“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?
[Illustration]
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.