The White Gauntlet

by Mayne Reid

There was an air of business about the men, as they marched along the road; and in their muttered conversations could be distinguished a tone of earnestness, that betokened some serious subject. They did not loiter, like men strolling out for an evening’s pastime; but walked briskly forward, as bent upon an errand, or keeping some preconcerted appointment.

As already stated, the landlord of the inn received the different groups. There was something mysterious in this wordless welcome—so unusual at the Saracen’s Head; the more so, as on the broad open countenance of its owner there was no trace of churlishness. Equally mysterious might have appeared a circumstance observed as the guests came up to the door:—each raising his right hand within a few inches of Master Jarvis’s nose, with the thumb bent inward; holding the hand a second or two, in that position, and then withdrawing it!

The mystery could only be explained, by presuming that this was a signal; and the slight assenting nod, with which it was answered, was simply a permission to enter.

It might have been observed, moreover: that the guests so signalling, instead of going towards the common or tap-room of the inn, proceeded through a long corridor—leading to the interior of the establishment—where a large and much better appointed apartment had been arranged to receive them.

Others who entered the house, without giving the thumb signal, greeted the landlord in a different way, and were shown towards the tap-room, or walked on, as was their wont, without invitation.

For more than an hour these groups of men continued to arrive up the road from Uxbridge. At the same time other men—though not in such numbers—might have been seen coming down the same road from the direction of Red Hill, and Denham; and also along bye-paths—from the villages of Harefield, and Iver.

Some difference might have been noticed between these and the men who came from Uxbridge—the former by their style of dress and general appearance being evidently denizens of the country—graziers or farmers—and not a few of them having the substantial look of independence that bespoke the freeholder.

All, however, were evidently moving towards the inn with a like motive—as each of them upon entering was seen to offer to its owner that silent masonic salute, which admitted them into the secret interior of the establishment.

Of those who came in from the country, not a few were on horseback, as if they had ridden from a distance; and the ample stables were soon almost as well filled—and perhaps more profitably—than when Scarthe and his cuirassiers had honoured the inn with their patronage.

Among the last who rode up was a horseman of distinguished mien; whose dress and equipments—but still more the steed he bestrode, and the style of his equitation—proclaimed him to be different from all the others. Even under the deceptive light of the moon there was no mistaking him for a common man. His free, graceful bearing, declared the cavalier.