“Yes, your honour.” The boatman then told how the accident occurred “one day when there was a stag-hunt on the lake;” but as the anecdote struck Edward so forcibly that he afterwards recorded it in verse, we will give the story after his fashion.
MACARTHY'S GRAVE
I
The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair,
The stag had left his dewy lair;
To cheering horn and baying tongue,
Killarney's echoes sweetly rung.
With sweeping oar and bending mast,
The eager chase was following fast;
When one light skiff a maiden steer'd
Beneath the deep wave disappeared:
Wild shouts of terror wildly ring,
A boatman brave, with gallant spring
And dauntless arm, the lady bore;
But he who saved—was seen no more!
II
Where weeping birches wildly wave,
There boatmen show their brother's grave;
And while they tell the name he bore,
Suspended hangs the lifted oar;
The silent drops they idly shed
Seem like tears to gallant Ned;
And while gently gliding by,
The tale is told with moistened eye.
No ripple on the slumbering lake
Unhallow'd oar doth ever make;
All undisturb'd, the placid wave
Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave.
Winding backwards through the channels which lead the explorers of this scene of nature's enchantment from the lower to the upper lake, the surpassing beauty of the “Eagle's nest” burst on their view; and as they hovered under its stupendous crags, clustering with all variety of verdure, the bugle and the cannon awoke the almost endless reverberation of sound which is engendered here. Passing onward, a sudden change is wrought; the soft beauty melts gradually away, and the scene hardens into frowning rocks and steep acclivities, making a befitting vestibule to the bold and bleak precipices of “The Reeks,” which form the western barrier of this upper lake, whose savage grandeur is rendered more striking by the scenes of fairy-like beauty left behind. But even here, in the midst of the mightiest desolation, the vegetative vigour of the numerous islands proves the wondrous productiveness of the soil in these regions.
On their return, a great commotion was observable as they approached the rapids formed by the descending waters of the upper lake to the lower, and they were hailed and warned by some of the peasants from the shore that they must not attempt the rapids at present, as a boat, which had just been upset, lay athwart the passage. On hearing this, Edward and Fanny landed upon the falls, and walked towards the old bridge, where all was bustle and confusion, as the dripping passengers were dragged safely to shore from the capsized boat, which had been upset by the principal gentleman of the party, whose vulgar trumpetings had so disturbed the delight of Edward and Fanny, who soon recognised the renowned Andy as the instigator of the bad music and the cause of the accident. Yes, Lord Scatterbrain, true to his original practice, was author of all.
Nevertheless, he and his party, soused over head and ears as they were, took the thing in good humour, which was unbroken even by the irrepressible laughter which escaped from Edward and Fanny, as they approached and kindly offered assistance. An immediate removal to the neighbouring cottage on Dinas Island was recommended, particularly as Lady Scatterbrain was in a delicate situation, as well, indeed, as Mrs. Durfy, who, with her dear Tom, had joined Lord Scatterbrain's party of pleasure.
On reaching the cottage, sufficient change of clothes was obtained to prevent evil consequences from the ducking. This, under ordinary circumstances, might not have been easy for so many; but, fortunately, Lord Scatterbrain had ordered a complete dinner from the hotel to be served in the cottage, and some of the assistants from the Victoria, who were necessarily present, helped to dress more than the dinner. What between cookmaids and waiters, the care-taker of the cottage and the boatmen, bodies, and skirts, jackets and other conveniences, enabled the party to sit down to dinner in company, until fire could mend the mistake of his lordship. Edward and Fanny courteously joined the party; and the honour of their company was sensibly felt by Andy and Oonah, who would have borne a ducking a day for the honour of having Fanny and Edward as their guests. Oonah was by nature a nice creature, and adapted herself to her elevated position with a modest ease that was surprising. Even Andy was by this time able to conduct himself tolerably well at table—only on that particular day he did make a mistake; for when salmon (which is served at Killarney in all sorts of variety) made its appearance for the first time in the novel form “en papillote,” Andy ate paper and all. He refused a second cutlet, however, saying he “thought the skin tough.” The party, however, passed off mirthfully, the very accident helping the fun; for, instead of any one being called by name, the “lady in the jacket,” or the “gentleman in the bedgown,” were the terms of address; and, after a merrily spent evening, the beds of the Victoria gave sleep and pleasing dreams to the sojourners of Killarney.