“The King of the Gipsies, or El Capitan as he is called, is a
fine musician, and we invited him to come up to the hotel one
evening to play to us. Captain Antonio’s company is not to be
had for the asking.... It was a wretchedly poor instrument, and
we began to wonder what sort of torments were about to be
inflicted upon us, when on a sudden the tuning ceased, and the
music seized hold of us like galvanism; for it was such music as
one had never dreamed of before.”
MATILDA BETHAM EDWARDS’ _Through Spain_.[133]
CHRISTIANIA--GENEROUS OFFER--ADVICE WE DO NOT TAKE--THE
PAPER--VIKEN FISHERMEN--CHRISTOPHERSON’S--NORWAY
FAREWELL--DONKEYS’ ACCOMMODATION--WANT OF FEELING--OUR
STEWARD--THE GIPSIES’ FRIENDS--THE SPANISH COURIER--THE LITERARY
AMERICAN--THE GIPSIES’ MAL DE MER--THE DONKEYS IN A SMOKE
ROOM--THE LOST NECKLACE--ENGLAND’S SHORE--TO OUR READERS.
Very lightly shall we touch upon the remaining portion of our journey. A
carriole from the Skyds Station at Sandviken conveyed us to the Victoria
Hotel at Christiania. We had dined there on our first landing; we went
there on our return. Every attention, and comfort, is to be found at the
Victoria.
Our friend the Chevalier gave our gipsies a beautiful camp ground for
the tents, on a wooded knoll, near the Christiania Fjord.
They were to follow us to Christiania the next morning after we left
them.
About noon on the following day after our arrival, we strolled out of
the city to meet them. Our gipsies had halted in the shade of some
trees. A young officer had stepped down from his carriage, and was
speaking to Esmeralda. The lady in the carriage had kindly offered them
camping-ground on her property. It was kindly meant, but we had already
arranged. The same evening, our gipsies were encamped near Christiania
Fjord--the last camp of the English gipsies in Norway.
It seemed as if we had left the Bendigo, or the Goulborn gold-diggings,
or some scenes of the boundless Bush forest of Australia, and had just
come down to Melbourne. Australian readers will understand the feeling.
Our steamer would leave on Friday afternoon. It is the “Hero,” under
command of Captain Nicholson.
We call at H. Heitman’s office, and showed our return ticket, and
informed him that two of our donkeys would return with our party. H.
Heitman made some objection about finding accommodation for the donkeys,
and suggested leaving them behind. Either, said he, they must be on full
deck, or go below. The full amount for their return passage had been
paid as for horses, and they were entitled to proper accommodation. We
said we had quite determined to take them with us.
The time passed quickly from Monday until Friday the 26th August. It is
not our intention to give any description of Christiania. Excellent
descriptions of all worth seeing in this beautifully situated capital,
have been given by many English writers, and in Murray’s Guide Book. We
like Christiania, for the home-like feeling we experienced, as we
wandered through its streets, and conversed with its people. The city
has nearly, if not quite, doubled, its population, within the last
twenty years, Norway must advance.[134] It is a country where one
breathes a true spirit of freedom. Norway exhibits an instance of the
greatest amount of liberty being quite compatible with a monarchical
form of government.
Sometimes we lounged at Paperviken, watching the anglers, as we waited
for the steamer, when we were going to visit our friend the Chevalier.
The hospitality of the Chevalier and his agreeable wife was boundless.
We believe we only slept once in our room, at the Victoria. Then our
host had friends, and very pleasant hours we spent with them.
One clergyman knew something of the Romany language, and was much
interested in our gipsies. Then we had Norwegian souvenirs to purchase
for our friends in England.
A camp kettle was purchased for tall Noah, exactly of similar pattern to
that used by Ole Halvorsen. It was the one great wish of Noah’s
existence. Esmeralda was not forgotten.
Then there was the usual lounge at that quaint old place 17 Store
Strandgade, where you are sure to find Mr. Bennett, and some English
tourists whose heads are full of carrioles, forbuds, fast and slow
stations, routes, provisions for their Tine,[135] and a bewildering
amount of small money of all sorts and sizes.
Then we met with our friend from the Poet’s House at Eisbod, who had
quite recovered. He dined with us, and whiffed his cigar in the charming
smoking, and lounging-room of the Victoria.
Nor did we forget to look into Christopherson’s dining-room, or take our
cup of coffee under the verandah there, with its trees before it, and
the small tables and chairs under it, reminding us of the Paris
boulevards.
The weather was so sunny, the atmosphere so pure and clear, and our
visit rendered so pleasant by kind friends, that with much reluctance we
ordered our things to be taken from the Victoria to the steamer.
Christiania, with its palace, Storthing House, Library, Museum of
Northern Antiquities and zoological collection; its Oscarshall with
Tiedman’s paintings, the old castle of the Agershuus, must now be left.
Our gipsies left their last camp on the Christiania Ford that morning.
The wooded knoll above the Fjord to the left of our engraving was the
last camp of the English gipsies in Norway.
Parting souvenirs had been given them by our friends which showed the
interest they had taken in them. All our baggage was safe on board the
steamer, and our Puru Rawnee and Puro Rye were on deck.
The steam is up. We say farewell to our valued friend the Chevalier. The
View of Scandinavian scenery he left in our hands, as a parting gift
from his lovely young wife and himself, will always be prized. Adieu,
also, to our friend from the “Poet’s House” at Eisbod. Adieu, Norway,
adieu!!!
Esmeralda’s and Noah’s tambourines may never again be heard in the
Norwegian valleys. Zachariah’s violin is silent. Our guitar is put up.
Once more we say farewell!!!
We had our usual complement of passengers, officers, tourists, and
fishermen, including our former fellow passengers, the officer and his
handsome wife, with the Tyrolese hat and feather, and the portly
gentleman, whom we had also met at Christiania. The Birmingham bagman
had, somehow, not found his way out of the Horungerne mountains, or
wherever he might be.
[Illustration: THE LAST CAMP OF THE ENGLISH GIPSIES IN NORWAY.]
The vessel was well ventilated, but we preferred the “Albion;” the
“Hero” being full-decked from stem to stern, there was very little
shelter, except in the smoke-room.
We had a number of Norwegian emigrants, going to America, in the
second-class cabins.
No accommodation had been provided for our donkeys. They were left to
take their chance on deck, in a cold, damp night, at sea. When we went
to see them, our Puru Rawnee looked as if she could have kicked H.
Heitman overboard. Captain Nicholson did what he could for us, when we
spoke to him about them. No agent of common feeling would have left them
thus to take their chance. As God is to man, so man is to animals.
Kindness is required from man to those living creatures created for his
use.
We could not help liking Captain Nicholson. There was a manly spirit
about him, and at the same time we saw he possessed a kindly heart. The
sailors put up by his directions afterwards, a sort of rude tent of
sails, under which our donkeys had to balance themselves, on the wet
deck, looking exceedingly uncomfortable, and out of place. They had been
exposed all the Friday night near the fore-hatchway, without the
slightest shelter.
It so happened that by good fortune John Smith was our steward, his wife
the stewardess. They are wonderful people. John Smith is slightly past
the meridian of age; a little bald, but active and stirring, and of such
energy! Always on his legs. He could far surpass the most distinguished,
and eminent acrobat, in the way he balanced plates, dishes of fowl,
bottles of champagne, anchovy sauce, wine glasses, and dozens of other
things besides.
“Coming, sir. Iced champagne, if you please; who said seltzer water and
brandy? Mange tak. Eating sir! nothing but eating!”
Impatient tourist.--“John Smith, you have not given me any sauce with my
fish.”
“Caper, sir, or Worstershire? Coming, captain. Oh, dear! what are they
about up there? Oh, here it is, all hot. That’s right,” says John Smith,
balancing hot plates, on the tips of his fingers, as if he expected a
round of applause from the passengers. “Here you are--hot plates, sir.
Perry for you. Did you say tea? ver so artig. Sugar and cream--Tak skal
de have. The year’s over--bang, bang. Thank goodness, here are some
empty bottles broken--I did not know what to do with them. How could I
find a father for so many dead men? Ah, pease pudding for you, sir--half
a pound? No, not for you, sir. You, sir? Here it is on a smaller plate,
so that you should not think it was the same. I wish I could change my
name; I’m tired of hearing it. Have you everything you want, sir?” as he
looked across the table at us. “More bread? here it is, sir,” and the
identical John Smith still pushed about without assistance, but every
finger, was worth its weight in gold.
On Saturday morning we came to Christiansand, and on going ashore
received two letters from the post-office, paying eighteen skillings.
They were both from some English gipsies, who expected we should be all
killed in the war. Their ideas of geography were very loose.
Our gipsies are quite _hors de combat_, and wretchedly seasick and
helpless. On Sunday, our last day at sea, the weather was rough, wet,
and excessively disagreeable. We were up at five o’clock. Only four
passengers, and Captain Nicholson, appeared at breakfast when we sat
down.
A Mr. McG----, an old veteran fishing-tackle maker, was never sea-sick,
and particularly hardy. The Honourable Mr. V----, who had camped out in
America, with his tent, and the tall owner of the Rus Vand, were
amongst the passengers, who seem quite at home during the voyage.
The Honourable Mr. V---- was a fine-looking, handsome fellow, who had
been fishing between Christiansand and Throndjhem.
Amongst other passengers we had an American gentleman, and his wife, and
courier. His courier was apparently Spanish, and was much interested in
our gipsies. He expatiated on the El Capitano of the gipsies at Granada.
The tall, intelligent American gentleman, and his wife, we had observed
at the table-d’hôte at the Victoria Hotel.
Before landing, he told several of us he was going to Ireland to examine
for himself, and ascertain how it was possible so many uneducated,
bigoted, quarrelsome, discontented, drunken people could be annually
sent to the American shores, from any country supposed to be civilized,
and under a good government.
Some passenger suggested, he would see the bright side of society when
he reached Ireland, the Irish being extremely kind and hospitable.
The American passenger, said he would see the dark side also. He was a
tall, intelligent-looking man, and evidently a man of observation.
Few of the passengers escaped sea-sickness. The captain told our gipsies
that we stood the sea exceedingly well; our appetite was very good, and
we were never unwell all the voyage.
Land was announced about eight o’clock. John Smith began lighting the
saloon lamps; when they did not light readily, he said, “God bless the
Queen and all the Royal Family!” which fervent, and loyal ejaculation
seemed to facilitate amazingly the undertaking on hand.
When the saloon was lighted up, we could enjoy the views on the saloon
panels, of Windsor Castle, and the King of Sweden’s palace at Stockholm,
until John Smith suddenly said we had twenty-five miles of river before
landing, which apparently dulled most of the passengers’ appreciation of
the beautiful.
Several passengers were determined to go on shore when they had the
opportunity, at any early hour in the night. Our donkeys were put near
the engine boiler for warmth. The gipsies were dreadfully sea-sick, as
we went to bed.
We were told that some time afterwards John Smith, who was at any hour,
night and day, here, there, and everywhere, had been suddenly called to
the smoke-room on deck. Some of the passengers, possibly belonging to
the Humane Society, had placed our donkeys in the smoke-room. The
biscuits on the table had rapidly disappeared.
Fancy John Smith in the dim light of the deserted smoke-room, with his
head whirling round from his attendance on passengers, politely
inquiring at the door what the gentlemen pleased to want.
Getting no answer, it seems he went in to see if the gentlemen were
hopelessly sea-sick, and some jovial passenger, we were told, locked him
in with his strange companions.[136]
By some means our steward was released, for he supplied us with tea in
the early morning, when we also settled our expenses, for the gipsies,
and ourselves, at £3 9_s._ Nor did we forget John Smith’s and the second
steward’s fee.
We had another item for corn, for our donkeys from Christiania--3 marks
16 skillings. We are afraid our faithful animals had a miserable voyage.
Our gipsies would require the donkeys before they reached their friends,
and they ultimately found them somewhere in Gloucestershire. The Tarno
Rye was left as a souvenir with the Chevalier, the only donkey we
believe in Norway.[137]
Before we left the vessel, Esmeralda discovered that her necklace of
blue and white beads, and Norwegian coins, had been stolen. Captain
Nicholson, and the stewards, did all they could to recover it. Although
not of much intrinsic value, it was a gipsy relic, which Esmeralda
prized. We offered a reward, which was afterwards increased to £10, but
without result.
Fortunately, another similar necklace was in the possession of the
family. This was given to her, and we supplied other Norwegian coins in
the place of those stolen.
As we left the Hero, and landed on England’s shore, John Smith was still
on the wing, for a thousand different requirements. “Coming, sir! there
is no peace for the wicked; I must be very wicked, I know I must.”
Would that all discharged their duty as faithfully as John Smith!
Reader, I gently take you by the hand. We have met, but in the pages of
this book. Yet, if you have followed us in our wanderings, we have made
some sort of acquaintance. Perhaps we may meet again--perhaps
not;--farewell.