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“Hombre!” cried Rosendo, starting for the door, “but do you, Juan and Lázaro, follow me with yourmachetes, and we will drive the cowards from thebodegaand get the rifles ourselves!”
“No,amigo! Impossible! By this time they have broken open the boxes and loaded the guns. A shot––and it would be all over with you! But in the church––you have a chance there!”
Don Jorge seized his arm and dragged him out of the house and across the desertedplaza. Juan and Lázaro helped Doña Maria gather what food and water remained in the house; and together they hurried out and over to the church. Swinging open the heavy wooden doors, they entered and made them fast again. Then they sank upon the benches and strove to realize their situation.
But Don Jorge suddenly sprang to his feet. “The windows!” he cried.
Juan and Lázaro hurried to them and swung the wooden shutters.
“There is no way of holding them!” cried Juan in dismay.
“Caramba!” muttered Rosendo, seizing a bench and with one blow of hismachetesplitting it clean through, “these will make props to hold them!”
It was the work of but a few minutes to place benches across the thick shutters and secure them with others placed diagonally against them and let into the hard dirt floor. The same was done with the doors. Then the little group huddled together and waited. Josè heard a sob beside him, and a hand clutched his in the gloom. It was Carmen. In the excitement of the hour he had all but forgotten her. Through his present confusion of thought a great fact loomed: as the girl clung to him she was weeping!
A low rumble drifted to them; a confusion of voices, growing louder; and then a sharp report.
“They are coming, Padre,” muttered Rosendo. “And some one has tried his rifle!”
A moment later the ruck poured into theplazaand made for Rosendo’s house. Don Mario, holding his cane aloft like a sword, was at their head. Raging with disappointment at not finding the fugitives in the house, they threw the furniture and kitchen utensils madly about, punched great holes through the walls, and then rushed pellmell to the parish house next door. A groan escaped Josè as he watched them through a chink in the shutters. His books and papers! His notes and writings!
But as the howling mob streamed toward the parish house309a wrinkled old crone shrilled at them from across the way and pointed toward the church.
“In there,amigos!” she screamed. “I saw them enter! Shoot them––they have hurt my Pedro!”
Back like a huge wave the crowd flowed, and up against the church doors. Don Mario, at the head of his valiant followers, held up his hand for silence. Then, planting himself before the main doors of the church, he loudly voiced his authority.
“In the name of the Government at Bogotá!” he cried pompously, tapping the doors with his light cane. Then he turned quickly. “Fernando,” he called, “run to my house and fetch the drum!”
Despite the seriousness of their situation, Josè smiled at the puppet-show being enacted without.
The Alcalde reiterated his demands with truculent vanity. “Open! In the name of the Government! I am the law!”
Don Jorge groaned aloud. “Caramba!if I but had him in here alone!”
Don Mario waited a few moments. Then, as no response came from within, his anger began to soar. “Caramba!” he cried, “but you defy the law?”
Angry mutterings rose from the crowd. Some one suggested burning the building. Another advised battering in the doors. A third intimated that shooting them full of holes were better. This idea, once voiced, spread like an infection. The childish people were eager to try the rifles.
“Shoot the doors down! Shoot them down, Don Mario!” yelled the mob.
The Alcalde threw himself heavily up against the doors. “Caramba!” he shrilled. “Fools! Demons! Open!––or it will be the worse for you!”
Josè decided that their silence should no longer exasperate the angry man. He put his mouth to the crevice between the doors.
“Don Mario,” he cried, “this is sacred ground! The Host is exposed on the altar. Take your mob away. Disperse, and we will come out. We may settle this trouble amicably, if you will but listen to reason.”
The Alcalde jumped up and down in his towering wrath. “Puppy-face!” he screamed, “but I am the law––I am the Government! A curse upon you, priest of Satan! Will you unbar these doors?”
“No!” replied Josè. “And if you attack us you attack the Church!”
“A curse on the Church!Amigos!Muchachos!” he bawled, turning to the mob, “we will batter down the doors!”
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The crowd surged forward again. But the props held firm. Again and again the mob hurled itself upon the thick doors. They bent, they sagged, but they held. Don Mario became apoplectic. A torrent of anathemas streamed from his thick lips.
“The side door!” some one shouted, recovering a portion of his scant wit.
“Aye––and the door of thesacristía!”
“Try the windows!”
Round the building streamed the crazed mob, without head, without reason, lusting only for the lives of the frightened little band huddled together in the gloom within. Josè kept an arm about Carmen. Ana bent sobbing over her tiny babe. Don Jorge and Rosendo remained mute and grim. Josè knew that those two would cast a long reckoning before they died. Juan and Lázaro went from door to window, steadying the props and making sure that they were holding. The tough, hard, tropical wood, though pierced in places bycomjejenants, was resisting.
The sun was already high, and theplazahad become a furnace. The patience of the mob quickly evaporated in the ardent heat. Don Mario’s wits had gone completely. Revenge, mingled with insensate zeal to manifest the authority which he believed his intercourse with Wenceslas had greatly augmented, had driven all rationality from his motives. Flaming anger had unseated his reason. Descending from the platform on which stood the church, he blindly drew up his armed followers and bade them fire upon the church doors.
If Wenceslas, acting-Bishop by the grace of political machination, could have witnessed the stirring drama then in progress in ancient Simití, he would have laughed aloud at the complete fulfillment of his carefully wrought plans. The cunning of the shrewd, experienced politician had never been more clearly manifested than in the carrying out of the little program which he had set for the unwise Alcalde of this almost unknown little town, whereby the hand of Congress should be forced and the inevitable revolt inaugurated. Don Mario had seized the government arms, the deposition of which in Simití in his care had constituted him more than ever the representative of federal authority. But, in his wild zeal, he had fallen into the trap which Wenceslas had carefully arranged for him, and now was engaged in a mad attack upon the Church itself, upon ecclesiastical authority as vested in the priest Josè. How could Wenceslas interpret this but as an anticlerical uprising? There remained but the final scene. And while the soft-headed dupes and maniacal supporters of Don Mario were311hurling bullets into the thick doors of the old church in Simití, Wenceslas sat musing in his comfortable study in the cathedral of Cartagena, waiting with what patience he could command for further reports from Don Mario, whose last letter had informed him that the arrest of the priest Josè and his unfortunate victim, Carmen, was only a few hours off.
When the first shots rang out, and the bullets ploughed into the hard wood of the heavy doors, Josè’s heart sank, and he gave himself up as lost. Lázaro and Juan cowered upon the floor. Carmen crept close to Josè, as he sat limply upon a bench, and put her arms about him.
“Padre dear,” she whispered, “it isn’t true––it isn’t true! They don’t really want to kill us! They don’t––really! Their thoughts have only the minus sign!”
The priest clasped her to his breast. The recriminating thought flashed over him that he alone was the cause of this. He had sacrificed them all––none but he was to blame. Ah, God above! if he could only offer himself to satiate the mob’s lust, and save these innocent ones! Lurid, condemnatory thoughts burned through his brain like molten iron. He rose hastily and rushed to the door. Rosendo and Don Jorge seized him as he was about to lift a prop.
“What do you mean, Padre?” they exclaimed.
“I am going out, friends––I shall give myself to them for you all. It is the only way. I am the one they seek. Let them have me, if they will spare you!”
But the firing had ceased, and Don Mario was approaching the door. Josè bent down and called to him. “Myself for the others, Don Mario!” he cried. “But promise to spare them––but give me your word––and I will yield myself to arrest!”
“Caramba, fool priest!” shouted the Alcalde in derision. “It is not you that the good Bishop wants, but the girl! I have his letters demanding that I send her to him! If you will come out, you shall not be hurt. Only, Rosendo must stand trial for the harm he did in the fight this morning; and the girl must go to Cartagena. As for the rest of you, you will be free. Are the terms not reasonable? Give me your answer in five minutes.”
Josè turned to the little band. There was awful determination in his voice. “Juan and Lázaro,” he said, “we will open a window quickly in the rear of the church and let you out. It is not right that you should die with us. And Don Jorge, too––”
“Stop there,amigo!” interrupted the latter in a voice as cold as steel. “My life has not the value of a white heron. Can I do better than give it for a cause that I know to be right? Nay, man, I remain with you. Let the lads go, if they will––”
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Lázaro forced himself between Don Jorge and the priest. “Padre,” he said quietly, “to you I owe what I am. I remain here.”
Josè looked through the gloom at Juan. The boy’s eyes were fixed on Carmen. He turned and gazed for a moment at a window, as if hesitating between two decisions. Then he shook his head slowly. “Padre,” he said, though his voice trembled, “I, too, remain.”
The Alcalde received his answer with a burst of inarticulate rage. He rushed back to his followers with his arms waving wildly. “Shoot!” he screamed. “Shoot! Pierce the doors! Batter them down!Compadres, get the poles and burst in the shutters.Caramba!it is the Government they are defying!”
A volley from the rifles followed his words. The thick doors shook under the blast. A bullet pierced the wall and whizzed past Carmen. Josè seized the girl and drew her down under a bench. The startled bats among the roof beams fluttered wildly about through the heavy gloom. Frightened rats scurried around the altar. The rusty bell in the tower cried out as if in protest against the sacrilege. Juan burst into tears and crept beneath a bench.
“Padre,” said Rosendo, “it is only a question of time when the doors will fall. See––that bullet went clean through!Bien, let us place the women back of the altar, while we men stand here at one side of the doors, so that when they fall we may dash out and cut our way through the crowd. If we throw ourselves suddenly upon them, we may snatch away a rifle or two. Then Don Jorge and I, with the lads here, may drive them back––perhaps beat them! But my first blow shall be for Don Mario! I vow here that, if I escape this place, he shall not live another hour!”
“Better so, Rosendo, than that they should take us alive. But––Carmen? Do we leave her to fall into Don Mario’s hands?”
Rosendo’s voice, low and cold, froze the marrow in the priest’s bones. “Padre, she will not fall into the Alcalde’s hands.”
“God above! Rosendo, do you––”
A piercing cry checked him. “Santa Virgen! Padre––!” Lázaro had collapsed upon the floor. Rosendo and Josè hurried to him.
“Padre!” The man’s breath came in gasps. “Padre––I confess––pray for me. It struck me––here!” He struggled to lay a hand upon his bleeding breast.
“To the altar,amigos!” cried Don Jorge, ducking his head as a bullet sang close to it.
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Seizing the expiring Lázaro, they hurriedly dragged him down the aisle and took refuge back of the brick altar. The bullets, now piercing the walls of the church with ease, whizzed about them. One struck the pendant figure of the Christ, and it fell crashing to the floor. Rosendo stood in horror, as if he expected a miracle to follow this act of sacrilege.
“Oh, God!” prayed Josè, “only Thy hand can save us!”
“He will save us, Padre––He will!” cried Carmen, creeping closer to him through the darkness. “God is everywhere, and right here!”
“Padre,” said Don Jorge hurriedly, “the Host––is it on the altar?”
“Yes––why?” replied the priest.
“Then, when the doors fall, do you stand in front of the altar, holding it aloft and calling on the people to stand back, lest the hand of God strike them!”
Josè hesitated not. “It is a chance––yes, a bare chance. They will stop before it––or they will kill me! But I will do it!”
“Padre! You shall not––Padre! Then I shall stand with you!” Carmen’s voice broke clear and piercing through the din. Josè struggled to free himself from her.
“Na, Padre,” interposed Rosendo, “it may be better so! Let her stand with you! But––Caramba! Make haste!”
The clamor without increased. Heavy poles and billets of wood had been fetched, and blow after blow now fell upon every shutter and door. The sharp spitting of the rifles tore the air, and bullets crashed through the walls and windows. In the heavy shadows back of the altar Rosendo and Don Jorge crouched over the sobbing women. Lázaro lay very still. Josè knew as he stretched out a hand through the darkness and touched the cold face that the faithful spirit had fled. How soon his own would follow he knew not, nor cared. Keeping close to the floor, he crept out and around to the front of the altar. Reaching up, he grasped the Sacred Host, and then stood upright, holding it out before him. Carmen rose by his side and took his hand. Together in the gloom they waited.
314CHAPTER 33
“Padre! Padre! are you alive?”
Rosendo’s hoarse whisper drifted across the silence like a wraith. He crept out and along the floor, scarce daring to look up. Through the darkness his straining eyes caught the outlines of the two figures standing like statues before the altar.
“Loado sea Dios!” he cried, and his voice broke with a sob. “But, Padre, they have stopped––what has happened?”
“I know not,amigo. Be patient. We are in the hands of God––”
“Padre––listen!” Carmen darted from the altar and ran to the door. “Padre!” she called back. “Come! Some one is speaking English!”
Josè and Rosendo hurried to the door. All was quiet without, but for an animated conversation between Don Mario and some strangers who had evidently just arrived upon the scene. One of the latter was speaking with the Alcalde in excellent Spanish. Another, evidently unacquainted with the language, made frequent interruptions in the English tongue. Josè’s heart beat wildly.
“Say, Reed,” said the voice in English, “tell the parchment-faced old buzzard that we appreciate the little comedy he has staged for us. Tell him it is bully-bueno, but he must not overdo it. We are plum done up, and want a few days of rest.”
“What says the señor,amigo?” asked Don Mario, with his utmost suavity and unction of manner.
“He says,” returned the other in Spanish, “that he is delighted with the firmness which you display in the administration of your office, and that he trusts the bandits within the church may be speedily executed.”
“Bandits!” ejaculated Don Mario. “Just so,amigo! They are those who defy the Government as represented by myself!” He straightened up and threw out his chest with such an exhibition of importance that the strangers with difficulty kept their faces straight.
Carmen and Josè looked at each other in amazement during this colloquy.
“Padre!” exclaimed the girl. “Do all who speak English tell such lies?”
“Ah!” murmured the one addressed as Reed, directing himself to the Alcalde, “how dared they! But, señor, my friend and I have come to your beautiful city on business of the utmost315importance, in which you doubtless will share largely. I would suggest,” looking with amusement at the array of armed men about him, “that your prisoners are in no immediate likelihood of escaping, and you might leave them under close guard while we discuss our business. A––a––we hear reports, señor, that there is likely to be trouble in the country, and we are desirous of getting out as soon as possible.”
“Cierto! Cierto, señores!” exclaimed Don Mario, bowing low. “It shall be as you say.” Turning to the gaping people, he selected several to do guard duty, dismissed the others, and then bade the strangers follow him to his house, which, he declared vehemently, was theirs as long as they might honor him with their distinguished presence.
The sudden turn of events left the little group within the church in a maze of bewilderment. They drew together in the center of the room and talked in low whispers until the sun dropped behind the hills and night drifted through the quiet streets. Late that evening came a tapping at the rear door of the church, and a voice called softly to the priest. Josè roused out of his gloomy revery and hastened to answer it.
“It is Fernando, Padre. I am on guard; but no one must know that I talk with you. But––Padre, if you open the door and escape, I will not see you. I am sorry, Padre, but it could not be helped. Don Mario has us all frightened, for the Bishop––”
“True,amigo,” returned Josè; “but the strangers who arrived this afternoon––who are they, and whence?”
“TwoAmericanos, Padre, and miners.”
Josè studied a moment. “Fernando––you would aid me?Bien, get word to the stranger who speaks both English and Spanish. Bring him here, secretly, and stand guard yourself while I talk with him.”
“Gladly, Padre,” returned the penitent fellow, as he hastened quietly away.
An hour later Josè was again roused by Fernando tapping on the door.
“Open, Padre. Fear not; only theAmericanowill enter. Don Mario does not know.”
Josè lifted the prop and swung the door open. Rosendo stood with upliftedmachete. A man entered from the blackness without. Josè quickly closed the door, and then addressed him in English.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed the stranger in a mellow voice. “I had no idea I should find any one in this God-forsaken town who could speak real United States!”
Josè drew him into thesacristía. Neither man could see the other in the dense blackness.
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“Tell me, friend,” began Josè, “who you are, and where you come from.”
“Reed––Charles Reed––New York––mining engineer––down here to examine the so-called mines of the Molino Company, now gasping its last while awaiting our report. Arrived this afternoon from Badillo with my partner, fellow named Harris. But––great heavens, man! you certainly were in a stew when we appeared! And why don’t you escape now?”
“Escape, friend? Where? Even if we passed the guard, where would we go? There are two women, a girl, and a babe with us. We have little food and no money. Should we gain the Boque or Guamocó trail, we would be pursued and shot down. There is a chance here––none in flight!
“But now, Mr. Reed,” continued Josè earnestly, “will you get word from me to the Bishop in Cartagena that our church has been attacked––that its priest is besieged by the Alcalde, and his life in jeopardy?”
“Assuredly––but how?”
“You have money?” said Josè, speaking rapidly. “Good. Yourbogashave not returned to Badillo?”
“No, they are staying here for the big show. Execution of the traitors, you know.”
“Then, friend, send them at dawn to Bodega Central. Let them take a message to be sent by the telegraph from that place. Tell the Bishop––”
“Sure!” interrupted the other. “Leave it to me. I’ll fix up a message that will bring him by return boat! I’ve been talking with the Honorable Alcalde and I’ve got his exact number. Say, he certainly is the biggest damn––beg pardon; I mean, the biggest numbskull I have ever run across––and that’s saying considerable for a mining man!”
“Go, friend!” said Josè, making no other reply to the man’s words. “Go quickly––and use what influence you have with the Alcalde to save us. We have women here––and a young girl!” He found the American’s hand and led him out into the night.
Wenceslas Ortiz stood before the Departmental Governor. His face was deeply serious, and his demeanor expressed the utmost gravity. In his hand he held a despatch. The Governor sat at his desk, nervously fumbling a pen.
“Bien, Señor,” said Wenceslas quietly, “do you act––or shall I take it to His Excellency, the President?”
The Governor moved uneasily in his chair. “Caramba!” he blurted out. “The report is too meager! And yet, I cannot see but that the Alcalde acted wholly within his rights!”
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“Your Excellency, he seizes government arms––he attacks the church––he attempts to destroy the life of its priest. Nominally acting for the Government; at heart, anticlerical. Is it not evident? Will the Government clear itself now of the suspicion which this has aroused?”
“But the priest––did you not say only last week that he himself had published a book violently anticlerical in tone?”
“Señor, we will not discuss the matter further,” said Wenceslas, moving toward the door. “Your final decision––you will send troops to Simití, or no?”
“Certainly not! The evidence warrants no interference from me!”
Wenceslas courteously bowed himself out. Once beyond the door, he breathed a great sigh of relief. “Santa Virgen!” he muttered, “but I took a chance! Had he yielded and sent troops, all would have been spoiled. Now for Bogotá!”
He entered his carriage and was driven hurriedly to hissanctum. There he despatched a long message to the President of the Republic. At noon he had a reply. He mused over it for the space of an hour. Then he framed another despatch. “Your Excellency,” it read, “the Church supports the Administration.”
Late that evening a second message from Bogotá was put into his hand. He tore it open and read, “The Hercules ordered to Simití.”
“Ah,” he sighed, sinking into his chair. “At last! The President interferes! And now a wire to Ames. And––Caramba, yes! A message to the captain of the Hercules to bring me that girl!”
“Well, old man, I’ve done all I could to stave off the blundering idiot; but I guess you are in for it! The jig is up, I’m thinking!”
It was Reed talking. Simití again slept, while the American and Josè in thesacristíatalked long and earnestly. Fernando kept guard at the door. The other prisoners lay wrapped in slumber.
“Your message went down the river two days ago,” continued Reed. “And, believe me! since then I’ve racked my dusty brain for topics to keep the Alcalde occupied and forgetful of you. But I’m dryer than a desert now; and he vows that to-morrow you and your friends will be dragged out of this old shack by your necks, and then shot.”
The two days had been filled with exquisite torture for Josè. Only the presence of Carmen restrained him from rushing out and ending it all. Her faith had been his constant marvel.318Every hour, every moment, she knew only the immanence of her God; whereas he, obedient to the undulating Rincón character-curve, expressed the mutability of his faith in hourly alternations of optimism and black despair. After periods of exalted hope, stimulated by the girl’s sublime confidence, there would come the inevitable backward rush of all the chilling fear, despondency, and false thought which he had just expelled in vain, and he would be left again floundering helplessly in the dismal labyrinth of terrifying doubts.
The quiet which enwrapped them during these days of imprisonment; the gloom-shrouded church; the awed hush that lay upon them in the presence of the dead Lázaro, stimulated the feeble and sensitive spirit of the priest to an unwonted degree of introspection, and he sat for hours gazing blankly into the ghastly emptiness of his past.
He saw how at the first, when Carmen entered his life with the stimulus of her buoyant faith, there had seemed to follow an emptying of self, a quick clearing of his mentality, and a replacement of much of the morbid thought, which clung limpet-like to his mentality, by new and wonderfully illuminating ideas. For a while he had seemed to be on the road to salvation; he felt that he had touched the robe of the Christ, and heavenly virtue had entered into his being.
But then the shadows began to gather once more. He did not cling to the new truths and spiritual ideas tenaciously enough to work them out in demonstration. He had proved shallow soil, whereon the seed had fallen, only to be choked by the weeds which grew apace therein. The troubles which clustered thick about him after his first few months in Simití had seemed to hamper his freer limbs, and check his upward progress. Constant conflict with Diego, with Don Mario, and Wenceslas; the pressure from his mother and his uncle, had kept him looking, now at evil, now at good, giving life and power to each in turn, and wrestling incessantly with the false concepts which his own mentality kept ever alive. Worrying himself free from one set of human beliefs, he fell again into the meshes of others. Though he thought he knew the truth––though he saw it lived and demonstrated by Carmen––he had yet been afraid to throw himself unreservedly upon his convictions. And so he daily paid the dire penalty which error failed not to exact.
But Carmen, the object of by far the greater part of all his anxious thought, had moved as if in response to a beckoning hand that remained invisible to him. Each day she had grown more beautiful. And each day, too, she had seemed to draw farther away from him, as she rose steadily out of the limited319encompassment in which they dwelt. Not by conscious design did she appear to separate from him, but inevitably, because of his own narrow capacity for true spiritual intercourse with such a soul as hers. He shared her ideals; he had sought in his way to attain them; he had striven, too, to comprehend her spirit, which in his heart he knew to be a bright reflection of the infinite Spirit which is God. But as the years passed he had found his efforts to be like her more and more clumsy and blundering, and his responses to her spiritual demands less and less vigorous. At times he seemed to catch glimpses of her soul that awed him. At others he would feel himself half inclined to share the people’s belief that she was possessed of powers occult. And then he would sink into despair of ever understanding the girl––for he knew that to do so he must be like her, even as to understand God we must become like Him.
After her fourteenth birthday Josè found himself rapidly ceasing to regard Carmen as a mere child. Not that she did not still often seem delightfully immature, when her spirits would flow wildly, and she would draw him into the frolics which had yielded her such extravagant joy in former days; but that the growth of knowledge and the rapid development of her thought had seemed to bring to her a deepening sense of responsibility, a growing impression of maturity, and an increasing regard for the meaning of life and her part in it. She had ceased to insist that she would never leave Simití. And Josè often thought of late, as he watched her, that he detected signs of irksomeness at the limitations which her environment imposed upon her. But, if so, these were never openly expressed; nor did her manner ever change toward her foster-parents, or toward the simple and uncomprehending folk of her native town.
From the first, Josè had constituted himself her teacher, guide, and protector. And she had joyously accepted him. His soured and rebellious nature had been no barrier to her great love, which had twined about his heart like ivy around a crumbling tower. And his love for the child had swelled like a torrent, fed hourly by countless uncharted streams. He had watched over her like a father; he had rejoiced to see her bloom into a beauty as rich and luxuriant as the tropical foliage; he had gazed for hours into the unsearchable abyss of her black eyes and read there, in ecstasy, a wondrous response to his love; and when, but a few short days ago, she had again intimated a future union, a union upon which, even as a child, she had insisted, yet one which he knew––had always known––utterly, extravagantly impossible––he had, nevertheless, seized upon the thought with a joy that was passionate, desperate––and320had then flung it from him with a cry of agony. It was not the disparity of ages; it was not the girl’s present immaturity. In less than a year she would have attained the marriageable age of these Latin countries. But he could wait two, three, aye, ten years for such a divine gift! No; the shadow which lay upon his life was cast by the huge presence of the master whose chains he wore, the iron links of which, galling his soul, he knew to be unbreakable. And, as he sat in the gloom of the decayed old church where he was now a prisoner, the thought that his situation but symbolized an imprisonment in bonds eternal roused him to a half-frenzied resolve to destroy himself.
“Padre dear,” the girl had whispered to him that night, just before the American came again with his disquieting report, “Love will open the door––Love will set us free. We are not afraid. Remember, Paul thanked God for freedom even while he sat in chains. And I am just as thankful as he.”
Josè knew as he kissed her tenderly and bade her go to her place of rest on the bench beside Doña Maria that death stood between her and the stained hand of Wenceslas Ortiz.
As morning reddened in the eastern sky Don Mario, surrounded by an armed guard and preceded by his secretary, who beat lustily upon a small drum, marched pompously down the main street and across theplazato the church. Holding his cane aloft he ascended the steps of the platform and again loudly demanded the surrender of the prisoners within.
“On what terms, Don Mario?” asked Josè.
“The same,” reiterated the Alcalde vigorously.
Josè sighed. “Then we will die, Don Mario,” he replied sadly, moving away from the door and leading his little band of harried followers to the rear of the altar.
The Alcalde quickly descended the steps and shouted numerous orders. Several of his men hurried off in various directions, while those remaining at once opened fire upon the church. In a few moments the firing was increased, and the entire attack was concentrated upon the front doors.
The din without became horrible. Shouts and curses filled the morning air. But it was evident to Josè that his besiegers were meeting with no opposition from his own supporters in the fight of two days before. The sight of the deadly rifles in the hands of Don Mario’s party had quickly quenched their loyalty to Josè, and led them basely to abandon him and his companions to their fate.
After a few minutes of vigorous assault the attack abruptly ceased, and Josè was called again to the door.
“It’s Reed,” came the American’s voice. He spoke in321English. “I’ve persuaded the old carrion to let me have a moment’s pow-wow with you. Say, give the old buzzard what he wants. Otherwise it’s sure death for you all. I’ve argued myself sick with him, but he’s as set as concrete. I’ll do what I can for you if you come out; but he’s going to have the girl, whether or no. Seems that the Bishop of Cartagena wants her; and the old crow here is playing politics with him.”
“Yes, old man,” chimed in another voice, which Josè knew to be that of Harris. “You know these fellows are hell on politics.”
“Shut up, Harris!” growled Reed. Then to Josè, “What’ll I tell the old duffer?”
“Lord Harry!” ejaculated Harris, “if I had a couple of Mausers I could put these ancient Springfields on the bum in a hurry!”
“Tell him, friend, that we are prepared to die,” replied Josè drearily, as he turned back into the gloom and took Carmen’s hand.
The final assault began, and Josè knew that it was only a question of minutes when the trembling doors would fall. He crouched with his companions behind the altar, awaiting the inevitable. Carmen held his hand tightly.
“Love will save us, Padre,” she whispered. “Love them! Love them, Padre! They don’t know what is using them––and it has no power! God is here––is everywhere! Love will save us!”
Rosendo bent over and whispered to Don Jorge, “When the doors fall and the men rush in, stand you here with me! When they reach the altar we will throw ourselves upon them, I first, you following, while Juan will bring Carmen and try to protect her. With ourmacheteswe will cut our way out. If we find that it is hopeless––then give me Carmen!”
A moment later, as with a loud wail, the two front doors burst asunder and fell crashing to the floor. A flood of golden sunlight poured into the dark room. In its yellow wake rushed the mob, with exultant yells. Rosendo rose quickly and placed himself at the head of his little band.
But, ere the first of the frenzied besiegers had crossed the threshold of the church, a loud cry arose in theplaza.
“The soldiers!Dios arriba! The soldiers!”
Down the main thoroughfare came a volley of shots. Don Mario, half way through the church door, froze in his tracks. Those of his followers who had entered, turned quickly and made pellmell for the exit. Their startled gaze met a company of federal troops rushing down the street, firing as they came. Don Mario strained after his flying wits.
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“Close the doors!” he yelled. But the doors were prone upon the floor, and could not be replaced. Then he and his men scrambled out and rushed around to one side of the building. As the soldiers came running up, the Alcalde’s followers fired point blank into their faces, then dropped their guns and fled precipitately.
It was all over in a trice. Within an hour staid old Simití lay in the grip of martial law, with its once overweening Alcalde, now a meek and frightened prisoner, arraigned before Captain Morales, holding court in the shabby town hall.
But the court-martial was wholly perfunctory. Though none there but himself knew it, the captain had come with the disposal of the unfortunate Don Mario prearranged. A perfunctory hearing of witnesses, which but increased his approval of his orders, and he pronounced sentence upon the former Alcalde, and closed the case.
“Attack upon the church––Assassination of the man Lázaro––Firing upon federal soldiers––To be shot at sunset, señor,” he concluded solemnly.
Don Mario sank to the floor in terror. “Caramba! caramba!” he howled. “But I had letters from the Bishop! I was ordered by him to do it!”
“Bien, señor,” replied the captain, whose heart was not wholly devoid of pity, “produce your letters.”
“Dios arriba! I burned them! He said I should! I obeyed him!Caramba! I am lost––lost!”
“Señor Capitán,” interposed Josè, “may I plead for the man? He is––”
“There, Padre,” returned the captain, holding up a hand, “it is useless. Doubtless this has been brought about by motives which you do not understand. It is unfortunate––but inevitable. You have acárcelhere?Bien,” addressing his lieutenant, “remove the prisoner to it, and at sunset let the sentence be carried out.”
Don Mario, screaming with fear, was dragged from the room.
“And now, señores,” continued the captain calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, “I appoint Don Fernando, former secretary, as temporary Alcalde, until such time as the Governor may fill the office permanently. And,” he continued, looking about the room with a heavy scowl, while the timid people shrank against the wall, “as for those misguided ones who took part with Don Mario in this anticlerical uprising––his fate will serve, I think, as a warning!”
A hush of horror lay upon the stunned people as they filed slowly out of the room.
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“Bien,” added the captain, addressing Fernando, “quarters for my men, and rations. We return to the Hercules at daybreak. And let all arms and ammunition be collected. Every house must be searched. And we shall wantpeonesto carry it to the river.”
Josè turned away, sick with the horror of it all. A soldier approached him with a message from Don Mario. The condemned man was asking for the last rites. Faint and trembling, the priest accompanied the messenger to the jail.
“Padre!Dios arriba!” wailed the terrified and bewildered Don Mario. “It was a mistake! Don Wenceslas––”
“Yes, I understand, Don Mario,” interrupted Josè, tenderly taking the man’s hand. “He told you to do it.”
“Yes, Padre,” sobbed the unfortunate victim. “He said that I would be rich––that I would be elected to Congress––ah, the traitor! And, Padre––I burned his letters because it was his wish! Ah,Santa Virgen!” He put his head on the priest’s shoulder and wept violently.
Josè’s heart was wrung; but he was powerless to aid the man. And yet, as he dwelt momentarily on his own sorrows, he almost envied the fate which had overtaken the misguided Don Mario.
The lieutenant entered. “Señor Padre,” he said, “the sun is low. In a quarter of an hour––”
Don Mario sank to the ground and clasped the priest’s knees. Josè held up his hand, and the lieutenant, bowing courteously, withdrew. The priest knelt beside the cowering prisoner.
“Don Mario,” he said gently, holding the man’s hand, “confess all to me. It may be the means of saving other lives––and then you will have expiated your own crimes.”
“Padre,” moaned the stricken man, rocking back and forth, his head buried in his hands and tears streaming through his fingers, “Padre, you will forgive––?”
“Aye, Don Mario, everything. And the Christ forgives. Your sins are remitted. But remove now the last burden from your soul––the guilty knowledge of the part Don Wenceslas has had in the disaster which has come upon Simití. Tell it all, friend, for you may save many precious lives thereby.”
The fallen Alcalde roused himself by a mighty effort. Forgetting for the moment his own dire predicament, he opened his heart. Josè sat before him in wide-mouthed astonishment. Don Mario’s confession brought a revelation that left him cold. The lieutenant entered again.
“One moment,” said Josè. Then, to Don Mario: “And Carmen?”
Don Mario leaned close to the priest and whispered low.324“No, she is not Diego’s child! And, Padre, take her away, at once! But out of the country! There is not an inch of ground in all Colombia now where she would be safe from Don Wenceslas!”
Josè’s head sank upon his breast. Then he again took Don Mario’s hand.
“Friend,” he said gravely, “rest assured, what you have told me saves at least one life, and removes the sin with which your own was stained. And now,” rising and turning to the waiting lieutenant, “we are ready.”
Ora pro nobis! Ora pro nobis! Santa Virgen, San Salvador, ora pro nobis!
A few minutes later a sharp report echoed through the Simití valley and startled the herons that were seeking their night’s rest on the wooded isle. Then Josè de Rincón, alone, and with a heart of lead, moved slowly down through the dreary village and crossed the desertedplazato his lowly abode.
CHAPTER 34
The low-hung moon, shrouded in heavy vapor, threw an eldritch shimmer upon the little group that silently bore the body of the martyred Lázaro from the old church late that night to the dreary cemetery on the hill. Josè took but a reluctant part in the proceedings. He would even have avoided this last service to his faithful friend if he could. It seemed to him as he stumbled along the stony road behind the body which Rosendo and Don Jorge carried that his human endurance had been strained so far beyond the elastic limit that there could now be no rebound. Every thought that touched his sore mind made it bleed anew, for every thought that he accepted was acrid, rasping, oppressive. The sheer weight of foreboding, of wild apprehension, of paralyzing fear, crushed him, until his shoulders bent low as he walked. How, lest he perform a miracle, could he hope to extricate himself and his loved ones from the meshes of the net, far-cast, but with unerring aim, which had fallen upon them?
As he passed the town hall he saw through the open door the captain’s cot, and a guard standing motionless beside it. The captain had elected to remain there for the night, while his men found a prickly hospitality among the cowering townsfolk. Josè knew now that the hand which Don Mario had dealt himself in the game inaugurated by Wenceslas had been from a stacked deck. He knew that the President of the Republic325had ordered Morales to this inoffensive little town to quell an alleged anticlerical uprising, and that the execution of the misguided Alcalde had been determined long before the Hercules had got under way. He could see that it was necessary for the Government to sacrifice its agent in the person of the Alcalde, in order to prove its own loyalty to the Church. And in return therefor he knew it would expect, not without reason, the coöperation of the Church in case the President’s interference in the province of Bolívar should precipitate a general revolt.
But what had been determined upon as his own fate? He had not the semblance of an idea. From the confession of the ruined Alcalde he now knew that Don Mario had been poisoned against him from the beginning; that even the letters of introduction which Wenceslas had given him to the Alcalde contained the charge of his having accomplished the ruin of the girl Maria in Cartagena, and of his previous incarceration in the monastery of Palazzola. And Don Mario had confessed in his last moments that Wenceslas had sought to work through him and Josè in the hope that the location of the famous mine, La Libertad, might be revealed. Don Mario had been instructed to get what he could out of this scion of Rincón; and only his own greed and cupidity had caused him to play fast and loose with both sides until, falling before the allurements which Wenceslas held out, he had rushed madly into his own destruction. Josè realized that so far he himself had proved extremely useful to Wenceslas––but had his usefulness ended? At these thoughts his soul momentarily suffused with the pride of the old and hectoring Rincón stock and rose, instinct with revolt––but only to sink again in helpless resignation, while the shadow of despair rolled in and quenched his feeble determination.
Rosendo and Don Jorge placed the body in one of the vacant vaults and filled the entrance with some loose bricks. Then they stood back expectantly. It was now the priest’s turn. He had a part to perform, out there on the bleak hilltop in the ghostly light. But Josè remained motionless and silent, his head sunk upon his breast.
Then Rosendo, waxing troubled, spoke in gentle admonition. “He would expect it, you know, Padre.”
Josè turned away from the lonely vault. Bitter tears coursed down his cheeks, and his voice broke. He laid his head on Rosendo’s stalwart shoulder and wept aloud.
The sickly, greenish cast of the moonlight silhouetted the figures of the three men in grotesque shapes against the cemetery wall and the crumbling tombs. The morose call of a toucan floated weirdly upon the heavy air. The faint wail of326the frogs in the shallow waters below rose like the despairing sighs of lost souls.
Rosendo wound his long arm about the sorrowing priest. Don Jorge’s muscles knotted, and a muttered imprecation rose from his tight lips. Strangely had the shift and coil of the human mind thrown together these three men, so different in character, yet standing now in united protest against the misery which men heap upon their fellow-men in the name of Christ. Josè, the apostate agent of Holy Church, his hands bound, and his heart bursting with yearning toward his fellow-men; Rosendo, simple-minded and faithful, chained to the Church by heredity and association, yet ashamed of its abuses and lusts; Don Jorge, fierce in his denunciation of the political and religious sham and hypocrisy which he saw masking behind the cloak of imperial religion.
“I have nothing to say, friends,” moaned Josè, raising his head; “nothing that would not still further reveal my own miserable weakness and the despicable falsity of the Church. If the Church had followed the Christ, it would have taught me to do likewise; and I should now call to Lázaro and bid him come forth, instead of shamefully confessing my impotency and utter lack of spirituality, even while I pose as anAlter Christus.”
“You––you will leave a blessing with him before we go, Padre?” queried the anxious Rosendo, clinging still to the frayed edge of his fathers’ faith.
“My blessing, Rosendo,” replied Josè sadly, “would do no good. He lies there because we have utterly forgotten what the Master came to teach. He lies there because of our false, undemonstrable, mortal beliefs. Oh, that the Church, instead of wasting time murmuring futile prayers over dead bodies, had striven to learn to do the deeds which the Christ said we should all do if we but kept his commandments!”
“But, Padre, you will say Masses for him?” pursued Rosendo.
“Masses? No, I can not––now. I would not take his or your money to give to the Church to get his soul out of an imagined purgatory which the Church long ago invented for the purpose of enriching herself materially––for, alas! after spiritual riches she has had little hankering.”
“To pay God to get His own children out of the flames, eh?” suggested Don Jorge. “It is what I have always said, the religion of the Church is areligion de dinero. If there ever was a God, either He is still laughing Himself sick at our follies––or else He has wept Himself to death over them! Jesus Christ taught no such stuff!”
“Friend,” said Josè solemnly, turning to Don Jorge, “I long327since learned what the whole world must learn some time, that the Church stands to-day, not as the bride of the Christ, but as the incarnation of the human mind, as error opposed to Truth. It is the embodiment of ‘Who shall be greatest?’ It is one of the various phenomena of the human mentality; and its adherents are the victims of authoritative falsehood. Its Mass and countless other ceremonies differ in no essential respect from ancient pagan worship. Of spirituality it has none. And so it can do none of the works of the Master. Its corrupting faith is foully materialistic. It has been weighed and found wanting. And as the human mind expands, the incoming light must drive out the black beliefs and deeds of Holy Church, else the oncoming centuries will have no place for it.”
“I believe you!” ejaculated Don Jorge. “But why do you still remain a priest?Hombre! I knew when I saw you on the river boat that you were none. But,” his voice dropping to a whisper, “there is a soldier in the road below. It would be well to leave. He might think we were here to plot.”
When the soldier had passed, they quietly left the gloomy cemetery and made their way quickly back through the straggling moonlight to Rosendo’s house. Doña Maria, with characteristic quietude, was preparing for the duties of the approaching day. Carmen lay asleep. Josè went to her bedside and bent over her, wondering. What were the events of the past few days in her sight? How did she interpret them? Was her faith still unshaken? What did Lázaro’s death and the execution of Don Mario mean to her? Did she, as he had done, look upon them as real events in a real world, created and governed by a good God? Or did she still hold such things to be the unreal phenomena of the human mentality?––unreal, because opposed to God, and without the infinite principle. As for himself, how had the current of his life been diverted by this rare child! What had she not sought to teach him by her simple faith, her unshaken trust in the immanence of good! True, as a pure reflection of good she had seemed to be the means of stirring up tremendous evil. But had he not seen the evil eventually consume itself, leaving her unscathed? And yet, would this continue? He himself had always conceded to the forces of evil as great power as to those of good––nay, even greater. And even now as he stood looking at her, wrapped in peaceful slumber, his strained sight caught no gleam of hope, no light flashing through the heavy clouds of misfortune that lowered above her. He turned away with an anxious sigh.
“Padre,” said the gentle Doña Maria, “the twoAmericanos––”
“Ah, yes,” interrupted Josè, suddenly remembering that he328had sent word to them to use his house while they remained in the town. “They had escaped my thought.Bien, they are––?”
“They brought their baggage to your house an hour ago and set up their beds in your living room. They will be asleep by now.”
“Good,” he replied, a wistful sense of gratitude stealing over him at the reassuring thought of their presence. “Bien, we will not disturb them.”
Summoning Rosendo and Don Jorge, the three men sought the lake’s edge. There, seated on the loose shales, they wrestled with their problem until dawn spread her filmy veil over the shimmering stars.
Long before sun-up the soldiers and thepeones, whom Captain Morales had impressed, were busy gathering the commandeered rifles and carrying them down to the gunboat Hercules, waiting at the mouth of the Boque river, some six or eight miles distant, and over a wild trail. The townsfolk, thoroughly frightened, hugged the shelter of their homes, and left the streets to the troops. Though they detested the soldiers, yet none would lightly risk a blow from the heavy hand of Morales, whose authority on a punitive expedition of this sort was unlimited. The summary execution of the Alcalde had stricken them with horror, and left an impression which never would be erased from their memories.
Immediately after the earlydesayunothe captain appeared at Rosendo’s door. He had come to say farewell to the priest. All of the soldiers had disappeared down the trail, with the exception of the two who formed the captain’s small personal escort.
“Conque, adios, Señor Padre” he called cheerily, as he approached. Josè was sitting at table with Rosendo’s family and Don Jorge. Instinctively he rose hastily, and seizing Carmen, thrust her into the adjoining bedroom and closed the door. Then he went out to face the captain.
“Much excitement for your littlepueblo, no?” exclaimed the captain with a bluff laugh as he grasped Josè’s hand. “But a lesson like this will last a century. I rejoice that I found it unnecessary to burn the town.”
Josè trembled as he replied. “Señor Capitán, I, too, rejoice. But––the state of the country––what may we expect?”
The captain laughed again. “Caramba, Padre mío! who can say? There is much talk, many angry looks, much gesturing and waving of hands. Congress still sits. The President sees fit to send me here, without order from the Departmental329Governor.Hombre! what will follow?Quien sabe?” He shrugged his shoulders with that expressive Latin gesture which indicates complete irresponsibility for and indifference to results.
Josè’s heart began to beat more regularly. He again took the captain’s hand. He was eager to see him depart. “Bueno pues, Señor Capitán,” he said hurriedly. “I wish you every felicitation on your return trip. Ah––ah––your orders contained no reference to––to me?” he added hesitatingly.
“None whatever,Señor Padre,” replied the captain genially. He turned to go, and Josè stifled a great sigh of relief. But suddenly the captain stopped; then turned again.
“Caramba!” he ejaculated, “I nearly forgot!Hombre! what would His Grace have said?”
He fumbled in an inner pocket and drew forth a telegraphic document.
“And you will seize the person of one Rosendo Ariza’s daughter and immediately send her with proper conveyance to the Sister Superior of the convent of Our Lady in Cartagena,” he read aloud.
Josè froze to the spot. From within Rosendo’s house came a soft, scurrying sound. Then he heard a movement in his own. Morales returned the folded message to his pocket and started to enter the house. Josè could offer no resistance. He was rendered suddenly inert, although vividly conscious of a drama about to be enacted in which he and his loved ones would play leadingrôles. As in a dream he heard the captain address Rosendo and gruffly demand that he produce his daughter. He heard a deep curse from Rosendo; and his blood congealed more thickly as he dwelt momentarily on the old man’s possible conduct in the face of the federal demand. He heard Morales hunting impatiently through the shabby rooms. Then he saw him emerge in a towering rage––but empty-handed.
“Caramba, Padre!” cried the angry captain, “but what is this? Have they not had one good lesson, that I must inflict another? I demand to know, has this Rosendo Ariza a daughter?”
He stood waiting for the answer that Josè knew he must make. The priest’s hollow voice sounded like an echo from another world.
“Yes.”
“Bien, then I have discovered one honest man in yourself, Padre. You will now assist me in finding her.”
“I––I know not––where––where she is,Señor Capitán,” murmured Josè with feebly fluttering lips.
They were alone, this little party of actors, although many330an eye peered out timidly at them from behind closed shutters and barred doors around theplaza. Don Jorge and Rosendo came out of the house and stood behind Josè. The captain confronted them, bristling with wrath at the insolence that dared oppose his supreme authority. The heat had already begun to pour down in torrents. The morning air was light, but not a sound traversed it. The principals in this tense drama might have been painted against that vivid tropical background.
Then Harris, moved by his piquant Yankee curiosity, appeared at the door of the parish house, his great eyes protruding and his head craned forth like a monster heron. Morales saw him. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps theAmericanohides the daughter of Ariza!”
He started for the priest’s door. But ere he reached it Reed suddenly appeared from behind Harris. In his hand he grasped a large American flag. Holding this high above his head, he blocked the entrance.
“Hold!Señor Capitán!” he cried in his perfect Spanish. “We are American citizens, and this house is under the protection of the American Government!”
Morales fell back and stood with mouth agape in astonishment. The audacity of this foreign adventurer fairly robbed him of his breath. He glanced dubiously from him to the priest. Then, to save the situation, he broke into an embarrassed laugh.
“Bien, my good friend,” he finally said, addressing Reed in his courtliest manner, “all respect to your excellent Government. And, if you will accept it, I shall be pleased to secure you a commission in the Colombian army. But, my orders––you understand, do you not? The sun is already high, and I can not lose more time. Therefore, you will kindly stand aside and permit me to search that house.” He motioned to his men and moved forward.
Still holding aloft the flag, Reed drew a long revolver. Harris quickly produced one of equal size and wicked appearance. Morales stopped abruptly and looked at them in hesitation. He knew what he might expect. He had heard much of American bravery. His chief delight when not in the field was the perusal of a battered history of the American Civil War; and his exclamations of admiration for the hardihood of those who participated in it were always loud and frequent. But he, too, had a reputation to sustain. The Americans stood grimly silent before him. Harris’s finger twitched nervously along the trigger, and a smile played over his thin lips. The man was aching for a scrimmage.
Then, his face flaming with shame and chagrin, Morales turned to his escort and commanded them to advance.