We were glad to fly over it, however, rather than live there, for the monotony and barren soil repel a man with an active mind and a good stomach.
Men were scarce, but we saw some, mostly at work in the peat lands. We caught sight of some Connemara women also, with red skirts, and Mike said he thought they were shoeless.
We went through the pass of Kylemore, called the “Gem of Connemara.” Two lofty peaks rise on each side, and, in order to avoid land currents, we had to rise to a height of 500 feet in going through.
I was astonished to see in this out-of-the-way place a magnificent country home. It was surrounded with an immense garden, and the walks and drives were beautified with flaming red fuchsia hedges.
I hastily referred to my little guide book, and found it was Kylemore Castle, and that an American lady lived there. She was formerly Miss Helena Zimmerman, of Cincinnati, Ohio, but she fell from grace and is now known as the Duchess of Manchester. She must have some pangs of conscience about it, for no live American girl would live in this solitary region unless as an act of penance for her sins.
We passed close enough to Clifden, the extreme western point in Ireland, to see Clifden Castle, and also the Marconi Station. Marconi found a resting place at Clifden for the weary wireless messages after their long flight across the Atlantic, and he has a large Station here. He also found a resting place at Clifden for his weary heart, as he married Miss O’Brien, a beauty of Western Ireland.
We could hear plainly the sending of a wireless message. It was like a bombardment, report following report, like the discharge of artillery. Passing west of the Twelve Pins, a striking group of mountains, we entered County Mayo along the seacoast. Skirting Mount Muilrea, 2,685 feet high, we turned northeast to Croagh Patrick.
If Ireland’s mountains were pressed out, the area of the island would be doubled. County Mayo resembles County Clare, and the stone cabins, little fields, and winding roads, are all distinctly Irish.
We were now used to the excitement caused everywhere as we whirred over the astonished peasants. One Irishman in County Mayo amused us hugely. He must have had ears like an Indian’s, for he heard our motor while we were fully a mile behind him. Turning suddenly, he gave our aeroplane one long look, and then, dropping his bundle on the road, he started to run like a hare, as if to make his escape. It may have been his conscience that troubled him. Mike lowered the aeroplane until we were not more than 25 feet above him, as we shot directly over his head. Just as we passed above him he let out an unearthly shriek.
Perhaps it was a retributive act of justice, but, at any rate, a few moments later we were a good deal more scared than the Irishman.