With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

"Kneelers, fire!" he bellowed. "Now, those standing – reload!"

Very rapidly he had altered to a slight degree the formation of the square, throwing the corner at which the French attack was aimed farther outward, making the angle, in fact, much sharper, and so enabling more men on either face to take effective aim. The flash of the muskets was answered at once by shrieks and shouts, and by the neighing of horses. Men fell from their saddles, maddened beasts crashed to the ground, rolled over, and lay frantically plunging. Then the bulk of the enemy, hit hard by the second volley, swept past the square like a torrent, and galloped away to a distance. Tom at once stepped outside the square, and, with the help of a couple of the men, liberated a trooper who was pinned beneath his horse.

"There, mon brave," he said, with a smile, "go to your commander and tell him not to make the attempt again; these Spaniards are well able to look after themselves."

To his amazement the man clutched him by the hand and then grinned widely. Looking closely into his face, beneath its thatch of ruffled hair, Tom recognized one of the troopers who had helped to defend the church, and promptly shook his hand eagerly.

"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 the church against those canaille of 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 these canaille of 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 not comme 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 found himself 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 intercept messages 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 by cavalry. 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, and will 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 these papers 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 the street 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.

CHAPTER XIII

Ciudad Rodrigo

"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. A peste on 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.