The Pocket George Borrow | Page 7

rein, and seated in the saddle endeavour to associate with
the picture before me--in itself a picture of romance--whatever of the
wild and wonderful I have read of in books, or have seen with my own
eyes in connection with forges.
* * * * *
A sound was heard like the rapid galloping of a horse, not loud and
distinct as on a road, but dull and heavy as if upon a grass sward, nearer
and nearer it came, and the man, starting up, rushed out of the tent, and
looked around anxiously. I arose from the stool upon which I had been
seated, and just at that moment, amidst a crashing of boughs and sticks,
a man on horseback bounded over the hedge into the lane at a few
yards' distance from where we were; from the impetus of the leap the
horse was nearly down on his knees; the rider, however, by dint of
vigorous handling of the reins, prevented him from falling, and then
rode up to the tent. ''Tis Nat,' said the man; 'what brings him here?' The
new comer was a stout, burly fellow, about the middle age; he had a
savage, determined look, and his face was nearly covered over with
carbuncles; he wore a broad slouching hat, and was dressed in a grey
coat, cut in a fashion which I afterwards learnt to be the genuine
Newmarket cut, the skirts being exceedingly short; his waistcoat was of
red plush, and he wore broad corduroy breeches and white top-boots.

The steed which carried him was of iron grey, spirited and powerful,
but covered with sweat and foam. The fellow glanced fiercely and
suspiciously around, and said something to the man of the tent in a
harsh and rapid voice. A short and hurried conversation ensued in the
strange tongue. I could not take my eyes off this new comer. Oh, that
half-jockey half-bruiser countenance, I never forgot it! More than
fifteen years afterwards I found myself amidst a crowd before Newgate;
a gallows was erected, and beneath it stood a criminal, a notorious
malefactor. I recognised him at once; the horseman of the lane is now
beneath the fatal tree, but nothing altered; still the same man; jerking
his head to the right and left with the same fierce under-glance, just as
if the affairs of this world had the same kind of interest to the last; grey
coat of Newmarket cut, plush waistcoat, corduroys, and boots, nothing
altered; but the head, alas! is bare and so is the neck. Oh, crime and
virtue, virtue and crime!--it was old John Newton I think, who, when
he saw a man going to be hanged, said: 'There goes John Newton, but
for the grace of God!'
* * * * *
After much feasting, drinking, and yelling, in the Gypsy house, the
bridal train sallied forth--a frantic spectacle. First of all marched a
villainous jockey-looking fellow, holding in his hands, uplifted, a long
pole, at the top of which fluttered in the morning air a snow-white
cambric handkerchief, emblem of the bride's purity. Then came the
betrothed pair, followed by their nearest friends; then a rabble rout of
Gypsies, screaming and shouting, and discharging guns and pistols, till
all around rang with the din, and the village dogs barked. On arriving at
the church gate, the fellow who bore the pole stuck it into the ground
with a loud huzza, and the train, forming two ranks, defiled into the
church on either side of the pole and its strange ornaments. On the
conclusion of the ceremony, they returned in the same manner in which
they had come.
Throughout the day there was nothing going on but singing, drinking,
feasting, and dancing; but the most singular part of the festival was
reserved for the dark night. Nearly a ton weight of sweetmeats had been

prepared, at an enormous expense, not for the gratification of the palate,
but for a purpose purely Gypsy. These sweetmeats of all kinds, and of
all forms, but principally yemas, or yolks of eggs prepared with a crust
of sugar (a delicious bonne-bouche), were strewn on the floor of a large
room, at least to the depth of three inches. Into this room, at a given
signal, tripped the bride and bridegroom, dancing romalis, followed
amain by all the Gitanos and Gitanas, dancing romalis. To convey a
slight idea of the scene is almost beyond the power of words. In a few
minutes the sweetmeats were reduced to a powder, or rather to a mud,
the dancers were soiled to the knees with sugar, fruits, and yolks of
eggs. Still more terrific became the lunatic merriment. The men sprang
high into the air, neighed, brayed, and crowed; whilst the Gitanas
snapped their fingers in