The morning was cloudy, as we left our camp at half-past six o’clock. We did not feel so well as usual. Our health had been excellent throughout. As we passed a cottage, the gipsies pointed out the old man’s house, with its flag, and large stone, with a photograph let into it, of his majesty Carl John.[115]
When we came to the Krœmmermoen station soon afterwards, Noah and Zachariah were sent to buy bread, and wire at the shop. The station is apparently exceedingly comfortable. Esmeralda went on with the baggage. Going up stairs, we were shown into our friend’s bed-room. Our friend from Eisbod was in bed looking very pale and unwell. Something had disagreed with him, and he had not been well since he left Skogstad. Apparently he had a severe attack of diarrhœa. Our bread cost us one mark, potatoes four skillings, and wire ten skillings.
As we left our friend, he said he should try and continue his journey the same morning. It seemed as if we were ever destined to pass, and repass, and meet continually.
When we overtook our baggage shortly after, near the village church of Bang, we found our lady visitors of the previous day, and the Lehnsmœnd, and their friends, assembled, to give us their parting good wishes. Much we regretted, that our time did not permit us to stay another day. Bang is delightfully situated. However powerful the description, there is much that the poet’s pen, will fail to convey.
The Lehnsmœnd, our agreeable visitor of the previous day, the young gentleman we had seen at Lomen on the Slidre Fjord, the ladies, especially our fair visitor, who had given us the verses, were as charming as before. All united to say to us “Bon voyage,” as we left the lovely dale of Lille Bang.[116]
After we had left Bang, the road reached the river’s bank. Fortunately there was a horse-boat, with a landing and all complete. The ferry-house was on the other side; the river Beina was before us. The old man at the ferry wore breeches and stockings, and very large shoes. He was heavy, stooping, and slow, and was followed by his son, who was his duplicate, in large baggy trousers, and immense shoes, and a shade slower still. They were a perfect study. A draper’s assistant would have measured up their time, at five minutes the yard. Both had a sparkle of comicality in their eyes, as they helped our gipsies to carry our baggage from the donkeys into the boat. Strange to say, the donkeys walked on to the horse-boat, without a moment’s hesitation. The old man rowed with two very large oars, whilst his son slowly used a shaft.
The boat reached the opposite bank, and the donkeys were safely landed. Two females, we took for his wife and daughter, came to a fence to look at our donkeys. The old man began to assist in taking our baggage on shore. Presently Mephistopheles rushed on deck. The old man was slowly dragging at a heavy pocket, which generally took the strength of Noah, and ourself, to lift on to the Puru Rawnee. Suddenly Mephistopheles, spinning the old man almost round, like a tee-to-tum, swung it over his shoulder like a feather, and in two seconds deposited it on shore. We shall never forget the old man’s look of amazement, and his son’s sudden pause to take another look at Mephistopheles. Then Mephistopheles in his hurry tumbled headlong over some bags, to the amusement of the two ferrymen.
It was found that a rope had been left on the other side the river. Mephistopheles jumped into a light pram, and by his rapidity, almost tumbled the man’s son into the bottom of the boat. Away went Mephistopheles, with two oars, splashing across the river. Now they are coming back, the old man’s son sprawling in the stern, as he holds on, with astonished look; whilst Mephistopheles, with fearful irregularity, is sending the waters of the Beina in all directions.
Our gipsies are screaming with laughter. “Ha, ha! Uncle Sam coming from Bosbury, a seaport town in England! Dik the Balo-Shero. Look at Elijah! Why, he’s got a square nose.”
We were exceedingly thankful that our gipsies’ tatersprog and English slang was never understood. “Coming from Bosbury,” had reference to a question, a countryman once asked one of the tribe, “Where’s Bosbury?” “Bosbury? why, it’s a seaport town in the middle of England, with lots of ships!” “Well,” said the rustic, “I never heerd on it afore.”