“The woods are green, the hedges white
With leaves, and blossoms fair;
There’s music in the forest now,
And I too must be there.”
JEFFREYS.
A FRIEND’S MISGIVING--DARK FOREBODINGS--A SLEEPLESS NIGHT--THE
RAILWAY STATION--THE ALBION--A PHILOSOPHER--THE STREET
BOY--DISTINGUISHED TRAVELLERS.
We had nearly completed our preparations, and were leaving town, when we
dined one evening with a friend whom we had not seen for some time. He
seemed interested in our approaching excursion, but his astonishment was
great, when our plan was divulged.
“What! going to Norway with gipsies?” said he in amazement, as he poised
in his hand, a glass of champagne. “Why I don’t believe my friend Tom
Taylor, who has taken a great interest in the gipsy language, ever went
so far as to camp with them. You’ll be robbed, and murdered--not the
slightest doubt. Travel with gipsies!” exclaimed our friend, and he
seemed to shudder at the thought
We were quite unable to say how much self-sacrifice Mr. Tom Taylor may
have made. We had read his interesting collection of Breton Ballads. He
writes well on a great variety of subjects, and is an excellent art
critic; but we could not give any opinion upon his camp experience. My
friend shook his head, “Write to me when you get there,--promise to
write me a letter,” said he earnestly. “Yes, you will be certainly
robbed, and murdered,” and he silently emptied his glass.
There was something touching in his manner, as he gulped down the
effervescent draught, with a look which showed plainly that he had no
hope for our safe return.
In the drawing-room the subject seemed one of interest. We gave our
friend a promise to write. As we left the house, his adieux were those
of separation, for the last time.
It had been a wild rainy night. What with packing, and writing letters,
we never went to bed. _Mes gens de la maison_ remained up also. After a
very early breakfast we were _en route_. As we drove up to the railway
station of a large populous town, we caught sight of our gipsies. They
were waiting for us with the three donkeys in the shelter of some open
building of the station. The gipsies looked wet, draggled, and miry, but
full of spirits. As we stepped from the carriage, a porter took charge
of our twelve packages.
We had received previously full and explicit information from the
passenger department as to the trains and expense of transit, and had
engaged a horse box to Hull. One of the officials, seemed rather
astonished, when he found three donkeys, were to be conveyed in the
horse-box, he scarcely seemed able to connect a horse-box, with the
proposed freight.
A stray policeman seemed puzzled at the retinue. The three gipsies,
saluting us with _Shawshon baugh, Sir?_ (How do you do, Sir?) marched up
and down the platform, apparently much pleased at our arrival. The
stray policeman wandered about, as if he was up, and down, and nohow, as
to what it all meant, or whether the gipsies, belonged to us, or
themselves. He was lingering near, when we produced a 10_l._ Bank of
England note at the booking-office, in payment for our tickets. A new
light then beamed on his mind, and we did not see him again. The
horse-box was paid for. The porter got labels for all our packages, and
timidly ventured to inquire the use of the tent-rods, which he had
curiously regarded for some time. We secured a second-class, and a
first-class compartment in the same carriage, all was arranged, the
signal was given, and we were off. We had only one change--at Leeds--and
no stoppage. The horse-box went right through. A pleasant _compagnon de
voyage_, accompanied us most of the journey; he had lately come from the
blue skies of Italy.
The gipsies were joined by an inquisitive fellow-traveller, in a white
hat. Some people trouble themselves about everybody else’s business but
their own. He cross-examined them, as to who we were, and where we came
from. “Gloucestershire,” said Noah--“we all came from Gloucestershire
this morning.” “You must have started very early,” said the inquisitive
traveller. “Oh, yes,” said Noah with emphasis--“very early.”
It was a damp, wet morning, as we arrived on Friday, the 17th June,
1871, at the Hull station, and found ourselves on the platform. We left
the gipsies, to look after the donkeys, which were put in some stables
at the station; and taking all our things in a cab to the _Albion_
steamer, we put them on board. Messrs. Wilson were called upon. They are
prompt men of business; to their word in all things. Ample arrangements
would be made to shelter the donkeys during the voyage, and we paid our
fare. At the station on our return we found a civil porter waiting for
us, and having paid the stout stableman 1_s._ for each donkey, the
gipsies took them on board about one or two o’clock in the day.
Much curiosity was created when the gipsies came on deck. The steward of
the vessel said, they seemed to have lately come from a warm country.
The _Albion_ steamer had small, but comfortable second-class
accommodation. No meal could be had until seven o’clock; but the second
steward managed to get the gipsies some sandwiches and ale. They had
been fed _en route_ in the morning, and were quite satisfied, with the
refreshments so provided.
During the previous wet night, they had camped some distance from the
starting point, and had ridden the donkeys through the rain to the
railway station. Noah and Zacharia had no great-coats, but Esmeralda was
dressed in her long Alpine cloak, and treble necklace of blue, and white
beads. Her straw hat was surmounted by a small plume of feathers, dyed
blue, by one of her brothers. She did not wear earrings, and had no
other ornament.
We had left the steamer to obtain some methylated spirit for our Russian
lamp, and to call at Messrs. Wilson and Co.‘s, when we remembered, that
we had forgotten our watch-keys. A watchmaker’s shop was soon found. The
watchmaker was a merry-looking man. The watch had always been provided
with one key to wind it up, and another to regulate the hands. We had
always been assured, that two different keys, were required. “Ha! ha!!
ha!!!” laughed the watchmaker, who was apparently a German, “I will give
you one key which will do the same thing--ha! ha!! ha!!!”
It was a beautifully formed key, nor had we ever met with one like it
before.
The watchmaker appeared to us as a second Jean Batiste _Schwilgué_ of
Strasbourg.[11] “Ha! ha!! ha!!!” laughed the merry little man, “all is
mystery. We eat and drink, but we comprehend nothing. Ah! we often end
in believing nothing.” We remarked that no one who contemplated with
attention the works of Nature could overlook the design of a great
Creator. The watchmaker went to an inner door. A pretty girl probably
his daughter, changed a shilling for him. “Ah!” continued he, “you see
by travel; you take in through the eyes; they are the great vehicles of
human life. I laugh at them, ha! ha!! ha!!!” and he bowed as I left the
shop.
We were now nearly ready for the voyage; as we passed from the gates of
the railway station an interesting-looking boy, pleaded hard to black
our boots. It is an honest way of making a livelihood. In this instance
we stepped aside--one boot was just finished, when he suddenly bolted.
Although he did not wait for his money, he did not forget the
paraphernalia of his business. Another boy explained, that he was not
allowed to black boots so near the station, and a policeman in the
distance had caused his hasty disappearance.
The boy again met us soon after, and completed his work; we were glad to
have the chance of paying him.
When we went on board the steamer, all was confusion. On the wharf, we
had 1_s._ wharfage, to pay for each animal. The total expenses of our
party to join the steamer amounted to 10_l._ 9_s._ 6_d._ including 6_s._
11_d._ for hay, supplied to the donkeys for the voyage.
The evening was damp and gloomy. An old weather-beaten Norwegian pilot
wandered about the deck. Men in oilskin coats, smelling strongly of tar
and tobacco-quid, hustle and bustle, against everything. Very
comfortable accommodation, had been erected specially for the animals
near the engines, in the waist of the steamer. Esmeralda was feeding
them with hay.
When the gipsies were afterwards looking over the side of the vessel,
they formed an interesting group. Then came the active steward, of the
second cabin, who promised us to take care of them. The second steward
was a small, but firmly-knit, active young fellow, who said he had been
wrecked twice, in the old coat he was then wearing, and for which,
therefore, he had a strong affection; after saying he should go next
winter to California, he left us to look after his many arrangements.
We were informed that Sir Charles Mordaunt and also Lord Muncaster,[12]
who had so narrowly escaped the Athenian brigands, had left Hull in the
special steamer for _Throndhjem_ on the previous evening.