“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.

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 9s. 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.