“I fear, Colonel,” I replied, “that I must plead guilty to
having been an associate of these gipsy vagabonds, and I may as
well add that I have spent nearly all the summer with them, and
found them pleasant, healthy, and instructive companions. I like
the gipsies, and the wild life they live; and it is a pleasant
occupation for me to study their manners, customs, traditions,
and language.”
GEORGE S. PHILLIPS (January Searle).
SUMMER WANING--NORWEGIAN SCENERY--SPLENDID VIEWS--THE CROSS
FIRE--SORTE DÖD--ROMANTIC CAMP--MANDY’S A RYE--THE TOURIST’S
DOG--THE HOBBENENGREE’S SURPRISE--THE BARON AT BŒRUMS
VERK--SNAKE KILLED NEAR OUR TENT--OUR LAST NIGHT IN CAMP--ADIEU,
CAMP LIFE.
On the open space near the road, our donkeys were unloaded. The spot was
surrounded by forest. It was convenient for an early visit to the King
and Queen’s views next morning. A can of milk was procured from the
house near, for nine skillings, and with some barley-meal, we had our
aftens-mad, which consisted of gröd. It was rather thin, but Noah
pronounced it meget godt. Whilst the tents were being pitched, the pale
young Norwegian from Sundvolden passed by our camp, and conversed for a
short time, and then continued his route. We retired to rest at eight
o’clock. The nights were now getting cold, and damp, with heavy dews,
and the air had a wintry feeling. Night draws on quickly, and the ferns
are already changing tint.
It is Saturday, the 20th of August. We rise at five o’clock. Noah
obtained water; a fire was lighted, and we had tea, bread, butter and
cheese for our breakfast. First we took Noah with us up a broken, rough
track, through the forest to the Kongen’s Udsigt. It was not far from
our camp. A lady and gentleman had preceded us on horseback. The morning
was dull, and cloudy. In twenty minutes we were at the top of the cliff,
and standing on a kind of large balcony of rough boards.
An old man suddenly appeared from the rocks near, as a spider would
pounce on two flies. He pointed out different fjelds, and told many of
their names. What a magnificent extent of wild mountain, wood, and water
lay before us! The Gousta we could distinctly see, although said to be
distant seventy English miles. It recalled to mind a period of former
travel, when we once ascended its wild, and narrow ridge, of loose
rocks, to its highest point.
Far below us, we could see the smooth waters of the Tyri Fjord, the
Steens Fjord and the Holz Fjord.
As to the wooden frame-work, it was covered with names--the pencilled
autographs of numerous travellers; many now dead and gone. Yet, amongst
the many, we saw the name of “B. Disraeli.”
Half a mark as we left made it indispensably necessary that we should
shake hands with the old man of the Krogkleven.
In a short time we reached the Dronning’s Udsigt. The plateau is at a
somewhat lower elevation, between two cliffs wooded with birch and fir;
whilst we sat on the wooden seat, Noah quite agreed with ourself, that
the view, though very beautiful and extensive, did not equal the
Kongen’s Udsigt.
As we returned to our camp, we observed on a gate the name of Luk
Grindon. At the house, the woman showed us a horn of birch wood, about a
yard long, which she sounded for us, and ultimately Esmeralda succeeded
in blowing it.
When we came to our camp, Zachariah had struck our tents, and packed the
things up ready for loading. The pale young Norwegian again passed along
the road; speaking in Norwegian, he said, “It must be very cold.”
Esmeralda got out our tin box, and we presented him with our gipsy song.
Esmeralda was full of energy and fire. Our visitor seemed much
astonished, as she flung the things about, and occasionally we had a
cross-fire of English, and Romany, which he did not understand. Our
visitor, apparently, did not know what to make of it as he left, but
Esmeralda meant no harm. The superabundant energy must be exhausted,
and, occasionally, like other people, she got up on the wrong side the
turf.
Away we all go at ten o’clock, through the charming wild forest towards
Christiania. The sky has cleared, and it is a sunny day.
During our route from Stee by Lomen, Slidre, and other places in the
district of the Valders, until we reached Aurdal, we had looked in vain
for anyone resembling a gipsy. The gipsies who visited the fairs at
Veblungsnoes generally stated they came from the Valders, so that we had
some hope, that in passing through the district, we might meet with some
of this people.
As we now refer to the Valders, it was this district that suffered so
severely in the 14th century from the _Sorte Död_ (black death).
It is said that a foreign vessel stranded on the Norwegian coast with a
dead crew. In a short time a kind of plague, called the “black death,”
depopulated many districts, so that not a single inhabitant
remained.[131]
We soon came near a Bondegaard in the forest, and met a young Norwegian
lady; she smiled as she passed us. “Ah, sir!” said Zachariah, “you diks
as if you would like the cova juval for your Rawnee.”
Again we came to open ground in the forest, and halted at twelve
o’clock. Our middags-mad consisted of tea, sardines, bread and cheese.
The oil from the sardines had a most soothing effect on Esmeralda’s
temper, she became the perfection of amiability, and politeness.
Again we were moving, at three o’clock in the afternoon; our wanderings
seemed somehow coming to a close. “Upmyderydowno,” said Noah, as he
lifted the heavy pocket on our Puru Rawnee.
Mephistopheles soon after took his violin. The echoes of the forest were
awakened with wild gipsy music, as we tramped along at a swinging pace.
Sometimes Noah with the tambourine--sometimes Esmeralda, even the Rye,
we believe, took it occasionally, to the astonishment of one or two
stray peasants.
It was a sunny evening; except at one place, near a sheet of water, we
scarcely saw a house. After crossing a picturesque river in a deep
ravine, we reached the borders of the forest, at a less distance than a
mile. An extensive view of cultivated country, and enclosures, towards
Bœrum, decided us to return to the ravine.
We had noticed a steep, and lofty wooded knoll on our left, above the
broken river of the ravine. On our return to it, we found an open space
on its summit to pitch our tents. It was a beautiful camp-ground; a
thicket of firs secluded us; we had bilberry bushes and juniper, heath
and moss in luxuriance. A steep and lofty bank of loose stones, covered
with moss, sloped steeply to the river. From our camp we could command a
view of the road crossing the river. At the side of the stream, on the
opposite side the forest road, some green turf gave excellent pasture
for our donkeys. The river wound its broken course round our camp, and
was lost in the deep and tangled thickets. Esmeralda at once went down
to the river, near where the road crossed, to wash. Noah had only one
shirt, and he did not like to take it off to be washed, and be without
one. At last we gave him one of our old white shirts.
Noah was delighted--“Dawdy!” said Noah, skipping about, when he had put
it on, and had given his own for his sister to wash. “Dawdy! mandy’s a
Rye.”[132]
Presently two tourists crossed the river below, with their knapsacks and
dogs; one traveller was tall, the other short, with sandy hair. The dogs
commenced barking at the donkeys. They seemed surprised to see
Esmeralda, apparently alone. Whilst calling their dogs away from our
donkeys, they spoke to Esmeralda; as they looked up, they saw us looking
down, from our camp.
Immediately after they came up, and we found them very agreeable; one
spoke French. They had come from Christiania, and were going to the
Krogkleven. They told us some news of the war. The tall tourist’s
English dog sat up with a pipe in his mouth, and his master’s hat on.
This formed an exception to our rule--no smoking in camp.
Before they left, Noah pitched our tents. Then Esmeralda came from her
washing. They were much pleased with two copies of our songs, and, as
they left, they said they should call on their return, but we never saw
them again.
The aftens-mad consisted of soup, made of our last ham bones, Liebig’s
essence, pea-flour, rice, and bread.
There is something delightful in the closing evening of the wild forest;
the murmuring waters are below us; Esmeralda has gone into our tent; our
visitors are gone. As we linger near, we can perceive that our
Hobbenengree is surprised at the confusion in which we have left our
things; she has turned aside our blue curtain, with its zig-zag braid,
as she enters. Soon we hear an exclamation,--“Well, now, I’ll be
blessed! Dableau! If the Rye hasn’t pulled out everything, and put
nothing in! My word, I will warm somebody’s listner just now!”
Reader, we must plead to being rather absent. Our campaign is nearly
ended; we are going to rest. Mephistopheles comes in. “Sir, I have just
seen an adder in the stones below the tent.”
“Let the sapeau alone, Zachariah,” said we, not wishing to hear more
about adders.
Our camp was soon buried in sleep.
On Sunday, 21st August, it was a beautiful morning, when we rose at four
o’clock. Our breakfast consisted of cold ham bones, biscuits, and
English cheese. About half-past ten o’clock we took Noah with us to
Sandviken. Our route lay through Bœrums Verk. It is an interesting spot
as belonging to one of the last Barons of Norway. A fine chateau stands
upon the crest of a hill above the village, something in the style of
Oscars-hall.
The Baron is a courteous and polite man. We at once noticed the
influence and effect of such a mind upon the manners of his dependants.
The Baron possesses large iron works at Bœrums Verk. The church near is
built of bricks, and, for the first time in Norway, we heard bells.
There is something about bells which reminds us of prayer, of peace, and
contentment. At the inn at Sandviken we found every attention we could
wish. They must have been somewhat astonished at tall Noah, my Sancho
Panza, his trowsers being patched to the utmost extent human ingenuity
could devise; they included the best part of a coat, amongst other
additions.
At the inn at Sandviken there is a sort of travellers’ room. Our
middags-mad consisted of a beefsteak each, at one mark six skillings the
steak, and one bottle of Baiersk öl at twelve skillings; we gave the
pige four skillings. Sandviken is a pleasant village, about nine miles
from Christiania. We arranged for a carriole, from Sandviken to
Christiania the next day, and, leaving, we reached our camp, at seven
o’clock.
Esmeralda and Zachariah had not taken any dinner, but had waited our
return. Mephistopheles had actually killed a snake in the stones near
our tent. It measured one foot eight inches long, having a brown back,
and black belly. It was the only one we saw in Norway; it was no myth;
Mephistopheles said there were more.
Two tourists, when we returned, were looking at our tents, and talking
to Esmeralda; they were going to take the steamer, at nine o’clock that
night, from Sandviken, and were obliged to leave at once. They were very
nice young fellows. As we sat in our tents, taking our tea, biscuits,
and cheese, another party of tourists came, and bowed to us. When we had
finished, a number of peasants congregated round our camp fire. They did
not seem disposed to leave, although we were anxious to retire for the
night. Mephistopheles at length approached the fire in a mysterious
manner, and throwing into it some crumpled paper, walked away. They
thought it explosive, for they quickly left.
Now the closing scenes of summer had come, we were told that the nights
in Norway were cold, and frosty, from the 20th to the 23rd of August. No
one will ever know our feelings as we paced, up and down, on this last
evening of our camp wanderings. It was the last night of our tent life
in Norway. Somehow even our donkeys seemed to take an enlarged sphere,
in the region of our affections, as we viewed them, quietly grazing, in
the picturesque ravine. A clinging affection seemed to return, now that
we were about to bid adieu to our tents, equipage, to our gipsies, even
to our donkeys; we were now to end our camp life, with our English
gipsies, in this wild Norwegian forest.
We had for a time escaped from our books, which are as whetstones to the
human understanding; yet, occasionally, they wear away the intellect,
until it has nothing left to sharpen. Is it necessary to bestow so much
time in classical study? There was a time when it entered largely into
our necessities. Now there is a great change. Our intercourse with all
parts of the world requires a knowledge of many modern languages. Life
is short. One often doubts if competitive examinations are useful. Some
individuals, all mind, and no energy, occasionally attain to positions,
requiring more physical energy than mind, to the country’s disadvantage,
and their own misery. Camp life is the obverse of book study; whilst it
fosters the physical energy, it develops, and strengthens, the nervous
system, and gives a self-reliance, which cannot be comprehended by the
Kairengro, of what is called civilized life.
It is our last morning; we are up at four o’clock. Our breakfast
consisted of bread and cheese, and tea. Noah was presented with another
pair of trowsers, to appear at Christiania. Taking our courier bag, and
a few books, and clothes, we left; reluctantly, we must say. More than
once, we turned, as we saw our tents above the ravine. More than once,
as we turned, we saw our beautiful Puru Rawnee on the greensward near
the river; we had reached the top of the ascent. As we left the ravine,
once more, we saw the form of some one coming after us--it was
Esmeralda. Our camp life in Norway has ended.
[Illustration: ESMERALDA.]