"TO HIS AMAZEMENT THE MAN CLUTCHED HIM BY THE HAND"
"TO HIS AMAZEMENT THE MAN CLUTCHED HIM BY THE HAND"
"Ma foi!and so soon," gasped the fellow. "See, monsieur, a little while ago, two months perhaps, you and I and the others do our best to cut the throats of a common enemy. Now we would cut one another's. Truly war is a farce, and here am I your prisoner, whereas you were mine but a while ago."
The absurdity of the change tickled the man, and, though shaken by his fall, he laughed uproariously. Then, aided by Tom again, he clambered into the saddle borne by another horse resting beside its slain master, and rode away, thanking Tom profusely. Nor was that the last seen of him, for almost before Alfonso had put the three companies in motion again half a dozen Frenchmen were seen to be spurring towards them. One detached himself then from the number, and presently was seen to be the officer. Fearless, as were these French cavalrymen, he rode right up to the squares, lifting his hat as he came.
"Monsieur," he began, addressing Alfonso, while the Spaniards in the ranks gazed at him open-mouthed, "have I the honour of addressing Monsieur Tom Clifford?"
Alfonso at once pointed to our hero, for he understood the language. Then once more, when the officer had arrived at the last of the squares, he repeated his question.
"At your service, Capitaine," replied Tom.
"The Monsieur Tom Clifford who defended thechurch against thosecanailleof Portuguese, and commanded French troopers?"
Tom bowed. "The same," he said. "Glad if I was of service."
"Then permit me to apologize for this attack," came the answer, while the French officer swept his hat from his head again and bent over the pommel of his saddle. "The tale of that fighting of monsieur, and of the command he took, has gone through the French army. Napoleon himself, the Emperor, has heard and commended. Monsieur, we fight with the British, and with thesecanailleof Portuguese and Spanish; but we do not fight with monsieur. I have the honour to observe that, though I have strong reinforcements at hand, I shall retire, trusting that you will do so also. To fight with such a friend is notcomme il faut."
Off went the hat again. The officer saluted, while Tom returned the compliment. And then the officer was gone. They watched him ride away with his command, and saw some five hundred other troopers join him. They never renewed the attack, but, clapping spurs to their horses, rode away out of sight, magnanimously declining to fight against our hero.
"And a jolly lucky thing for all of us!" declared Jack, when the men were back in their bivouacs, and had broken their ranks. "Our fellows did grandly, and are wonderfully heartened at their success; but they realize, just as we realize, that an attack by the whole force of cavalry would have overwhelmed us.Wonder how our Portuguese fellows would have behaved under similar circumstances. Wish we had had them here and put them to the test."
But Jack need have had no fears that the command generally would not soon be engaged, for that very evening brought a galloper in from headquarters. Tom tore open the official envelope, and read the contents with gusto.
"To Lieutenant T. Clifford," it went. "You will report at once at headquarters, and will take steps to concentrate your command on the frontier. This message is urgent."
"Then off we go!" Tom cried eagerly. "Alfonso, you will march your men to the frontier to-night, and will bivouac wherever suitable. March at dawn again, till you have covered some thirty miles in all, then halt and wait for our signals. Jack and I will be off at once."
That was the best of youth and energy. It carried the two young fellows away at once, with Andrews in attendance. Nor did they halt till darkness compelled them to do so. Rapping at the door of an isolated farm, they were welcomed at once, leaving after a refreshing sleep at the first streak of dawn. The following evening found them at headquarters, where Tom at once reported himself.
"Ah, you have come quickly!" was his greeting from the chief of staff. "Now, Mr. Clifford, I will see if his lordship can receive you."
In the course of a few moments our hero foundhimself once more in the presence of the great general, who greeted him with a smile.
"Been defending any more churches, or commanding other Frenchmen?" he asked, with a quizzing smile that became downright laughter when he saw how Tom was blushing. "Now, confess."
Tom had already reported the raising of the Spanish force, and lamely admitted that they had been engaged with the enemy. "We beat them off twice, sir," he said. "Then they received reinforcements, and matters would have been ugly."
"Ah, would have been!" smiled the general. "How did they clear up, then? You had an agreement with the enemy?"
"I met a friend," admitted our hero, with rising colour; "one of the troopers who helped to defend the church. Then the officer came forward and told us to move off, and declined to fight further."
"And a gallant fellow he was, too!" laughed Wellington. "However, you cannot always hope for such fortune, though I congratulate you on the behaviour of your Spaniards. How I wish all would act likewise, instead of being for the most part wholly unreliable! But now for a mission—it means danger."
Tom drew himself up and saluted. "Quite so, sir," he said cheerfully.
"It is a species of forlorn hope; discovery means death."
"What are the orders, sir?" asked Tom respectfully, never flinching.
"And success means much to me. I want reliable information as to the defences of Ciudad Rodrigo. I rely absolutely on the discretion of the officer I employ, for my intention of attacking that place must never be guessed at. I want that information, and I want to learn how it is that certain of our secrets have reached the enemy. There, Mr. Clifford; I give no orders; volunteers alone undertake the forlorn hope."
"Then I volunteer now, sir," exclaimed Tom promptly. "Am I to make what use I like of my men?"
"You are to dispose them so as to prevent anyone entering or leaving Ciudad Rodrigo without observation," came the sharp answer. "Good evening, Mr. Clifford!"
Our hero saluted with precision, turned about with the smartness that became a soldier, and hurried away.
"Well?" asked Jack, all eagerness.
"Let the men make ready for an early start. Draw rations and ammunition for a couple of weeks; I'll be back in an hour."
Tom swung himself into his saddle and rode away to the outskirts of the cantonments; for the troops were now in winter quarters, and already the weather had been severe.
"Now, how's it to be done?" he asked himself. "I've to get into Ciudad Rodrigo, which I know swarms with French soldiers, and I am to interceptmessages that appear to be going to the enemy. How's it all to be done?"
Walking his horse well away from the vicinity of the troops, he thought the matter out, and returned to his own command just as darkness was falling.
"Let the men eat," he said abruptly. "We will march when darkness has fallen, and so attract no attention. There may be people about watching our troops."
It was two hours later when the men fell in at Jack's whistle. They marched from the cantonments in absolute silence, each man bearing rations and ammunition on his shoulders, while still more was carried in a couple of carts. Taking a track that led to the mountains, and being guided by one of the men who knew the ground intimately, the little force marched steadily forward and upward till they were well within a deep fold of the ground that entirely hid them from their late comrades. Not that there was much chance of their being seen, for it was now very dark. But their signals might have attracted attention, and, if news were being taken to the enemy, Tom was wise enough to know that those who sent it must be somewhere in the vicinity of our camps.
"We'll take every precaution to bamboozle 'em," he told Jack, with whom he had discussed matters. "They're hardly likely to notice our absence from the camp; for 4000 Portuguese irregulars were encamped beside us, and drew rations with us. Then, if they haven't seen us move off, and don't see our signals,we shall be in a position to lay a snare to catch any who may be making for Ciudad Rodrigo. Now for a couple of fires."
Two flares were lighted almost at once, and, having been allowed to blaze for a few minutes, were stamped out again. Almost immediately an answering fire was seen right away above them. An hour or more later Alfonso put in an appearance with his command.
"We'll march directly up the valley, the Portuguese going first," said Tom. "Then we'll camp for the night. To-morrow we can introduce the men and make our plans for the future."
"What's the work?" asked Jack, whose interest and curiosity were keen. "Special orders?"
"Yes, there's news getting into Ciudad Rodrigo."
"Ah! Not surprised. We've heaps of loafers always round our camps, and a sly fellow might easily pick up information and take it to the enemy. You'll hunt round Ciudad Rodrigo, I suppose?"
"No," declared Tom abruptly. "I shall watch the outskirts of our camps. If a man leaves, he will be followed. If he comes in the direction of Ciudad Rodrigo, the information will be signalled to you. You will arrest and search him."
"I? You mean that you will," exclaimed Jack, for he was ever ready to concede the post of leader to his chum.
"No; you."
"But," began Jack, "why not you?"
"Because I shall be in Ciudad Rodrigo."
"In the town, behind the defences! That's risky, ain't it?" asked his friend.
"Orders," declared Tom light-heartedly. "I'm telling them to you in confidence. See here, Jack. Wellington has given us a nice little job, and we've to pull ourselves together and carry it out; information of our troops' movements is leaking out, and Wellington wishes to keep them very secret; for he intends to take Ciudad Rodrigo by assault. We've to cloak his movements by capturing all talebearers, and we've to get inside knowledge of the defences of Ciudad. Got it?"
Jack had. He pondered for a little while, and then approached the subject again. "How'll you fix the men?" he asked. "It's cold; there's been snow already."
"Then we must find quarters for all. I shall divide the force up, putting a hundred Portuguese in this neighbourhood, a hundred farther on, and the remainder spread away on the mountains, so that every pass is under observation. It will take a few days to fix matters, and then we shall really begin our work."
They lay down in their blankets that night, the two halves of the force, Portuguese and Spanish, being divided. Early on the following morning, when a meal had been cooked and eaten, the men were formed up, the two separate bands facing one another. Tom harangued them, telling the Portuguese how the Spanish half had conducted itself under the fire of the enemy, and how they had resisted an attack bycavalry. To the Spaniards he spoke of the hardihood of the Portuguese, and their courage, though he omitted to mention the circumstances of the attack they had made on the church. Then he spoke of their mutual interests, and having called upon all to do their best, he dismissed the men for half an hour.
"Let them get together and compare notes," he said.
"It will make fast friends of them," agreed Alfonso. "You must remember that my men live right on the frontier, and yours also, so that they all speak a patois which is understood by the people in these parts. Let them talk. The fact that they have a British staff officer in command, with another to help him, and two British riflemen, will help not a little."
When the force moved off again there was no doubt that the men had fraternized wonderfully. To look at them there was very little difference in their appearance. All were well-built, hardy fellows, with fresh complexions, showing that they were accustomed to an open-air life. Short for the most part, they displayed wonderful activity, and were evidently at home in the mountains. It was three hours later when Tom halted the force, and let the men fall out to eat and rest.
"Here's where we place the first lot of our outposts," he told Jack, pointing to some cottages lying under the brow of a rise. "Those are deserted, andwill shelter our men well. Andrews will stay with them; for he has learned a little of the language. We will give them a share of the rations, and then push on. I have already given Andrews his orders. He is to post his men, half at a time, on every height commanding the roads from our camps, is to capture all who come this way, and, if a number are seen, is to signal by lighting a fire."
"And what happens when he's captured a man?" asked Jack.
"He sends him along to us."
"But you said 'you' a little while ago," Jack reminded him, with a grin.
"Us at first, you afterwards," said Tom ambiguously. "I dare say that puzzles you; wait till we catch a fellow and you'll see."
Three days later saw the whole of the force disposed, and when Tom and his two lieutenants reviewed the posts, they could not help but agree that they controlled all the roads communicating with Ciudad Rodrigo, and likely to be used by anyone leaving Wellington's camp. It was a week later when news reached our hero that a capture had been made. He was then within sight of Ciudad Rodrigo, hidden on a height from which he could look down at the fortress and town. Some six hours later Andrews arrived, having left his brother rifleman in charge of the post.
"Well?" asked Tom, as the man drew himself up and saluted.
"Captured a ruffian coming through our way early this morning, sir."
"And searched him?"
"Found these papers on him, sir. He did his best to get away, and when he saw we were bound to capture him, tried to destroy the papers; but our lads were too quick for him."
"Where is he?" asked Tom. "Bring him forward."
A rough, broad-shouldered individual was ushered into his presence between an escort of four of the Portuguese, and stood scowling at Tom.
"Portuguese?" asked our hero.
"No."
"Then Spanish?"
"No," came again the curt answer.
"Then what?"
"Spanish father, Portuguese mother. By what right do your men interfere with me?"
Tom ignored the question, and carefully investigated the papers Andrews had placed in his hands. There were a couple of rough maps, showing the British cantonments occupied by Wellington's troops, and a few lines of writing, drafted in a clear, good hand, and telling of the suspicion of the writer that Wellington was preparing to attack Ciudad Rodrigo.
"You have been then to Ciudad before?" asked Tom severely.
"That's my affair," came the rough answer.
"And you call yourself a patriot? Who were thesepapers to be taken to? There is no address on the envelope."
A smile of triumph, and then a scowl, crossed the ill-favoured face of the man. It was obvious that he meant to give no information.
"Take him away," commanded Tom. "Mr. Barwood, put the prisoner up against that rock, and shoot him five minutes from now. Choose four of the men to carry out the sentence. There is not one who will not willingly obey and help to shoot a traitor."
He repeated the words in English to the astonished Jack, and then turned away abruptly. But a moment later a cry brought him facing round again, to discover the renegade on his knees, begging for his life.
"I will tell all," he wailed.
"Then speak, and take care that it is the truth, for you will be kept here for a while, and shot if we have doubts. Now, you have been to Ciudad Rodrigo before?"
The man shook his head emphatically.
"For whom were the papers intended?"
"For the general in command. But I was to deliver them to one who lives at a cabaret in the street of St. Angelo, and who would answer to the name of Francisco."
"And then?"
"I was to seek a lodging at the far end of the town, wait for a letter, and then return."
"To whom?" asked Tom curtly, while the men about strained their ears to hear what was passing.
"To my employer,señor."
"And he is——?"
"One whom I never met before. He lodges in a house in Oporto, and there I met him. His name I never heard. He is young and thin and dark. That is all I can tell you."
Tom stood thinking for a while, and then walked to a distance with Jack Barwood.
"Well?" he asked. "What would you do?"
"Send along to Oporto," declared his adjutant. "Get hold of this employer."
"And what about these papers?" asked Tom.
"I'd dispatch them to headquarters."
"Quite so; and then?"
"Then?" asked Jack, a little troubled. "Then I'd set the watch again and see if I could catch others."
"Good!" agreed Tom. "We'll do all that. Alfonso shall take a party to Oporto, carrying this fellow with him, with orders to scare him if he shows signs of lying. You shall send the papers to Wellington, with an explanation I shall write, and then I——"
"Yes?" gasped Jack, conscious that his friend had all the while been leading up to the declaration of some plan.
"I shall borrow this fellow's clothing. I'll write up a yarn which will do just as well as his papers, and then I'll seek out the owner of the cabaret in thestreet of St. Angelo, the man known as Francisco, and there discover all that there is to be learned with regard to Ciudad Rodrigo."
It was a daring scheme to attempt; but then Tom had his orders. The following morning, in fact, found him stripped of his handsome staff uniform, and dressed in the clothes of their captive. He bade adieu to his comrades, went off down the height, and some two hours later was seen accosting the outposts placed by the French about the fortress. Jack and his friends, watching from above, saw their friend and leader disappear within a wide gateway. Thereafter, though they strained their eyes, there was not so much as a sign of him. He was gone altogether, swallowed by the massive defences of Ciudad Rodrigo, cut off from his friends, and surrounded by enemies who, if they discovered his disguise, would treat him as a spy and promptly shoot him.
"Halt! Stand fast and give the countersign!"
A huge French grenadier barred the road where it passed in beneath the frowning doorway of the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, and with his long bayonet dropped to the level of the chest of the intruder called upon him brusquely and in no uncertain tones to halt.
"The countersign," he demanded once more, peremptorily, the point of his weapon actually entangled in the stranger's clothing, while the look on the soldier's face seemed to say that he would willingly make a little error and transfix him. As for the latter, he was a well-grown, active, young fellow, with tousled hair dangling over his eyes, a general appearance of untidiness, and a something about him which denoted neither the genuine Spaniard nor the genuine Portuguese.
"Son of a dog no doubt," growled the sentry. "Neither fish nor flesh, nor yet good herring. Apesteon these loafers about this place. Poof! If I were here I should be fighting, instead of swilling wine and idling as do these men. Well?" he called loudly. "The word?"
Tom looked up at the man from beneath the drawn-down brim of the tattered hat he had borrowed from the news bearer his men had captured. "Orleans," he murmured, putting into the word the queer accent to be expected of a stranger.
"Ha! Then enter; but whither? The dog may be a spy of the British," the man growled, and at the recollection, and the sudden suspicion, once more elevated the point of his weapon, and cleverly contrived to catch it in the lapel of Tom's coat.
"The street of St. Angelo," answered our hero under his breath, as if he were imparting a secret. "To one Francisco, with news, you understand?"
Apparently the man had learned some Spanish since the invasion of the Peninsula, and contrived to understand the words.
"Then enter," he cried. "Enter."
Down came the butt of his weapon with a clatter on the stones, while Tom passed on meekly. Indeed he was anxious to give the impression of one with little courage, merely a tale bearer. Also, he was in a hurry to get away from the Frenchman. For always he was dogged with the fear that he might by some evil chance come face to face with one of the troopers with whom he had fought the Portuguese peasants. However, the grenadier was not one of them. Tom left him standing at ease, and at once clambered up the steep way leading to the town. As for the grenadier, he watched the retreating figure of the stranger reflectively.
"A Spaniard? No," he told himself. "A Portuguese?Parbleu!Impossible! He has not the colouring. Then what? A mixture? No. Then—English!"
The very suspicion set him marching to and fro with energy. His musket flew to his shoulder, and then came down again with a bump. The grenadier was consumed with doubt for some few moments, and then with suspicion that soon became certainty. He called loudly for the serjeant of the guard, made his report, and was promptly relieved. A few minutes later he was hurrying in the direction Tom had taken, with three of his grenadier comrades to assist him.
"A fairly tall, broad-shouldered ragamuffin," he explained. "One with the appearance and manner of a coward at first sight, and with the frame and body of an athlete, and the eyes of one who has courage in abundance. Seek for him; if he fails to surrender on demand, shoot!"
It was a very pleasant prospect for Tom, and no doubt, had he known what was happening, he would have hastened his footsteps, and would have promptly taken measures to ensure his escape. But Tom had important work to do, work which required time and patience. First, there was the envelope to deliver, with the fictitious plans he had drawn, and the wording that told not of Wellington's anticipated attempt of Ciudad Rodrigo, but of his retirement towards Lisbon. In fact, Tom had fabricated a yarn which, if the governor of this fortress believed it,would throw dust in his eyes and aid Wellington's plans enormously. Then there was a tour to be made of the defences, the guns to be located and counted, and any special works recorded on the plan he must draw. Our hero was, indeed, engaged on recognizance work of the utmost importance, work hardly likely to be facilitated by the three grenadiers who were making so hurriedly after him.
"The street of St. Angelo," he repeated to himself; "one Francisco."
Selecting a lad who was playing in the street, he enquired the way of him.
"Up there to the right, then to the left sharp. It's the last street in that direction," he was told, the boy evidently seeing nothing strange about him. Tom promptly took the direction indicated, and, following the turnings in succession, came to the street he was searching for.
"Francisco lives at a cabaret at the corner," he reminded himself. "There it is: 'Michael Francisco, dealer in wine.' And there's the fellow himself."
A beetle-browed, untidy individual was sitting just within the entrance to the cabaret, warming his toes at a charcoal brazier. From a room within came the sound of voices, the tinkle of a stringed instrument, and the chink of glasses, while from a spot still farther away, perhaps in the back regions of the dwelling, the voice of a scolding woman could be heard, drowning the other sounds completely for some few seconds.Tom looked cautiously about him, and then sauntered up to the door.
"One Francisco?" he asked. "Of the street of St. Angelo?"
"The same," came the immediate answer, while the proprietor of the place looked him over sharply. "And you?"
"Someone with a message from Oporto for you to deal with. Here it is."
An exclamation of delight broke from the man, who at once seized the envelope. "You have orders to wait, then, my friend?" he asked.
"I have; I shall seek a lodging down the street. To-night I will come for the answer."
"Then step inside now and take a glass," the man said promptly. "To-night there shall be an answer. Come, a glass. Ho there, wine!" he shouted.
The scolding voice ceased of a sudden, while a woman appeared at the door of a room located at the end of the passage. Some five minutes later she brought a tray containing glasses, and poured wine into two of them.
"To our success!" cried Francisco, lifting his glass and speaking significantly.
"And may you get what every traitor deserves," thought Tom as he lifted his own allowance. "To you!" he cried, tipping the glass upward.
It was just at that moment that, glancing through the bottom of his upturned glass, and aslant through the open door of the cabaret, which being set at thecorner of the street commanded a long view of it, our hero caught sight of four French grenadiers hastening along it. At their head was one who was almost a giant! His flowing moustaches and the breadth of his shoulders seemed strangely familiar, while a second look convinced Tom that it was the very man who had stood sentry at the gate and had admitted him.
"Strange!" he thought. "They are the first soldiers I have seen in this direction, though there are others, of course. There are two in this cabaret at the moment, for I caught a glimpse of them. Ah, the big man is pointing! They are all hurrying—this looks ugly."
It was one of those situations where one engaged in dangerous work such as our hero had undertaken might very well be captured before he was more than aware of his danger. Hesitation might mean his downfall. On the other hand, if he were mistaken in the designs of the approaching grenadiers, and they had no concern with him, then action at the moment might lead to suspicion on the part of Francisco, which would be almost as bad. Tom screwed up his eyes and looked closely at the oncomers; then, seeing them turn towards the cabaret, he asked a question in the most unconcerned voice possible.
"Tell me," he said, "I may rest in here, upstairs where there is less noise? I have come fast from Oporto, and feel too tired even to seek for a lodging."
"Then pass up the stairs," came the answer, whilethe innkeeper deposited his empty glass on the tray with a bang. "Pass upstairs, friend, and rest in the room overhead. In an hour perhaps, when I am free, I will go to the governor. There is no haste in these matters. Go now. I will attend to the customers who are now coming."
He turned to greet the grenadiers, now within ten yards of the door, while Tom lounged to the stairs, and then darted up them. At the top he stood and listened for a few moments.
"Ha!" he heard the big grenadier exclaim. "This is Francisco. Now, my friend, you have a caller. Where is he?"
That was enough for Tom. It was clear that he was suspected, and equally clear that if he did not hasten he would be captured within a few minutes. But how was he to get away? He opened the nearest door and thrust his head into the room to which it gave admittance. It was empty; there was nothing there to help him. He went then to the next, and peered into it noiselessly. There was nothing there either——"Ah!" Tom gave vent to a startled exclamation, for a man lay full length on a bed—a man who seemed to be sunk in the depths of sleep. Who was he?
He was across the room in an instant, bending over the man. Yes, he was sunk in a profound slumber, and, if Tom could have guessed it, Francisco's wine had something to say to the fellow's drowsiness. But whatever the cause Tom's attentionwas instantly switched in another direction, for it appeared that the fellow had dragged off his clothing, and there, thrown carelessly on the floor, was the uniform of a French soldier.
"I think——" began our hero, cogitating deeply. "Ah! they're coming upstairs, that innkeeper and the grenadiers. I must chance it."
He stooped over the clothing, dragged the red breeches over his own, pulled them tight at the waist, and threw on the long-tailed surcoat so loved by the French. Round went the belt, hitching with a click, while the hat followed in a twinkling. Then he sat down, dragged off his boots, and was in the act of pulling on one belonging to the sleeper, when he heard footsteps on the landing outside and gruff voices.
"They'll look in here, and see that fellow asleep," he told himself. "No they won't, if I'm sharp. How's that?"
Very swiftly he sprang towards the bed and dragged a curtain into position, for the latter hung from a horizontal iron rod, and was intended to shut off a cubicle containing the bed. He had hardly got back to his seat, and was again pulling on a boot, when there came a thump at the door and again loud voices.
"I tell you that there is only a brother soldier of yours in here," he heard the innkeeper exclaim testily. "He is asleep, or was a little while ago. He has been here making merry with some friends, and fellasleep down below. We carried him to bed and pulled off his clothes."
"Then if he is asleep, open and let us see him," he heard from the grenadier in villainous Spanish. "Open, man, in the name of the Emperor!"
There was another bang at the door, which at once flew open. Tom, with his back to the entrance, leaned over and pulled at the boot.
"Ha!" he heard from behind him. "The rascal! He is awake. Well, comrade?"
"Well," answered our hero in a dull, thick voice. "Well."
"That's you, eh?"
"Me, right enough," Tom coughed sleepily. "What's the time?"
"Time you were back in barracks," came the gruff answer.
The door banged, and again voices were heard on the landing.
"Not there," the grenadier told his friends. "The landlord is right. There is merely a sleepy, half-tipsy comrade. No wonder, too; these rascals of innkeepers sell the worst of wine at the highest figure. But search the other rooms. You, Jacques, stand at the head of the stairs; we will not have our bird bolting. Now, my man, lead on again."
Tom listened attentively, and wondered what his next move should be.
"Walk out in this uniform, I suppose. But it'd be risky; I'd be likely to be accosted by other soldiers.I might get an order from an officer. Still, for the time being, it would do. But I must find some other disguise, for the whole garrison will soon be on the lookout for a young chap dressed like a civilian. I was suspicious of that grenadier; I was afraid he had spotted me. Ah, there they go!"
More voices reached his ear. The French grenadiers stopped at the head of the stairs and discussed the matter.
"Not here—flown through the far window," he heard one say. "Best be after him."
"See here, Jacques," came to his ear. "Go down to the main guard and warn them to send round to all the gates. If we don't get the spy here, we'll have him as he attempts to leave. Tell them to search every civilian."
There was a clatter outside the cabaret after that, and then silence. Tom peeped out of the door and found the landing empty. He turned, hearing a sound from the bed, to find the sleeper sitting up on one arm, drowsily regarding him from the edge of the curtain which he had drawn aside.
"What cheer, comrade!" the fellow gurgled with an inane smile. "Time for parade?"
"Not a bit," answered our hero promptly. "Get to sleep again. It'll clear your head. There; I'll draw the curtain."
He swung the curtain right across the end of the bed and heard the soldier flop down again on his pillows. Then, once more, he went to the door.There was no one about, though on peering out of the window he saw the landlord standing in the street outside with a curious crowd about him.
"Said a spy had been here," he was shouting angrily. "As if I, Francisco, would harbour such an one. A spy indeed! What does an innkeeper have to do with spying?"
The crafty fellow did not tell the listeners that he was an agent of the French, the go-between for information of the movements of the British, the men who had come to the country to free himself and his nation from the grip of France. And he scouted the idea that his messenger could have been an Englishman, or the message he brought written by other than the traitor who hid himself in Oporto and hired rascals like himself in the neighbourhood of Wellington's camp. To this Francisco it was out of the question that Tom could be anything but what he represented himself to be. But that others thought differently was certain; for there was a bustle all over the defences. Tom could see squads of men marching swiftly. Mounted messengers galloped here and there, while a double company was massed at the gate by which he had entered.
"They've made up their minds that they've a spy here, and that's the end of it," he told himself. "Soon there'll be a call for all the troops, and this fellow here will be bustled out to join 'em. That'll be awkward. What can I do? Ah, let's see what the other rooms contain!"
He went scuttling across the landing and dived into a room almost opposite. It belonged, probably, to the daughter of the house, for it was neat and tidy, while a couple of dresses hung on the wall. Tom pulled a cupboard open and peeped in.
"Got it!" he cried. "Here's the very thing—a sort of mantilla. Now for the dress and anything else likely to come handy."
He swept up an armful and dived back to the room he had been occupying. There he threw off the French uniform and dressed himself in the new garments he had secured.
"Not half bad," he grinned, as he stood before a cracked glass perched on a rickety table. "My uncle, as Jack would say, but I'm not half bad-looking when dressed as a girl! Am I right, though? Wish I knew more about these things. If only there was another glass I'd be able to see what my back looks like. Now, we practise walking. Gently does it. Hang this skirt! Nearly took a header that time, and—yes—I've torn the thing badly. Want a pin for that. Got it—here it is, just handy."
Afraid? Not a bit of it; Tom wasn't that. Merely hugely excited, for the occasion was somewhat strenuous. The noise outside, the blare of bugles, the rattle of drums and the clatter of moving troops told him that plainly. Also he guessed, and guessed rightly, that he was the cause of all the bustle. He swung the mantilla over his head, half-swathed his face in it, took one last look at his reflection, andthen went to the door. No one was moving upstairs; the coast was clear.
"Straight bang for the window," he told himself. "Wonder what's below? Wouldn't there be a howl if they saw a girl dropping from one. Here we are. This'll do—out we go!"
There was a sheer drop of ten or more feet into an enclosed yard at the back of the house; but a door led from the yard into a lane, and that promised to give access to one of the streets. Tom did not wait a moment. Indeed, the sound of steps on the stairs hastened him, while, as if everything must needs conspire to thwart his hopes, the door he had so recently closed on the sleeping soldier opened, and that individual staggered out on to the landing. By then Tom was half through the window. He waited not an instant, but swung himself down and dropped to the ground. Dashing across to the gate he was through it in a few moments.
"Steady does it," he murmured, finding it extremely difficult to obey the order and to refrain from running. "There's that idiot grinning at me from the window. Ah, that places me out of sight! Guess he's considerably astonished."
There was little doubt but that the soldier was flabbergasted. In his sleepy, maudlin condition he found it very hard to understand the meaning of the scene he had but just witnessed. He was filled with a stupid admiration of the pluck of the damsel he had seen leap from the window, but feltno further interest. His muddled mind asked for no reason for such behaviour, while his ignorance of the commotion then filling the place, and of the search that was being made for a spy, left him merely admiring a feat which was to him extraordinary.
As for Tom, he stepped down the lane and was soon in the main street, that of St. Angelo. A crowd of excited individuals of all ages and of both sexes was hastening down towards the main guard, and, since he could do nothing better, he went with them, safer in their midst than he could have been in any other position. Parties of soldiers passed them constantly, while all down the street houses were being searched, and every civilian of the male sex stopped and closely questioned. As a result there was an extraordinary hubbub. Women shrieked indignantly from their windows, resenting such intrusion, while men stood sullenly at their doors, looking as if they would have gladly murdered the Frenchmen.
"Seems to me that I've dropped on the only real disguise," Tom chuckled. "But there's one thing to be remembered: if the daughter of Francisco goes to her room she will discover what has happened, then there'll be another flare up. Time I looked into the business part of this thing seriously."
He had come carefully armed with a small notebook and pencil, and, having in the past two months received some instruction in sketching, he felt sure that he had only to use his eyes, and discover a retired spot, when he would be able to gather a sufficientlycorrect plan of the defences. Indeed he strolled about, first with one batch of excited inhabitants and then with another, till he had made a round of the place, retiring now and again to some quiet corner where he jotted down his observations. Every gun he saw was marked, every earthwork drawn in with precision. A few careful questions gave him the position of stores and magazines, while a little smiling chat with a French sentry, who seemed to admire this girl immensely, put Tom in possession of the strength of the garrison, the name of the general in command, and the fact that other troops were nowhere in the vicinity.
"Then it's time to think of departing. That'll be a conundrum," he told himself. "Couldn't drop over the walls, that's certain. Halloo! mounted men have been sent out to cut me off should I try to make a dash from the place. This is getting particularly awkward."
It was well past noon by now, and Tom was getting ravenously hungry. He stood amongst a group of civilians on one of the walls of the place looking out towards the part where Jack and his men were secreted. Troopers could be seen cantering here and there, while others were halted at regular intervals, and stood beside their horses prepared to mount and ride at any moment. Strolling along with his new acquaintances our hero was soon able to get a glimpse of the other side of Ciudad Rodrigo and its surroundings there. But there was not a breakin the line of troopers circling the place. It was evident, in fact, that no effort was to be spared to capture the fellow whom the grenadier had first suspected. Nor was there any doubt in the mind of the French general that his suspicion was justified; for Francisco had now disgorged the papers Tom had handed him, and these on inspection proved to be wanting in one particular. The secret sign of the agent who was supposed to have sent them, which was always attached to such papers, was lacking, proof positive that the news was false and the bearer an enemy.
It was, perhaps, two or three hours after noon when Tom mixed with a crowd of curious citizens at the very gate which he had entered that morning, and watched as soldiers came and went. Sometimes a civilian would pass through also, though in every case he was closely inspected. As for the women and children, as yet they had not ventured out. But curiosity soon got the better of them. A laughing dame thrust her way through, the guard passing her willingly. Then the others pressed forward, and in a little while Tom was outside, sauntering here and there, wistfully looking at those hills which he had left in the morning.
"And still as far away as ever," he told himself. "Wish I could get hold of a horse—that would do it. What's the matter now? There's another disturbance in the town; people are shouting. Here's a trooper galloping out."
By then he was some distance from the outer wall, but still within the ring of dismounted troopers. And, as he had observed, there was another commotion. In a few minutes, indeed, there was a movement amongst the civilians. Those nearest the gate were hastening back, while troopers galloped out to fetch in stragglers. One of these came dashing up to the group Tom accompanied.
"Get back through the gates," he commanded brusquely.
"And why?" asked the same laughing dame who had led the movement from the fortress. "Why, friend?"
"Because there is a vixen amongst you who is not what she seems," the man answered angrily. "There's information that this spy borrowed women's clothing; you may be he. We'll have to look into the matter—back you all go."
He was a rough fellow, who held no love for these people, and riding amongst them actually upset the woman who had spoken, causing her to shriek aloud.
"Coward!" she cried, picking herself up with difficulty and trembling at his violence.
"Eh!" exclaimed the brute, angered at the taunt. "Now bustle, and keep a civil tongue between your teeth—bustle, I say."
He edged his horse still closer, till the woman fell again, terrified by the close approach of the animal the trooper rode.
"Shame!" cried Tom, his gorge rising. "Do the French then fight with women?"
He had called out in the voice of a woman, and looked, in fact, merely a young girl. But that made little difference to this brute of a trooper. He set his horse in Tom's direction, and looked as if he would actually ride over him. And then there was a sudden and unexpected change; for the young girl displayed the most extraordinary activity. She leaped aside, darted in, and sprang up behind the trooper. For a moment there was a tussle; and then the trooper was lifted from his saddle and tipped out on to the ground. Before the astonished and frightened crowd of women could realize what was happening, or the trooper gather a particle of his scattered wits, the girl was firmly planted in his place, her feet were jammed in the stirrups, and there was presented to all who happened to be looking in that direction as strange a sight as could be well imagined. Shrieks filled the air; men shouted hoarsely to one another, while the troopers standing at their horses' heads leaped into their saddles.
"It is the spy! It is the English spy!" was shouted from the walls. "The spy!" bellowed the bullying soldier whom Tom had unhorsed, making a funnel of his hands and turning to the trooper who was nearest.
"Follow!" came in stentorian tones from the nearest officer.
Then began a race the like of which had neverbeen witnessed outside Ciudad Rodrigo. Tom clapped the heels of his French boots to the flanks of his borrowed horse, while the mantilla that had done him such service, caught by the breeze, went blowing out behind him. Bending low, he sent the animal galloping direct for the hills, smiling grimly as the crack of carbines came from behind him.