"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 utmost importance, 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?"
"Two _Americanos_, 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 the _Americano_ will enter. Don Mario
does not know."
Josè lifted the prop and swung the door open. Rosendo stood with
uplifted _machete_. 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 the _sacristía_. Neither man could see the other in
the dense blackness.
"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. Your _bogas_
have 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!"
"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 his _sanctum_.
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 the _sacristía_ talked 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. Every 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 limited encompassment 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--and had 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 the
_plaza_ to 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 in English. "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 our _machetes_ we 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 the _plaza_.
"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.
"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 a _cárcel_
here? _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.
"_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 want _peones_ to 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. "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 deserted
_plaza_ to his lowly abode.