THE ZINGAREES.
The old farmer had offered to convey Richard to Hounslow in his own
spring-cart, or to provide him with a guide to conduct him thither; but
our hero felt so confident of being enabled to find his way back to the
town, that he declined both offers.
He walked on, across the fields, pondering upon various
subjects,—Isabella, his brother, Katherine, Reginald Tracy's crimes, and
the frightful suicide of Lady Cecilia Harborough,—and with his mind so
intent upon these topics, that some time elapsed ere he perceived that
he had fallen into a wrong path.
He looked around; but not an object of which he had taken notice in the
morning, when proceeding to the farm, could he now discover.
Thus he had lost the only means which could assist his memory in
regaining the road.
As he stood upon a little eminence, gazing around to find some clue
towards the proper direction which he should follow, a light blue wreath
of smoke, rising from behind a hill at a short distance, met his eyes.
"There must be a dwelling yonder," he said to himself; "I will proceed
thither, and ask my way; or, if possible, obtain a guide."
Towards the light blue cloud which curled upwards, Markham directed his
steps; but when he reached the brow of the hill, from the opposite side
of which the smoke at first met his eye, he perceived, instead of a
cottage as he expected, an encampment of gipsies.
A covered van stood near the spot where two men, two women, and a boy
were partaking of a meal, the steam of which impregnated the air with a
powerful odour of onions.
The caldron, whence the mess was served up in earthenware vessels, was
suspended by means of stakes over a cheerful wood-fire.
We need attempt no description of the persons of those who were
partaking of the repast: it will be sufficient to inform the reader that
they consisted of King Zingary, Queen Aischa, Morcar, Eva, and this
latter couple's son.
They were, however, totally unknown to Richard: but the moment he saw
they were of the gipsy tribe, he determined to glean from them any thing
which they might know and might choose to reveal concerning the
Resurrection Man.
He therefore accosted them in a civil manner, and, stating that he had
lost his way, inquired which was the nearest path to Hounslow.
"It would be difficult to direct you, young gentleman, by mere
explanation," answered Zingary, stroking his long white beard in order
to impress Richard with a sense of veneration; "but my grandson here
shall show you the way with pleasure."
"That I will, sir," exclaimed the boy, starting from the ground, and
preparing to set off.
"But perhaps the gentleman will rest himself, and partake of some
refreshment," observed Morcar.
"If you will permit me," said Markham, whose purpose this invitation
just suited, "I will warm myself for a short space by your cheerful
fire; for the evening is chilly. But you must not consider me rude if I
decline your kind hospitality in respect to food."
"The gentleman is cold, Morcar," said Zingary: "produce the rum, and
hand a snicker."
The King's son hastened to the van to fetch the bottle of spirits; and
Markham could not help observing his fine, tall, well-knit frame, to
which his dark Roman countenance gave an additional air of
manliness—even of heroism.
Richard partook of the spirits, in order to ingratiate himself with the
gipsies; and King Zingary then called for his "broseley."
"You appear to lead a happy life," observed Richard, by way of
encouraging a conversation.
"We are our own masters, young gentleman," answered Zingary; "and where
there is freedom, there is happiness."
"Is it true that your race is governed by a King?" asked Markham.
"I am the King of the united races of Bohemians and Egyptians," said
Zingary, in a stately manner. "This is my beloved Queen, Aischa: that is
my son, Morcar; here is my daughter-in-law, Eva; and that lad is my
grandson."
Richard started when these names fell upon his ears; for they had been
mentioned to him by Skilligalee in the Palace of the Holy Land. He also
remembered to have been informed that it was in consequence of something
which the Resurrection Man told Aischa, when she was attending to his
wound, that the gipsies took him with them when they removed from the
Palace to the encampment near the Penitentiary at Pentonville.
"I feel highly honoured by the hospitality which your Majesty has
afforded me," said Richard, with a bow—an act of courtesy which greatly
pleased King Zingary. "On one occasion I was indebted to some of your
subjects for a night's lodging at your establishment in St. Giles's."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the King; and now all the gipsies surveyed Richard
with some interest.
"Yes," continued our hero; "and I may as well state to you frankly and
candidly under what circumstances I became your guest—for _you_ were all
inmates of the house at the time I entered it."
"Speak, young gentleman," said Zingary: "we will listen with attention
to all you may please to tell us; but we do not seek your confidence of
our own accord, as curiosity is forbidden to our race."
"I must inform you," resumed Richard, "that I have sustained great and
signal injuries at the hands of a miscreant, whom I one night traced to
your dwelling in St. Giles's."
"Call it the Palace, young gentleman," said Zingary, smoking his pipe,
and listening with great complacency.
"On that night, the man to whom I allude was desperately wounded——"
"Ah!" ejaculated the gipsies, as it were in a breath.
"And you removed him with you, away from the Palace during the night—or
rather very early in the morning."
"Then you, young gentleman," said the King, "were the stranger whom the
porter locked in the room to which you were shown, and who escaped from
the Palace by some means or other? The matter was duly reported to us by
letter."
"It is perfectly true that I liberated myself from the room in which I
was imprisoned," said Markham. "But, answer me—I implore you—one
question; did that vile man die of the wound which he received?"
"Before I reply to you," observed Zingary, "you will have the goodness
to inform me why you left the Palace by stealth on that occasion, and
whether you saw or heard any thing remarkable _after_ we had taken our
departure?"
"I will answer you frankly," returned Markham. "I left my room on that
occasion, because I wished to discover whether Anthony Tidkins, to whom
I have alluded, was in the house——"
"The Palace," said Zingary.
"I beg your Majesty's pardon—the Palace," continued Richard; "and I
thank God that I was more or less instrumental in releasing from a
horrible dungeon a poor woman——"
[Illustration]
"We know whom you mean," interrupted Zingary, sternly. "Did you see a
tall young man——"
"Who called himself by the strange name of Skilligalee?" added Markham,
concluding the King's question for him. "I did;—I helped him to release
that woman he named Margaret."
"And whom the laws of the Zingarees had condemned to the penalty from
which you freed her," said the King. "Was it right, young man, thus to
step between the culprit and the decree of justice?"
"I acted in accordance with the dictates of humanity," replied Richard
firmly; "and under such circumstances I should act in a similar way
again."
"The young gentleman speaks well," said Morcar, who admired the
resolution evinced in our hero's tone and manner.
"And he showed a good heart," observed Eva, now speaking for the first
time since Richard's arrival, and displaying her brilliant teeth.
"Well—well," exclaimed Zingary: "I will not upbraid the young man more,
since even my pretty Eva takes his part. You see," he continued,
addressing himself especially to the gipsies, "it is as we thought.
Skilligalee deserted us in order to liberate Margaret Flathers. I always
believed that such was the case, from the moment we received the account
of her escape. But I have one more question to ask our guest. Let him
satisfy us how he traced Anthony Tidkins _to_ the Palace, and how he
learnt that Anthony Tidkins was wounded _in_ the Palace."
"On that head I must remain silent," said Richard. "I will not invent a
falsehood, and I cannot reveal the truth. Be you, however, well assured
that I never betrayed the secrets and mysteries of your establishment in
Saint Giles's."
"Our guest is an honourable man," observed Morcar. "We ought to be
satisfied with what he says."
"I am satisfied," exclaimed the King. "Aischa, answer you the questions
which it is now the young man's turn to put to us."
"I wish to know whether Anthony Tidkins died of the wound which he
received?" said Richard.
"It was my lot to attend to his wound," began Aischa. "When he was so
far recovered as to be able to speak—which was about half an hour after
the blood was stanched—he implored me to have him removed from the
Palace. He told me a long and pathetic story of persecutions and
sufferings which he had undergone; and he offered to enrich our treasury
if we would take him beyond the reach of the person who had wounded him.
His anxiety to get away was extreme; and it was in consequence of his
representations and promises that I prevailed upon the King to issue
orders to those who were to leave London with us, to hurry the departure
as much as possible. That accounts for the abrupt manner in which we
left at such an hour, and for the removal of the wounded man with us. In
answer to your direct question, I must inform you that he did _not_ die
of the wound which he received."
"He did _not_ die!" repeated Markham. "Then he is still alive—and
doubtless as active as ever in purposes of evil."
"Is he such a bad man?" asked Aischa.
"He belongs to the atrocious gang called _Burkers_," answered Richard
emphatically.
"Merciful heavens!" cried Eva, with a shudder. "To think that we should
have harboured such a wretch!"
"And to think that I should have devoted my skill to resuscitate such a
demon!" exclaimed Aischa.
"The vengeance of the Zingarees will yet overtake him," said the King
calmly.
"Wherever I meet him, there will I punish him with the stoutest cudgel
that I can find ready to hand," cried Morcar, with a fierce air.
"Have you then cause to complain against him?" asked Richard.
"The wretch, sir," answered Morcar, "remained nearly a month in our
company, until his wound was completely healed by the skill of my
mother. We treated him with as much kindness as if he had been our near
and dear relative. One morning, when he was totally recovered, he
disappeared, carrying away my father's gold with him."
"The ungrateful villain!" ejaculated Richard. "And he was indebted to
your kindness for his life?"
"He was," returned Morcar." Fortunately there was but little in the
treasury at the time—very little;—nevertheless, it was all we had—and he
took our all."
"And you have no trace of him?" said Richard, eagerly.
"Not yet," replied Morcar. "But we have adopted measures to discover
him. The King my father has sent a description of his person and the
history of his treachery to every chief of our race in the kingdom; and
thousands of sharp eyes are on the look-out for him through the length
and breadth of the land."
"Heaven be thanked!" exclaimed Markham. "But when you discover him, hand
him over to the grasp of justice, and instantly acquaint me with the
fact."
"The Zingarees recognise no justice save their own," said the King, in a
dignified manner. "But this much I promise you, that the moment we
obtain a trace of his whereabouts, we will communicate it to you, and
you may act as seemeth good to yourself. We have no sympathy in common
with a cowardly murderer."
"None," added Morcar, emphatically.
"I thank you for this promise," said Richard, addressing himself to the
King. "Here is my card; and remember that as anxious as I am to bring a
miscreant to justice, so ready shall I be to reward those who are
instrumental in his capture."
"You may rely upon us, young gentleman," said Zingary. "We will not
shield a man who belongs to the miscreant gang of _Burkers_. To-morrow
morning I will issue fresh instructions to the various district chiefs,
but especially to our friends in London."
"And is it possible that, with no compulsory means to enforce obedience,
you can dispose of thousands individuals at will?" exclaimed Markham.
"Listen, young man," said the King, stroking his beard. "When the great
Ottoman monarch, the Sultan Selim, invaded Egypt at the beginning of the
sixteenth century, and put to death the Mameluke sovereign
Toumanbai,—when the chivalry of Egypt was subdued by the overwhelming
multitudes of warriors who fought beneath the banner of Selim and his
great Vizier Sinan-Pacha,—then did a certain Egyptian chief place
himself at the head of a chosen body of Mamelukes, and proclaim death
and destruction to the Ottomans. This chief was Zingarai. For some time
he successfully resisted the troops of Selim; but at length he was
compelled to yield to numbers; and Selim put him to death. His followers
were proscribed; and those who did not fall into the hands of the
Turkish conquerors escaped into Europe. They settled first in Bohemia,
where their wandering mode of life, their simple manners, their happy
and contented dispositions, and their handsome persons soon attracted
notice. Then was it that the Bohemian maidens were proud to bestow their
hands upon the fugitive followers of Zingarai; and many Bohemian men
sought admittance into the fraternity. Hence the mixed Egyptian and
Bohemian origin of the gipsy race. In a short time various members of
this truly patriarchal society migrated to other climes; and in 1534 our
ancestors first settled in England. Now the gipsy race may be met with
all over the globe: in every part of Asia, in the interior of Africa,
and in both the Americas, you may encounter our brethren, as in Europe.
The Asiatics call us _Egyptians_, the Germans _Ziguener_, the Italians
_Cingani_, the Spaniards _Gitanos_, the French _Bohemians_, the Russians
_Saracens_, the Swedes and Danes _Tartars_, and the English _Gipsies_.
We most usually denominate ourselves _the united races of Zingarees_.
And Time, young gentleman, has left us comparatively unchanged; we
preserve the primitive simplicity of our manners; our countenances
denote our origin; and, though deeply calumniated—vilely maligned, we
endeavour to live in peace and tranquillity to the utmost of our power.
We have resisted persecution—we have outlived oppression. All Europe has
promulgated laws against us; and no sovereigns aimed more strenuously to
extirpate our race in their dominions than Henry the Eighth and
Elizabeth of England. But as the world grows more enlightened, the
prejudice against us loses its virulence; and we now enjoy our liberties
and privileges without molestation, in all civilised states."
"I thank you for this most interesting account of your origin," said
Richard.
"Henceforth you will know how to recognise the real truth amongst all
the wild, fanciful, and ridiculous tales which you may hear or read
concerning our race," proceeded Zingary. "From the two or three hundred
souls who fled from Egypt and took refuge in Bohemia, as I have ere now
explained to you, has sprung a large family, which has increased with
each generation; and at the present moment we estimate our total number,
scattered over all parts of the earth, at one million and a half."
"I was not aware that you were so numerous," said Richard, much
interested by these details. "Permit me to ask whether the members in
every country have one sovereign or chief, as those in England?"
"There is a King of the Zingarees in Spain; another in France; a third
in Italy; and a fourth in Bohemia. In the northern provinces of European
Turkey, in Hungary, and in Transylvania, there is a prince with the
title of a Waiewode: the Zingarees of Northern Europe are governed by a
Grand, or Great Lord."
Richard now rose to take leave of the hospitable and entertaining family
in whose society he had thus passed an hour; and, as it was growing
dark, Morcar himself offered to conduct our hero as far as Hounslow.
This proposal was gladly accepted; and Markham, having taken leave of
the King, Aischa, and Eva, set out with Morcar.
In the course of three-quarters of an hour they reached the precincts of
the town.
Richard forced a handsome remuneration upon the gipsy, and reminded him
of the promise made by his father concerning the Resurrection Man.
"You may rely upon us," said Morcar: "it cannot be very long before you
will hear from us, for there are many on the alert to discover the haunt
of the villain."
The gipsy then turned to retrace his steps towards the encampment; and
Richard proceeded to the inn, where he obtained a conveyance for London.