Where the Atlantic meets the land

by H. Caldwell Lipsett

THE LEGEND OF BARNESMORE GAP

At the point where the range of mountains which divides the Northern from the Southern half of Donegal approaches nearest to the innermost extremity of Donegal Bay, there is a wild and rocky pass which, from a distance, shows as a saddle-shaped hollow on the skyline, giving the impression of a bite taken by the mouth of a giant clean out of the centre of the mountain.

This gorge is still, as it always has been in the past, the main artery of communication between the level and fertile plains of Tyrone and Londonderry and the tract of country south of the mountains extending as far as Lough Erne. It is called Barnesmore Gap, and the following is the legend current upon the countryside as to the origin of the name.

'I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.'

At the beginning of this century when Mr. Balfour's light railways were not thought of, and even the Finn Valley Railway as yet was not, its place was taken in the internal economy of the country by the highroad running through the Gap. Great then was the congestion of traffic and the indignation of traders far and wide, when a highwayman selected the part of this road which lay amidst the mountains for the scene of his depredations, and levied toll upon all comers.

Men of a peace-loving disposition or with time to spare diverted their course round the southern extremity of the range. And as time is the least valuable commodity in Ireland and usually the least considered, the general stream of commerce followed this direction. But there were cases where urgency or impatience led to the use of the old route, and off these the highwayman made his profit.

When this state of siege had continued for some time, a gentleman of Enniskillen of the name of O'Connor had need of a sum of two hundred pounds within a certain time. This money he had to get from Derry. But he could not trust the mail, which was regularly robbed, and it would not reach him in time by any route, but the shortest—that through the Gap. None of his servants would run the risk of a meeting with the highwayman, and he had determined to take the journey himself, when a half-witted hanger-on about the house, named Blazing Barney from the color of his hair, volunteered for the sendee.

This man was a natural or a 'bit daft,' as they call it in Scotland. But his master knew that he could be sharp enough upon occasion, and no one would dream that such a half-witted creature would be trusted with such an important commission. Altogether this was the best chance of deceiving the highwayman, so he decided to risk it.

He offered Barney the pick of his weapons and his best hunter, but the omadhawn preferred to go unarmed and mounted upon the worst looking horse in the stable, an old gray, that was blind of one eye and lame of one leg, but could still do a good day's travelling. As he shrewdly remarked:

'Fwhat 'ud I be doin' on a gran' upstandin' baste like yon; the thafe beyant wud rise till the thrick in no time.'

For Barney's silliness only came on in fits at the season of the new moon; at other times he was merely a slightly exaggerated type of that mixture of simplicity with a certain low-bred cunning in practical matters which has distinguished the countryman in all ages from the larger-minded dweller in cities. The present was a lucid interval, so he could be trusted to take care of himself.

So Barney jogged along on his way towards Derry, through Fermanagh and Donegal, without fear of any ill, and only had to ask for what he wanted in the way of food and shelter in order to get it. The simple-hearted peasantry never grudge 'bit nor sup' to the poor of their own order, and those afflicted as he was they regard as being under the special protection of heaven.

With the help of an early start, in spite of the sorriness of his nag, he managed the fifty miles between Enniskillen and the town of Donegal on the first day, and early on the second reached the Gap. It was a moist, drizzling morning, and as he rode in among the mountains a damp mist closed down upon him, almost hiding the ground beneath him from his sight. The road passed upwards along the mountain side, until it became a mere ledge jutting out from it, and forming a break in the sheer descent of the cliff; on the one hand was a precipice, from the bottom of which came the ripple of rushing waters to warn the traveller from its brink, on the other rose the steep hillside, whence he could hear above him the muffled crowing of the grouse among the heather.

Suddenly a gigantic figure outlined itself upon the mist, seeming to Barney larger than human, and he crossed himself as he rode nearer to it. But as the deceitful folds of vapor rolled away from it, the figure, resolved itself into a man on horseback standing across the roadway at its narrowest point.

'Where are ye for?' said the stranger shortly.

'It's a saft day, yer 'ahner, an' where am I for, is it? Well, I'll just tell ye, it's Derry I'm for, that same, an' mebbe ye'll infarm me if I'm on the right road.' And Barney giggled vacantly.

'What are you laughing at, fool?'

'Laffin' is it me, yer 'ahner? Troth I was only—'

'Don't stand bletherin' there,' interrupted the other angrily. 'What'll ye be doin' at Derry?'

'At Derry? He! he! he! That's just fwhat I was tould not to let an to a livin' sowl, but there can be no harrum, musha, in tellin' a fine jintleman like yersilf now, kin there now? I'm goin' to Derry for two hunner pund. That's what I'll be doin'. What do ye say to that?'

'An' who'd give you two hundred pounds, ye cod ye?'

'Two hunner pun', he! he! he! two hunner pun'..!'

'Look here, my good fellow, does this money belong to you?'

'Me is it? No for shure, it's the masther's.'

'And who's your master?'

'The masther? Troth he's just the masther, he! he! he!'

'What's his name, you idiot?'

'Oh his name, his name's Misther O'Connor of Inniskilling.'

'And has he much money?'

'Lashins.'

'An' what did the master send you for?'

'Fwhat for? Two hunner pun', he! he! he!'

'Why did he choose you to send? Don't you know that there is a highwayman on this road?'

'Ah, that's just it yer 'ahner, I'm only a fule, so the thafe of the wurruld won't suspect me, but mebbe I'll not be such a fule as he thinks me.'

'How do you know I'm not the highwayman?'

'Ah ye're makin' game yer 'ahner. A fine jintleman like yersilf on a splendacious baste, the likes of yon is it that would be a dhirty robber? I'm not such a fule as to think that.'

'Well, well, what would you do if you did meet the robber?'

'Rin like a hare, yer 'ahner.'

'That old horse of yours wouldn't, I'm thinkin'. And if ye couldn't run?'

'Well, I dunno,' and Barney scratched his head—'stan' I spose an' give him the money if he axed far it.'

'A nice cowardly thing to do with your master's property.'

'Betther be a coward nor a corp,' replied Barney pithily.

'Well, I hope you'll find Derry a good sort of place.'

'For sartin, shure. Why wudn't I? I hear tell ye can git as much cahfee there for a pinny as wud make tay for tin min.'

'Will you shake your elbow?'

'Thank ye kindly, sirr, but niver a dhrain do I take.'

'Well, the loss is yours. Here's luck!' and the stranger raised the rejected flask to his own lips.

'Will you be coming back this way?'

'I dunno.'

'What day will you be coming back, d'ye think?'

'I d'no.'

'To-morrow?'

'Aiblins.'

'Well, will ye be coming back the day after?'

'Mebbe I might an' mebbe I mightn't, an' mebbe I might too.' The omadhawn had turned suddenly sulky after the manner of his kind, and it was evident that there was nothing more to be got out of him. The stranger saw this, and said, 'Well, don't go telling everybody you meet all you've told me, and mind you don't get robbed before you get back here. Good luck to you.'

'Morrow till ye, an' God be wi' ye, whereever ye go,' responded the haverel as he rode off.

Two days afterwards Barney was once more passing through the Gap, this time on his return journey. It was evening and the scene was very different from the first occasion of his visit to the place. Instead of damp and mist there was now brilliant sunshine which flooded the valley and the far hill-sides with purple light, and glittered upon the surface of the brook with the slanting rays of eventide. Barney could now see that the side of the precipice leading downwards from the road was not absolutely perpendicular, but was diversified with rocky ledges and huge boulders, which lent a wild and rugged aspect to the scenery, intensified by the great mountains which towered steeply upon either hand. While the sight of the sea in the background added to the loneliness of the mountains the vaster loneliness of the ocean.

At a turn of the road he came upon the stranger stationed at the same point as before, and as then drawn up across the path.

'Why it's yer 'ahner's self agin,' cried Barney delightedly, 'more power to yer elbow.'

'Oh, so you're here, then,' said the other with evident relief, 'where's the money?'

'The money is it? Troth it's in my pooch safe enough, I'll warrant, I thought I'd sarcumvint that robber villain.'

'Hand it over.'

'I hope yer 'ahner hasn't met him yersilf at ahl.'

'Hand it over.'

'Hand what over? Is it me yer talkin' to, surr?'

'Yes, I want that money you've got. I'm the highwayman.'

'Now you're jokin', surr,' said the natural anxiously. 'Shure ye wouldn't go to play a thrick that road upon a poor bhoy.'

'Don't stand jabberin' there, give me the hard stuff.'

'An' he was the thafe ahl the time, see that now, he! he! he!' and the idiot went into a fit of laughter, rocking himself to and fro on his horse, and wagging his hands helplessly.

'Give me the money, damn you,' said the robber out of patience as he drew a pistol from his holster, 'or I'll shoot you.'

'Oh, wirra, wirra, shure yer 'ahner wouldn't harrum Barney, he's only a nathral, that never done no one no hurt, may the saints presarve ye.'

'I don't want to hurt you,' said the other, 'but I must have that two hundred pounds, so just hand it over, and no more foolery.'

'Ah thin,' cried the idiot, flying into a passion, which lent fluency to his invective, 'bad cess to ye for a decaivin' sarpent, may the divil roast ye for yer blandandherin' ways, gettin' me saycrit fram me, an' thin thurnin' on me. Bad scran to yer sowl. My curse and the curse of Crummle rest on ye. Sorra till ye. May ye live till ye wish ye were dead, an' die like a dog in a ditch, but the divil a thraneen of the masther's wud ye get, if I had to throw it from here into the say, so now,' and before the robber could prevent him he had taken the two packages of money from his pocket and thrown them down the precipice.

'Ay, luk at it now, luk at the goold aleppin' an' arowlin' over the stones, there's yer money, ye thafe ye, much good may it do ye.'

As he spoke the paper packages burst on the rocks below, and the glittering shower of coins could be seen leaping from point to point, ever gathering velocity, while the ring of the metal upon the stones mingled with the babbling of the brook, towards which they were hastening.

With a curse the robber replaced his pistol in its holster, leaped from his horse, and began scrambling down the cliff, to try and save a part of the spoil if possible.

'He! he! he!' laughed the idiot, as he rocked and swayed at the edge of the precipice, and he giggled and slobbered and gibbered, as he pointed at the robber toiling after his elusive quest.

When the highwayman was about half-way down the descent, Barney mounted the other's fine black horse and began to ride off, leaving his own old screw behind.

'Stop, damn your soul,' cried the highwayman, starting to climb up again. 'What are ye doin', ye jape ye? Stop, or I'll shoot ye.'

'Shute away, ye blatherskite,' replied Barney cheerfully, 'haven't I got yer pistols in yer own holsters? but I'm thinkin' I'm goin' to take this illigant baste of yer 'ahner's instid av me own. Shure, fair exchange is no robbery, an' ye can make up the differ in the price foreby the lucks-penny with all them bright farthin's down there. I got them out of the bank o' purpose for yous.'

After that day the highwayman was seen no more in his accustomed haunts. But in honor of the omadhawn's stratagem the place has ever since borne the name of Barney's or Barnesmore Gap.