The White Gauntlet. Reid Mayne

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СКАЧАТЬ the lines of the old Saxon encampment a large company has assembled. There are thousands in all – some roaming over the ground, some seated under shady trees on the summit of the turf-grown moat. Here and there may be seen large numbers forming a “ring” – the spectators of some sport that is progressing in their midst.

      Of sports there are many kinds carried on at the same time. Here is played the game of “balloon:” a huge leathern ball, inflated with hot air, and bandied about amidst a circle of players – the game being to keep the ball passing from one to the other.

      There you may see another party engaged in a game of “bowls,” fashionable as the favourite of Royalty; and further on, a crowd clustered around a contest of “single-stick,” where two stout fellows are cudgelling one another, as if determined upon a mutual cracking of skulls – a feat, however, not so easy of accomplishment.

      Not far off you may behold the gentler sport of “kiss in the ring,” where blue-eyed Saxon girls are pursued by their rustic beaux, and easily overtaken.

      At other places you may witness a wrestling match, a game of foot-ball, or quoits, with “pitching the stone,” racing, leaping, and vaulting.

      At a short distance off, and outside the encampment, may be seen an al fresco kitchen, on an extensive scale; where the servants of Sir Marmaduke are engaged in roasting immense barons of beef, and huge hogs cleft lengthwise. An hour or two later, and this spot will be the roost attractive of all.

      Not alone does the peasant world appear in the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade. Cavaliers picturesquely attired, in the splendid costumes of the time, along with high-born dames, are seen standing in groups over the ground. Some are spectators of the sports, though not a few of both sexes occasionally take part in them. The fête champètre is a fashionable mode of amusement where rank is, for the time, surrendered to the desire for simple enjoyment; and it is not altogether outré for the mistress of the mansion to mingle with her maidens in the “out-door dance,” nor the squire to take a hand at “single-stick,” or “bowls,” with his rustic retainer.

      Even Royalty, in those days was accustomed to such condescension!

      Such was the gay spectacle exhibited in the park of Sir Marmaduke Wade, to celebrate the anniversary of that happy day that had given him a son and heir.

      Volume One – Chapter Fourteen

      The bells of Uxbridge were tolling the hour of noon. Scarthe’s Cuirassiers were still by the roadside inn, though in full armour, and each trooper standing by the side of his horse, ready to take saddle.

      It was a late hour to begin their march; but they had been detained. The freshly rasped hoofs of the horses might declare the cause of the detention. The forges of Uxbridge had been called into requisition, for the shoeing of the troop.

      There was no special need for haste. They had not far to go; and the duty upon which they were bent, could be entered into at any hour. At twelve they were all ready for the route.

      “To horse!” was uttered in the usual abrupt tone of command; and at the same instant, the two officers were seen issuing from the doorway of the inn.

      The clattering of steel, as the cuirassiers sprang to their saddles, could be heard on the calm air of the autumn noon, to the distance of a mile. The shopkeepers of Uxbridge heard it; and were only too glad when told its interpretation. All night long Scarthe’s royal swashbucklers had been swaggering through the streets, disturbing the tranquillity of their town, and leaving many a score unsettled.

      No wonder they rejoiced, when that clinking of sabres, and clashing of cuisses, declared the departure of Captain Scarthe and his following from the hostelry of the Saracen’s Head.

      Their men having mounted, the two officers betook themselves to their saddles, though with less alertness. The cornet seemed to have a difficulty in finding his stirrup; and, after he had succeeded in getting into his seat, it appeared an open question whether he should be able to keep it. Stubbs was intoxicated.

      His superior officer was affected in a similar fashion, though to a less degree. At all events he did not show his tipsiness so palpably. He was able to mount into the saddle, without the hand of a helper; and when there, could hold himself upright. Habit may have given him this superiority over his comrade: for Scarthe was an old soldier, and Stubbs was not.

      The carouse of the preceding night had commenced at the roadside inn – early in the evening.

      The incident that had there occurred – not of the most comforting nature, either to Scarthe or his subaltern – had stimulated them to continue at their cups – only transferring the scene to the inns of Uxbridge. A stray cavalier or two, picked up in the town, had furnished them with the right sort of associates for a midnight frolic; and it was not till the blue light of morn was breaking over the meadows of the Colne, that the wearied roisterers staggered across the old bridge, and returned to their temporary quarters at the roadside inn.

      While the horses of the troop were in the hands of the farriers, the two officers had passed an hour or two, tossing upon a brace of the best beds the inn afforded; and it was close upon twelve at noon when Scarthe awoke, and called for a cup of burnt sack to steady his nerves – quivering after the night’s carouse.

      A slight breakfast sufficed for both captain and cornet. This despatched, they had ordered the troop to horse, and were about to continue their march.

      “Comrades!” cried Scarthe, addressing himself to his followers, as soon as he felt fairly fixed in the saddle. “We’ve been spending the night in a nest of rebels. This Uxbridge is a town of traitors – Quakers, Dissenters and Puritans – alike disloyal knaves.”

      “They are by Gec-gec-ged!” hiccuped Stubbs, trying to keep himself upright on his horse.

      “They are; you speak true, captain – they’re all you say,” chorussed several of the troopers, who had come away without settling their scores.

      “Then let them go to the devil;” muttered Scarthe, becoming alike regardless of Uxbridge and its interests. “Let’s look to what’s before us. No – not that. First what’s behind us. No pretty girls in the inn here. Ah! that’s a pity. Never mind the women, so long as there’s wine. Hillo, Old Boniface! Once more set your taps a-flowing. What will you drink, vagabonds? Beer?”

      “Ay, ay – anything you like, noble captain.”

      “Beer, Boniface; and for me more sack. What say you, Stubbs?”

      “Sack, sa-a-ck!” stammered the cornet. “Burnt sa-a-ck. Nothing like it, by Ge-ged!”

      “Who pays?” inquired the landlord, evidently under some apprehension as to the probability of this ultimate order being for cash.

      “Pays, knave!” shouted Scarthe, pulling a gold piece from his doublet, and shieing it in the landlord’s face. “Do you take the king’s cuirassiers for highway robbers? The wine – the wine! Quick with it, or I’ll draw your corks with the point of my sword.”

      With the numerous staff, which an inn in those times could afford to maintain, both the beer and the more generous beverage were soon within reach of the lips of those intended to partake of them. The national drink was brought first; but out of deference to their officers, the men refrained partaking of it, till the sack was poured into the cups.

      Scarthe seized the goblet presented to him and raising it aloft, called out: —

      “The СКАЧАТЬ