LIFE ON THE ROAD IN THE 'GIPSY QUEEN.'
Frank Antony Blake had certainly not been hard upon the handsome banking
account which his father had so generously placed at his disposal when
he told him to go and have his fling for a few years, or until he should
come of age. Perhaps Antony was neither better nor worse than the
average modern son. For, of course, there are modern sons as well as
modern fathers; but the sin of extravagance was not one that could be
laid to this young fellow's charge. He liked to have one penny to rattle
against another simply for comfort's sake. Luxuries he considered rather
effeminate, and could do without them.
Now, however, he was going to let the wind into his banking account to
the extent of purchasing a team of four as good horses as could be had
in the Granite City, to which he paid a visit. He had been among horses
all his life, and knew a horse at sight, and to him a horse was not
merely 'an animal with a leg at each corner,' as it is to some. He
advertised for what he wanted.
'That's biz, my son,' Biffins Lee had told him. 'Nothing done without
advertising.'
He had swarms of answers, from 'legs' and others. It may be of some
interest to know that a 'leg' is a worthless kind of scoundrel, with a
straw in his mouth, who deals in horses and everything else that will
enable him to turn a dishonest penny over. He calls his innocent victim
a 'mug,' and when he finds one, he sets about the operation of playing
him at once. There was very little of the 'mug' about Antony, and the
fellows who tried to cheat him had to retire early, defeated. He
succeeded at last in securing a team which it would have been difficult
to beat anywhere, also a capital coachman as well as a groom. This last
was a young and modest young fellow, whom, from his very looks, Antony
concluded he could easily put up with, and he was not disappointed. He
was to follow the caravans or be with and about them on his bike, assist
the coachman, and with the latter put up every night at the hotel or inn
at which the horses should rest.
Antony returned from the city bringing his nags and servants with him,
and the whole were put under canvas until things were ready. And Biffins
Lee did not in the least object to the 'Silver Queen' accompanying the
saloon caravan. Indeed, had the whole British Empire belonged to this
man he would have had no hesitation in selling it--for a consideration.
Antony would have taken Chops with him as well as Mrs Pendlebury and
Lotty; but, as will afterwards transpire, the fat boy was a vital
portion of the Queerest Show on Earth, and could not be dispensed with.
He was a prop in more senses than one.
* * * * *
If there is any one thing more than another that youth is to be envied
for it is its capability for enjoying life. Ah me! what fools those men
and women are who set themselves to make vast sums of money against 'a
time of pleasure that is to be,' which seldom comes. And even when the
fortune is made, whether it be a million or a modest ten thousand, lo!
when they proceed to settle down to lead a happy life they find that all
power of enjoying anything is clean gone--and for ever. They find out
their mistake when it is too late. They are on a par with the man who
orders for himself a splendid repast, and after sitting down to table
finds that he has not got the least bit of appetite; that, on the
contrary, everything is distasteful to him. This is a sad state to be
in. Young folks should glory in their youth, especially girls still in
their teens. Yet it is ever the same saying with them: 'I wish I were
away from school,' or 'I wish I were a grown-up girl;' and then, when
the days come, as Solomon says, when they have no pleasure in them, how
different is the tune they pipe! 'Heigh-ho!' they sigh, 'my happiest
time was my girlhood, and I did not know. Will these delightful days
never come again?' 'Never again!' answers echo; 'never again!'
There are many poems in our favourite Byron that bubble over with youth
and life and freedom. Freedom ought to be the birthright of all. Hardly
is there any one too old not to rejoice in it. But true freedom is
probably only to be felt and enjoyed at sea or on the road in a caravan.
It is much the same, and the writer of these lines should know, his
earlier life being spent upon the ocean wave, his later on the road.
But do not the following lines from Byron's 'Corsair' sparkle with youth
and life?
O'er the glad waters of the dark-blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free....
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change....
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense, the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless
way!
* * * * *
It was only going to be a tour of a few weeks if all went well; but when
once out and away on the road in his splendid palace-upon-wheels, with
the glorious bracing breeze blowing, wild romantic scenery all around
him, and the sun shining on the sea, he took a deep and satisfied
breath. He was inhaling freedom itself. He felt at that moment, as did
Byron's Corsair, 'his heart awaken and his spirit soar.'
Not far in the rear was the beautiful little 'Silver Queen,' the fat
lady looking ever so pleasant as she drove the one willing horse with
his glittering harness all decked out in polished brass. This caravan
was called the 'Silver Queen' because, for lightness' sake, much of her
outside was built of aluminium, and its sheen on this bright January
morning was, like stars on the sea, resplendent. Behind her, on a
rocking-chair, sat Lotty herself, quietly knitting. Still more in the
rear was a large light wagon with stores, tents, and baggage of all
sorts.
No wonder that the children in the little romantic towns through which
they passed--many of them hardly yet dressed, so early was it--rushed to
their doors to wave their caps or stockings at the show as it passed.
The 'Gipsy Queen,' with her large windows chastely but brightly
curtained, her varnish and her gilding, looked as elegant and beautiful
outside as she did inside. And not a single article had been forgotten
that might conduce to comfort or luxury. There was even a small
yacht-piano in one corner of the large caravan, and bright fires of coal
and coke burned in each.
When they drew rein in the square of a small market-town to water the
horses, quite a crowd of well-dressed, wondering people gathered round
to see the sight. But one glance told them that this was no ordinary
show, but gentle gipsies on a tour.
Antony lifted Lotty down from the _coupé_ of her carriage after he had
given orders to put the nose-bags on the horses and cover up their
loins. Then, while Mary entered the large caravan to see about things
generally, youth and beauty went gladsomely off hand in hand to look at
the shops and make little purchases, for souvenirs in the shape of
photos of scenery would be bought wherever they went.
But every village all around and about here had a strange, romantic
interest. It was, or had been, a Jacobite country, and the sturdy races
still dwelt up among the mountains yonder whose forefathers had fought
and died for bonny Prince Charlie. Though more than a hundred and fifty
years had passed since Culloden, that unfortunate Prince, Antony soon
found out, still held a place in story and song and deeply down in the
hearts of the people. At one shop where our young folks called, Antony
happened to allude to Charlie as the Pretender. He could see from the
mantling blood in the shopkeeper's brow that he had made a mistake.
'Pardon me, sir,' he said, 'but you must not use that word in this part
of the country, and still less up in the hills. Charles was the rightful
king by descent from the ancient Stuart line, and no pretender.'
The weather was certainly cold, but it was gloriously fine for the
present, and one beauty of the tour lay in the fact that there was no
need to hurry, and no rehearsal at midday for exhibition at nightfall.
The midday halt for luncheon was made by the roadside, deep down in a
pine-shaded glade, and near to a clear stream that ran seawards over a
bed of yellow sand. They were lucky enough, moreover, to secure at night
a pitch for the caravans in a delightfully quiet and level little
meadow, and no sooner had they been drawn in than Mary proceeded to cook
dinner. This was done partly on the large oil-range in the pantry of the
'Gipsy Queen,' and partly outside on a fire built in the real gipsy
style on the sward.
Lotty had disappeared, and Antony was wondering where she was, when she
came tripping along with her lap full of beautiful flowers and foliage.
'Why, Lotty, wherever did you get these at this time of the year?'
'I only mentioned to the hotel master,' said the girl, 'that I loved
flowers, and that you, Mr Blake, did. That was all; and he went straight
away to his glass-house and gathered me all these.'
'Oh, won't we be gay?' said Antony.
'Yes; and now I shall go and arrange them.'
What a quiet and pleasant evening was spent after dinner, eaten with an
appetite that only sailor-folks and gipsies ever know anything about!
The small caravan was drawn up so close to the big one that, although
Mary would not have presumed to come and sit in the 'Gipsy Queen,' she
could hear the music very well; for Antony was a good pianist--'good at
nothing else earthly,' he used to tell his friends--and piano and violin
go well together.
There had been cows and a horse or two in the field when they first
drove in, but the kindly landlord took them all away lest they might
annoy the wanderers during the night.
Wallace seemed very happy and contented; but though he kept in the big
caravan all day he told Antony that it was his duty to be with his
mistress by night; but if any attack should be made by evil tramps, he,
Antony, had only to shout, and the tramps would be sorry they had come.
The camp cat had insisted on becoming the caravan cat, and a splendid
fellow he was; and it may as well be stated here that never, during all
this romantic tour, did pussy absent himself of a morning, although he
might have been out all night long. On such occasions, just as the
horses were about to start, and although there may have been no
appearance of him before that, out of somewhere he would come rushing
with his fuzzy tail in the air, and take his seat on the _coupé_. 'Sorry
if I've kept you waiting,' he would seem to say, 'but I've been spending
the evening with some friends, and time does pass so quickly on such
occasions.' But puss made up for his want of rest by night by sleeping
on the sofa all the forenoon. Happy cat, no responsibility and never a
care!
The weather continued open and sunny for a whole week, and by the end of
that time Antony found himself camping near to, and his horses stabled
at, the great Highland Spa Hotel at Strathpeffer, with scenery all
around him which, although the mountains were clad from foot to summit
in driven snow, was charming in the extreme. But there is a charm about
this romantic country in winter which does not exist when summer is in
its prime, albeit then the trees are green, the wild-flowers are
springing, and wild birds are singing in brake and bush and fern. Then
during winter, though oak and elm and mountain ash are leafless and bare
in the valleys, meadows are green, and if not borne down by a weight of
frozen snow the pine-trees wave dark and glorious in the forests that
clothe the hills and braes; and though lochs or lakes may be ice-bound,
they afford opportunities for many a roaring game, and become for weeks
at a time the paradise of the skater. But, more betoken, the rivers,
which were high before the frost fell, became streams of fairy-like
beauty, and the waterfalls were dream-like in their silent silver sheen.
Antony was not surprised when the kindly landlord emerged from the door
of the great Spa Hotel and shook Mary by the hand and Lotty too.
'So glad to see you back again, my dearie'--this to Lotty; 'how bonny
you look! And here comes Wallace to shake a friendly paw, and the same
old cat to rub his bonny back against my leg.--How do, pussy?--How do,
Wallace?'
'There are two Wallaces,' said Mary.
'Dear me, yes,' said the hotelkeeper. 'In the pleasure of seeing you,
Mrs Pendlebury, I had quite forgotten that my name also is Wallace.'
He soon found out that Blake was travelling for his pleasure.
'Ah, but, sir,' he said, 'you should see this place in summer, when the
lawns are all in their glory, the Italian gardens and banqueting-hall
open, bands playing every night!'
'And fountains too!' said Lotty.
'Ay, my dear, and fountains, and well-dressed people from all ends of
the earth. But come in, Lotty darling, and warm your toes. And you, Mr
Blake, you must dine with us; a denial is out of the question.' Then
striking an attitude he sang:
'Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace dined,
Scots wha at the Spa ha'e wined,
A glorious welcome here you'll find
From my guidwife and me.'
And Antony found it.