to
Mecca. They had a minstrel who sang and played on the _darabuka_, or
earthenware drum, and he was aided by another with a simple _nai_, or
reed-whistle; the same orchestra, in fact, which is in universal use
among all red Indians. To these performers the pilgrims listened with
indescribable pleasure; and I soon found that they regarded me favorably
because I did the same, being, of course, the only Frank on board who
paid any attention to the singing--or any money for it. But it was at
night and during storms that the spirit of music always seemed to be
strongest on the Arabs, and then, amid roaring of wild waters and
thundering, and in dense darkness, the rolling of the drum and the
strange, bewildering ballads never ceased. It was the very counterpart,
in all respects, of the Chippewa storm song.

After the first gypsy lyric there came another, to which the captain
especially directed my attention as being what Sam Petulengro calls
"reg'lar Romany." It was _I rakli adro o lolo gad_ (The girl in the red
chemise), as well as I can recall his words,--a very sweet song, with a
simple but spirited chorus; and as the sympathetic electricity of
excitement seized the performers we were all in a minute "going down the
rapids in a spring freshet."

"_Bagan tu rya_, _bagan_!" (Sing, sir,--sing) cried my handsome neighbor,
with her black gypsy eyes sparkling fire. "_Jines hi bagan eto_--_eto
latcho Romanes_." (You can sing that,--it's real Romany.) It was
evident that she and all were singing with thorough enjoyment, and with a
full and realizing consciousness of gypsyism, being greatly stimulated by
my presence and sympathy. I felt that the gypsies were taking unusual
pains to please the Romany rye from the _dur' tem_, or far country, and
they had attained the acme of success by being thoroughly delighted with
themselves, which is all that can be hoped for in art, where the aim is
pleasure and not criticism.

There was a pause in the performance, but none in the chattering of the
young ladies, and during this a curious little incident occurred.
Wishing to know if my pretty friend could understand an English gypsy
lyric, I sang in an undertone a ballad, taken from George Borrow's
"Lavengro," and which begins with these words:--

"Pende Eomani chai ke laki dye;
'Miri diri dye, mi shom kameli.'"

I never knew whether this was really an old gypsy poem or one written by
Mr. Borrow. Once, when I repeated it