The very look of each of them denotes strong talent; while in whatever they have undertaken to perform, they seem to have surpassed others, whilst they are at once unabashed and polite. It is true that they have not been tried in many things; but they are, it seems, the best fortune-tellers, the best singers, the best boxers, and, perhaps, the best doctors in the world.... They speak, too, the several languages of each country with much greater propriety than the lower ranks of natives themselves do.

The Gipsies. By Samuel Roberts.

THE PEASANT’S WOOD—SKEAKER—OUR FAIR VISITOR—ESMERALDA’S INDIGNATION—THE GIPSY HORNPIPE—THE FATE OF EZEKIEL— FEEBLE ADVOCACY—THE RANKNY86 RACKLY—THE OTTA VAND.

Noah broke his alpenstock. Descending still lower, we saw a waterfall formed by the stream from the lake. In a large extent of wood, on the other side, numbers of firs, which had once formed a picturesque shelter, had been cut down, and were lying on the ground. The owner, a well-to-do farmer, had yielded to the solicitations of a timber-merchant, and had cut down much of his wood. The timber-merchant, after buying and taking some of the best, found it was not worth his while to remove the remainder of the trees, owing to the roughness of the stream down which he intended to float them. The timber was therefore lying as we saw it, probably to be used as firewood.

By a short cut we descended down a very steep bank, with our animals and baggage, to the level road to Skeaker. The road was an extremely narrow lane, with a wooden fence on both sides; fields of grain were improved in luxuriance by irrigation. At one place we saw a peasant throwing water over his grain with a wooden shovel. The peasants seemed well-to-do. The farms on each side the road were numerous, but small in size.

Then we had the usual rush to see the donkeys, and an occasional meeting in the narrow lane with ponies, who obstinately refused to fraternise with our cavalcade.

At last, after passing a large well-built wooden house, with a stuffed owl on the summer-house of its garden, we crossed a bridge over the Otta Elv.

Our camp was selected on a large open common, under the shelter of a wooden fence, not very far from the road. Ole went to a farm-house for provisions, and to say we had camped there. The tents were soon pitched, a fire lighted, and we had tea and eggs in our tents. The gipsies were very lively; the day’s exertions had quite cured Esmeralda.

Numbers of peasants came in groups toward the camp. One man, dressed in black with a slouched hat, was the most solemn-looking individual we ever saw. The gipsies called him Uncle Elijah; another was styled Ezekiel. Ole said there were some peasants who did not like music or dancing.

The numbers increased, and they thronged round with eager curiosity. We were thankful that Ole was now showman; no doubt, with much ingenuity, Ole made many difficult explanations. Our guide was quite equal to the task.

The donkeys were ever surrounded by anxious visitors. One very pretty girl came up, as we were standing at the tent entrance; speaking English with a strong American accent, she said, “And where do you live?”

Our answer that we occasionally resided in London, seemed a sufficient address, for she continued, “Are you married?”

“Oh, no,” said we, with a tone of much melancholy.

Then she told us she had been in America and England; that she liked England better than Norway. She said she wanted to get married, and stayed in Norway to be with her mother. Her brother had sold the large house and farm, on the other side the river, to the government for 6,300 dollars. For some time we conversed together.

After the pretty Norwegian had left, we went to sit in our tent. As we entered, Esmeralda drew herself up with much dignity. A storm was coming—indications of the hurricane appeared on the surface of her dark flashing eyes.

“The Rye had better have his Norwegian Rackly at once! She’ll keep your tents for you! Didn’t you hear how they rocker’d together, Noah?”

“Well,” said Noah, in secret enjoyment of his sister’s indignation, “the Rye did say something about marriage, when she axed him.”

“Won’t she see after the Rye’s things?” exclaimed Esmeralda, more and more indignant.

“Dawdy! dawdy!” said Zachariah, in his blandest accents, as he sat on the ground and quietly rubbed his hands, swaying to and fro, whilst his dark eyes sparkled with malicious fire. “Dawdy! dawdy! but the Rye can tice it on with the girls, can’t you, sir?”

“Tice it on,” answered Esmeralda; “I’m not to be deceived. Noah, let’s be a gellin.”

There was an expressive tinge of indignant melancholy as Esmeralda said this. Our position was like the mariner in a heavy sea. After all, we really had no desire to change our hobbenengree, Esmeralda, who had travelled with us so many miles, and shared with us so many fatigues. Why should we change? Why should not Noah ask the pretty Norwegian girl in marriage? Indeed, we at once undertook to carry out the delicate mission. The question should be asked when she came. Noah was not unwilling.

Notwithstanding Esmeralda said, “Dawdy! There’s a scheme of the Rye’s,” she was evidently more at ease, and in a few minutes we were playing some of our gipsy and other tunes, nor did we forget the “gipsy hornpipe,” the favourite air of our gipsies’ ancient grandmother, who had recently died at some incredible age, after giving to the world seventeen children.

The number of our visitors increased. Seated in our tents, we played a variety of airs. Some few danced on the greensward near; many tried to get a view of us by looking over the baulk between our tents. Ole was the centre of many a circle, as the peasants grouped round him, asking him all sorts of questions.

At length the push and pressure was so great our tents were in danger of being levelled with the ground. In vain Esmeralda became impatient and remonstrated, still the peasants, anxious to see us, crowded against the tents and baulk.

Well we remember the tall active form of the gipsy girl, rising suddenly from the ground. Never shall we forget the amazon of our tents, the wild spirit of our many wanderings, seizing Noah’s broken alpenstock. We were reminded of Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!
Were the last words of Marmion!
as she went forth. There was a sudden withdrawal of pressure from our tents; there was a tramp of feet, a hurried stampede of short duration. Whether Uncle Elijah was knocked down, or what became of Ezekiel we never knew. We did not go out to pick up the wounded. Probably their bodies, like that of King James II., at the battle of Flodden, were never discovered. They did not appear the next morning. We mourned them as amongst the slain. Flushed and heated from the fray, Esmeralda soon returned. Our music continued till closing eve warned us it was time for rest. The peasants wished us good-night, and departed.

Yet once more before they all departed we held converse with the very pretty girl of Skeaker. Esmeralda had the satisfaction of hearing us propose for Noah. Our visitor did not appear altogether adverse, but we fear our advocacy was feeble, for nothing ultimately came of it, and we retired to rest.

We mused lightly upon the novelty and charm of our wild wandering life as we rose at six o’clock. Ole RÖdsheim procured us eggs for breakfast. Fire was lighted; Zachariah tried the river for fish. In vain we sought a spot sufficiently private for matutinal ablutions; the river banks were almost level with the water’s edge; our camp was almost on an island. We afterwards retired beneath the arch of the second bridge, where we had all the seclusion of a private boudoir.

As we appeared on the bridge, refreshed and braced up for the day’s exertion, to our surprise we again met the pretty girl of Skeaker. She had a young companion with her. Her American accent seemed now to give us pleasure, and then she spoke English very well. As we exchanged greetings chance caused us to look towards the river; the tall slim form of our hobbenengree (gip. housekeeper) was standing by the water’s edge, looking towards us. Her dark flashing eyes followed every movement.

As we slowly returned to the tents we expected another storm, but Esmeralda waited till she was gone. “I saw it all,” said Esmeralda, somewhat reproachfully. “How artfully the Rackly waited till you were on the bridge; but never mind, you can take her.”

It was difficult to convince her that Noah’s suit required several interviews and much pressing solicitation.

Our camp ground was delightful; several visitors came to our camp. Noah was leading the donkeys for our departure. Then we soon perceived our pretty Norwegian friend who spoke English; she had one or two young ladies with her.

Whilst Ole RÖdsheim gave Noah some assistance, I proposed to give our visitors a few parting tunes; in fact, they were anxious to hear us play once more.

Esmeralda looked in no lively mood towards her supposed rival. She would not play for the gorgios. Taking our guitar, we sat down, and, accompanied by Zachariah on his violin, we gave them some farewell music.

All is ready. The morning is beautiful. About ten o’clock the word was given to start. Ole formed our advance guard, and led the way, staff in hand, some distance a-head. By some shuffle in the cards of fate, Esmeralda was in the rear guard as we bowed farewell to our friendly visitors, and especially to the long-to-be-remembered pretty girl of Skeaker.

Our party quietly followed the narrow road along the right shore of the beautiful “Otta Vand.” The road was very narrow, and fenced in. Comfortable homesteads of the peasant farmers were delightfully placed between the road and the lake. We remarked their substantial, and well-to-do appearance. This seemed one of the most fertile districts we had yet traversed.

Crossing the “Sand Aa” (Nor. sandy rivulet) we gradually approached Lom, which is about six or seven English miles from Skeaker. Some of the farm houses built on promontories, stretching from the shores of the lake, have names terminating in “nÆs” (Nor. point), as for instance, StudnÆs (rough point), and many others. At a farm called SundtnÆs, we bought twenty-five eggs for one mark five skillings. Our expenses at Skeaker, including butter, eighteen eggs, and fladbrÖd, amounted to three marks.

On our way from Skeaker, Esmeralda soon recovered her wonted spirits, and said quietly, she hoped we would not think anything of what she had said; she did not mean it; was it likely we should have anyone else to look after our things. It is wonderful how soon the heart inclines itself to forgive; yet in after days now, and by chance, a quiet allusion to the pretty girl of Skeaker produced its effect on our suspicious hobbenengree.