bridge, with the Protestant church spire rising above surrounding buildings. The town is also noted for its Donegal tweed agency.

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    The most picturesque view of the little town is to be had from this dingy-looking old landing-place, which ends with the fine two-arched bridge and has the spire of the Protestant church lifting its head above the surrounding buildings. In the town there is perhaps the largest agency for the excellent Donegal tweeds, which are tasteful in colour and of wonderful wearing capacity. The proprietor of this shop, thirty years ago, was a little bearded man suffering from a plethora of forehead, who only needed a couple of glasses of whiskey to make him unfold his wisdom. | have seen a small crowd gathered round him in the bar parlour of the Arran Arms, gazing in simple wonder at his fluent utterance, while first one then another of his intimates called frequent attention to his ‘‘ noble brow.’’ He thought that he was giving forth the wisdom of the ages, and they believed him, when he was merely making a lamentable exhibition of himself and displaying much fluid ignorance.

    On Fair-days, the Diamond itself, and the road leading to the station are crowded with a multitude of cattle, with some donkeys and a few horses. At such times may be seen in perfection the protracted issue of an Irish bargain, which always seems to need the arbitration of a third party. He will bid first the one hold out his hand and praise him to the skies, then he will command the other to do likewise and bespatter him with a like commendation. Next he will try to induce the seller to agree to a certain price and take the hand of the buyer, whereto the former will reply, ‘‘ I will not! ’’ and promptly put his hand behind him. Then he endeavours to shorten the interval between the seller’s and the buyer’s price, until often enough only the difference of half-a-crown remains to part the two. When this point is reached the arbitrator uses his utmost persuasion to bring matters to a head. For the most part his eloquence is quite successful, and the three

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 102

    As the companion tells it

    As you come through Donegal, the best view of the little town is from the old landing-place, which ends with a fine two-arched bridge and has the spire of the Protestant church lifting its head above the surrounding buildings. The town holds perhaps the largest agency for the excellent Donegal tweeds, tasteful in colour and of wonderful wearing capacity. Thirty years ago the proprietor was a little bearded man with a great expanse of forehead, who only needed a couple of glasses of whiskey to make him unfold his wisdom. A small crowd would gather round him in the bar parlour of the Arran Arms, gazing in simple wonder at his fluent utterance, while one or another of his intimates called attention to his "noble brow." He thought he was giving forth the wisdom of the ages, and they believed him, when he was merely displaying much fluid ignorance. On fair-days the Diamond and the road leading to the station are crowded with cattle, some donkeys and a few horses. Then you could see the protracted issue of an Irish bargain, which always seems to need the arbitration of a third party. He bids first one hold out his hand and praises him to the skies, then commands the other to do likewise. He tries to induce the seller to agree to a price, to which the seller replies "I will not!" and promptly puts his hand behind him. The arbitrator shortens the gap until often only half-a-crown parts the two, and then his eloquence usually brings the bargain to a head.

36. Armagh as ancestral burial-place of an Irish lord

    near Armagh · town · Armagh · 1616

    The text recounts the death of an Irish lord in Rome in 1616, noting that he died far from Armagh, which is described as the burial-place of his ancestors. This connection highlights Armagh's significance as a site of ancestral heritage for this noble lineage.

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    in honour and nobleness. The place at which he died was Rome, on the 2oth of July (1616), after exemplary penance for his sins, and gaining the victory over the world and the devil. Although he died far from Armagh, the burial-place of his ancestors, it was a token that God was pleased with his life, that the Lord permitted him no worse burial-place, namely Rome, the head city of the Christians. The person who here died was a powerful, mighty lord, with wisdom, subtlety, and profundity of mind and intellect; a warlike, valorous, predatory, enterprising lord in defending his religion and his patrimony against his enemies; a pious and charitable lord, mild and gentle with his friends, fierce and stern towards his enemies until he had brought them to. submission and obedience to his authority; a lord who had not coveted to possess himself of the illegal or excessive property of another, except such as had been hereditary to his ancestors from a remote period; a lord with the authority and praiseworthy characteristics of a prince, who had not suffered theft or robbery, abduction or rape, spite or animosity to prevail during his reign, and he had kept the law as was meet for a prince.”’

    I cannot regard the foregoing estimate of this exceptionally great and kingly Irishman as in any high degree over-drawn. The joy openly expressed at his departure by the English government was so ingenuous, so indecent, that it may be seen beyond cavil in what continual dread he was held by his English foes. His acute political capacity, his very real statesmanship, his undoubted courage in action, and his ability to profit by the moment of victory, had done much to make Irish resistance to picked men under the command of the Earl of Essex and others so protracted and so successful. It seems a pity that gifts of this kind should have been thrown away upon a losing cause, when they might have been used for the united good of England and

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 118

37. Glen Head cliffs and ruined signal-tower

    Glen Head · promontory · Donegal

    The northern boundary of the glen ends in precipitous cliffs at Glen Head, rising over eight hundred feet, crowned by a ruined signal-tower. The neighbouring cliff of the Sturrall offers an awe-inspiring viewpoint of the rocks.

    Read the passage

    Such is the legend, which has a certain beauty of its own, and may in part have arisen from the mists and clouds which are blown up from the Atlantic for so many months of the year. The Glen itself, in spite of its village, is exceptionally wild: its northern boundary ends in the precipitous cliffs of Glen Head, crowned by its ruined signal-tower. The rocks have an all but perpendicular height of over eight hundred feet; either from beneath them in a boat, or from the neighbouring cliff of the Sturrall, they present an awe-inspiring sight. The Protestant church is said to have been built upon the exact site of the ancient monastery. The ground was excavated nearly a century ago by Dr. William Petrie, but of the results little is known. Within the last forty years the sexton of the Protestant graveyard was digging a grave when his spade suddenly went right down into the earth and almost threw him on his face. . Leaving go of it in the midst of a confusion of falling earth, it entirely disappeared from sight, and went, as he was firmly convinced, to the lord of those fiends, who at once occupied the glen. It is perhaps needless to add that with “blue effrayéd eyes’? he fled incontinently to the rector, who succeeded in composing his fears with the aid of a stiff dose of spirits of another kind.

    Further examination showed that he had lighted upon a souterrain, or underground place of refuge, where primitive men and women had found refuge against their foes, and a safe sleeping-place from wild animals. When it was opened out the artificial cave consisted of several chambers, including a large square one which had once been roofed over. That may be called the vestibule to the other chambers,

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 92

    As the companion tells it

    Somewhere about Glen Head, the northern boundary of the glen ends in precipitous cliffs rising over 800 feet, crowned by a ruined signal-tower. From the neighbouring cliff of the Sturrall, or from a boat beneath, the rocks present an awe-inspiring sight. The Protestant church here is said to stand on the exact site of an ancient monastery. The ground was excavated nearly a century ago by Dr. William Petrie, but little is known of what he found. Within the last 40 years the sexton of the Protestant graveyard was digging a grave when his spade went right down into the earth and almost threw him on his face. He let go of it, the earth fell in, and the spade disappeared entirely. He was convinced it had gone straight to the lord of those fiends who occupied the glen. He fled to the rector, who calmed his fears with a stiff dose of spirits. Further examination showed he had broken into a souterrain, an underground place of refuge where primitive people sheltered from their enemies and wild animals. When opened, the artificial cave contained several chambers, including a large square one that had once been roofed over, serving as a vestibule to the others.

38. Inishmurray's primeval ruins and sacred associations

    Inishmurray · townland · Sligo

    The small island of Inishmurray off the Sligo coast, visible from the summit of Slieve League, contains primeval ruins and carries sacred associations from its illustrious past. The author describes it lying quietly in the sunlight as seen from afar.

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    To the east lay Sligo, hidden behind Rosse’s Point, and the rounded knob of Knocknarea surmounted by the ‘‘ Misgaun na Meave’”’ or the “ butterbasket of Meave,’’ so called from that masculine Queen of Connaught, though the great cairn with its lower circumference of six hundred feet and its height of sixty is more probably the burial-place of the mightier chieftains who fell at the prehistoric battle of North Moytura. Beyond stretched the Straight limestone ridge of Benbulben, and far off in the sea the tiny island of Inismurray with its primeval ruins and sacred associations lay sleeping quietly in the sunlight, dreaming, it may be, of its illustrious past. To the north stretched an undulating waste of desolate brown bog ending in the Slieve-a-Tooey range, above which shone the forked peak of Errigal and the round knob of Slieve Snacht white as the snow-clad Alps. Then I turned southward once more, and gazed downward into the darkling depths of the ‘‘ Lair of Whirlwinds,” where all was calm and still now, though it had been hewn out by the fury of innumerable storms. I thought of the story which I had heard in a distant cottage, which Dr. MacDevitt had told with more dramatic fullness in his guide-book to his native county. I will set it down as I heard it from the

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 12

39. Ruined signal tower at Horn Head

    near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

    A well-made road past the Stewart grounds leads to a ruined signal tower on Horn Head, with a branch road to Pollaguill Bay and the two Claggan hamlets. Much of the road is regularly buried under sand blown in from Tramore.

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    A well-made road leads past Mr. Stewart’s grounds to the ruined signal tower, which has a branch to the left leading to Pollaguill Bay and the two Claggans. But at almost all periods of the year it is largely covered over with sand blown in from the Tramore, so that often enough scarcely a trace of its presence appears after the first mile or so: nay, even the milkman sometimes loses his way and wanders amidst the sand dunes. But those who wish to see Horn Head in all its wonder and majesty, will do well to leave the buried road as soon as possible, and at the expense of a longer and more arduous journey keep as near as may be to the edge of the cliffs. Though they do not rise to the height of the crags in the southern half of the county, being never more than six hundred and forty feet above the sea, they are wonderfully varied, and in most cases hang sheer above the tossing waters. I left the two railway prospectors to tramp over the bog in search of a route to their mind, and early on a mid-May morning took my way to the Great Horn.

    When I had passed over the sand-strewn track and reached the edge, I found that an innumerable company of sea-birds of many different kinds was busily engaged in nesting, and in some cases tending their callow young. They can be best seen from a boat, which can be rowed past their favourite breeding

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 27

40. Superstition that common gulls come inland before storms

    Donegal · town · Donegal

    In Ireland, the superstition prevails that common gulls only come inland when stormy weather is at sea, though by this time few moorland reservoirs in Donegal lack their breeding contingents. The birds were observed breeding near the countless lakes of Donegal.

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    Leaving the flock of cormorants I went along the edge of the cliff, keeping my eyes on the waves, which were beginning to sink as the tide went out, and were of a deep green melting into various shades of blue as they rolled to meet the blue sky on the horizon. The path was still difficult, and needed close watching: there were so many pitfalls, so many slippery places in it, that I had much ado to keep my feet. I saw thousands of gulls of the commoner kinds, such as herring-gulls and black-headed gulls, employed for the most part in hatching their eggs. The so-called ‘‘common gull ’’ was conspicuous by its absence, having, I suppose, gone far inland to breed, near some of the countless lakes of Donegal. Even in Ireland, the superstition prevails, that these handsome birds only come inland when there is stormy weather at sea. By this time few moorland reservoirs are without their large contingent of

    F

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 38

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Donegal, the lakes of this county hold a story about the common gull. An old superstition in Ireland holds that these handsome birds only come inland when stormy weather is at sea. But the writer who walked these cliffs found the truth had moved on. He saw thousands of herring-gulls and black-headed gulls hatching their eggs along the coast, while the so-called common gull was conspicuous by its absence, gone far inland to breed near some of the countless lakes of Donegal. By his time, few moorland reservoirs were without their large contingent of breeding gulls, storm or no storm.

41. Tory Island name origin

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    The author notes that Tory Island's name derives from the tower-like cliffs on its north-eastern side, and has nothing to do with political Toryism or Irish stereotypes. The island lies off the Donegal coast, visible from Horn Head across a channel near Derrybeg.

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    The breeze blew straight across from America, freshening every moment, ruffling the channel between Tory Island and the mainland near Derrybeg, and driving the whitening waves against the rocks of that barren land. It may be noted in passing, that Tory has nothing to do with party politics, nor is it synonymous with an Irish bog-trotter: it is a_name given to the island because of the towerlike cliffs on its north-eastern side. I noticed a dark cloud gathering over its western end, and the three islands which lie to the south of it, Inishbeg, Inishdooey and Inishbofin, to the last of which the famous witch’s ‘‘ white cow’’ of Irish legend found her way. I could not help fearing that a storm was gathering, though the sun was at that moment shining bright. But I resigned myself to all emergencies; at the worst, the signal tower was not far away, and though roofless it would shelter me from the western wind. The cliff descends abruptly on either side, while the extreme point literally hangs over the abyss. On that point I stood like Moses on Pisgah; but instead of looking over the fertile land of Canaan and the muddy Jordan, I looked out over the great deep, gradually growing greyer under the growing mantle of cloud.

    Turning to the east I looked down a gully eaten out of the head, steep, awful, rugged, stretching right down to the tossing waves below. Yet Nature’s careful fingers had trimmed it with all kinds of vegetation and thus veiled its sheer flanks from top to bottom of its extent. Far down its edge I could see tufts of the golden samphire, which were green and stunted now, though unmistakable to the eye of the trained botanist. In a few weeks they

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 30

42. Carnaween peak — next flight destination of the lovers

    near Carnaween · mountain or mountain range · Donegal · 300–399

    After resting at Kilclooney, Diarmid planned to flee a shorter distance on the second day of escape. The peak of Carnaween, about twelve miles south of Glenties, was the next destination in the lovers' flight from Finn.

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    Now Diarmid knew all about Finn’s ‘‘ divining tooth ’’ and the dangers with which it threatened the pair of them. He was therefore bound to find some plan of circumventing this unfair advantage of his elderly rival. When the lovers had arrived at Kilclooney he built the huge cromlech as a sleeping chamber, but provided himself with a large bag of heather which he spread on the ground whereon they were to lie. It must be borne in mind that Kilclooney lay fairly near to the sea, if the point of this stratagem is to be understood. Here then the lovers rested after their journey across Ireland, which was indeed a prodigious one to take in so short a time; but love and legend can lend wings even to a snail. Diarmid determined not to flee so far on the second day: about twelve miles off, due south of Glenties, is the peak of Carnaween,

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 80

43. Castle and lake at Gartan Lough

    near Gartan Lough or Lough Beagh South · lake or lakes · Donegal

    From Gartan Bridge the author views a wild valley where Gartan Lough shines in sunlight. A small castle rises directly out of the water on its wooded margin, with Loughsalt Mountain standing clear above the lesser heights.

    Read the passage

    Bridge. I paused to take a final glance down that wild valley: the lake shone brightly in the blazing sunlight; the castle, not inappropriately, looked like a tiny drab blot rising directly out of the water on its wood-bordered margin; the Loughsalt Mountain stood out clear-cut above the lesser heights. My heart was full of the tragedy which had just been told me in the very scene wherein it had been enacted, when I turned to look at the bare Glendoan valley, before I went on to Ballygeeha Gap. It was a comparatively shallow but extensive hollow, lying along both sides of the Bulaba River, which flows into Gartan Lough and out again under the name of the Lennan at Gartan Bridge. Its surface was wholly made up of brown bog and heathy moorland dotted here and there with little farms, with the hamlet of Glendoan lying almost out of the world, and the deserted granite quarry on the lonely high road. The rusty crane was still to be seen; the ruined office with its rusty padlock reminded me of the “ thriving City of Eden,’’ as Martin Chuzzlewit found it, while large square blocks of grey granite lay piled up on each side of the road.

    It was a melancholy picture of ruined enterprise, . which, had it been well managed, might greatly have benefited the peasantry of that poverty-stricken neighbourhood. It may have been the little public-house at Glendoan, which tempted the quarrymen to spend their unusual earnings thriftlessly, which caused the closing of the quarry. It may have been true, as was told me, that a fault was found in the stratum, which rendered its working unprofitable. It may have been that the quarry itself was too far from the sea, and the carriage of the granite too expensive to allow it to pay its way. Whichever of these three causes may have led to its abandonment I cannot decide, though I think the last the most probable; but there it lies ruined like the silver mine on the other side of

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 60

44. Climbing Slieve Liag via One Man's Path

    Slieve League · mountain or mountain range · Donegal

    The narrator set out to climb Slieve Liag by the shortest and most dangerous route, the 'One Man's Path,' determined to cross its razor-like edge to the broad eastern summit. He passed Teelin Port and reached Bunglass, a narrow stretch of turf sloping toward the sea.

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    Soon after my arrival I. made ready to climb Slieve Liag by the shortest, and it must be admitted neither the safest nor the easiest way. I had often heard of the ““One Man’s Path,’’ and I was determined to cross its razor-like edge to the broad eastern summit of the ““ mountain,”’ as it is always called in the neighbourhood. Leaving the little fishing-station of Teelin Port on my left after a long trudge between broken rocks I found myself at Bunglass. Here a narrow stretch of turf sloping downwards towards the sea,

    ee

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 10

45. Columbkille visits Durrow

    Durrow · town · Laois · 585

    According to Adamnan, St. Columbkille made his second visit to Ireland ten years after the Drumceat convention, visiting his own monastery at Durrow.

    Read the passage

    It must be borne in mind that Scotland owes its very name to Ireland, the people of which were always known in Europe as Scots. A large company of these Irish Scots conquered Argyleshire and most of Galloway, and ended by giving their name to the whole of the country, which at that time was for the most part peopled by the Picts. Columbkille’s second visit to Ireland occurred, according to Adamnan, ten years later, when he is said to have visited his own monastery of Durrow along with that of St. Kieran of Clonmacnoise. At Iona I leave him; the reader who wishes to know more of the last thirty years of his life in that remote island will find what he desires in his life by Adamnan. It is a most fascinating little work, nor is there anything just like it in the range of ecclesiastical literature. No doubt it is filled with an account of the Saint’s miracles and prophecies, for each of which the author cites witnesses, though some of them in somewhat vague and unconvincing terms.

    But the character study is nearly perfect: it presents the picture of a truly noble character, a Saint of God who needs no formal canonization to do justice to his merits. If it be true that once he suffered his feelings as a clansman to get the better

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 101

46. Errigal towering above neighbouring mountains

    Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

    From a summit ridge, the author observes Errigal towering above all neighbouring mountains despite being of no great height. The view encompasses much of County Donegal's fantastically cloven coastline.

    Read the passage

    the most part, too majestic indeed for the calmersouled lover of the rural landscape. Retracing my steps I soon regained the summit which I had climbed first: there I sat down to spend, literally, some ‘melting moments,’’ while I surveyed the marvellous prospect which unfolded itself to my eager eyes. Though of no great height, Errigal towered above all of the neighbouring mountains: Muckish, a little more than two hundred feet lower, lay like a great back sloping gently upwards toward the north, {ts hollows and crevices flooded by the dazzling light, and its numerous streams like lines of silver finding their way to the valleys beneath. Dooish, though it hid Lough Veagh below its precipitous eastern flank, seemed completely dwarfed, and the white rocks on its summit gleamed like snow through its meagre curtain of green herbage.

    The air was so clear that the distant landscape appeared to lie almost at my feet. The whole of County Donegal was in sight from Lough Foyle to Donegal Bay. Surely there never was so fantastically cloven a coast-line outside of Norway, where the scenery no doubt is cast in a grander mould. Not even the noble coast of the west of Scotland is more curiously cut into quaint leaf-like patterns. Bay followed bay, inlet trod on the heels of inlet, cape rose after cape, patch of golden sand succeeded to patch, island floated next to island in bewildering profusion, all deeply outlined on the blue Atlantic, which in its turn blended with the blue sky. Much of the crag-bound coast which rises steeply over its belt of orange sand, was hidden from me, though here and there lines of deeper grey told of shattered rock and frowning precipice. Tory and its three attendant islets, the Rosses with Aranmore and a host of islands gradually decreasing into bare crags, the ruddy tint of the so-called Bloody. Foreland, rivers and streams in hundreds, lakes in thousands crowded the scene, which was dotted over with the

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 49

    As the companion tells it

    Errigal is right here beside the road. Though of no great height, it towers above all the neighbouring mountains. Muckish, more than 200 feet lower, lies like a great back sloping gently toward the north, its streams like lines of silver feeding the valleys beneath. Dooish seems dwarfed beside it, its white summit rocks gleaming like snow through thin herbage, with Lough Veagh hidden below its steep eastern flank. From up on the summit ridge the whole of County Donegal spreads into view, from Lough Foyle to Donegal Bay, and the author wrote that there was never "so fantastically cloven a coast-line" outside Norway. Bay follows bay, inlet treads on the heels of inlet, cape rises after cape, island floats next to island, all outlined on the blue Atlantic blending with the blue sky. Tory and its three attendant islets, the Rosses with Aranmore, the ruddy Bloody Foreland, rivers in hundreds and lakes in thousands crowd the scene.

47. Giant Feargowan and enchantress Fin at Aghla More

    Aghla More · mountain or mountain range · Donegal

    A tradition holds that amongst the mountains behind Aghla More, near Fintown, dwelt a monstrous giant named Feargowan whose housekeeper was his sister Fin, a mighty enchantress. Her spells could not save her life or give her knowledge. A mighty boar, huge as that of Calydon, devastated the fields for miles around and the bravest hunters could not destroy it.

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    Amongst the mountains behind Aghla More, dwelt a monstrous giant named Feargowan, whose housekeeper was his sister, Fin, a mighty enchantress in those parts: but her spells could not give her knowledge or save her life. A few miles from their dwelling appeared a mighty boar, huge as that of Calydon, which devastated the fields far and wide. The bravest and most skilful hunters for miles round had tried in vain to destroy the savage monster, which

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 71

48. Grianan of Aileach: palace of the northern kings

    near Grianan of Aileach · monument · Donegal

    The Grianan of Aileach stood on a hill overlooking Lough Swilly, just within the borders of County Donegal, and served as the 'plaisaunce' or pleasure-palace of the northern kings of Ireland. It is described as a notable landmark near where Columbkille's kinsmen held a fortress.

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    Just within the borders of County Donegal, on a hill overlooking the lovely waters of Lough Swilly, stood the ‘‘ Grianan of Ailleach,’’ or the ‘‘ plaisaunce’’ of the northern kings of Ireland. Near to this some of his great kinsmen had a lesser fortress known as Calgagh Derry, which they handed over to him out of admiration for his learning and his piety. Here he founded his first and favourite monastery on the site of the present City of Derry, which still bears its name from the oak-wood by the side of which the community settled. This foundation soon gained a high reputation throughout Ireland, and many monks from distant places came to study within its walls. Its memory is ‘preserved by the name of Long-tower Lane in the more modern city, where for many centuries stood a lofty round tower, which would not be built in his day. The Protestant Cathedral, which has the distinction of being the first Protestant Cathedral built in Ireland, has been dedicated to him, who well deserved the tribute to his memory.

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 89

49. Kilmacrenan described as a historic hamlet bypassed by railway

    Kilmacrenan · town · Donegal

    The Loughswilly light railway runs a full mile from Kilmacrenan, which the narrator describes as a historic hamlet. The railway's route was criticized for deliberately avoiding the chief towns and villages it was meant to serve.

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    Mr. Harkin was very full of the advantages which the extension of the Loughswilly light railway would bring to this part of the county. The light railway has since come into being, and no doubt fulfils some of his prophecies. But by a singularly false piece of economy this single-gauge line traces vast expanses of bog, and with one, or perhaps two, exceptions has succeeded in carefully avoiding the chief towns and villages, which it was intended to serve. For example, it is nearly two miles. from the important village of Church Hill, a full mile from the historic hamlet of Kilmacrenan, though it does pass near the Holy Well of Doon, and so benefits a numerous host of pilgrims. When it reaches Creeslough, by what

    56 HAUNTS OF THE EAGLE

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 25

50. Local history and folklore at Creeslough

    Creeslough · town · Donegal

    At Creeslough, the author met the proprietor of Harkin's Hotel, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, richly knowledgeable in local history and folk-lore. The proprietor had been factor to the murdered Earl of Leitrim and shared many legends and information about the area.

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    a paper cornet of pepper and salt carefully blended to support me by the way. I have eaten so many of these twin luxuries, that I am almost ashamed to look a brood of chickens in the face. I transferred them from my pocket to their destined place as a solemn duty rather than a personal pleasure near the imposing bridge over the Lackagh River, at that time literally swarming with its jostling multitude of spring salmon on spawning intent. The grey walls of Doe Castle rose proudly in front of me, which was once the stronghold of the brave MacSwyne, and was all but impregnable by the feeble cannon of the early seventeenth century. Its unyielding towers, when I first saw them, enclosed the modern dairy of Ards House, which lay behind it embosomed in dense woodland. _ Arrived at Creeslough, a protracted drought increased by my drouthy meal drove me _ into Harkin’s Hotel, where I had the pleasure of meeting the proprietor, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Antiquaries, Ireland, and crammed from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet with local history and folk-lore. Like most Irishmen who have the means and opportunity, he was a keen sportsman with something of a naturalist’s knowledge of the wild creatures of his native county. To his delightful conversation I am indebted for many legends and much valuable information, especially of the birds nesting on Horn Head. He told me that he remembered the time when the rare pine marten haunted the woods around Mr. Olphert’s mansion near Gortahork. To this day he could show me a badger’s earth in the wooded banks of Ards. But I had no time to bait the last surviving member of the bear-family in Britain; nor could I have found it in my heart to disturb so peaceful an inhabitant of the pleasant countryside.

    He had been factor to the murdered Earl of Leitrim, and was the only person, man, woman or

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 24

    As the companion tells it

    You're coming through Creeslough here in Donegal. A traveller once stopped at Harkin's Hotel in this town and met the proprietor, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, who was richly knowledgeable in local history and folklore. He had been factor to the murdered Earl of Leitrim, and was the only person — man, woman or child, the record says — whom the Earl trusted fully. He was also a keen sportsman with a naturalist's knowledge of the wild creatures of his native county. From his conversation the author gathered many legends and much valuable information, especially about the birds nesting on Horn Head. The proprietor recalled a time when the rare pine marten still haunted the woods around Mr. Olphert's mansion near Gortahork, and could still show a badger's earth in the wooded banks of Ards. The author had no time to seek out that badger, and wrote that he could not have found it in his heart to disturb so peaceful an inhabitant of the pleasant countryside.

51. Lough Akibbon and its boggy shores

    Lough Akibbon · lake or lakes · Donegal

    Stretching northward from Gartan, Lough Akibbon is a bare lake with boggy shores and patches of vividly green pasture dotted with browsing cattle and sheep. In Columbkille's time the hills on each side would have descended to the water's edge with scarcely any clearing.

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    On the opposite side of the lake is the fine rambling mansion of Glenveagh House with its winding avenue and Titan amongst rhododendrons, almost as big as the house and dyed with deep crimson at the time when the gorse is in bloom. The river Lennan flows out of the lake under Gartan Bridge, famous alike for its trout and its salmon. Save in the rookery and amongst the morning and evening choir of birds a soothing quiet pervades the fair landicape, which has forms and colours peculiar to itself. Not far away is Lough Nacully, a tiny tarn fringed with brown rushes and ‘* winking Mary-buds ”’ in the spring season, dreamily rippling along its reedy margin. Stretching northward is the bare Lough Akibbon with its boggy shores and its patches of vividly green pasture dotted over with browsing kine and ubiquitous sheep. It is a tranquil scene of rare beauty to-day, where stand comparatively prosperous farms and reasonably good roads. Hardly more than fifty years ago flax was grown in the neighbourhood, and the large crusher may be seen ona knoll overlooking Gartan Lough. But the linen industry has now departed from County Donegal to the Ulster of James I[.’s Plantation, so that the fields with their haze of delicately blue blossoms are found there no longer.

    Fourteen hundred years ago the landscape would be wild and picturesque, when cultivation was almost unknown save in the most rudimentary manner. The three lakes, the green hills would indeed be there; but no smiling farms would give a homely beauty to their flanks. Only a few wattled huts or stone cloughans, if there were enough loose stones to build them, would take the place of cottage and farm. The forest would cover most of the ground and be

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 85

52. Mulroy Bay and Knockalla, mountain of the echo

    near Mulroy Bay · bay · Donegal

    Mulroy Bay, separated from Lough Swilly by the saw-toothed ridge called the Devil's Backbone, bears the more beautiful Irish name of Knockalla, meaning 'the mountain of the echo.'

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    But there at least was Lough Swilly, or ‘‘ the Lake of Shadows,”’ stretching its sinuous course, overlooked by the Grianan of Ailleach, or ‘‘ summer palace ”’ of the kings of northern Ireland. There like the teeth of a huge saw the Devil’s Backbone parted it from the lonely Mulroy Bay, with its far more beautiful Irish name of Knockalla, or ‘‘ the mountain of the echo.”’

    There lay the Poisoned Glen, its gleaming rocks snow-white, grim, sheer: I fancied that I could see Balor lurking behind the crag, when his grandson, MacKineely, thrust his spear through the envenomed eye, and so gave its illomened name to that savage recess. I could see the ‘“‘little red men ’’ riding on their enchanted steeds to work revenge on any who might have insulted or injured them. I could picture the “‘ good people ’’ weaving their mystic dance to the tune of their weird and unearthly music; I could hear the banshee wailing with the foreknowledge of the imminent death of some member of the family to which she was attached. I could imagine Columba in his coragh following his mystic staff across the stormy sound of Tory, to plant the Cross in that barren land. I could see the old church at Ray, where the huge cross which he is said to have cut in Tory, lies broken into four pieces. I could see Falcarragh with its discarded battering-ram, and far out at sea I could just catch a glimpse of the brown sails of the fishing fleet, hardly bigger than butterflies’ wings, provided by the wiser counsel of the Congested Districts Board.

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 51

    As the companion tells it

    The road runs near Mulroy Bay here in Donegal. A saw-toothed ridge called the Devil's Backbone parts this bay from Lough Swilly, the Lake of Shadows, which once lay under the gaze of the Grianan of Ailleach, the summer palace of the kings of northern Ireland. Mulroy Bay carries the Irish name Knockalla, the mountain of the echo. The writer who passed this way found it lonely, with a name far more beautiful than its English one.

53. Parish priest of Annagary visits the Anglers' Inn

    Annagary · town · Donegal

    The parish priest of Annagary arrives at the Anglers' Inn while the narrator and a fellow guest are reminiscing by a peat fire. He is described as a thoroughly well-built, kindly man with bright blue eyes and golden hair, who informs the company that he is not a political priest.

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    We were deep in the midst of a series of reminiscences highly interesting to ourselves, when, not greatly to our delight, a knock was heard at the door and in walked the parish priest of Annagary. He had one of the kindest faces that I had ever seen, even in Ireland, where they are not rare. He wasa thoroughly well-built man with strong arms and the sturdy legs of the true Irishman. His fine, open features, his bright blue eyes and his golden hair would have won him a welcome anywhere, save perhaps at a fight in a Fair. Immediately upon his appearance, Mr. Gallaher in person very respectfully and unbidden brought in ‘‘ the materials,’’ which we duly compounded into that deleterious fluid vulgarly known as toddy. Soon under its genial influence we were enjoying a ‘‘ three-handed crack,’’? which utterly belied the musty old proverb, ‘‘ Two’s company, three’s trumpery.’’ His Reverence informed us that he was not a political priest, and both of us thought the better of him for that. He was

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 55

    As the companion tells it

    As you pass through Annagary in Donegal, this is a place where the parish priest once walked into the Anglers' Inn while two guests sat by a peat fire deep in reminiscence. He had one of the kindest faces the narrator had ever seen, even in Ireland, with bright blue eyes and golden hair, a thoroughly well-built man with strong arms and sturdy legs. Mr. Gallaher brought in the materials for toddy, and the three settled into what the narrator called a three-handed crack that belied the old proverb, two's company, three's trumpery. His Reverence told them he was not a political priest, and both guests thought the better of him for that.

54. Portrait of Father Macfadden of Derrybeg and Dunlewey

    near Derrybeg · town · Donegal

    A life-like portrait of Father Macfadden, the priest of Derrybeg and Dunlewey, was displayed on the wall of a house near Errigal alongside religious prints and images. His portrait's presence among the few decorations indicates his significance to the local community.

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    One or two prints of the Saints in gorgeous hues, a gaudy picture of the ‘‘ Sacred Heart,’’ and a life-like portrait of Father Macfadden of Derrybeg and Dunlewey were tacked on to the walls, where there was room for them, and a few chairs and stools completed the furniture of the chamber. From hooks in the ceiling hung a couple of enormous hams, a side of bacon, and many bundles of herbs. I asked myself the silent question, ‘‘ Could the landlady be a fairy-doctor, who is known to use such herbs? ’’ Dismissing the idle thought I laid down my knapsack on the table, and my blackthorn by the side of it, which was duly admired for its strength and murderous knots. At that moment my throat was like a lime-kiln; I was unreasonably eager to slake its inward drought, though I knew that I should increase my outward moisture thereby. I found that my hostess had only two kinds of drinks: the one was what she called ‘‘ home-brewed beer,’’ the other was what was locally known as ‘‘ white whiskey,’’ or in plainer language gin, of a somewhat crude, not to say ferocious, quality as its very label betrayed to the experienced observer.

    ‘“Gin and ginger ’’ make a palatable and thirstquenching mixture: but when I discovered that

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 46

55. Rare Killarney fern discovered near Poisoned Glen

    Poisoned Glen · valley · Donegal

    While descending toward the Poisoned Glen, the author found a fine crop of Killarney fern growing in a dripping hollow in the rocks, a species he had not known to grow in Donegal. He deliberately withheld the exact location to protect the rare plant from collectors.

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    By the time I was nearly half-way down, herbage began to be more frequent: in one spot I saw a flat rock covered by a fine clump of London Pride in full flower; not far below it lay a large patch of mossy saxifrage with its white flowers stuck all over ‘it like large pins in a green velvet cushion. Then I noticed a little hollow in the rocks dripping with a quick succession of big drops of water: here, to my unspeakable pleasure I found a fine crop of the Killarney fern. I had had no idea that it ever grew in Donegal until that happy day, when I saw it for the first time. I plucked just one translucent leaf, for it has this quality in common with the filmy fern; but to my sorrow I lost it on my downward path. Nor will I give any other indication of its habitat, for reasons too well known to the honest botanist. I have the serene satisfaction of believing that it will long continue to haunt that dripping hollow, unseen and unplundered by the few who climb up or down this steep and rugged track. Long may it flourish far from the selfish hands of those who call themselves fern-lovers, when in sober truth they are the destructive thieves of all rare plants and flowers.

    I had sighted the marble church for some time, which looked very cold and white, as perhaps is fitting for the Protestant Church of Ireland: I do not think that I should be over-eager to worship in it, if it be true that it is only attended by three families. It is impossible, even with the gracious after-glow of memory, to describe the mingled glory and beauty of that majestic scene, nor will I make the vain attempt; but the sight of it repays a thousandfold the really hard labour of the descent and the subsequent inconveniences to be detailed in their place. From Ballygeeha Gap on the south, and the foot of Altan Lough of the north, the two finest views of the king of the Donegal mountains can be seen to best

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 61

56. Rude cross and round tower on Tory Island

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    A cross almost certainly belonging to Columbkille and a round tower dating shortly after his time still stand on Tory Island. The author describes them as perhaps the rudest and most primitive objects of their kind in Ireland, survivals of a monastery repeatedly sacked by Norsemen.

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    Dismayed by the portent yet angered at being turned out of his inheritance, the King came to terms with the Saint, who founded a small monastic establishment there, by which he soon converted all of the islanders. The little community was destined again and again in after years to be sacked and plundered by the savage northmen. The cross, almost certainly his, holds its original position; the round tower cannot date very long after his time. The two are perhaps the rudest and most primitive objects of their kind in Ireland. It may be well to

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    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 90

57. Ruined silver mine near Errigal

    Errigal · minor feature · Donegal

    The author compares the abandoned Glendowan granite quarry to a ruined silver mine on the other side of Errigal, another memorial of abortive enterprise whose hewn fragments add to the desolation of the Glendowan valley.

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    It was a melancholy picture of ruined enterprise, . which, had it been well managed, might greatly have benefited the peasantry of that poverty-stricken neighbourhood. It may have been the little public-house at Glendoan, which tempted the quarrymen to spend their unusual earnings thriftlessly, which caused the closing of the quarry. It may have been true, as was told me, that a fault was found in the stratum, which rendered its working unprofitable. It may have been that the quarry itself was too far from the sea, and the carriage of the granite too expensive to allow it to pay its way. Whichever of these three causes may have led to its abandonment I cannot decide, though I think the last the most probable; but there it lies ruined like the silver mine on the other side of

    I

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 60

    As the companion tells it

    Right beside the road here is the site of a ruined silver mine on the far side of Errigal. The author who passed this way saw it as another memorial of abortive enterprise, a companion in failure to the Glendowan granite quarry in the valley below. That quarry had employed men in a poor neighbourhood, but it closed, perhaps because a fault was found in the stratum, or because it lay too far from the sea and the cost of carrying the granite ate the profit. The author thought the distance from the sea the most likely cause. Both workings now lie abandoned, their hewn fragments adding to the desolation of the Glendowan valley.

58. Tormore Point and Tormore Island dangerous passage

    Tormore · minor feature · Donegal

    A narrow strait or pass between Tormore Point and Tormore Island was described as the most dangerous of all the rock-bound defiles along this coast. The passage runs between towering cliffs with barely room for oars.

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    First we glided through a narrow strait or ‘‘ pass ”’ between Tormore Point and Tormore Island, which is the most dangerous of all those rock-bound defiles. Next we left on the leeside the three pyramidal peaks known as the “ Hastings,’’ which frown above the water to the height of a hundred and fifty feet, making our boat, though not a small one, seem like a mussel-shell manned by ants. Then a lofty and slenderly fashioned natural arch spanned the course, bearing a striking resemblance to the flying buttress of some gigantic cathedral. The span of the arch was fully fifty feet above the deep-blue waters, and nearly twenty feet wide at its widest part. In due time we reached the foot of the ‘‘ Petticoat,’’ a cliff not less than thirteen hundred feet in height, and justifying its name by its curious shape. Not far off towered the ‘‘ Curtain,’’ no less appropriately named with its vast folds of many-coloured rock. Next another of the channels lay in front, where the lofty crags were parted by a narrow “‘ pass,’’ over which they hung in threatening sublimity. Here there was scarcely room for the oars to ply at full stretch between the lowering sides, yet the water between them was deep enough, and that day rippled gently from the prow.

    The steersman needed both exact knowledge and continual watchfulness in that gloomy spot: many a

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 20

59. Waves dashing against Tory Island's rocky towers

    Tory Island · townland · Donegal

    From Horn Head, the author observed great waves dashing against the rocky towers of Tory Island as the storm gathered. The sight prompted his retreat to the signal tower for shelter.

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    Meanwhile, dark clouds were gathering over the sky, the sun was hiding his golden face, the wind grew loud and boisterous so that I found it not easy to keep my feet, great waves were clearly dashing against the rocky towers of Tory, and I thought it best to retrace my steps to the signal tower, where I could at least escape the keenness of the blast, until the rising storm had passed away. The hoarsevoiced western wind roared around the solid masonry of the ruin, and cold scuds of rain dashed into my face as I climbed to a window, so that I could watch the war of blast and billow. Sometimes the gusts came with a loud sobbing, as of a giant in pain; sometimes they pealed aloud their triumphant song. A flight of swallows, which I had noted near a tiny pond which I had passed some hours before, took refuge in the turrets of the tower, uttering a low complaining note most unlike their customary cheerful twittering. Evidently there was a great commotion amongst the nesting sea-birds, which poured forth their shrilling shrieks in answer to the blast. They had small need to fear; they were secure enough in the crannies of the time-worn rocks. But they could not resist wheeling round and round in agitated flight about their airy fortress in search of some fancied place of greater safety.

    In a little time the sky grew dark as night; then a momentary hush could be felt, so still that I held my breath. Next moment the black clouds seemed to split over the gloomy vault, and vivid streams of lightning shot forth from every crack, hissing downwards into the deep grey billows. Then a stupendous crash of thunder seemed to shake the solid rock, and did shake the tower, bringing down a few fragments of the looser masonry. On it went, rumbling over the roaring waters, awaking a thousand echoes amongst the ragged crags. Another series of crooked rivers of lightning flashed along the gloomy heaven, another tremendous burst of

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 31

60. Horn Head as a favoured sea-fowl resort

    near Horn Head · promontory · Donegal

    The author traverses Horn Head, noting it as a favourite resort for sea-fowl of most kinds. He observes many birds he cannot identify, recalls descriptions from a local man named Harkin, and witnesses a thunderstorm lashing the Atlantic into fury during his nine-hour walk.

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    I had seen almost too much, though I took brief notes of each new bird or creature which I met on my journey. There were many birds which I could not identify, for Horn Head is a favourite resort for sea-fowl of most kinds. I tried to recall what Mr. Harkin had told me about its feathered visitors, but I could only keep in mind some dozen species of the less common ones, all of which I recognized from his admirable description of them. I had yet one more bird to see for the first time; it was one of the waders, perhaps common enough, but at that time a stranger to me. I left the two Claggans behind me and found myself in the lovely Pollaguill Bay with its northern fringe of cliffs, its broad orange sands, and its shining stream. Just where the brook spreads out over the pebble-dotted sand to meet the sea, I caught sight of an oyster-catcher, which I recognized by its vermilion beak and legs, its dark collar, and it brown back shading its white belly. It saw me at the same time and made off at top speed to the northern cliff. It was a handsome bird, and I should like to have seen more of it; but its needless fears and the fates themselves were against me.

    I crossed the stream and turned towards MacSwyne’s Gun. Though it was by no means my nearest way home, I had heard so much of this famous blow-hole, that I wanted to see it, and if possible to hear its alleged tremendous report. But since it had not gone off during the brief storm, I was not hopeful, especially as the tide was still going out. Afterwards, I learned that the sea had smashed into pieces some part of the cavern, so that nothing but the

    Internet Archive hauntsofeagleman00foxa, Chapter 39