together with a strange noise that seemed to proceed from some
instruments; but could hardly be allowed the name of musci! indeed, to
favour a little the opinion of Partridge, it might very well be called
music bewitched.
It is impossible to conceive a much greater degree of horror than
what now seized on Partridge; the contagion of which had reached the
post-boy, who had been very attentive to many things that the other
had uttered. He now, therefore, joined in petitioning Jones to return;
saying he firmly believed what Partridge had just before said, that
though the horses seemed to go on, they had not moved a step
forwards during at least the last half-hour.
Jones could not help smiling in the midst of his vexation, at the
fears of these poor fellows. "Either we advance," says he, "towards
the lights, or the lights have advanced towards us; for we are now
at a very little distance from them; but how can either of you be
afraid of a set of people who appear only to be merry-making?"
"Merry-making, sir!" cries Partridge; "who could be merry-making
at this time of night, and in such a place, and such weather? They can
be nothing but ghosts or witches, or some evil spirits or other,
that's certain."
"Let them be what they will," cries Jones, "I am resolved to go up
to them, and enquire the way to Coventry. All witches, Partridge,
are not such ill-natured hags as that we had the misfortune to meet
with last."
"O Lord, sir," cries Partridge, "there is no knowing what humour
they will be in; to be sure it is always best to be civil to them; but
what if we should meet with something worse than witches, with evil
spirits themselves?-- Pray, sir, be advised; pray, sir, do. If you had
read so many terrible accounts as I have of these matters, you would
not be so fool-hardy.- The Lord knows whither we have got already, or
whither we are going; for sure such darkness was never seen upon
earth, and I question whether it can be darker in the other world."
Jones put forwards as fast as he could, notwithstanding all these
hints and cautions, and poor Partridge was obliged to follow; for
though he hardly dared to advance, he dared still less to stay
behind by himself.
At length they arrived at the place whence the lights and
different noises had issued. This Jones perceived to be no other
than a barn, where a great number of men and women were assembled, and
diverting themselves with much apparent jollity.
Jones no sooner appeared before the great doors of the barn, which
were open, than a masculine and very rough voice from within demanded,
who was there?- To which Jones gently answered, a friend; and
immediately asked the to Coventry.
"If you are a friend," cries another of the men in the barn, "you
had better alight till the storm is over" (for indeed it was now
more violent than ever); "you are very welcome to put up your horse;
for there is sufficient room for him at the end of the barn."
"You are very obliging," returned Jones; and I will accept your
offer for a few minutes, whilst the rain continues; and here are two
more who will be glad of the same favour." This was accorded with more
good-will than it was accepted: for Partridge would rather have
submitted to the utmost inclemency of the weather, than have trusted
to the clemency of those whom he took for hobgoblins; and the poor
post-boy was now infected with the same apprehensions; but they were
both obliged to follow the example of Jones; the one because he
durst not leave his horse, and the other because he feared nothing
so much as being left by himself.
Had this history been writ in the days of superstition, I should
have had too much compassion for the reader to have left him so long
in suspense, whether Beelzebub or Satan was about actually to appear
in person, with all his hellish retinue; but as these doctrines are at
present very unfortunate, and have but few, if any believers, I have
not been much aware of conveying any such terrors. To say truth, the
whole furniture of the infernal regions hath long been appropriated by
the managers of playhouses, who seem lately to have laid them by as
rubbish, capable only of affecting the upper gallery; a place in which
few of our readers ever sit.
However, though we do not suspect raising any great terror on this
occasion, we have reason to fear some other apprehensions may here
arise in our reader, into which we would not willingly betray him; I
mean that we are going to take a voyage into fairy-land, and introduce
a set of beings into our history, which scarce any one was ever
childish enough to believe, though many have been foolish enough to
spend their time in writing and reading their adventures.
To prevent, therefore, any such suspicions, so prejudicial to the
credit of an historian, who professes to draw his materials from
nature only, we shall now proceed to acquaint the reader who these
people were, whose sudden appearance had struck such terrors into
Partridge, had more than half frightened the postboy, and had a little
surprized even Mr. Jones himself.
The people then assembled in this barn were no other than a
company of Egyptians, or, as they are vulgarly called, gypsies, and
they were now celebrating the wedding of one of their society.
It is impossible to conceive a happier set of people than appeared
here to be met together. The utmost mirth, indeed, shewed itself in
ever countenance; nor was their ball totally void of all order and
decorum. Perhaps it had more than a country assembly is sometimes
conducted with: for these people are subject to a formal government
and laws of their own, and all pay obedience to one great
magistrate, whom they call their king.
Greater plenty, likewise, was nowhere to be seen, than what
flourished in this barn. Here was indeed no nicety nor elegance, nor
did the keen appetite of the guests require any. Here was good store
of bacon, fowls, and mutton, to which every one present provided
better sauce himself than the best and dearest French cook can
prepare.
AEneas is not described under more consternation in the temple of
Juno,
Dum stupet obtutuque haeret defixus in uno,*
than was our heroe at what he saw in this barn. While he was looking
everywhere round him with astonishment, a venerable person
approached him with many friendly salutations, rather of too hearty
a kind to be called courtly. This was no other than the king of the
gypsies himself. He was very little distinguished in dress from his
subjects, nor had he any regalia of majesty to support his dignity;
and yet there seemed (as Mr. Jones said) to be somewhat in his air
which denoted authority, and inspired the beholders with an idea of
awe and respect; though all this was perhaps imaginary in Jones; and
the truth may be, that such ideas are incident to power, and almost
inseparable from it.
*While amazed he stands in one fixed gaze immovable.
There was somewhat in the open countenance and courteous behaviour
of Jones which, being accompanied with much comeliness of person,
greatly recommended him at first to every beholder. These were,
perhaps, a little heightened to the present instance, by that profound
respect which he paid to the king of the gypsies, the moment he was
acquainted with his dignity, and which was the sweeter to his gypseian
majesty, as he was not used to receive such homage from any but his
own subjects.
The king ordered a table to be spread with the choicest of their
provisions for his accommodation; and, having placed himself at his
right hand, his majesty began to discourse with our heroe in the
following manner:-
"Me doubt not, sir, but you have of seen some of my people, who
are what you call de parties detache: for dey go about everywhere; but
me fancy you imagine not we be so considrable body as we be; and may
be you will be surprize more when you hear de gypsy be as orderly
and well govern people as any upon face of de earth.
"Me have honour, as me say, to be deir king, and no monarch can do
boast of more dutiful subject, ne no more affectionate. How far me
deserve deir good-will, me no say; but dis me can say, dat me never
design anyting but to do dem good. Me sall no do boast of dat
neider: for what can me do oderwise dan consider of de good of dose
poor people who go about all day to give me always de best of what dey
get. Dey love and honour me darefore, because me do love and take care
of dem; dat is all, me know no oder reason.
"About a tousand or two tousand year ago, me cannot tell to a year
or two, as can neider write nor read, dere was a great what you
call- a volution among de gypsy; for dere was de lord gypsy in dose
days;
and dese lord did quarrel vid one anoder about de place; but de king
of de gypsy did demolish dem all, and made all his subject equal vid
each oder; and since dat time dey have agree very well; for dey no
tink of being king, and may be it be better for dem as dey be; for
me assure you it be ver troublesome ting to be king, and always to
do justice; me have often wish to be de private gypsy when me have
been forced to punish my dear friend and relation; for dough we
never put to death, our punishments be ver severe. Dey make de gypsy
ashamed of demselves and dat be ver terrible punishment; me ave scarce
ever known de gypsy so punish do harm any more."
The king then proceeded to express some wonder that there was no
such punishment as shame in other governments. Upon which Jones
assured him to the contrary; for that there were many crimes for which
shame was inflicted by the English laws, and that it was indeed one
consequence of all punishment. "Dat be ver strange," said the king;
"for me know and hears good deal of your people, dough me no live
among dem; and me have often hear dat sham is de consequence and de
cause too of many of your rewards. Are your rewards and punishments
den de same ting?"
While his majesty was thus discoursing with Jones, a sudden uproar
arose in the barn, and as it seems upon this occasion:- the courtesy
of these people had by degrees removed all the apprehensions of
Partridge, and he was prevailed upon not only to stuff himself with
their food, but to taste some of their liquors, which by degress
entirely expelled all fear from his composition, and in its stead
introduced much more agreeable sensations.
A young female gypsy, more remarkable for her wit than her beauty,
had decoyed the honest fellow aside, pretending to tell his fortune.
Now, when they were alone together in a remote part of the barn,
whether it proceeded from the strong liquor, which is never so apt
to inflame inordinate desire as after moderate fatigue; or whether the
fair gypsy herself threw aside the delicacy and decency of her sex,
and tempted the youth Partridge with express solicitations; but they
were discovered in a very improper manner by the husband of the gypsy,
who, from jealousy it seems, had kept a watchful eye over his wife,
and had dogged her to the place, where he found her in the arms of her
gallant.
To the great confusion of Jones, Partridge was now hurried before
the king; who heard the accusation, and likewise the culprit's
defence, which was indeed very trifling; for the poor fellow was
confounded by the plain evidence which appeared against him, and had
very little to say for himself. His majesty, then turning towards
Jones, said, "Sir, you have hear what dey say: what punishment do
you tink your man deserve?"
Jones answered, "He was sorry for what had happened, and that
Partridge should make the husband all the amends in his power: he
said, he had very little money about him at that time;" and, putting
his hand into his pocket, offered the fellow a guinea. To which he
immediately answered. "He hoped his honour would not think of giving
him less than five."
This sum, after some altercation, was reduced to two; and Jones,
having stipulated for the full forgiveness of both Partridge and the
wife, was going to pay the money; when his majesty, restraining his
hand, turned to the witness and asked him, "At what time he had
discovered the criminals?" To which he answered, "That he had been
desired by the husband to watch the motions of his wife from her first
speaking to the stranger, and that he had never lost sight of her
afterwards till the crime had been committed." The king then asked,
"if the husband was with him all that time in his lurking-place?" To
which he answered in the affirmative. His Egyptian majesty then
addressed himself to the husband as follows: "Me be sorry to see any
gypsy dat have no more honour dan to sell de honour of his wife for
money. If you had de love for your wife, you would have prevented
dis matter, and not endeavour to make her de whore dat you might
discover her. Me do order dat you have no money given you, for you
deserve punishment, not reward; me do order derefore, dat you be de
infamous gypsy, and do wear pair of horms upon your forehead for one
month, and dat your wife be called de whore, and pointed at all dat
time; for you be de infamous gypsy, but she be no less de infamous
whore."
The gypsies immediately proceeded to execute the sentence, and
left Jones and Partridge alone with his majesty.
Jones greatly applauded the justice of the sentence: upon which
the king, turning to him, said, "Me believe you be surprize: for me
suppose you have ver bad opinion of my people: me suppose you tink
us all de tieves."
"I must confess, sir," said Jones, "I have not heard so favourable
an account of them as they seem to deserve."
"Me vil tell you," said the king, "how the difference is between you
and us. My people rob your people, and your people rob one anoder."
Jones afterwards proceeded very gravely to sing forth the
