Dawn had scarcely reddened in the east when a number of men assembled
at Josè's door.
"You have turned the trick, _amigo_," said Don Jorge, rousing up from
his _petate_ on the floor beside the priest's bed. "You have won over
a few of them, at least."
Josè went out to meet the early callers.
"We come to say, Padre," announced Andres Arellano, the dignified
spokesman, "that we have confidence in your words of last night. We
suspect Don Mario, even though he has letters from the Bishop. We are
your men, and we would keep the war away from Simití."
There were five of them, strong of heart and brawny of arm. "And there
will be more, Padre," added Andres, reading the priest's question in
his appraising glance.
Thus was the town divided; and while many clung to the Alcalde, partly
through fear of offending the higher ecclesiastical authority, and
partly because of imagined benefits to be gained, others, and a goodly
number, assembled at Josè's side, and looked to him to lead them in
the crisis which all felt to be at hand. As the days passed, the
priest's following grew more numerous, until, after the lapse of a
week, the town stood fairly divided. Don Jorge announced his intention
of remaining in Simití for the present.
From the night of the meeting in the church excitement ran continuously
higher. Business was at length suspended; the fishermen forgot their
nets; and the limber tongues of the town gossips steadily increased
their clatter. Don Mario's store and _patio_ assumed the functions of
a departmental office. Daily he might be seen laboriously drafting
letters of incredible length and wearisome prolixity to acting-Bishop
Wenceslas; and nightly he was engaged in long colloquies and whispered
conferences with Don Luis and others of his followers and hangers-on.
The government arms had been brought up from Bodega Central and stored
in an empty warehouse belonging to Don Felipe Alcozer to await further
disposition.
But with the arrival of the arms, and of certain letters which Don
Mario received from Cartagena, the old town lost its calm of
centuries, not to recover it again for many a dreary day. By the time
its peace was finally restored, it had received a blow from which it
never recovered. And many a familiar face, too, had disappeared
forever from its narrow streets.
Meanwhile, Josè and his followers anxiously awaited the turn of
events. It came at length, and in a manner not wholly unexpected. The
Alcalde in his voluminous correspondence with Wenceslas had not
failed to bring against Josè every charge which his unduly stimulated
brain could imagine. But in particular did he dwell upon the
priest's malign influence upon Carmen, whose physical beauty and
powers of mind were the marvel of Simití. He hammered upon this
with an insistence that could not but at length again attract the
thought of the acting-Bishop, who wrote finally to Don Mario,
expressing the mildly couched opinion that, now that his attention
had been called again to the matter, Carmen should have the benefits
of the education and liberal training which a convent would afford.
Don Mario's egotism soared to the sky. The great Bishop was actually
being advised by him! _Hombre_! Where would it not end! He would yet
remove to a larger town, perhaps Mompox, and, with the support of the
great ecclesiastic, stand for election to Congress! He would show the
Bishop what mettle he had in him. _Hombre_! And first he would show
His Grace how a loyal servant could anticipate his master's wishes. He
summoned Fernando, and imperiously bade him bring the girl Carmen at
once.
But Fernando returned, saying that Rosendo refused to give up the
child. Don Mario then ordered Rosendo's arrest. But Fernando found it
impossible to execute the commission. Josè and Don Jorge stood with
Rosendo, and threatened to deal harshly with the constable should he
attempt to take Carmen by force. Fernando then sought to impress upon
the Alcalde the danger of arousing public opinion again over the
girl.
Don Mario's wrath burst forth like an exploding bomb. He seized his
straw hat and his cane, the emblem of his office, and strode to the
house of Rosendo. His face grew more deeply purple as he went. At the
door of the house he encountered Josè and Don Jorge.
"Don Mario," began Josè, before the Alcalde could get his words
shaped, "it is useless. Carmen remains with us. We will defend her
with our lives. Be advised, Don Mario, for the consequences of
thoughtless action may be incalculable!"
"_Caramba_!" bellowed the irate official, "but, cow-face! do you know
that His Grace supports me? That I but execute his orders? _Dios
arriba_! if you do not at once deliver to me your paramour--"
He got no further. Rosendo, who had been standing just within the
door, suddenly pushed Josè and Don Jorge aside and, stalking out, a
tower of flesh, confronted the raging Alcalde. For a moment he gazed
down into the pig-eyes of the man. Then, with a quick thrust of his
thick arm, he projected his huge fist squarely into Don Mario's
bloated face. The Alcalde went down like a shot.
Neither Josè nor Don Jorge, as they rushed in between Rosendo and his
fallen adversary, had any adequate idea of the consequences of the old
man's precipitate action. As they assisted the prostrate official to
his unsteady feet they knew not that to Rosendo, simple, peace-loving,
and great of heart, had fallen the lot to inaugurate hostilities in
the terrible anticlerical war which now for four dismal years was to
tear Colombia from end to end, and leave her prostrate and exhausted
at last, her sons decimated, her farms and industries ruined, and her
neck beneath the heavy heel of a military despot at Bogotá, whose
pliant hand would still be guided by the astute brain of Rome.
By the time the startled Alcalde had been set again upon his feet a
considerable concourse had gathered at the scene. Many stood in
wide-eyed horror at what had just occurred. Others broke into loud and
wild talk. The crowd rapidly grew, and in a few minutes the _plaza_
was full. Supporters of both sides declaimed and gesticulated
vehemently. In the heat of the arguments a blow was struck. Then
another. The Alcalde, when he found his tongue, shrilly demanded the
arrest of Rosendo and his family, including the priest and Don Jorge.
A dozen of his party rushed forward to execute the order. Rosendo had
slipped between Josè and Don Jorge and into his house. In a trice he
emerged with a great _machete_. The people about him fell back. His
eyes blazed like live coals, and his breath seemed to issue from his
dilating nostrils like clouds of steam. To approach him meant instant
death. Don Jorge crept behind him and, gaining the house, collected
the terrified women and held them in readiness for flight. Juan,
Lázaro, and a number of others surrounded Josè and faced the angry
multitude.
The strain was broken by the frenzied Alcalde, who rushed toward
Rosendo. The old man swung his enormous _machete_ with a swirl that,
had it met the official, would have clean decapitated him. But,
fortunately, one of the priest's supporters threw out his foot, and
the corpulent Alcalde fell heavily over it and bit the dust. Josè
threw himself upon Rosendo. The old man staggered with the shock and
gave way. The priest turned to the excited crowd. Holding up both
hands high above his head, he sent out his voice clear and loud.
"Children! In the name of the Church! In the name of the Christ! The
blessed Virgin--"
"What know you of the blessed Virgin, priest of Satan?" shouted a
rough follower of the Alcalde.
"Aye!" yelled another. "Writer of foul books! Seducer of young
girls!"
Julio Gomez stooped and took up a large piece of shale. He threw it
with all his force, just as the priest again strove to make his voice
heard above the din. It struck Josè full on the forehead. The jagged
stone cut deeply, and the red blood spurted. Josè fell into the arms
of Lázaro and was dragged into the house.
Then Rosendo, with a mad yell, plunged wildly into the crowd. A dozen
arms sought to hold him, but in vain. Julio saw the terrifying
apparition hurtling down upon him. He turned and fled, but not before
the great knife had caught him on its point as it swung down and
ripped a deep gash the full length of his naked back.
Then the last vestige of reason fled from the mob, and chaos took the
reins. Back and forth through the _plaza_, in front of the church
where hung the image of the Prince of Peace, the maddened people
surged, fighting like demons, raining blows with clubs, fists, and
_machetes_, stabbing with their long, wicked knives, hurling sharp
stones, gouging, ripping, yelling, shrieking, calling upon Saints and
Virgin to curse their enemies and bless their blows. Over the heads of
them all towered the mighty frame of Rosendo. Back before his
murderous _machete_ fell the terrified combatants. His course among
them was that of a cannon ball. Dozens hung upon his arms, his
shoulders, or flung themselves about his great legs. His huge body,
slippery and reeking, was galvanized into energy incarnate. Sparks
seemed to flash from his eyes. His breath turned to livid flame.
Behind him, following in the swath which he cut, his supporters
crowded, fought and yelled. Don Mario's forces gave way. They cursed,
broke, and fled. Then Don Jorge, a man whose mortal strength was more
than common, threw himself upon the steaming, frenzied Rosendo and
stopped his mad progress.
"Rosendo--_amigo! Caramba!_ Listen! They are fleeing to the _bodega_
to get the rifles and ammunition! Come--_Dios arriba_! Come!"
Cut, bruised, and dripping blood from a dozen wounds, Rosendo stood
for a moment blinking in confusion. A score lay on the ground about
him. Whether dead or wounded, he knew not, nor cared. The sight of Don
Mario's supporters in full flight fascinated him. He broke into a
chuckle. It sounded like the gloating of an imp of Satan. Then the
force of Don Jorge's words smote him.
"_Caramba_! They will return with the rifles!" he panted. "What shall
we do?"
"Come! We must lose no time!" cried Don Jorge, pulling him toward the
house. Those of the priest's other followers who were still whole
scattered wildly to their homes and barred their doors. There they
searched for knives, _machetes_, razors, any tool or instrument that
might be pressed into service as a weapon, and stood guard. One
frenzied fellow, the sole possessor of an antiquated shotgun,
projected the rusty arm from a hole in the wall of his mud hut and
blazed away down the deserted street indiscriminately and without
aim.
Within the house Juan and Lázaro were supporting the dazed Josè, while
Doña Maria bathed and bound his wound. Carmen stood gazing upon the
scene in bewilderment. The precipitousness of the affair had taken her
breath away and driven all thought in mad rout from her mind.
"_Amigos_!" panted Don Jorge, "the church--it is the only place now
that is even fairly safe! Doña Maria, do you collect all the food in
the house! We know not how long we may be prisoners--"
"But--Don Jorge," interrupted Josè feebly, "they will attack us even
there! Let us flee--"
"Where, _amigo_? To the Guamocó trail? Caramba! they would shoot us
down in cold blood! _Hombre_! There is no place but the church! That
will hold some of them back, at any rate! And none of them, if they
get crazed with _anisado_! But it is the only place now! Come!"
"_Hombre_!" cried Rosendo, starting for the door, "but do you, Juan
and Lázaro, follow me with your _machetes_, and we will drive the
cowards from the _bodega_ and 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 deserted _plaza_. 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
his _machete_ splitting 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 the _plaza_ and 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 house a 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!"
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 the _sacristía_!"
"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 by _comjejen_ ants, was
resisting.
The sun was already high, and the _plaza_ had 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 were
hurling 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--"
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.
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.