“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.