With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula
CHAPTER XIII
Ciudad Rodrigo
"Halt! Stand fast and give the countersign!"
A huge French grenadier barred the road where it passed in beneaththe frowning doorway of the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, and with hislong bayonet dropped to the level of the chest of the intruder calledupon him brusquely and in no uncertain tones to halt.
"The countersign," he demanded once more, peremptorily, the pointof his weapon actually entangled in the stranger's clothing, whilethe look on the soldier's face seemed to say that he would willinglymake a little error and transfix him. As for the latter, he was awell-grown, active, young fellow, with tousled hair dangling over hiseyes, a general appearance of untidiness, and a something about himwhich 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. A _peste_ on these loafers about this place.Poof! If I were here I should be fighting, instead of swilling wineand idling as do these men. Well?" he called loudly. "The word?"
Tom looked up at the man from beneath the drawn-down brim of thetattered hat he had borrowed from the news bearer his men hadcaptured. "Orleans," he murmured, putting into the word the queeraccent 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 tocatch it in the lapel of Tom's coat.
"The street of St. Angelo," answered our hero under his breath, asif he were imparting a secret. "To one Francisco, with news, youunderstand?"
Apparently the man had learned some Spanish since the invasion of thePeninsula, and contrived to understand the words.
"Then enter," he cried. "Enter."
Down came the butt of his weapon with a clatter on the stones, whileTom passed on meekly. Indeed he was anxious to give the impressionof one with little courage, merely a tale bearer. Also, he was in ahurry to get away from the Frenchman. For always he was dogged withthe fear that he might by some evil chance come face to face withone of the troopers with whom he had fought the Portuguese peasants.However, the grenadier was not one of them. Tom left him standing atease, and at once clambered up the steep way leading to the town. Asfor the grenadier, he watched the retreating figure of the strangerreflectively.
"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. Hismusket flew to his shoulder, and then came down again with a bump.The grenadier was consumed with doubt for some few moments, and thenwith suspicion that soon became certainty. He called loudly for theserjeant 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 withthe appearance and manner of a coward at first sight, and with theframe and body of an athlete, and the eyes of one who has courage inabundance. Seek for him; if he fails to surrender on demand, shoot!"
It was a very pleasant prospect for Tom, and no doubt, had he knownwhat was happening, he would have hastened his footsteps, andwould have promptly taken measures to ensure his escape. But Tomhad important work to do, work which required time and patience.First, there was the envelope to deliver, with the fictitiousplans he had drawn, and the wording that told not of Wellington'santicipated attempt of Ciudad Rodrigo, but of his retirement towardsLisbon. In fact, Tom had fabricated a yarn which, if the governorof this fortress believed it, would throw dust in his eyes and aidWellington's plans enormously. Then there was a tour to be made ofthe defences, the guns to be located and counted, and any specialworks recorded on the plan he must draw. Our hero was, indeed,engaged on recognizance work of the utmost importance, work hardlylikely to be facilitated by the three grenadiers who were making sohurriedly 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 ofhim.
"Up there to the right, then to the left sharp. It's the last streetin that direction," he was told, the boy evidently seeing nothingstrange about him. Tom promptly took the direction indicated, and,following the turnings in succession, came to the street he wassearching for.
"Francisco lives at a cabaret at the corner," he reminded himself."There it is: 'Michael Francisco, dealer in wine.' And there's thefellow himself."
A beetle-browed, untidy individual was sitting just within theentrance to the cabaret, warming his toes at a charcoal brazier. Froma room within came the sound of voices, the tinkle of a stringedinstrument, and the chink of glasses, while from a spot still fartheraway, perhaps in the back regions of the dwelling, the voice of ascolding woman could be heard, drowning the other sounds completelyfor some few seconds. Tom looked cautiously about him, and thensauntered up to the door.
"One Francisco?" he asked. "Of the street of St. Angelo?"
"The same," came the immediate answer, while the proprietor of theplace 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 theenvelope. "You have orders to wait, then, my friend?" he asked.
"I have; I shall seek a lodging down the street. To-night I will comefor 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 thedoor of a room located at the end of the passage. Some five minuteslater she brought a tray containing glasses, and poured wine into twoof them.
"To our success!" cried Francisco, lifting his glass and speakingsignificantly.
"And may you get what every traitor deserves," thought Tom as helifted his own allowance. "To you!" he cried, tipping the glassupward.
It was just at that moment that, glancing through the bottom of hisupturned glass, and aslant through the open door of the cabaret,which being set at the corner of the street commanded a long viewof it, our hero caught sight of four French grenadiers hasteningalong it. At their head was one who was almost a giant! His flowingmoustaches and the breadth of his shoulders seemed strangelyfamiliar, while a second look convinced Tom that it was the very manwho had stood sentry at the gate and had admitted him.
"Strange!" he thought. "They are the first soldiers I have seen inthis direction, though there are others, of course. There are two inthis cabaret at the moment, for I caught a glimpse of them. Ah, thebig man is pointing! They are all hurrying--this looks ugly."
It was one of those situations where one engaged in dangerous worksuch as our hero had undertaken might very well be captured beforehe was more than aware of his danger. Hesitation might mean hisdownfall. On the other hand, if he were mistaken in the designsof the approaching grenadiers, and they had no concern with him,then action at the moment might lead to suspicion on the part ofFrancisco, which would be almost as bad. Tom screwed up his eyes andlooked closely at the oncomers; then, seeing them turn towards thecabaret, he asked a question in the most unconcerned voice possible.
"Tell me," he said, "I may rest in here, upstairs where there is lessnoise? I have come fast from Oporto, and feel too tired even to seekfor a lodging."
"Then pass up the stairs," came the answer, while the innkeeperdeposited his empty glass on the tray with a bang. "Pass upstairs,friend, and rest in the room overhead. In an hour perhaps, when I amfree, 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 tophe stood and listened fo
r a few moments.
"Ha!" he heard the big grenadier exclaim. "This is Francisco. Now, myfriend, you have a caller. Where is he?"
That was enough for Tom. It was clear that he was suspected, andequally clear that if he did not hasten he would be captured withina few minutes. But how was he to get away? He opened the nearestdoor 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 tothe next, and peered into it noiselessly. There was nothing thereeither----"Ah!" Tom gave vent to a startled exclamation, for a manlay full length on a bed--a man who seemed to be sunk in the depthsof sleep. Who was he?
He was across the room in an instant, bending over the man. Yes, hewas sunk in a profound slumber, and, if Tom could have guessed it,Francisco's wine had something to say to the fellow's drowsiness. Butwhatever the cause Tom's attention was instantly switched in anotherdirection, for it appeared that the fellow had dragged off hisclothing, and there, thrown carelessly on the floor, was the uniformof a French soldier.
"I think----" began our hero, cogitating deeply. "Ah! they're comingupstairs, 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 surcoatso loved by the French. Round went the belt, hitching with a click,while the hat followed in a twinkling. Then he sat down, dragged offhis boots, and was in the act of pulling on one belonging to thesleeper, when he heard footsteps on the landing outside and gruffvoices.
"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 intoposition, for the latter hung from a horizontal iron rod, and wasintended to shut off a cubicle containing the bed. He had hardly gotback to his seat, and was again pulling on a boot, when there came athump 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 alittle while ago. He has been here making merry with some friends,and fell asleep down below. We carried him to bed and pulled off hisclothes."
"Then if he is asleep, open and let us see him," he heard from thegrenadier in villainous Spanish. "Open, man, in the name of theEmperor!"
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; theserascals of innkeepers sell the worst of wine at the highest figure.But search the other rooms. You, Jacques, stand at the head of thestairs; we will not have our bird bolting. Now, my man, lead onagain."
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 belikely to be accosted by other soldiers. I might get an order froman officer. Still, for the time being, it would do. But I must findsome other disguise, for the whole garrison will soon be on thelookout for a young chap dressed like a civilian. I was suspicious ofthat grenadier; I was afraid he had spotted me. Ah, there they go!"
More voices reached his ear. The French grenadiers stopped at thehead of the stairs and discussed the matter.
"Not here--flown through the far window," he heard one say. "Best beafter him."
"See here, Jacques," came to his ear. "Go down to the main guard andwarn them to send round to all the gates. If we don't get the spyhere, we'll have him as he attempts to leave. Tell them to searchevery 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 onearm, drowsily regarding him from the edge of the curtain which he haddrawn aside.
"What cheer, comrade!" the fellow gurgled with an inane smile. "Timefor parade?"
"Not a bit," answered our hero promptly. "Get to sleep again. It'llclear your head. There; I'll draw the curtain."
He swung the curtain right across the end of the bed and heard thesoldier flop down again on his pillows. Then, once more, he wentto the door. There was no one about, though on peering out of thewindow he saw the landlord standing in the street outside with acurious 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 aninnkeeper have to do with spying?"
The crafty fellow did not tell the listeners that he was an agentof the French, the go-between for information of the movements ofthe British, the men who had come to the country to free himselfand his nation from the grip of France. And he scouted the ideathat his messenger could have been an Englishman, or the message hebrought written by other than the traitor who hid himself in Oportoand hired rascals like himself in the neighbourhood of Wellington'scamp. To this Francisco it was out of the question that Tom couldbe anything but what he represented himself to be. But that othersthought differently was certain; for there was a bustle all overthe defences. Tom could see squads of men marching swiftly. Mountedmessengers galloped here and there, while a double company was massedat the gate by which he had entered.
"They've made up their minds that they've a spy here, and that'sthe end of it," he told himself. "Soon there'll be a call for allthe 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 roomscontain!"
He went scuttling across the landing and dived into a room almostopposite. It belonged, probably, to the daughter of the house, for itwas neat and tidy, while a couple of dresses hung on the wall. Tompulled a cupboard open and peeped in.
"Got it!" he cried. "Here's the very thing--a sort of mantilla. Nowfor the dress and anything else likely to come handy."
He swept up an armful and dived back to the room he had beenoccupying. There he threw off the French uniform and dressed himselfin the new garments he had secured.
"Not half bad," he grinned, as he stood before a cracked glassperched on a rickety table. "My uncle, as Jack would say, but I'mnot half bad-looking when dressed as a girl! Am I right, though?Wish I knew more about these things. If only there was anotherglass I'd be able to see what my back looks like. Now, we practisewalking. Gently does it. Hang this skirt! Nearly took a header thattime, and--yes--I've torn the thing badly. Want a pin for that. Gotit--here it is, just handy."
Afraid? Not a bit of it; Tom wasn't that. Merely hugely excited, forthe occasion was somewhat strenuous. The noise outside, the blare ofbugles, the rattle of drums and the clatter of moving troops toldhim that plainly. Also he guessed, and guessed rightly, that he wasthe 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,and then went to the door. No one was moving upstairs; the coast wasclear.
"Straight bang for the window," he told himself. "Wonder what'sbelow? 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 atthe back of the house; but a door led from the yard into a lane, andthat promised to give access to one of the streets. Tom did not waita moment. Indeed, the sound of steps on the stairs hastened him,while, as if everything must needs conspire to thwart his hopes, thedoor he had so recently closed on the sleeping soldier opened, andthat individual staggered out on to the landing. By then Tom was halfthrough the window. He waited not an
instant, but swung himself downand dropped to the ground. Dashing across to the gate he was throughit in a few moments.
"Steady does it," he murmured, finding it extremely difficult to obeythe order and to refrain from running. "There's that idiot grinningat me from the window. Ah, that places me out of sight! Guess he'sconsiderably astonished."
There was little doubt but that the soldier was flabbergasted. In hissleepy, maudlin condition he found it very hard to understand themeaning of the scene he had but just witnessed. He was filled with astupid admiration of the pluck of the damsel he had seen leap fromthe window, but felt no further interest. His muddled mind asked forno reason for such behaviour, while his ignorance of the commotionthen filling the place, and of the search that was being made for aspy, 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 andof both sexes was hastening down towards the main guard, and, sincehe could do nothing better, he went with them, safer in their midstthan he could have been in any other position. Parties of soldierspassed them constantly, while all down the street houses were beingsearched, and every civilian of the male sex stopped and closelyquestioned. As a result there was an extraordinary hubbub. Womenshrieked indignantly from their windows, resenting such intrusion,while men stood sullenly at their doors, looking as if they wouldhave gladly murdered the Frenchmen.
"Seems to me that I've dropped on the only real disguise," Tomchuckled. "But there's one thing to be remembered: if the daughter ofFrancisco goes to her room she will discover what has happened, thenthere'll be another flare up. Time I looked into the business part ofthis 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 retiredspot, when he would be able to gather a sufficiently correct planof the defences. Indeed he strolled about, first with one batch ofexcited inhabitants and then with another, till he had made a roundof the place, retiring now and again to some quiet corner where hejotted down his observations. Every gun he saw was marked, everyearthwork drawn in with precision. A few careful questions gave himthe position of stores and magazines, while a little smiling chatwith a French sentry, who seemed to admire this girl immensely, putTom in possession of the strength of the garrison, the name of thegeneral in command, and the fact that other troops were nowhere inthe vicinity.
"Then it's time to think of departing. That'll be a conundrum," hetold 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 adash 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 theplace looking out towards the part where Jack and his men weresecreted. Troopers could be seen cantering here and there, whileothers were halted at regular intervals, and stood beside theirhorses prepared to mount and ride at any moment. Strolling alongwith his new acquaintances our hero was soon able to get a glimpseof the other side of Ciudad Rodrigo and its surroundings there. Butthere was not a break in the line of troopers circling the place.It was evident, in fact, that no effort was to be spared to capturethe fellow whom the grenadier had first suspected. Nor was thereany doubt in the mind of the French general that his suspicion wasjustified; for Francisco had now disgorged the papers Tom had handedhim, 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 positivethat the news was false and the bearer an enemy.
It was, perhaps, two or three hours after noon when Tom mixed witha crowd of curious citizens at the very gate which he had enteredthat morning, and watched as soldiers came and went. Sometimesa civilian would pass through also, though in every case he wasclosely inspected. As for the women and children, as yet they had notventured out. But curiosity soon got the better of them. A laughingdame thrust her way through, the guard passing her willingly. Thenthe others pressed forward, and in a little while Tom was outside,sauntering here and there, wistfully looking at those hills which hehad left in the morning.
"And still as far away as ever," he told himself. "Wish I could gethold of a horse--that would do it. What's the matter now? There'sanother disturbance in the town; people are shouting. Here's atrooper galloping out."
By then he was some distance from the outer wall, but still withinthe ring of dismounted troopers. And, as he had observed, there wasanother commotion. In a few minutes, indeed, there was a movementamongst the civilians. Those nearest the gate were hastening back,while troopers galloped out to fetch in stragglers. One of these camedashing 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 fromthe fortress. "Why, friend?"
"Because there is a vixen amongst you who is not what she seems," theman answered angrily. "There's information that this spy borrowedwomen's clothing; you may be he. We'll have to look into thematter--back you all go."
He was a rough fellow, who held no love for these people, and ridingamongst them actually upset the woman who had spoken, causing her toshriek aloud.
"Coward!" she cried, picking herself up with difficulty and tremblingat his violence.
"Eh!" exclaimed the brute, angered at the taunt. "Now bustle, andkeep a civil tongue between your teeth--bustle, I say."
He edged his horse still closer, till the woman fell again, terrifiedby the close approach of the animal the trooper rode.
"Shame!" cried Tom, his gorge rising. "Do the French then fight withwomen?"
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 bruteof a trooper. He set his horse in Tom's direction, and looked asif he would actually ride over him. And then there was a suddenand unexpected change; for the young girl displayed the mostextraordinary activity. She leaped aside, darted in, and sprangup behind the trooper. For a moment there was a tussle; and thenthe trooper was lifted from his saddle and tipped out on to theground. Before the astonished and frightened crowd of women couldrealize what was happening, or the trooper gather a particle of hisscattered wits, the girl was firmly planted in his place, her feetwere jammed in the stirrups, and there was presented to all whohappened to be looking in that direction as strange a sight as couldbe well imagined. Shrieks filled the air; men shouted hoarsely to oneanother, while the troopers standing at their horses' heads leapedinto 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 wasnearest.
"Follow!" came in stentorian tones from the nearest officer.
Then began a race the like of which had never been witnessed outsideCiudad Rodrigo. Tom clapped the heels of his French boots to theflanks of his borrowed horse, while the mantilla that had done himsuch 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.
TOM ESCAPES FROM CIUDAD RODRIGO]
"Jack'll be up there waiting," he thought as he glanced ahead. "He'llsoon send these fellows back once they get within shot. Pah! That wasa near one; the bullet struck my boot. Beg pardon, not my boot, butthat fellow's at the cabaret. Glad there's no horsemen in front ofme. So much the better; it's going to be a fine gallop."
A fine gallop it proved, too. His mount was blown before the chasewas over, while had it lasted a little longer he would certainlyhave been taken. But of a sudden heavy musketry fire broke out froma point a little to one side. Dark figures, clad in the well-knownrough uniform
of Tom's guerrillas, appeared on the hillside. And thena shrill whistle sounded. It was perhaps a minute later that Tomthrew himself from his horse and stood amongst his comrades. And howJack roared with laughter, how the men grinned their delight, howAndrews, who had but just reached the party spluttered and attemptedto behave as became a disciplined soldier!
"Introduce me, do," gurgled Jack, seizing Alfonso by the arm anddoubling up with merriment. "Miss what's-her-name, eh?"
"Clifford, at your service," grinned Tom, "and don't you forget it!"
"Of all the boys!" spluttered Andrews, his face red with his efforts."I knew he had backbone, but this here's something different."
"Allow me," said Jack in his most gallant manner, offering an arm."Excuse me if I appear a little forward."
"Rats!" was Tom's somewhat abrupt answer. "Let the boys fall in.We'll march at once; I've had a spree, I can tell you."
It was with grins of delight and many an exclamation that hiscomrades listened to the tale, a narrative soon passed on by Alfonsoto their following. Meanwhile Tom tore his borrowed clothing fromhim, donned his handsome uniform, and made ready for more activemovement.
"We've done a good part of our work," he said. "Now for that fellowin Oporto. Let's ride back to the camp, leaving some of our men towatch the roads near it. I'll hand my notes in to the chief of thestaff, and then look into the last part of this matter. Wonder whothe rogue is who's such a friend of Francisco, and sends news to themen that are enemies of his country."
They might all wonder, and the reader need not feel surprised if helearns that this rascal was too clever for those who sought him.The hovel to which the man whom Tom's guerrillas had captured ledthem--and who had promised information in return for his life--wasempty. There was no particle of evidence to prove where the rascalhad flown; but careful search discovered a note hidden in a creviceof the ceiling, and when that was opened the information containedproved to be of little value.
"Come to Badajoz," it said. "There ask for Juan de Milares, in thestreet of St. Paulo. There is still work to be done and money to beearned for the doing."
"Same handwriting without a doubt," declared Jack emphatically. "Thebird's flown, and Badajoz is out of the question."
As a general rule one would have agreed with him; for, likeCiudad Rodrigo, that fortress was garrisoned by the French. Butcircumstances alter cases, and Tom soon recognized this to be a fact,since there was further information awaiting him in Oporto. A visitto the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son discovered somethingapproaching a tragedy. For Juan de Esteros had disappeared that veryevening, and with him no less a person than Septimus John Cliffordhimself.
"But where?" demanded Tom, filled with apprehension.
"Alas, there is nothing to tell us!" answered the chief clerk, asfaithful a fellow as the worthy Huggins. "They left without a word toanyone, without so much as a sound. They dined together and sat onthe veranda reading. Later they retired to their rooms; after that weknow nothing."
"But," exclaimed Tom, aghast at the mystery, "surely there's----"
"There is merely this," came the answer, while a slip of paper wasthrust into his hands. "We found it resting on the table, weighted sothat it could not blow away. Read, _senor_."
Tom scanned the lines for some few moments, while his smooth foreheadwrinkled deeply. "Thus is the house of Septimus John Clifford & Sonpunished," he read, the Spanish letters being scrawled across thepaper. Yes scrawled. In a moment he recognized that writing. It wasput upon the paper by the selfsame man who had sent information tothe commandant at Ciudad Rodrigo, the traitor who was eager andwilling to supply news which would help the enemies of his country.
"Well? What next?" asked Jack when the fact had been explained to him.
"To Badajoz, that's all," came the short answer. "This villain's gothold of my father and uncle for some reason or other. It's plainly myduty to look into the matter; so I'll pay Badajoz a visit, just as Iwent to Ciudad Rodrigo. Wonder who this chap is and what game he's upto? But duty first, Jack; we'll make back to the camp and see what'sexpected of us."
If Tom had hoped to pursue a private matter just then he was to bedisappointed. For barely was Christmas past, and the new year enteredupon, when Wellington threw the whole force he commanded againstCiudad Rodrigo. Pressing the siege with intense energy--for therewas always the fear that the French would concentrate on him fromall parts and raise the siege before it was successfully over--helaunched his attacking parties after remarkably short delay. Thefighting which resulted was of the severest description, and thegreatest gallantry and resolution was shown by either side. ButBritish pluck won. The defences were captured, and within a few hoursof the assault the place which Tom had visited was garrisoned byBritish instead of by French soldiers. Then Wellington turned towardBadajoz, outside which Tom and his men had for two weeks past thrownout a circle of their men, thus cutting all communications.
"It'll be a hard nut to crack," observed the merry Jack, casting hiseye up at the defences; "but I suppose we'll do it."
"We must," declared Tom with emphasis. "Anyway, I've got to getinside the place and unravel this mystery. There's father and DonJuan to find and release, and then there's that rascal who took them."
But would Tom, or indeed any of our men, ever get within thisterribly grim fortress? It seemed unlikely enough, viewing thedefences, and we may declare here and now that before our hero was toset foot within the place he was to take part in fighting of the veryfiercest.