We were 200 feet in the air when we swept at full speed over the closely built houses of the town. We could see a few people stirring on the streets and they looked up at us in wonder, but did not make any manifestation. Evidently they knew what an aeroplane was.
After passing Tralee we kept close to the coast, and soon saw the wide mouth of the river Shannon ahead of us. This is Ireland’s largest river, 220 miles long, pouring itself into the sea North of County Kerry. The Kerry coast is rather bleak and it was with a feeling of relief that we rushed across the wide mouth of the Shannon into County Clare.
Here our motor gave its first trouble. As we were crossing the Shannon it alarmed me by beginning to “knock” (as motorists say) and Mike told me the sparker was not working properly. We had planned to make our first landing at Kilkee on the coast of Clare, and, as this was not far distant, Mike kept on at full speed along the coast. The coast scenery here is rugged and grand. Kilkee is situated at the head of a little bay, called Moore’s Bay. When we reached this bay Mike sped clear out over its waters, to my amazement, and then turned up the bay to Kilkee.
Coming up the bay we could see much excitement on the shore near the town. People were running down to the shore from all directions. Mike circled over the town, about 300 feet in the air, and then came down on a level stretch of coast beside the village.
Kilkee is over 100 miles from Cork, as the crow, or aeroplane, flies. We landed exactly at 8:00 o’clock. As I stepped from my seat, I felt stiff and lame, but a little exercise straightened me out. Mike busied himself at once with the motor. He began unscrewing the spark plugs and overhauling the whole engine.
Meanwhile the crowd kept gathering until, I suppose, in ten minutes, the entire town was standing around us open-mouthed. The boys in the crowd closed in on us at once and began asking all sorts of questions. When we told them we were from America the buzz of excitement grew louder, as they thought at first that we had crossed the Atlantic, since we came directly from the sea. Mike, at last, explained that we had only come from Cork that morning. This was wonderful enough to them and we heard all kinds of exclamations. “The Saints preserve us,” said one good lady, with a shawl wrapped around her head, “what’s the world coming to?”
“Begorra,” said a genuine Irishman, “I never thought they could make a crow out of a man.”
Some volunteered the information that they had sons, or brothers, in America, and it was not long until the crowd and us were on familiar terms. We hired two honest-looking fellows to watch the aeroplane, and keep the boys off from it, while we went down the straggling street of the town, looking for a place to get some refreshments.
A man, whom one of the bystanders assured us was “the bist man in town,” took us in charge and escorted us to his own home. His good wife, a kindly, middle-aged Irish woman of the middle class, soon had a cup of hot tea and some “scones” ready for us. This was our first taste of Irish hospitality and it astonished us.
We found our host a most companionable man. When we explained our plans about an aeroplane trip all around Ireland, he said: