A singular echo is heard in a grotto near castle Comber, in Ireland. No reverberation is observed till the listener is within fifteen or sixteen feet of the extremity of the grotto; at which place a most delightful echo enchants the ear. Most travellers have heard of the eagle’s nest near Mucross Abbey, on the banks of the lake of Killarney. This celebrated rock sends forth the most fascinating repercussion. Sound a French or bugle horn, and echoes, equal to a hundred instruments, answer to the call! Report a single cannon, and the loudest thunders reverberate from the rock and die in endless peals along the distant mountains.
A nobleman’s seat about two miles from Milan produces such a surprising echo as can scarcely be equalled in the world. Mr. Addison observed that upon firing a pistol, he heard the sound returned fifty-six times, though the air was then foggy, and consequently not proper for making an experiment to advantage. At first, the repetitions were very quick, but the intervals were greater in proportion as the sound decayed. This astonishing echo was probably never designed by the architect, but it is occasioned by two parallel walls of a considerable length, between which the sound is reverberated from one to the other till the undulation is quite spent. Some persons assert that the sound of one musical instrument in this place resembles a great number of instruments playing in concert.
Dick Boldhero.
CHAPTER VII.
Although I was gradually recovering from the state of extreme weakness to which I had been reduced, still, I continued so feeble as to render it impossible for me to proceed on my journey. I continued therefore with my kind friends at Maroontown, occasionally taking a short walk about the place. I soon became acquainted with a number of the people. I was very much gratified by the good-natured manner in which everybody treated me. The houses were extremely slight, many of them consisting only of sticks set in the ground, the roof and sides being formed of a thatch of palm leaves. Others were a little more substantial, the walls being framed of mud and stone. The place hardly seemed like the abode of human beings, and when I gazed upon it, I fancied that it was only the village of some ingenious animals, a little elevated in the scale of being above the beavers.
But notwithstanding this rude aspect of their dwellings, the people themselves seemed the most light-hearted and merry set I ever beheld. Every night there was music, and dancing, and laughter, and frolic, and what seemed strange, there was very little of riot or violence. A good feeling seemed to pervade all classes, and if they were poor, ignorant, and in some respects degraded, they seemed at least happy and kind-hearted. There was very little government among them, and though they had magistrates, it was seldom necessary for these to make any great show of authority.
While I was at this place, the old woman, who spoke English, as I have already mentioned, told me a good many tales relating to the history of the place, one of which I will give to my readers.
One of the earliest inhabitants of Maroontown was King Congo. This personage was born on the African coast, and was the eldest son of one of the petty kings in that quarter. He was captured by a party of slavers, brought to Paramaribo, and offered for sale as a slave. He was a good-looking fellow, about twenty years of age, of great strength and daring courage. He was readily purchased by a merchant of the city, and became a servant in his family. Submitting to his fate, he performed the duties required of him with a tolerable grace, though occasionally the remembrance of his birth and former dignity crossed his mind, and for a moment caused his feelings to revolt from the drudgery required of him.
It happened that one day, when he was a little moody from reflections like these, his master demanded of him some service of more than ordinary servility. Congo seemed to hesitate for a moment, and stood looking his master in the face, as if about to question his right thus to command him. The latter, greatly incensed, struck the negro in the face. Congo, surprised and irritated, seized his master by the collar, and was about to dash him to the floor, when suddenly recollecting himself, he unclenched his hand and said, sneeringly, “I scorn to wrestle with one so much weaker than myself; but I will not serve a man who treats me with such indignity.”
The rage of the master now knew no bounds. He called aloud for his servants, and as about a dozen of them rushed into the room, he commanded them to seize the offender. But Congo was now thoroughly roused. As the men seemed about to seize him, he retreated to a corner of the room, seized a chair, and, whirling it before him, defied the whole party. These, knowing his prodigious strength, and frightened by his wild and threatening aspect, stood aloof, afraid to grapple with such an enemy. In vain were the threats of the master. Finding it impossible to urge them on, he seized a pair of pistols, and, taking deliberate aim, discharged them both at the offender. One of the balls missed; the other entered the right arm of Congo, and, shattering the bone, the uplifted chair fell to the floor, and the broken limb swung useless by his side.