With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

by F. S. Brereton

"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, and then 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 felt no 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."