CHAPTER XXXVII 



CROAGHAUN OF ACHILL 



RISING sheer from the Atlantic on the extreme western 

 coast of Ireland — it is, indeed, almost the most westerly 

 point of Europe — ^there stands, bare to the four winds, 

 the fine hill known as Croaghaun. In the Scottish Gaelic I 

 think it would be spelt Cruachan, and, indeed, there is a 

 certain resemblance between itself and Beinn Cruachan in 

 Argyll. 



For days — weeks even — ^on end, Croaghaun in winter wears 

 his mist-cap, but on this morning of mid-winter the clouds 

 were high, and — a rare thing for the Atlantic seaboard — - 

 scarce a breath of wind stirred. As a naval companion and I 

 made our way along the southern shores of Achill, the spray 

 from the great Atlantic breakers hung, mist-like, in the qUiet 

 air, and, indeed, penetrated quite half-way up the broad hill of 

 Meenaun, filling its dark precipices to a height of close on a 

 thousand feet with grey vapour. From many villages the 

 smoke of peat fires rose, to hang over the townships in a layer 

 of thin blue smoke mingling with the salt spray. Passing 

 the village of Dooagh, where primitive conditions still pre- 

 vail, and where in certain of the cotters' dwellings window 

 and chimney are absent, and the peat smoke escapes through 

 a hole in the roof, we struck up the shoulder of the hill and 

 made our way to the summit, along the top of the rocks which 

 shelter the dark waters of the lough Corrymore. To-day no 

 ripple stirred the surface of the lough, but its peaty waters 

 were impenetrable, and no rising trout broke its surface. 

 Many plants of dwarf juniper clothe the hillside, and on the 

 trailing stems of the bearberry red fruits were still showing. 



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