The first place of interest we passed over was Blarney Castle, which is only five miles from Cork. We swept directly over the famous ruin, and I had a strange feeling as I looked down on the far-famed fortress from my aerial seat. As I had been at Blarney Castle before I was able to locate that part of the wall where the Blarney Stone is seen. I tried to point it out to Mike, but, before I could get the place described, we had flown over it. We learned that to describe anything like that on the aeroplane you have to look as far ahead as possible. I had no idea the country around Blarney was so beautiful until I had a good bird’s eve view of it. I was convinced that we would see all the scenic beauties of Ireland from our aeroplane as they had never been seen before.
The distance from Cork to Killarney is 50 miles as the crow flies, and as we were now traveling like crows we measured distances as they did. We could see the River Lee at our left as it meandered through the neat farms and little fields of the Cork farmers. The pleasant-looking cottages fairly flew beneath us. We were surprised to see so much of County Cork under cultivation, as we expected to see it all in grazing land. I found out later that under the beneficent new Land Laws most of these small farmers now own their own farms, and that this part of Ireland is prospering.
It was a perfect picture that met our gaze as we looked around. The small fields were divided with thick hedges, or stone walls, sometimes with a wall of earth. Groves were frequent. Here and there a lordly mansion peered out at us through the trees.
Quite a distance to our left we could see Macroom, where the railroad from Cork ends. It looked so quiet and still in that region that morning that I was reminded that there was a tradition that the gentle Quaker, William Penn, was born there. Penn’s father had a seat at Macroom, but I think the young William gave his first cry in London. At least, I once saw the font in a London church in which he was immersed as a tiny infant.
“Now for the mountains,” said Mike, as the Kerry hills drew near. Their peaks loomed up before us big as the Himalayas. Mike began to raise the airship higher and higher.
Right here I want to confess that often throughout the whole trip in this aeroplane with Mike I had shaky feelings that were a little unpleasant. Once in a while in imagination I could see myself tumbling over and over to the ground, like a wounded bird. Nor were my fears altogether groundless, as we shall see. If Mike had any such apprehensions he never said a word to me about it. I rather think he was so busily engaged constantly with the operation of the aeroplane that he had little time to think of anything else. I had much better chance to see the country than he did, but I also had more time on my hands during which I could conjure up all kinds of disasters. I well remember that, as we rose to a dizzy height, in order to clear the Kerry Mountains, I had almost a nervous attack. For a moment I shut my eyes and heartily wished I was on the earth again. If I could have gotten safely to land just then, I am afraid that all the gold in Ophir would not have tempted me to fly again. I was roused by a cry from Mike.
“Look,” he fairly shouted, “isn’t that grand?”
I opened my eyes quickly and saw Mike, with his face all aglow, gazing on a high peak which we soon recognized as Mount Mangerton.
It towered far above us, high as we were, for this peak is over 2,700 feet high. Soon the Devil’s Punchbowl, another high mountain peak, with a flat top, came into view. This mountain, which is over 2,600 feet high, is easily recognized. Formerly it was a volcano, but long ago burnt itself out. The crater is now filled with clear, cold spring water, which is piped to the village of Killarney. It is surely an Irishism to call this beautiful water from this huge natural reservoir the “devil’s punch.”
We were looking so intently on these great hills that we crossed the crest of the divide before we were aware. All at once Mike startled me again.