With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

  CHAPTER XIX

  Tom Thinks Furiously

  The man who had entered Tom's prison, the one whom his irregulars hadcaptured outside Ciudad Rodrigo, and in whose clothes our hero hadmade his venture into the fortress, pushed the door to with his toe,and, stooping, deposited a wooden tray in the centre of the room, onthe identical spot so lately occupied by the rickety and creakingchair of the fat rascal who had been so free with his promises andhis pistol.

  "Food and drink," he said, as he stood upright. "Ah, I had forgottenthe comrade! He, too, perhaps, would care for something. Then I mustget the key. Eduardo has it. Yes, that is what I shall do. Then thereis the pen and ink and paper, and later----"

  "The friend," smiled Tom, watching the fellow like a cat. "The littlefriend, comrade, whom you will marry when you have made this fortune."

  The fellow grinned; he liked the wit of the English staff officer. Itflattered his vanity to be chaffed about this little matter of whichhe was inordinately proud. Yes, it pleased him distinctly--thisprisoner was quite an amiable fellow.

  "Ho, ho!" he laughed. "Wait till you are one of us. But, remember,fine feathers make fine birds. You will have no gaudy uniforms. Inmatters such as this with us it is a case of the man alone. It ispersonality that tells."

  Tom would have laughed at his stupid vanity at another time. Butthere he was, all strung up for the struggle which he knew to beinevitable, waiting and waiting. And how can a man, or a youth forthe matter of that, conjure up an easy smile under such circumstances?

  "Yes, it is always the man himself who makes the running," said thisfellow. "But I will take food to your comrade, and then for the rest."

  He was wool-gathering, this spy. Even spies, we suppose, have theiramorous moments and their gentler passions. This man was so taken upwith the thought of the outing he was to have that he was actuallypulling the door open and leaving without a thought as to thecondition of his prisoner. Of what use food and drink when a man'shands were supposed to be fast bound behind him?

  The reader can imagine the temptation Tom felt to let him go withouta murmur; for then the struggle, inevitable no doubt, would bedeferred for a while. He would have a longer breathing space; hewould, perhaps, be better prepared in the course of a few minutes.

  "Funking, eh?" he asked himself severely. "Wanting to put it off,you brute. Hi!" he called. "Thanks for the food and all that is tofollow, but permit me to point out that I am unable to touch it.After all, even were I a four-footed animal, I could hardly managethe task with two of my limbs tied. No doubt the thought of thisfriend drives such trivial matters out of your head."

  A roar escaped the jailer. This was quite the best joke he had comeacross in many a long day's march. How his comrades would cackle whenhe told them; for of course he would do that. It would add zest totheir chaffing.

  "Indeed it is a pretty compliment I am paying a certain person,and so I shall tell her," he giggled. "To think that I who am socareful should go about with my wits so flying. She will smile and bepleased. Hola! Then this is a true sign of my feelings for the minx."

  "Quite a decent fellow in some ways, though a traitor," thought Tom,eyeing the fellow narrowly. "Makes one feel rather a sneak to upsetthis meeting. But then, business comes first, eh? Yes, I'm sorry forhim, but it can't be helped."

  He staggered to his feet as the man came towards him, still withhis hands behind his back. And then he lunged swiftly, catching thejailer neatly between the eyes with a fist the knuckles of which werenow hard after months of strenuous campaigning. The man rose bodilyfrom the floor, his feet kicked spasmodically forward, and in amoment the Spanish hero, the spy and traitor who with his comradesmade a living by selling the stolen secrets of those who had come todeliver their country, was crashing upon the floor.

  Tom bent over him, a stern look on his face. He was ready for moreviolence if need be, though not eager. "Stunned, knocked him outwith the sort of blow a pugilist would give. That's satisfactory forthe moment. Now for the future. Sorry about that girl though. Musttell Jack Barwood and see if he cannot console. Now for Alfonso; butthere's a bothering key wanted. Perhaps this one'll fit. Supposing itdon't?"

  Up went his hand again. The dashing young staff officer, of whom LordWellington already had such a high opinion, looked for the momentjust like a Spanish churl. For, recollect, he was still dressed asmuleteer, and muleteers wear clothing which compares but badly withthe smart uniform of an officer of the staff. Besides, he had beensomewhat tumbled about of late. But what did it matter? Even hadthere been anyone to look on, it was too dark to discover details.Not that Tom could not see. Those ruffians who had interviewed himhad taken a lamp to the room, and the man who lay sprawling now hadbrought a candle, only it had gone sprawling too, and lay gutteringand almost out at that moment. Tom picked it up and looked about him.

  "No use waiting; time's precious," he told himself. "I'll see whatcan be done with Alfonso's door. Then we'll set things humming."

  He took the key from the door of his own prison, and, snatching upthe candle, stealthily slipped along the passage. There was a doorten feet down it, and the key slid into the lock. But it refused toturn, causing Tom to groan with vexation. He closely inspected thelock then, and stood considering matters. A roar of laughing andloud voices from the farther room, in which the spies were supping,distracted his attention, and in a moment he was back at his owndoor. Ah! A streak of light burst its way into the passage. The doorwas opening. Tom instantly slid into his own room, closed the doorgently, and locked it from within. Then, putting the candle in thefar corner, on the same wall as the door, he waited events. Theyfollowed swiftly; for a minute later there came a thunderous blowupon the door, and then a burst of laughter.

  "Ho, there, within! We come to join a comrade at supper, and to bringhim better fare than he has been given--open."

  It was the voice of the fat man, breathless as if after much effort,a little incoherent, if the truth be told. The laughter was that ofmen easily roused to merriment, who enjoy a feeble joke, or a sayingwanting in wit and point, more thoroughly and longer than it merits.They had been supping, that was the explanation, and conspiratorssuch as these might well be expected to sup wisely, but too freelyperhaps. And here seemed to be an example.

  "Open!" bellowed the fat man, shaking the door violently.

  "Open!" roared his comrades, lurching against it. "Open and sup withnew comrades."

  "And the key? Does a prisoner, even if he be about to become a newcomrade--does he have the key of his prison given into his care?"

  The note of amusement which Tom managed to fling into his voicecaught the fancy of these ruffians. They laughed uproariously, sothat for a while not one could make his voice heard. And then onesuggested that they should beat the door in.

  "Aye, beat it in!" gurgled the fat man. "See, I will throw myselfagainst it, and, pish! the thing will fall to the ground."

  That put a summary end to the matter, for the fat individual wasunable to control his muscles with sufficient precision and dexterityto bring about the attempted movement. He launched his ponderousweight at the door, it is true, but his dive fell short by two feetat least, and, stumbling, he rolled amongst his comrades, bringingabout a scene of confusion.

  The place rocked with the laughter of men. More than one leanedagainst the door, shaking it badly. Then there were groans, fatgroans, almost in a stifled voice, and coming from the one who seemedto be the ringleader in this piece of mischief. There was moremovement and more groaning, then heavy steps, as if of men carryinga burden. In fact the fat man had been placed _hors de combat_. Hisown indiscretion and dash had brought about his downfall. A damagedleg caused his overexcited spirits to evaporate into the smoky air ofthe foul dwelling in which his comrades were supping, while the paindrew a succession of the dreariest of groans from him.

  "Done with their invitation for the time being," hoped Tom. "Ah,there goes the door to with a bang! I'll have a look outside and seewhat has happened."

&nb
sp; Gently turning the key, he pulled the door ajar and listened. Not asound came from the passage, and when his head was thrust out therewas not even a glimmer of light to be seen in the direction of thesupper room. But there was noise enough. Laughter rose and fell,and was punctuated frequently by the dismal groanings of the manwho had been hurt. In fact, it looked as if the gang had settleddown for a time, and as if our hero might prosecute his own affairswithout interference. He tiptoed along to Alfonso's room and shookthe door heavily. But there was no answer from within, not even whenhe called in as loud a voice as he dared risk. Had he but known it,his cousin lay on the floor over by the far window, still pinioned,as obstinate as any mule, determined to hold no converse with therascals who had captured him. He was not wanting in spirit, thisSpanish cousin of Tom's. As a matter of plain fact, he too had mademany and many an effort to free his limbs. But he had not observeda similar catch existing on his own window, and with which our herohad managed to saw through his own bonds. That was, perhaps, anexcellent illustration of the difference existing between the twoyoung fellows. Alfonso was a gallant officer, and had proved himselfpossessed of ample courage on many an occasion. He was not brilliant,however, and wanted some of the dash displayed by his English cousin.Perhaps that was the result of his nationality, of his upbringing,of his general life and surroundings until the outbreak of thisPeninsula War. But then, had Tom's life and conditions been muchdifferent? He had lived his seventeen years in that quaint old housedown by the Thames, with its fine mulberry tree spreading wide, leafybranches in front. The peeping into a big office provides no greatexcitement, nor the seeing there of certain grey-headed clerks who,as was the case at the establishment of Septimus John Clifford & Son,carried out their allotted tasks daily without a hair's variation.There was his school, to be sure; contact there with many a comrade;friendships made and lost and regained; struggles for supremacy insuch games as then were practised; and, on occasion, somewhat toofrequently as his masters stated flatly, there were contests outside,such as that between Tom and the grocer's lad. That had been ourhero's life, quiet and regular enough, as one must admit. But theresult was that Tom had a dash and swiftness about him Alfonso wouldnever possess, while here was an illustration which pointed to hisquickness. Alfonso still lay bound by the thumbs and elbows: Tom wasfree, in the enjoyment of active movement.

  "Perhaps he's asleep," he thought, shaking the door again and callingwithout receiving an answer. "Anyway, I daren't make more noise, andthere is nothing about with which I could hope to force the lock. Itbegins to look as if I'll have to go to those rascals and hold thelot of them up till they produce the key. How'd it do?"

  His finger went pensively to his forehead, while he stood in thepassage thinking deeply. At the far end the noise in the supperchamber had become even greater. There were shouts as well aslaughter now, and once a sudden stamping, as if one of the gang hadrisen to his feet and was indulging in a _pas seul_, with which toenliven his comrades.

  "Let's get along to the farther end and see what's there. Ah, anotherroom! Locked? No, open. No key, though, and the place as dirty as theothers."

  He lifted the guttering candle overhead and inspected hissurroundings. The room was empty, completely stripped of furniture.As a matter of fact the house itself was an empty one which thisrascally gang had appropriated, taking full advantage of the times. Araid on neighbouring houses at the moment of the French retreat andthe coming of the British had stocked certain of the rooms, while theowner must have been absent, else there would have been enquiries.Then, too, by staring out of the window, Tom made the discovery thatthe dwelling was situated at the end of a narrow yard, there beingstabling on either hand. It blocked this far end, while oppositethere was a low, arched exit leading into one of the minor streets ofMadrid.

  "Just the sort of crib for such fellows. No one likely to come intothe yard unless they had actual business here; and since thesetroubles started I expect few have been able to keep horses. TheFrench cavalry, of whom there have been thousands swarming throughthe city, will have snapped up every atom of forage, and madehorsekeeping an expensive and impossible thing for most inhabitants.So it's the place of all others for such a gang. Perhaps it'll suitme just as well too. Now I wonder."

  Stretching his head out of the narrow window he looked thoughtfullyabout him, and, gazing upward, took stock of the stars, for theclear night sky was thickly sown with them. One of the advantages ofcampaigning, and commanding an irregular corps undertaking frequentdetached duties, was that he had learned to read his direction by thestars, and now a little careful study told him that he was facingsouth, that the street into which the house looked and the yardactually emptied ran east and west.

  "While the bulk of the city's to the north," he told himself."That'll help once we get out of this hole."

  It is to be remarked that he had already decided that escape wasnot only possible but certain. And he had used the word "we". Tom,in fact, never even dreamed of leaving Alfonso. Had he done so, hecould have dropped from that window and gone clear away. It would bea squeeze to push his somewhat bulky figure through the frame; but itcould be done, and below, outside, lay freedom; within lay death. Forthis gang of spies was not likely to spare a young fellow possessedof some of their secrets, and able to bring soldiers to arrest them.The fact that they had spoken so plainly was proof positive that theyconsidered the two prisoners had no chance of escape, while so littlewere they in sympathy with the feelings of an Englishman that they,for the most part, had taken it for granted that both Tom and Alfonsowould willingly sell any knowledge they happened to have for the sakeof security. And the very act of doing so would, of course, make thempart and parcel of the gang; for to return to the troops would beimpossible.

  "No use thinking at all," he grumbled, satisfied with his look out ofthe window. "Let's get to work. This room's empty, so I'll leave it.Now for the passage again. Ah! Stairs leading downward; others goingup. Try those descending first of all."

  There was a door at the bottom of the steps leading directly intothe big yard. The huge paving stones, littered with unswept rubbish,seemed to call loudly to him, to invite him to come out; for acrosstheir surfaces he could step to freedom. Behind, upstairs, laydanger; but a friend, a cousin, lay there also. Clambering up again,Tom was about to ascend to the floor above his prison, when shoutscame from the supper room and sent him darting back to his own. Thedoor hiding those villains swung back with a crash and revealeda scene which, when he came to look more closely at it--for hewas now only venturing to peep through the partly opened door ofhis prison--caused him to stare at the members of the gang, whoseacquaintance he had so recently made, with eyes which were distinctlystartled. What else could one expect with such people, the lowest ofthe low, traitors to their country, men who made profit out of themisfortunes of the nation, and who stooped even to do a mischief tothe very people who had come at such risk, and at such cost in bloodand money, to help the Spanish against the French? These ruffians hadbeen making merry without a doubt. Secure in their retreat--for thehouse was so isolated and shut in that even their shouts and ribaldlaughter were hardly likely to attract attention from outsiders--theyhad been supping liberally, and the red wine of Spain had beenflowing. The view through the open door discovered three of thewretches dancing hilariously with unsteady feet, while beyond them,separated by the table, on which stood a smoky lamp, was the fatindividual who had been so free with his pistol. His ungainly cheekshung flabbily. His pig-like eyes were hardly visible, while his lipswere blown outward at every expiration. Nor had he ceased groaning.Evidently he found the chair in which he had been placed little tohis liking, or he may have been more severely injured than Tomthought. In any case his wrinkled forehead, his sallow cheeks, andhis anxious eyes showed that he was suffering.

  But what cared the others? Not a jot. Those three danced rightmerrily, more than once being on the eve of upsetting the injuredman. Comrades sprawled across the table, their heads buried in theirhands, evidently s
unk in sleep, while the picture was completed in sofar as the contents of the room went, or so much of them as Tom couldsee, by a couple of the fellows sprawled motionless on the floor.Obviously it was not any of these who had caused the commotion. Thecentre of the scene, in fact, was occupied by two men half in andhalf out of the door, past whose figures Tom squinted to see theinterior. One still clung to the latch, reeling unsteadily, while theother leaned against the post. It was clear that there had been analtercation between them, and as a matter of fact they had risen togo outside and fight the matter out. But Spanish tempers are quickand fiery. Shouts of anger came from both, while the man clinging tothe door already had his stiletto drawn. Indeed Tom had hardly takenin all these particulars when the two threw themselves at one anotherlike tigers, and, gripping wherever they could, fell to the ground,and there rolled from side to side as they struggled. Gasps and criesof hatred escaped them both, and then a shriek silenced every othersound within the building. It even stirred Alfonso to movement. Hecame to his door and beat his shoulders against it, for that shrieksent a horrible chill through him.

  "It may be Tom they're murdering," he told himself, with a gasp.

  But Tom was merely an onlooker, a horrified one, to be sure. Thatshriek told a tale there was no mistaking. Suddenly one of the menseemed to become flabby. The hand which had gripped his opponent'sneck fell to the floor with a hollow bump. Then his head sankbackward. The victor rose with difficulty, stood looking down athis victim, and, having wiped his stiletto on the tail of his coat,staggered back into the supper room and banged the door behind him.There was a hush about the building after that. Maybe those of theconspirators still able to understand were as disturbed as Tom at theoccurrence. But we hardly think so. Quarrels were frequent enough;bloodletting was a common occupation.

  "Well, they're brutes, the whole lot of 'em, that's true," Tomtold himself; "and it seems to me that the majority are in such acondition that they are hardly likely to discover what's happening.I'll wait a little, and then just go tooth and nail for that door.It would take any one of them five minutes to stir his drunken wits,and by then the thing'll be open and Alfonso out. But that's not allthat I want. My orders were to discover the gang and apprehend them.That's clear; so the job's not finished with Alfonso's release."

  He went out into the passage boldly and slid along to the door ofthe supper room. A feeble groan came to his ears. That was the fatman--snores caused the air to vibrate. No doubt the rascals sprawlingon the table and beneath it were responsible. But of talking therewas none. As for the man on the floor, he was dead. Tom leaned overhim and listened; there was not so much as the whisper of a breath.He ran his hands over the man's face, down his clothing, to his belt.The sheath of his drawn stiletto was there, and a pistol also. Therewas nothing more, nothing. Yes, there was something: Tom gripped it.It was a key thrust into the belt. He tore it out as if his lifedepended on his haste, and went racing down the passage. It fitted.The lock of Alfonso's room turned. The door swung open widely.

  "Come swiftly," whispered Tom, darting in and proceeding at once tocut Alfonso's bonds with the blade of a knife he always carried.

  "But--how have you done it? How long have you been free? Who helpedyou?" gasped his cousin, firing off a string of questions in a deepwhisper. "Those brutes, where are they? I heard them fighting ordrinking."

  "Hush! We'll talk the thing over later. Come to the window and lookout. Now, there is the courtyard at the bottom of which this house issituated. When you reach the street, turn sharp left and run to thecamp. Bring men back with you. Bring any soldiers you can come upon.It is hardly nine yet, and there will be plenty about. Also there isa bright, harvest moon, and that makes matters easier. Surround thishouse. Guard every outlet, and then we shall have the lot of thesefellows. Alfonso, this is the very gang we are after."

  He took the still astonished Alfonso by the shoulders and pushed himout of the room and down the stairs into the yard.

  "But you, you, Tom? What happens? You stay? Why?"

  "Go quickly; this is a great chance. Go at once."

  Tom turned abruptly and entered the house again, while his cousin,knowing him by this time, and having already learned in the course ofservice under his command that this young English cousin of his hada way, when thwarted, of giving the curtest orders, darted out intothe yard and went racing through it. The one remaining, the young manupon whom the great Lord Wellington had already turned his attention,crept up the stairs again to the passage. He stole softly to the doorof the supper room and then back to those stairs leading upward.Ascending them, he reached another landing with a couple of doorsleading from it. The flickering candle he bore in his hand showedthe dirt and squalor of the place, and showed, moreover, somethingstrange about one of the doors. It was heavily barred outside, whilea padlock passed though an eyelet in the bar and made all secure.There were voices coming from the inside. Did our hero recognizethose voices after listening for a while? Then why such extraordinaryexcitement, the like of which he had not shown before, even in themidst of strenuous adventure? He went red-hot from head to foot andgazed desperately about him. What could have caused this suddennervousness? Could it be that one of the speakers must be Jose, therascally cousin who had already done him such an injury, or could itbe possible----?

  Frantic with eagerness he backed against the wall of the passage andthen rushed at the door, putting all his strength and weight intothe blow. He kicked it desperately. Careless of the commotion heraised, he kicked and kicked and kicked again, till, of a sudden,the door flew open. That moment, too, was the signal for loud shoutsfrom the supper room. A swarm of rascals, roused from their stupor bythe noise, came swarming out, and, running down the passage, foundtwo empty prisons to greet them. The sound of breaking timber abovereached their ears, and at once they turned to the stairs and racedup them.