AT A FUNERAL--TWO DAYS AGO--VERY COOLLY--ROMAN WOMAN--WELL AND
HEARTY--SOMEWHAT DREARY--PLUM PUDDING--ROMAN FASHION--QUITE
DIFFERENT--THE DARK LANE--BEYOND TIME--FINE FELLOW--LIKE A WILD
CAT--PLEASANT ENOUGH SPOT--NO GLOVES
So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for some time in
silence; at last we fell into discourse. 'You have been in Wales, Mr.
Petulengro?'
'Ay, truly, brother.'
'What have you been doing there?'
'Assisting at a funeral.'
'At whose funeral?'
'Mrs. Herne's, brother.'
'Is she dead, then?'
'As a nail, brother.'
'How did she die?'
'By hanging, brother.'
'I am lost in astonishment,' said I; whereupon Mr. Petulengro, lifting
his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, and adjusting himself
sideways in the saddle, replied, with great deliberation, 'Two days ago I
happened to be at a fair not very far from here; I was all alone by
myself, for our party were upwards of forty miles off, when who should
come up but a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather a connection, of
mine--one of those Hernes. "Aren't you going to the funeral?" said he;
and then, brother, there passed between him and me, in the way of
questioning and answering, much the same as has just now passed between
me and you; but when he mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less
than ask who hanged her, which you forgot to do. "Who hanged her?" said
I; and then the man told me that she had done it herself; been her own
hinjiri; and then I thought to myself what a sin and shame it would be if
I did not go to the funeral, seeing that she was my own mother-in-law. I
would have brought my wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but
there was no time for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be
buried early the next morning; so I went with the man, and he led me into
Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, through many
wild and desolate places to their encampment, and there I found the
Hernes, and the dead body--the last laid out on a mattress, in a tent,
dressed Romaneskoenaes in a red cloak, and big bonnet of black beaver. I
must say for the Hernes that they took the matter very coolly; some were
eating, others drinking, and some were talking about their small affairs;
there was one, however, who did not take the matter so coolly, but took
on enough for the whole family, sitting beside the dead woman, tearing
her hair, and refusing to take either meat or drink; it was the child
Leonora. I arrived at nightfall, and the burying was not to take place
till the morning, which I was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of
them Hernes, who are not very fond of anybody. They never asked me to
eat or drink, notwithstanding I had married into the family, one of them,
however, came up and offered to fight me for five shillings; had it not
been for them I should have come back as empty as I went--he didn't stand
up five minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, beneath
a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I slept little, and
had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of people I was among.
'Early in the morning the funeral took place. The body was placed not in
a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to a churchyard but to a deep
dell close by; and there it was buried beneath a rock, dressed just as I
have told you; and this was done by the bidding of Leonora, who had heard
her bebee say that she wished to be buried, not in gorgious fashion, but
like a Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro rati, brother. When
it was over, and we had got back to the encampment, I prepared to be
going. Before mounting my gry, however, I bethought me to ask what could
have induced the dead woman to make away with herself--a thing so
uncommon amongst Romanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second
spirted saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor
cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly the
ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried about her.
One, however, I suppose rather ashamed of the way in which they had
treated me, said at last that if I wanted to know all about the matter
none could tell me better than the child, who was in all her secrets, and
was not a little like her; so I looked about for the child, but could
find her nowhere. At last the same man told me that he shouldn't wonder
if I found her at the grave; so I went back to the grave, and sure enough
there I found the child Leonora, seated on the ground above the body,
crying and taking on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, "How came all
this, Leonora? tell me all about it." It was a long time before I could
get any answer; at last she opened her mouth and spoke, and these were
the words she said, "It was all along of your Pal"; and then she told me
all about the matter--how Mrs. Herne could not abide you, which I knew
before; and that she had sworn your destruction, which I did not know
before. And then she told me how she found you living in the wood by
yourself, and how you were enticed to eat a poisoned cake; and she told
me many other things that you wot of, and she told me what perhaps you
don't wot, namely, that finding you had been removed, she, the child, had
tracked you a long way, and found you at last well and hearty, and no
ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she stood concealed,
disputing about religion with a Welsh Methody. Well, brother, she told
me all this; and, moreover, that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she said
that a dream of hers had come to pass. I don't know what it was, but
something about herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she added that it
was all up with her, and that she must take a long journey. Well,
brother, that same night Leonora, waking from her sleep in the tent where
Mrs. Herne and she were wont to sleep, missed her bebee, and, becoming
alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging from a
branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on violently, and I
could not get another word from her; so I left her, and here I am.'
'And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is sad news which you
tell me about Mrs. Herne.'
'Somewhat dreary, brother; yet, perhaps, after all, it is a good thing
that she is removed; she carried so much Devil's tinder about with her,
as the man said.'
'I am sorry for her,' said I; 'more especially as I am the cause of her
death--though the innocent one.'
'She could not bide you, brother, that's certain; but that is no
reason'--said Mr. Petulengro, balancing himself upon the saddle--'that is
no reason why she should prepare drow to take away your essence of life;
and, when disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she was
dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and scratched your
face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, she might have put
down five shillings for a turn-up between you and some one she thought
could beat you--myself, for example--and so the matter might have ended
comfortably; but she was always too fond of covert ways, drows, and
brimstones. This is not the first poisoning affair she has been engaged
in.'
'You allude to drabbing bawlor.'
'Bah!' said Mr. Petulengro; 'there's no harm in that. No, no! she has
cast drows in her time for other guess things than bawlor; both Gorgios
and Romans have tasted of them, and died. Did you never hear of the
poisoned plum pudding?'
'Never.'
'Then I will tell you about it. It happened about six years ago, a few
months after she had quitted us--she had gone first amongst her own
people, as she called them; but there was another small party of Romans,
with whom she soon became very intimate. It so happened that this small
party got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or
passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in the
business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- Castle, and
amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or principal man of the
party, and who it seems had most hand in the affair, was still at large.
All of a sudden a rumour was spread abroad that the woman was about to
play false, and to 'peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he
heard it, "If she does, I am nashkado." Mrs. Herne was then on a visit
to the party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, she said,
"But I suppose you know what to do?" "I do not," said he. "Then hir mi
devlis," said she, "you are a fool. But leave the matter to me, I know
how to dispose of her in Roman fashion." Why she wanted to interfere in
the matter, brother, I don't know, unless it was from pure brimstoneness
of disposition--she had no hand in the matter which had brought the party
into trouble--she was only on a visit, and it had happened before she
came; but she was always ready to give dangerous advice. Well, brother,
the principal man listened to what she had to say, and let her do what
she would; and she made a pudding, a very nice one, no doubt--for,
besides plums, she put in drows and all the Roman condiments that she
knew of; and she gave it to the principal man, and the principal put it
into a basket and directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the woman
in the castle took it and--'
'Ate of it,' said I; 'just like my case!'
[Picture: Mrs. Herne]
'Quite different, brother; she took it, it is true, but instead of giving
way to her appetite, as you might have done, she put it before the rest
whom she was going to impeach; perhaps she wished to see how they liked
it before she tasted it herself; and all the rest were poisoned, and one
died, and there was a precious outcry, and the woman cried loudest of
all; and she said, "It was my death was sought for; I know the man, and
I'll be revenged." And then the Poknees spoke to her and said, "Where
can we find him?" and she said, "I am awake to his motions; three weeks
from hence, the night before the full moon, at such and such an hour, he
will pass down such a lane with such a man."'
'Well,' said I, 'and what did the Poknees do?'
'Do, brother! sent for a plastramengro from Bow Street, quite secretly,
and told him what the woman had said; and the night before the full moon,
the plastramengro went to the place which the juwa had pointed out, all
alone, brother; and in order that he might not be too late, he went two
hours before his time. I know the place well, brother, where the
plastramengro placed himself behind a thick holly tree, at the end of a
lane, where a gate leads into various fields, through which there is a
path for carts and horses. The lane is called the dark lane by the
Gorgios, being much shaded by trees. So the plastramengro placed himself
in the dark lane behind the holly tree; it was a cold February night,
dreary though; the wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet risen,
and the plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was tired, and
thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and was not long in
falling to sleep, and there he slept for some hours; and when he awoke
the moon had risen, and was shining bright, so that there was a kind of
moonlight even in the dark lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his
watch, and contrived to make out that it was just two hours beyond the
time when the men should have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the
plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I should have
thought of myself in his situation. I should have thought, brother, that
I was a drowsy scoppelo, and that I had let the fellow pass by whilst I
was sleeping behind a bush. As it turned out, however, his going to
sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: just as he was going away, he
heard a gate slam in the direction of the fields, and then he heard the
low stumping of horses, as if on soft ground, for the path in those
fields is generally soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed
up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men on horseback coming towards
the lane through the field behind the gate; the man who rode foremost was
a tall big fellow, the very man he was in quest of; the other was a
smaller chap, not so small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper
master of his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, brother,
the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, undid it, and
rode through, holding it open for the other. Before, however, the other
could follow into the lane, out bolted the plastramengro from behind the
tree, kicked the gate to with his foot, and, seizing the big man on
horseback, "You are my prisoner," said he. I am of opinion, brother,
that the plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have been
a regular fine fellow.'
'I am entirely of your opinion,' said I; 'but what happened then?'
'Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat recovered from his
surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be laid hold of at
night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more especially when you happen
to have two or three things on your mind which, if proved against you,
would carry you to the nashky,--the Rommany chal, I say, clubbed his
whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had hit him on
the skull, as was intended, would very likely have cracked it. The
plastramengro, however, received it partly on his staff, so that it did
him no particular damage. Whereupon, seeing what kind of customer he had
to deal with, he dropped his staff and seized the chal with both his
hands, who forthwith spurred his horse, hoping, by doing so, either to
break away from him or fling him down; but it would not do--the
plastramengro held on like a bull-dog, so that the Rommany chal, to
escape being hauled to the ground, suddenly flung himself off the saddle,
and then happened in that lane, close by the gate, such a struggle
between those two--the chal and the runner--as I suppose will never
happen again. But you must have heard of it; everyone has heard of it;
everyone has heard of the fight between the Bow Street engro and the
Rommany chal.'
'I never heard of it till now.'
'All England rung of it, brother. There never was a better match than
between those two. The runner was somewhat the stronger of the two--all
those engroes are strong fellows--and a great deal cooler, for all of
that sort are wondrous cool people--he had, however, to do with one who
knew full well how to take his own part. The chal fought the engro,
brother, in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed like
a wild cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth and fire from his
eyes. Sometimes he was beneath the engro's legs, and sometimes he was
upon his shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult was to get a
firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal by any part of
his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore himself away, or contrived
to slip out of it; so that in a little time the chal was three parts
naked; and as for holding him by the body, it was out of the question,
for he was as slippery as an eel. At last the engro seized the chal by
the Belcher's handkerchief, which he wore in a knot round his neck, and
do whatever the chal could, he could not free himself; and when the engro
saw that, it gave him fresh heart, no doubt: "It's of no use," said he;
"you had better give in; hold out your hands for the darbies, or I will
throttle you."
'And what did the other fellow do, who came with the chal?' said I.
'I sat still on my horse, brother.'
'You!' said I. 'Were you the man?'
'I was he, brother.'
'And why did you not help your comrade?'
'I have fought in the ring, brother.'
'And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting in the lane?'
'You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it taught me to prize
fair play. When I fought Staffordshire Dick, t'other side of London, I
was alone, brother. Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his
brother pals about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat
Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn't have done had they put one finger on
his side the scale; for he was as good a man as myself, or nearly so.
Now, brother, had I but bent a finger in favour of the Rommany chal, the
plastramengro would never have come alive out of the lane; but I did not,
for I thought to myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see,
brother--'
'That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro, I see that clearly; and now,
pray proceed with your narration; it is both moral and entertaining.'
But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither did he
proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his eyes were
intently fixed on a broad strip of grass beneath some lofty trees, on the
left side of the road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to
invite wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of
the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After examining it for
a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, 'I say, brother, that would be
a nice place for a tussle!'
'I daresay it would,' said I, 'if two people were inclined to fight.'
'The ground is smooth,' said Mr. Petulengro; 'without holes or ruts, and
the trees cast much shade. I don't think, brother, that we could find a
better place,' said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his horse.
'But you and I don't want to fight!'
'Speak for yourself, brother,' said Mr. Petulengro. 'However, I will
tell you how the matter stands. There is a point at present between us.
There can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne's death,
innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, I shouldn't like it
to be known that I went up and down the country with a pal who was the
cause of my mother-in-law's death, that's to say, unless he gave me
satisfaction. Now, if I and my pal have a tussle, he gives me
satisfaction; and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can't do,
it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he who says
to the contrary knows nothing of gypsy law, and is a dinelo into the
bargain.'
'But we have no gloves!'
'Gloves!' said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, 'gloves! I tell you what,
brother, I always thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the
naked fist; and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for
Mrs. Herne's death, I wish to see what you can do with your mawleys; so
now is your time, brother, and this is your place, grass and shade, no
ruts or holes; come on, brother, or I shall think you what I should not
like to call you.'