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 Bœrum, 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!”