There is one point at which the glen becomes extremely deep and narrow;
the sides descend to the depth of some hundred feet, and are so steep
as to be nearly perpendicular. The wild trees which have taken root in
the crannies and chasms of the rock are so intersected and entangled,
that one can with difficulty catch a glimpse of the stream which wheels,
flashes, and foams below, as if exulting in the surrounding silence and
solitude. This spot was not unwisely chosen, as a point of no ordinary strength,
for the erection of a massive square tower or keep, one side of which
rises as if in continuation of the precipitous cliff on which it is
based. Originally, the only mode of ingress was by a narrow portal in
the very wall which overtopped the precipice, opening upon a ledge of
rock which afforded a precarious pathway, cautiously intersected,
however, by a deep trench cut out with great labour in the living rock;
so that, in its pristine state, and before the introduction of artillery
into the art of war, this tower might have been pronounced, and that not
presumptuously, impregnable. The progress of improvement and the increasing security of the times
had, however, tempted its successive proprietors, if not to adorn, at
least to enlarge their premises, and about the middle of the last
century, when the castle was last inhabited, the original square tower
formed but a small part of the edifice. The castle, and a wide tract of the surrounding country, had from time
immemorial belonged to a family which, for distinctness, we shall call
by the name of Ardagh; and owing to the associations which, in Ireland,
almost always attach to scenes which have long witnessed alike the
exercise of stern feudal authority, and of that savage hospitality which
distinguished the good old times, this building has become the subject
and the scene of many wild and extraordinary traditions. One of them I
have been enabled, by a personal acquaintance with an eye-witness of the
events, to trace to its origin; and yet it is hard to say whether the
events which I am about to record appear more strange and improbable as
seen through the distorting medium of tradition, or in the appalling
dimness of uncertainty which surrounds the reality. Tradition says that, sometime in the last century, Sir Robert Ardagh, a
young man, and the last heir of that family, went abroad and served in
foreign armies; and that, having acquired considerable honour and
emolument, he settled at Castle Ardagh, the building we have just now
attempted to describe. He was what the country people call a _dark_ man;
that is, he was considered morose, reserved, and ill-tempered; and, as
it was supposed from the utter solitude of his life, was upon no terms
of cordiality with the other members of his family. The only occasion upon which he broke through the solitary monotony
of his life was during the continuance of the racing season, and
immediately subsequent to it; at which time he was to be seen among
the busiest upon the course, betting deeply and unhesitatingly, and
invariably with success. Sir Robert was, however, too well known as a
man of honour, and of too high a family, to be suspected of any unfair
dealing. He was, moreover, a soldier, and a man of intrepid as well as
of a haughty character; and no one cared to hazard a surmise, the
consequences of which would be felt most probably by its originator
only. Gossip, however, was not silent; it was remarked that Sir Robert never
appeared at the race-ground, which was the only place of public resort
which he frequented, except in company with a certain strange-looking
person, who was never seen elsewhere, or under other circumstances. It
was remarked, too, that this man, whose relation to Sir Robert was never
distinctly ascertained, was the only person to whom he seemed to speak
unnecessarily; it was observed that while with the country gentry he
exchanged no further communication than what was unavoidable in
arranging his sporting transactions, with this person he would converse
earnestly and frequently. Tradition asserts that, to enhance the
curiosity which this unaccountable and exclusive preference excited,
the stranger possessed some striking and unpleasant peculiarities of
person and of garb--though it is not stated, however, what these
were--but they, in conjunction with Sir Robert's secluded habits and
extraordinary run of luck--a success which was supposed to result from
the suggestions and immediate advice of the unknown--were sufficient to
warrant report in pronouncing that there was something _queer_ in the
wind, and in surmising that Sir Robert was playing a fearful and a
hazardous game, and that, in short, his strange companion was little
better than the Devil himself. Years rolled quietly away, and nothing very novel occurred in the
arrangements of Castle Ardagh, excepting that Sir Robert parted with his
odd companion, but as nobody could tell whence he came, so nobody could
say whither he had gone. Sir Robert's habits, however, underwent no
consequent change; he continued regularly to frequent the race meetings,
without mixing at all in the convivialities of the gentry, and
immediately afterwards to relapse into the secluded monotony of his
ordinary life. It was said that he had accumulated vast sums of money--and, as his bets
were always successful and always large, such must have been the case. He did not suffer the acquisition of wealth, however, to influence his
hospitality or his house-keeping--he neither purchased land, nor
extended his establishment; and his mode of enjoying his money must have
been altogether that of the miser--consisting merely in the pleasure of
touching and telling his gold, and in the consciousness of wealth. Sir Robert's temper, so far from improving, became more than ever gloomy
and morose. He sometimes carried the indulgence of his evil dispositions
to such a height that it bordered upon insanity. During these paroxysms
he would neither eat, drink, nor sleep. On such occasions he insisted on
perfect privacy, even from the intrusion of his most trusted servants;
his voice was frequently heard, sometimes in earnest supplication,
sometimes raised, as if in loud and angry altercation with some unknown
visitant. Sometimes he would for hours together walk to and fro
throughout the long oak-wainscoted apartment which he generally
occupied, with wild gesticulations and agitated pace, in the manner of
one who has been roused to a state of unnatural excitement by some
sudden and appalling intimation. These paroxysms of apparent lunacy were so frightful, that during their
continuance even his oldest and most faithful domestics dared not
approach him; consequently his hours of agony were never intruded upon,
and the mysterious causes of his sufferings appeared likely to remain
hidden for ever.