Midst of much
declamation, to stop short, stare in vacancy, and thrust out her
palms as if endeavouring to push away some invisible substance; she
goggled frightfully with her eyes, and once sank back in
convulsions, of which her children took no farther notice than
observing that she was only lili, and would soon come to herself.
Late in the afternoon of the third day, as the three women and
myself sat conversing as usual over the brasero, a shabby looking
fellow in an old rusty cloak walked into the room: he came
straight up to the place where we were sitting, produced a paper
cigar, which he lighted at a coal, and taking a whiff or two,
looked at me: "Carracho," said he, "who is this companion?"
I saw at once that the fellow was no Gypsy: the women said
nothing, but I could hear the grandmother growling to herself,
something after the manner of an old grimalkin when disturbed.
"Carracho," reiterated the fellow, "how came this companion here?"
"No le penela chi min chaboro," said the black Callee to me, in an
undertone; "sin un balicho de los chineles {4};" then looking up to
the interrogator she said aloud, "he is one of our people from
Portugal, come on the smuggling lay, and to see his poor sisters
here."
"Then let him give me some tobacco," said the fellow, "I suppose he
has brought some with him."
"He has no tobacco," said the black Callee, "he has nothing but old
iron. This cigar is the only tobacco there is in the house; take
it, smoke it, and go away!"
Thereupon she produced a cigar from out her shoe, which she
presented to the alguazil.
"This will not do," said the fellow, taking the cigar, "I must have
something better; it is now three months since I received anything
from you; the last present was a handkerchief, which was good for
nothing; therefore hand me over something worth taking, or I will
carry you all to the Carcel."
"The Busno will take us to prison," said the black Callee, "ha! ha!
ha!"
"The Chinel will take us to prison," giggled the young girl "he!
he! he!"
"The Bengui will carry us all to the estaripel," grunted the Gypsy
grandmother, "ho! ho! ho!"
The three females arose and walked slowly round the fellow, fixing
their eyes steadfastly on his face; he appeared frightened, and
evidently wished to get away. Suddenly the two youngest seized his
hands, and whilst he struggled to release himself, the old woman
exclaimed: "You want tobacco, hijo - you come to the Gypsy house to
frighten the Callees and the strange Caloro out of their plako -
truly, hijo, we have none for you, and right sorry I am; we have,
however, plenty of the dust a su servicio."
Here, thrusting her hand into her pocket, she discharged a handful
of some kind of dust or snuff into the fellow's eyes; he stamped
and roared, but was for some time held fast by the two Callees; he
extricated himself, however, and attempted to unsheath a knife
which he bore at his girdle; but the two younger females flung
themselves upon him like furies, while the old woman increased his
disorder by thrusting her stick into his face; he was soon glad to
give up the contest, and retreated, leaving behind him his hat and
cloak, which the chabi gathered up and flung after him into the
street.
"This is a bad business," said I, "the fellow will of course bring
the rest of the justicia upon us, and we shall all be cast into the
estaripel."
"Ca!" said the black Callee, biting her thumb nail, "he has more
reason to fear us than we him, we could bring him to the filimicha;
we have, moreover, friends in this town, plenty, plenty."
"Yes," mumbled the grandmother, "the daughters of the baji have
friends, my London Caloro, friends among the Busnees, baributre,
baribu (plenty, plenty)."
Nothing farther of any account occurred in the Gypsy house; the
next day, Antonio and myself were again in the saddle, we travelled
at least thirteen leagues before we reached the Venta, where we
passed the night; we rose early in the morning, my guide informing
me that we had a long day's journey to make. "Where are we bound
to?" I demanded. "To Trujillo," he replied.
When the sun arose, which it did gloomily and amidst threatening
rain-clouds, we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of a range of
mountains which lay on our left, and which, Antonio informed me,
were called the Sierra of San Selvan; our route, however, lay over
wide plains, scantily clothed with brushwood, with here and there a
melancholy village, with its old and dilapidated church.
Throughout the greater part of the day, a drizzling rain was
falling, which turned the dust of the roads into mud and mire,
considerably impeding our progress. Towards evening we reached a
moor, a wild place enough, strewn with enormous stones and rocks.
Before us, at some distance, rose a strange conical hill, rough and
shaggy, which appeared to be neither more nor less than an immense
assemblage of the same kind of rocks which lay upon the moor. The
rain had now ceased, but a strong wind rose and howled at our
backs. Throughout the journey, I had experienced considerable
difficulty in keeping up with the mule of Antonio; the walk of the
horse was slow, and I could discover no vestige of the spirit which
the Gypsy had assured me lurked within him. We were now upon a
tolerably clear spot of the moor:
