room, making all the heads turn on the shoulders. »The man is a drunkard.
Señores, the God of your General is a bottle!«
    His contemptuous, arbitrary voice caused an uneasy suspension of every
sound, as if the self-confidence of the gathering had been staggered by a blow.
But nobody took up Father Corbelàn's declaration.
    It was known that Father Corbelàn had come out of the wilds to advocate the
sacred rights of the Church with the same fanatical fearlessness with which he
had gone preaching to bloodthirsty savages, devoid of human compassion or
worship of any kind. Rumours of legendary proportions told of his successes as a
missionary beyond the eye of Christian men. He had baptized whole nations of
Indians, living with them like a savage himself. It was related that the padre
used to ride with his Indians for days, half naked, carrying a bullock-hide
shield, and, no doubt, a long lance, too - who knows? That he had wandered
clothed in skins, seeking for proselytes somewhere near the snow line of the
Cordillera. Of these exploits Padre Corbelàn himself was never known to talk.
But he made no secret of his opinion that the politicians of Sta. Marta had
harder hearts and more corrupt minds than the heathen to whom he had carried the
word of God. His injudicious zeal for the temporal welfare of the Church was
damaging the Ribierist cause. It was common knowledge that he had refused to be
made titular bishop of the Occidental diocese till justice was done to a
despoiled Church. The political Géfé of Sulaco (the same dignitary whom Captain
Mitchell saved from the mob afterwards) hinted with naïve cynicism that
doubtless their Excellencies the Ministers sent the padre over the mountains to
Sulaco in the worst season of the year in the hope that he would be frozen to
death by the icy blasts of the high paramos. Every year a few hardy muleteers -
men inured to exposure - were known to perish in that way. But what would you
have? Their Excellencies possibly had not realized what a tough priest he was.
Meantime, the ignorant were beginning to murmur that the Ribierist reforms meant
simply the taking away of the land from the people. Some of it was to be given
to foreigners who made the railway; the greater part was to go to the padres.
    These were the results of the Grand Vicar's zeal. Even from the short
allocution to the troops on the Plaza (which only the first ranks could have
heard) he had not been able to keep out his fixed idea of an outraged Church
waiting for reparation from a penitent country