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Updated: June 8, 2025
"But you don't want to leave the island without seeing the marine gardens!" exclaimed the man. "There are enough gardens on shore to do me," answered Hill. "My friend is afraid he'll get seasick," observed Clancy, with a wink. "You can't get seasick in one o' my boats any more'n you could on land," averred the runner. "We jest go out around by the Sugarloaf we're close inshore all the time."
"Then the grocer's cart is jam," promptly retorted Armine, "for I saw a sugarloaf come in one yesterday." "Come on, then," cried Jock, ripe for the mischief; "I know the tree! They are just like long apricots. Aunt Ellen will think her plums have been all a-growing!" "No, no, boys!" cried his mother, "I can't have it done. To steal your aunt's own plums to deceive her with!"
By that time the boat was grounded among the rocks close to the foot of Old Sugarloaf. "I haven't got a thing to discuss with you," snarled Burton, "and I'm not goin' ashore." "Sure you are!" declared Clancy. "You'd a heap rather go ashore and talk matters over with Hiram and me than go to jail. Wouldn't you, now?"
Even now, with a tumult of things to consider, and a tempest of judgment to do it in, people contrived to be positive about a quantity of things still pending. Sir Parsley Sugarloaf had bought Miss Twemlow for 50,000 pounds, they said, and he made her let her curls down so outrageous, because she was to be married at Guildhall, with a guinea at the end of every hair.
There was hardly any motion to the boat, save a slow, steady gliding onward. Off Avalon there is no surf, the tides rise and fall, as on the mainland, but the sea is usually as quiet as the waters of a pond. There were other glass-bottom boats out that afternoon, and they were scattered just off shore to Sugarloaf Rock and beyond.
Under a spanking breeze, which suddenly sprung up, we dashed on nearly to the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, and then stood over boldly to the fort Santa Cruz, from which we were hailed, and as the short twilight had given way to deeper shadows, were signalized by blue lights, continued by an opposite fortification, until they were noticed at the station on Signal Hill behind the city.
The key-stone of the inverted arch between them was a yellow-flanked, tree-topped hill, rising immediately above the great rapids: beyond if waved, in far succession, three several swells of ground, each flatter and bluer than its nearer neighbour, and capping the whole stood Kongo de Lemba, a tall solitary sugarloaf, bearing 75deg.
The view was then as fine as could be imagined; we were near the outlet, but Corcovado, Sugarloaf, The Forts, and town were all in sight, and we had but to turn our eyes from one magnificent sight, to have them greeted by another.
And then there is that beautiful cone, the Sugarloaf mountain; further still away, the loftier Djous, overhanging a dark, misty valley, which marks the spot where the waters of Powerscourt tumble down the rock a height of three hundred feet; on, on across the Dublin range to Montpelier, the valley of the Liffey, the city notable to the north-west by its dusky-brown atmosphere; then the historic plains of Clontarf; Howth once again, and the panorama is complete.
Passing the false Sugarloaf mountain, as it is called, we next opened out the true one, the Gavia, and the chain of mountains beyond, the outlines of which bear an extraordinary resemblance to the figure of a man lying on his back, the profile of the face being very like that of the late Duke of Wellington.
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