“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 Boerum, 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 Boerums 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 Boerums 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.