Kentucky Irish American. (Louisville, Ky.) 1898-1968, 1899-03-18
The Dragons Cavern.


1--WE must hasten, Sheila, " said Jerry
Sullivan to his sweetheart. as he thrust
long iron rod down into the beach of Cos
tello bay, in Connemara, in search of the
small kegs of illicit whisky which he had
hidden in the sand two weeks previously.
Sheila was walking in the water up to
her ankles and helping her lover disinter
the liquor. The spume of the sea smote
her fair cheeks and the wind played with
her dark hair as she threw key of
whisky far up the beach.
That's ten and the last, Jerry" said
Sheila, as she ran up the beach, and drew
from its hiding place in the bog frail
canoe made of canvas, with light ashen
ribs. Dragging the boat down TO the
waters edge, they placed the ten small
kegs along the keel of the boat, ran her
bow first into the water, and jumped in
as the boat slid gently out into the bay.
They were OH their way to the Arran
islands. ten miles away, to be married by
Father O'Donohue, on St. Patrick's day.
Roth Terry and his sweetheart we're skill
full with the oars, having been reared at
the waters edge. They had chosen st,
Patrick's day Tor their nuptials because
of their Astounding faith in the kindly
patronage of the renowned saint. Scarcely
had they passed the shelter of the island
of Trebane and entered the broad bay of
Galway, when Jerry, looking backward,
saw boat containing four men nhot
pursuit.
God help us, Sheila; the police are
after usl" he exclaimed.
pray to the blessed ST. Patrick,
Ierry,r said Sheila, "for we have both
men and the sea to fight this night.
Bending their muscular backs to the
oars, the frail craft fairly few at the inn
pulse. The rising wind did all it could
to impede their progress, but on they sped
until darkness fell. II was mad race,
with love and romance on one side and
the law on the other, and the police boat
was slowly gaining. Every nerve and
muscle was strained in the race. The
1.-THE oars bent until they threatened to
break. Ierry's cap blew off and went
bobbinp away over the waves. Sheila's
hair blew out like black banner on the
wind. The salt spray swept over them in
sheets.
~ have the rifle here, Sheila. Shall !
try a shot2" said Jerry.
'No, no, Jerry" she replied; that
would be murder. Pray to the blessed
St. Patrick and pull"
The police boat was only fifty feet
astern, and they had already been called
OH to surrender when the boat grounded
in cove at the upper end Of the largest
Arran island, and they jumped into the
water and disappeared in the darkness,
leaving the boat and its contents IN the
hands of the police.
The islands of Arran are situated in
the bay of Galway, near the western
coast Of Ireland The largest of the
islands, Innishmore, is nine miles long.
1t is desolate, inhospitable rock in the
sea, where famine is frequent visitor.
The Illicit whisky distillers in Come
mara, ten miles away, make the island
their base of supplies. The western side
OF the island facing the sea consists OF a
stupendous escarpment of rock, rising
sheer from the water, varying from 200
to 400 feet in height. At intervals along
the cliff holes have been forced through
the rock by the attrition of the water.
When the wind blows hard from the
:.
holes and bursts in a column fifty feet
thick through the surface of the rock,
frequently to the height of 100 feet. 1t is
heart-quaking to see one of these spout
ing holes" as they are called by the
islanders, in full play
Bryan Kilmartin, the strongest man in
the island at the time our story opens
lived in cottage few hundred feet from
the edge of the cliff. In the rear Of the
cottage there was a jagged hole in the
rock fifty feet wide and of unknown
depth No man had the courage to ex-
anime the hole, for there issued from it
such strange noises OF grooming and bel
lowing that the superstitious islanders be-
lieved the cavern to be occupied by
dragon. There was legend on the island
10 the effect that when ST. Patrick ban
ished the dragons from Ireland, the big
gest of the dragons, 600 feet long swan
across the bay OF Galway to Arran. AS
the good saint was hot on the dragons
trail the beast jumped down the hole in
Rilmartins yard aud had been imprisoned
there ever since. Bryan erected a high
stone wall around the hole, and Mrs.
Kilmartin used il as receptacle for re-
fuse few venturesome visitors from
tie mainland peered timorously into the
yawning chasm, but the islanders left it
to the care OF its dragon inhabitant.
The evening previous to St. Patrick's
day was marked by storm of excep-
tional violence. A northeast gale was
raging. All day the big waves had been
hurled against the gigantic cliffs of the
island, beating like fine shot against the
windows of Kilmartin's cottage.
"Tis wild night, said Bryan, peer
ing out upon the storm tossed beach.
God help the poor fellow that's out of
doors this night Ellen, more turf.
Scarcely had Bryan seated himself