Ross is only separated from the mainland by a narrow cut through a morass, which gives it its claim to be an island.
This division is probably artificial, and made in former days to strengthen the fortifications of the Castle. A carriage road from the town of Killarney crosses the small connecting bridge and brings the tourist under the walls of Ross Castle, where there is a landing-place for those who come by water.
Ross Castle is still a splendid old fortress, far less injured by time or mischance than most of its contemporaries in Kerry. A tall and stately building, it is seen from far, dominating Lough Leane and adding additional charm to the view, with its massive buttresses and battlements, reminders of the old fighting days. It is but a short distance between Ross and Muckross, yet the character of the scene is utterly changed. Say what we will of the other lakes, Lough Leane remains the lake of enchantment.
Ross is a very ancient Castle, built by some far-back O’Donoghue, the precise date unknown. Within is a spiral staircase of stone mounting to the top, from whence a marvellous panorama lies before you.
In 1652 Ross Castle was held by Lord Muskerry for the King, during the Parliamentary wars, against General Ludlow. It was well garrisoned and provisioned, and the defenders were prepared vigorously to repel the foe, yet they surrendered almost at once. There was an old prophecy that Ross Castle would never be taken till warships were seen on the lake, and when the garrison beheld the boats which General Ludlow had built and conveyed overland approaching to attack, they yielded. The prophecy was fulfilled: it was useless to fight against fate. But it is more to legendary than historical lore that Ross Castle owes the fascination which surrounds it.
The guides of Killarney deserve mention here, for they add to the enjoyment of the various excursions, knowing every legend, each association, the origin of every name, and are even capable of inventing on the spur of the moment romances the most picturesque, wonders the most thrilling, discerning at a glance on whom to expend their powers of imagination. “All sorts and conditions of men” come under their ken. In the tourist season scarce a land but has its representative, to some of whom Ireland was a sealed page till they listened to the tales of Killarney from her guides.
Here they point to you the very window from which the great O’Donoghue leaped into the lake below. There he reigns in the regions of enchantment, greater and happier than in his earthly sovereignty. Once in every seven years on a May morning, before the first beams of the sun have arisen over the mountain tops, the sweetest strains of fairy music are heard, and the great chieftain may be seen on a splendid snow-white charger, shod with silver shoes, riding over the lake, preceded by a joyous band of youths and maidens scattering flowers before him. Well it is for the mortal who sees him; prosperity will follow from that day forth.
Just, generous, and greatly beloved were the O’Donoghues of Ross, and their memory is perpetuated among a people who do not easily forget. Wander where you will, you find some association with the name, particularly among rock and crag on the Lower Lake, of which O’Donoghue’s Horse is the most remarkable. This rock has been fretted and worn away by the action of the waters into a curious semblance of a horse in the act of drinking. Then there is O’Donoghue’s prison, his table, his pulpit—each with its story.
You will be told, too, how at the deepest part of this lake, more than 60 fathoms down, at a spot between Ross and Innisfallen, a great carbuncle may be seen, which on a dark night lights up the rocks at the bottom of the lake, and shows the palaces and towers of the ancient city which the waters now cover.
Ross is the largest island on the lake. It contains about 80 acres. On the southern point is a famous copper mine, opened in 1804 by Colonel Hall, who found clear proof that it had been worked at a very remote period. Rude stone hammers of very ancient make were discovered—Danes’ hammers, the people call them—and the traces of fire were found. The vein, however, gave out after four years, during which time, says Crofton Croker, “nearly £60,000 worth of ore was disposed of at Swansea, some cargoes producing £40 per ton.”