In the weeks that followed there were days when the very air seemed
pregnant with potential destruction, awaiting only the daring hand
that would render it kinetic. Josè dwelt in a state of incessant,
heart-shaking agitation. The sudden precipitation of the revolt six
years before had caught him wholly unprepared, unaware even of the
events which had led to it. In the intervening years, however, he had
had some opportunity, even in his isolation, to study political
conditions in that unhappy country, and to form some estimate of the
mental forces at work in both Church and State which, he knew, must
ultimately bring them again into conflict for supremacy. His knowledge
of the workings of the human mind convinced him that Diego's dire
prophecy had not been empty; that the Church, though ostensibly
assuming only spiritual leadership, would nevertheless rest not until
the question "Who shall be greatest?" even in the petty, sordid
affairs of mortals, should be answered, and answered--though by force
of arms--in her favor. And his estimate of the strength of the
opposing parties had led him to believe that the impending struggle
would drench the land in blood.
As to the _rôle_ which Wenceslas would play, he could form no
satisfactory estimate. He knew him to be astute, wary, and the
shrewdest of politicians. He knew, likewise, that he was acting in
conjunction with powerful financial interests in both North America
and Europe. He knew him to be a man who would stop at no scruple,
hesitate at no dictate of conscience, yield to no moral or ethical
code; one who would play Rome against Wall Street, with his own
unfortunate country as the stake; one who would hurl the fairest sons
of Colombia at one another's throats to bulge his own coffers; and
then wring from the wailing widows their poor substance for Masses to
move their beloved dead through an imagined purgatory.
But he could not know that, in casting about impatiently for an
immediate _causus belli_, Wenceslas had hit upon poor, isolated,
little Simití as the point of ignition, and the pitting of its
struggling priest against Don Mario as the method of exciting the
necessary spark. He could not know that Wenceslas had represented
to the Departmental Governor in Cartagena that an obscure _Cura_ in
far-off Simití, an exile from the Vatican, and the author of a
violent diatribe against papal authority, was the nucleus about
which anticlerical sentiment was crystallizing in the Department
of Bolívar. He did not know that the Governor had been induced by the
acting-Bishop's specious representations to send arms to Simití, to
be followed by federal troops only when the crafty Wenceslas saw
that the time was ripe. He did not even suspect that Don Mario was
to be the puppet whom Wenceslas would sacrifice on the altar of
rapacity when he had finished with him, and that the simple-minded
Alcalde in his blind zeal to protect the Church would thereby
proclaim himself an enemy of both Church and State, and afford the
smiling Wenceslas the most fortuitous of opportunities to reveal the
Church's unexampled magnanimity by throwing her influence in with
that of the Government against their common enemy.
His own intercourse with Wenceslas during the years of his exile in
Simití had been wholly formal, and not altogether disagreeable as long
as the contributions of gold to the Bishop's leaking coffers
continued. He had received almost monthly communications from
Cartagena, relating to the Church at large, and, at infrequent
intervals, to the parish of Simití. But he knew that Cartagena's
interest in Simití was merely casual--nay, rather, financial--and he
strove to maintain it so, lest the stimulation of a deeper interest
thwart his own plans. His conflict with Diego in regard to Carmen had
seemed for the moment to evoke the Bishop's interference; and the
sudden and unaccountable disappearance of that priest had threatened
to expose both Josè and Carmen to the full scrutiny of Wenceslas. But,
fortunately, the insistence of those matters which were rapidly
culminating in a political outbreak left Wenceslas little time for
interference in affairs which did not pertain exclusively to the
momentous questions with which he was now concerned, and Josè and
Carmen were still left unmolested. It was only when, desperate lest
Congress adjourn without passing the measure which he knew would
precipitate the conflict, and when, well nigh panic-stricken lest his
collusion with Ames and his powerful clique of Wall Street become
known through the exasperation of the latter over the long delay, he
had resolved to pit Don Mario against Josè in distant Simití, and, in
that unknown, isolated spot, where close investigation would never be
made, apply the torch to the waiting combustibles, that Josè saw the
danger which had always hung over him and the girl suddenly descending
upon them and threatening anew the separation which he had ever
regarded as inevitable, and yet which he had hoped against hope to
avoid.
With the deposition of arms in Simití, and the establishment of
federal authority in Don Mario, that always pompous official rose in
his own esteem and in the eyes of a few parasitical attachés to an
eminence never before dreamed of by the humble denizens of this
moss-encrusted town. From egotistical, Don Mario became insolent. From
sluggishness and torpidity of thought and action, he rose suddenly
into tremendous activity. He was more than once observed by Josè or
Rosendo emerging hastily from his door and button-holing some one of
the more influential citizens of the town and excitedly reading to him
excerpts from letters which he had just received from Cartagena. He
might be seen at any hour of the day in the little _patio_ back of his
store, busily engaged with certain of the men of the place in
examining papers and documents, talking volubly and with much excited
gesticulation and wild rolling of the eyes. A party seemed to be
crystallizing about him. His hitherto uncertain prestige appeared to
be soaring greatly. Men who before made slighting remarks about him,
or opposed his administrative acts, were now often seen in earnest
converse with him. His manner toward Josè and Rosendo became that of
utter contempt. He often refused to notice the priest as they passed
in the streets.
Josè's apprehension waxed great. It attained its climax when Rosendo
came to him one day to discuss the Alcalde's conduct and the change of
sentiment which seemed to be stealing rapidly over the hearts of the
people of Simití.
"Padre," said the old man in perplexity, "I cannot say what it is, but
Don Mario has some scheme in hand, and--and I do not think it is for
our good. I cannot get anything out of those with whom he talks so
continually, but Lázaro tells me that--_Bien_, that he learns that Don
Mario suspects you of--of not belonging to the Church party."
Josè smiled. Don Mario's suspicions about him had been many and
varied, especially as La Libertad mine had not been discovered. He
said as much to Rosendo in reply; and as he did so, he thought the old
man's face took on a queer and unwonted expression.
"But, Padre," continued Rosendo at length, "they say that Don Mario
has word from the Bishop that you once wrote a book against the Holy
Father--"
"Good God!" The words burst from the priest's lips like the sudden
issuance of pent steam. Rosendo stared at him in bewilderment.
"Rosendo!" gasped Josè. "How know you that?"
"_Caramba_, Padre! it is what Lázaro tells me," replied the old man,
his own suspicion verging upon conviction.
Josè's dark face became almost white, and his breath sobbed out in
gasps. A vague idea of the game Wenceslas was playing now stole
through his throbbing brain. That book, his Nemesis, his pursuing
Fate, had tracked him to this secluded corner of the earth, and in the
hands of the most unscrupulous politician of South America was being
used as a tool. But, precisely to what end, his wild thought did not
as yet disclose. Still, above the welter of it all, he saw clearly
that there must be no further delay on his part. Before he could
speak, however, Rosendo had resumed the conversation.
"Padre," he said, "had it occurred to you that you were watched, day
and night?"
"No--heavens!" Josè had not suspected such a thing.
"It is so, Padre. Don Mario's men keep you in sight during the day;
and at night there is always some one hovering near your house. You
could not escape now even if you would."
Josè sank back in his chair limp and cold. His frenzied brain held but
one thought: he had delayed until too late--and the end was at hand!
"Padre," said Rosendo earnestly, "tell me about that book. You did
write it? And against the Holy Father? But--you still say the Mass.
You have not brought Carmen up in the Church. But it was I who told
you not to--that her heart was her church, and it must not be
disturbed. But--is it true, as the people say, that you really belong
to the party that would destroy the Church?"
Then Josè collected himself. While his heart burned within his breast,
he opened its portals and revealed to Rosendo all that lay within.
Beginning with his boyhood, he drew his career out before the
wondering eyes of the old man down to the day when the culmination of
carnal ambition, false thought, perverted concepts of filial devotion
and sacredness of oath, of family honor and pride of race, had washed
him up against the dreary shores of Simití. With no thought of
concealment, he exposed his ambition in regard to Carmen--even the
love for her that he knew must die of inanition--and ended by throwing
himself without reserve upon Rosendo's judgment. When the tense
recital was ended, Rosendo leaned over and clasped the priest's
trembling hand.
"I understand, Padre," he said gently. "I am dull of wit, I know. And
you have often laughed at my superstitions and old family beliefs,
whether religious or otherwise. They are strange--I admit that. And I
shall die in the Church, and take my chances on the future, for I have
tried to live a good life. But--with a man like you--I understand. And
now, Padre, we have no time to be sorrowful. We must be up and doing.
We are like fish in a net. But--my life is yours. And both are
Carmen's, is it not so? Thanks be to the good Virgin," he muttered,
as he walked slowly away, "that Lázaro got those titles from Don Mario
to-day!"
* * * * *
Nightfall brought an unexpected visitor in the person of Don Jorge,
who had returned from the remoter parts of the Guamocó region.
"_Bien_, and what news?" he called cheerily, as he strode into the
parish house, where Rosendo and Josè were in earnest conversation.
Josè embraced him as a brother, while a great sense of relief stole
over him. Then he quickly made known to him the situation.
Don Jorge whistled softly. He ceased his task of scraping the caked
mud from his bare limbs, and drew up a chair near Josè.
"So you wrote a book, no? And rapped the sacred priesthood? _Hombre_!
That is good! I never did think you a real priest. But, _amigo_, lend
me a copy, for I doubt not it is most excellent reading, and will
serve to while away many a weary hour in the jungle." His eyes snapped
merrily, and he slapped Josè roundly upon the back when he finished
speaking.
"But," he continued more seriously, "things seem to be setting against
you, friend. However, let me but canvass the town to-morrow, and by
evening I can advise. _Caramba_! this old hole a military depot! Who
would have thought it! And yet--and yet--I wonder why the Governor
sends arms here. _Bien_, we shall see."
Don Jorge needed not a full day to correctly estimate the situation in
Simití. His bluff, hearty manner and genial good-nature constituted a
passport to every house, and by midday he had talked with nearly every
man in the _pueblo_. He called Josè and Rosendo for consultation
during the _siesta_.
"_Bien_," he said, when they were seated in the parish house, "Don
Mario without doubt descends from the very serpent that tempted our
mother Eve! He has become a person of considerable importance since
the Governor and Don Wenceslas strive with each other to rest their
authority and confidence in him. And, unless I mistake much, they have
him slated for important work. However that may be, the man already
has a large following. Moreover, he has them well poisoned against
you, _amigo_ Josè. They know more details about your book and your
life before coming to Simití than do you. _Bien_, you must counteract
the Alcalde's influence by a public statement. It must be to-night--in
the church! You will have to act quickly, for the old fox has you
picked for trouble! Diego's disappearance, you know; the girl, Carmen;
your rather foolish course here--it is all laid up against you,
friend, and you must meet it!"
Josè assented. Don Jorge went out and summoned the town to a meeting
in the church that evening. Immediately Don Mario issued a mandate
forbidding a public gathering at a time of such stress. The people
began to assemble on the street corners and in front of their houses
to discuss the situation. Their talk became loud and animated. Threats
were heard. The people were becoming divided. Don Jorge was
everywhere, and none could talk so volubly nor gesticulate and
expectorate so vehemently as he.
At sundown the people moved toward the _plaza_. Then the concourse
drifted slowly into the church. Don Jorge dragged Josè from the parish
house and up to the altar. "You have got to divide them, Padre!" he
whispered excitedly. "Your only hope now lies in the formation of your
own party to oppose the Alcalde! Talk to them as you never talked
before! Say all that you had stored up to say on Judgment Day!"
Again, as Josè faced his little flock and saw them, bare of feet,
scantily clad in their simple cotton and calico, their faces set in
deep seriousness, the ludicrous side of the whole situation flashed
before him, and he almost laughed aloud at the spectacle which the
ancient, decayed town at that moment presented. These primitive
folk--they were but children, with all a child's simplicity of nature,
its petulance, its immaturity of view, and its sudden and unreasoning
acceptance of authority! He turned to the altar and took up a tall
brass crucifix. He held it out before him for a moment. Then he called
upon the Christ to witness to the truth of what he was about to say.
A hush fell over the assembly. Even Don Mario seemed to become calm
after that dramatic spectacle. Then Josè spoke. He talked long and
earnestly. He knew not that such eloquence abode within him. His
declamation became more and more impassioned. He opened wide his heart
and called upon all present to look fearlessly within. Yes, he had
written the book in question. But its publication was unfortunate.
Yes, it had expressed his views at that time. But now--ah, now!
He stopped and looked about the church. The shadows were gathering
thick, and the smoking kerosene lamps battled vainly with the heavy
blackness. In a far corner of the room he saw Carmen and Ana. Rosendo
sat stolidly beside them. The sightless babe waved its tiny hands in
mute helplessness, while Doña Maria held it closely to her bosom.
Carmen's last admonition sang in his ears. He must know--really
_know_--that the babe could see! He must know that God was omnipotent!
His appeal to the people was not for himself. He cared not what
became of him. But Carmen--and now Ana and the blind babe--and the
calm, unimpassioned Doña Maria, the embodiment of all that was
greatest in feminine character--and Rosendo, waiting to lay down his
life for those he loved! And then, this people, soon, he felt, to be
shattered by the shock of war--ah, God above! what could he say that
might save them? If they could know, as Carmen did, if they could love
and trust as she did, would the hideous spectre of war ever stalk
among them? Could the world know, and love, and trust as did this fair
child, would it waste itself in useless wars, sink with famine and
pestilence, consume with the anguish of fear, and in the end bury its
blasted hopes in the dank, reeking tomb? The thought gave wings to his
voice, soul to his words. For hours the people sat spellbound.
Then he finished. He raised his hands in benediction. And, while the
holy hush remained upon the people, he descended the altar steps, his
frame still tremulous with the vehemence of his appeal, and went alone
to his house.