Читать книгу Tent life with English Gipsies in Norway - Hubert Smith - Страница 9

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“Zarca. It is well.

You shall not long count days in weariness:

Ere the full moon has waned again to new,

We shall reach Almeria; Berber ships

Will take us for their freight, and we shall go

With plenteous spoil, not stolen, bravely won

By service done on Spaniards. Do you shrink?

Are you aught less than a Zincala?”

George Eliot’s Spanish Gipsy.

ENGLAND’S FAREWELL—SUMMER TOURISTS—THE CHEVALIER—SEAFARING—A GIPSY RECEPTION—CHANGE OF PLANS—NORWEGIAN PILOT—THE BIRMINGHAM BAGMAN—INDUCEMENT TO AUTHORSHIP—STRANGE WILLS—A SAILOR’S PHILOSOPHY—ICELANDIC LANGUAGE—PROGNOSTICATIONS.

The steamer’s saloon was elegantly fitted up. Bouquets of flowers shed their fragrance on each table; books, pens, and ink had been supplied for the use of the voyagers. One passenger soon entered, carrying a long sword; another—a French gentleman—followed, and expressed a wish to be in the same cabin with his wife. We have pleasure in saying that we found the captain very agreeable, and courteous.

The Albion steamer left the Hull docks at eight o’clock the same evening, being towed out by a steam-tug. The under-steward, went to meet some passengers, whose arrival was expected by a late train, but returned without having found them. The gipsies and ourself, as we stood looking over the bulwarks of the steamer, took our last view of the fading shore, and the steamer was soon fairly on her voyage. Our gipsies were almost famished; but we managed to get them some tea, at nine o’clock, and they went off to bed.

Our cabin was one of the best in the steamer. We awoke as daylight dawned through the open bull’s-eye window of our upper berth. Not feeling decidedly well, or ill, we got up, to see how we were; then we had some conversation, with our fellow-passenger in the berth below. (We were the only two occupants of the cabin.) This traveller, who was invisible behind the curtain of his berth, informed us that he was going on business to Gottenberg; while we told him, that we were going to make a tour, in the wilds of Norway.

When we sought our gipsies, we found that they were not up. In company with several of our fellow-passengers, we afterwards sat down to a capital breakfast provided for us in the saloon. The steamer had its usual complement of travellers to Norway in summer—some for fishing, some for health, and some for business.

One pale, gentlemanly passenger, whose acquaintance we made, had met with an accident to his leg. Another agreeable tourist, whom we will call Mr. C., was accompanied by his wife—a tall young lady, with a Tyrolese hat and feather. A young invalid officer, just returned from Italy, had had the Roman fever, and was given up; he had, however, recovered sufficiently to travel, and intended going to Lyngdal to join some friends. There were also two or three Norwegian gentlemen (one of them, a Chevalier de l’Ordre de Wasa), a Scotch traveller with a large sandy beard, and a tall, portly gentleman, going to visit some friends near Christiania.

Finding we had three donkeys on board, the Chevalier and another passenger accompanied us to see them. The first-named gentleman, was especially interested in our proposed excursion. How shall we describe him?

He was rather under middle height, thick-set, and strongly built; and occasionally his countenance expressed, much animation, and good-humoured energy. The information he possessed was extensive; he spoke English perfectly; had travelled much, and knew Scandinavia, and its people well.

The donkeys were declared very fine ones, especially the large light-coloured animal, with a dark cross on its shoulders, long, finely-formed legs, and beautiful head. This donkey was about six years old, and we called it the Puru Rawnee.13

The next donkey, was a dark animal, five years old, strong, but not so finely formed; although not so spirited, it endured all the fatigue of long travel, even better than its two companions; we called it the Puro Rye.14

The third was about four years old, with a beautiful head, very lively, and was called the Tarno Rye.15 They seemed to relish the hay, and made themselves quite at home.

The donkeys became objects of special interest, and the Puru Rawnee was much admired. Most of the passengers had something to recount as to their impressions. A Norwegian gentleman said that they had no donkeys in Norway, which we afterwards found to be quite correct. Another good-humouredly said, that sixpence each ought to be charged, and the entrance closed. Many were the suggestions, and speculations, concerning them by the passengers, as they quietly puffed their cigars. The gentleman of the Roman fever, who seemed to be improving each hour, said in a significant manner, during a pause in the conversation, “You’ll write a book; your experience will be interesting—you ought to write a book.”

We now went to find our gipsies, or what was left of them. Esmeralda was lying on the deck, with her head on a closed hatchway. She raised her head in a most doleful manner, and said, “Very bad, sir.” Noah was lying next his sister, and sat up for a moment looking very wild. Zacharia was extended full length, perfectly speechless. Evidently, they wished themselves on shore again.

Great curiosity was excited among the passengers to see the gipsies. We explained, that they were in a very prostrate condition—in fact, quite unable to hold much intercourse, with the outer world; but at length we yielded, and introduced a party to them. The interview was short, and as our gipsies were still lying on the deck, and quite unable to do the honours of the reception, we soon left them in peace. The passengers were apparently much pleased with the introduction.

They were real gipsies—gipsies who had all their life roamed England with their tents—none of your half-and-half caravan people—an effeminate race, who sleep in closed boxes, gaudily painted outside, with a stove, and a large fire within. Ours were nomads, who slept on the ground, and wandered with their tents, during every season of the year.

The steward took care we did not starve. Our dinner was quite a success. The table groaned beneath the weight of soup, salmon, roast beef, veal, ducks and green peas, young potatoes, puddings, Stilton and Cheshire cheese, &c., with excellent claret from a Norwegian house at Christiania.

The gipsies did not give much sign of revival. During the afternoon, we visited them now, and then, consoled them, and gave the steward orders, to let them have whatever they wanted.

We had a long conversation, with the Chevalier, as to our route, through Norway. It had been our intention to make Christiansand our starting-point, go through the wilds of the Thelemarken, and visit again the Gousta Mountain, and the Rjukan Fos. The Chevalier suggested Christiania, as the best starting-point, taking railway to Eidsvold, where, he said, Presten Eilert Sundt resided. He then said, we could travel by road, or steamer, to Lillehammer, and from thence through the Gudbrandsdalen. He afterwards sketched out a very long and interesting route, having its termination at Christiansand, and we determined to follow as far as possible his suggestions.

There were many inquiries by the passengers as to how the gipsies fared, and we went to see them again just before tea-time. Zacharia was in bed, and asleep; Noah was just getting into bed; and Esmeralda was in the second-class women’s cabin, with some tea, and bread-and-butter before her, looking exceedingly poorly. The close proximity to a stout woman who was dreadfully sea-sick, was not enlivening.

The Norwegian pilot, who was a good-tempered old man, had been much interested with the nails in the gipsies’ boots; when they were lying on the deck, he would sometimes stoop down to make a close inspection, as if he were counting them. He said nothing, but probably thought more.

The occupant of our cabin, when we saw him, was a young man with an eye to business; in fact, some of the passengers averred afterwards, that he could calculate in a few moments, the exact amount, the steamer cost, to a fourpenny nail. He seemed, however, to be very well intentioned, in his inquisitive analysis of everybody, and everything. He was said by some one to be a Birmingham bagman, whilst others said he was a wandering Jew; but whether Jew or Gentile, he took a decided interest in the gipsies, and the donkeys, for which we suppose there was some excuse. He had dark hair, eyebrows, and beard, pale complexion, and generally walked with his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders screwed up to the back of his neck. His head, was inclined downwards, whilst he looked at you, with large rolling eyes, from under his bushy eyebrows, with a quick upward glance of inquiry. Now and then, he would walk off to see the donkeys, and report on his return, to the other passengers, his views as to their state of comfort, and happiness.

Somehow his opinion, did not appear to have much weight with the other passengers—whether it was from want of intelligence on their part, or obscurity of perception, we could not say. At tea-time he sat opposite to us; he dashed wildly into salad, and then said in a loud voice across the table, “I have seen your donkeys; I should like to go with you.” “You seem to like them,” we replied. “No!” exclaimed he, very wildly; “it is your gipsies’ dark eyes.”

“He is insane,” said the Chevalier, in an under tone, to which we readily assented. The bagman certainly did look wild; and it immediately occurred to us that he slept under our berth, in the same cabin—not a lively contemplation, but we were determined, not to meet trouble halfway.

We had entered up some of our notes, and had strolled on deck to enjoy the freshness of the sea-breeze, when we found ourselves one of a small party of passengers, whiling away the time, in pleasant conversation, in which our captain joined.

“You must write a book,” said the officer who had had the Roman fever.

“And dedicate it to you?” we rejoined.

“I will take one copy,” said one passenger.

“I will take three copies,” said our captain.

“Ah!” said another, “it should be on the saloon table.”

“And then,” said another, “it will be interesting to know the fate of the three donkeys.”

We admitted that, after so much encouragement, we must write a book, and dedicate it to the officer, who had had the Roman fever.

Several anecdotes were related. One passenger said, “There was a house near Hyde Park, which formerly belonged to an old gentleman, who left his property to trustees on certain trusts, provided they buried him on the top of his house.”16 Several instances were told of persons desiring in their wills to be buried in their garden; and one or two cases were mentioned where the wish had been disregarded.

The weather became rainy, and our compagnons de voyage, sought shelter elsewhere. We, however, still clung to the fresh sea-air, and as we paced the deck near the wheel, we could not help observing the silent seaman, gazing intently in solemn earnestness, on his compass, as if, like Dr. Dee, he noted many things, within a magic crystal. He was a good-looking, though weather-beaten man, with a dark moustache.

In answer to an observation we made, as to the weather, he said, “Well, sir, I never felt it so cold as it was last Sunday—not even in the Baltic last winter, when I had ice, an inch thick on my back. Why, I had three coats on last Sunday!”

We then remarked, that there were few accidents on the line of steamers.

“Accidents you think seldom occur on this line? Well, I don’t know. There was the Echo last winter; not a soul saved! I’ve slipped four in my time, as have soon after gone down.”

“You’ve been lucky,” said we.

“Lucky? Well—if there is such a thing as luck; but I think Providence ordains all things; I believe all things are ordained for us.” Many sailors we have met, have been men of deep religious feeling; below a rough surface, we have often found much true piety.

The Chevalier still remained on deck, and we had a long conversation about Iceland. The Icelandic language is the same as the old Norwegian language; but he told us that it is difficult for one who speaks only modern Norwegian, to learn Icelandic. In Iceland, he said, they were great snuff-takers; it was calculated that each person took 2lbs. of snuff per head each year. Like the Scotch, they had their mulls or snuff-horns.

At twelve o’clock on this day, the thermometer stood at 62.° The ladies had scarcely appeared; they generally suffer more than gentlemen.

It was nearly twelve at night when we entered our cabin to go to bed. The occupant of the second berth was invisible, but not asleep; and he asked whether we objected to have the cabin-door open. We were only too glad to oblige him, and with the bull’s-eye window open also, we had an agreeable atmosphere.

His mind was apparently still dwelling upon the gipsies. An interrogating voice issued from the lower berth, as we were preparing to go to bed.

“I suppose you have been writing your diary?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose you will write a book? I will take two copies. Have you a bed or a mattrass in your tent?”

“No!”

“That would not do for me. I should have an air bed to keep you off the ground. You will probably stay a day or two at Christiania? I suppose the gipsy girl will cook for you? She will suffer, and be ill, won’t she? You will have much trouble with her.”

We informed him she had more spirit, and was quite as strong as her brothers.

Our fellow-passenger again continued, “Where did you engage them?”

We answered, we had known them some time, and they were attached to us; and then, wishing him good-night, we left him to pursue his dreams of the gipsies’ dark eyes, which had evidently made an impression upon him.

Our shrewd calculator was evidently under the gipsies’ spell.