‘They are a bunch of cut-throats, if you wish my opinion,’ said Harris. ‘We should stay close to the cut-throats we have hired.’
After an uneasy night spent huddled within the perimeter of the campfire glow, Rosas’ sentries came for Darwin at first light. It was time to meet the general.
‘I am indeed honoured that the famous English naturalista Don Carlos has come all this way to my humble camp. Please, I beg you to suffer my tardiness.’
In truth, Darwin had only been waiting five minutes in Rosas’ tent, but from the gravity of the general’s apology one would think it had been an hour.
‘Please, say no more of it. And I am - I am not really very famous in my own country.’
‘Don Carlos, I am not a man of science. But His Majesty’s Navy would not appoint a naturalista for a voyage of such importance were he not of some standing. Is it not so?’ Rosas smiled, displaying a set of perfect teeth. His was a dazzling, expensive smile, almost bereft of humour but awash with charm. His English was near-perfect, the language of an educated man, with only the faintest trace of an accent.
‘I suppose so,’ conceded Darwin immodestly.
‘I knew it to be the case.’
Darwin could not believe how youthful the general seemed: he was forty years old, perhaps, but he possessed the athleticism and energy of a much younger man. Rosas’ manner was warm and charismatic. His face was handsome and open, with a proud jawline and a strong, aquiline nose, the whole framed by neatly clipped sideburns. Only the defiant gleam of his dark, hooded eyes did not match the conventional picture of the romantic hero. He was not attired in his gaucho’s costume today, but was immaculately kitted out in full dress uniform, with a red sash, a high, stiff collar and lashings of gold braid.
‘You must excuse the formality,’ said Rosas, catching Darwin’s gaze island-hopping down his brightly polished brass buttons. ‘Even in the midst of a war, one must conduct formal parades. But between you and me, Don Carlos, I am at my happiest out of uniform, dressed informally, out riding with my cattle, or playing with my children. I have an estancia — did you know that? - with three hundred thousand head of cattle. I am a simple man at heart, a family man. I loathe and despise war. But when our children are threatened, when our farms are threatened, when Christianity itself is threatened, what can we do but take up arms?’
‘What indeed?’ said Darwin, eager to agree with his charming host. ‘Is the war going well?’
‘As the gauchos always say, Don Carlos, “¿ Quien sabe? ” - but I am optimistic. You see, my friend, we are facing a new kind of war here today - not a conventional war but a war of sudden terror. We have all been reared on battles between great warriors, between great nations, between powerful forces and political ideologies that dominated entire continents. And these were struggles for conquest, for land, or money, and the wars were fought by massed armies. But a new and deadly disease has arisen - that is the only word for it - a desire among our enemies to inflict destruction unconstrained by human feeling on our women, on our children, on our civilian population. Our new world rests on order. The danger is disorder, and it is spreading like contagion.’
‘I have seen the burnt-out estancias.’
‘Then you will know exactly what I mean. We are so much more powerful in all conventional ways than those who would spread terror in our midst. The Indians do not have large armies or precision weapons. They do not need them. Their weapon is chaos. Even in all our might, we are taught humility. But in the end, Don Carlos, it is not our power alone that will defeat this evil. Our ultimate weapon is not our guns but our beliefs. Ours are not European values - they are the universal values of the human spirit. The spread of freedom is the best security for the free. It is our last line of defence and our first line of attack. Just as our enemy seeks to divide in hate, so we have to unify around an idea. That idea is liberty.’
‘I suppose . . . the Indians would say it is their land to do what they wish thereupon.’
‘Of course, Don Carlos, of course. When I speak of liberty, I speak of liberty for all. But they must accept liberty before they can enjoy its benefits. And what benefits, Don Carlos! At present, the land is unused, unexploited. What potential there is for farming, for mining, for shipping. What potential there is for jobs for all Indians, on the farms, on the mines, at the ports! Instead their chiefs and their priests insist upon preserving a medieval way of life. They deny progress. They deny civilization. They deny liberty itself. Their leaders are self-appointed - they even deny the will of their own people. Many of the followers of these leaders are fanatics, willing to die for their cause. My troops have just returned from an engagement in the cordillera. They killed a hundred and thirteen of these extremists, including forty-eight men, and recovered many stolen horses. My troops tell me that one dying Indian seized with his teeth the thumb of his adversary, and allowed his own eye to be forced out sooner than relinquish his hold. Another, who was wounded, feigned death, keeping a knife ready to strike one more fatal blow. I tell you, they are quite fanatical.’
‘Forty-eight men dead!’ Darwin did a little high-speed mental arithmetic. ‘So . . . sixty-five of the dead were not men?’
‘Sadly, Don Carlos, however surgical one attempts to be when one strikes at the heart of terror, there are always civilian casualties. These are to be regretted. Besides, the Indians do breed so. But my men are always careful to spare the lives of children caught in these encounters - they are given the chance to build new lives as servants in the great houses of our most powerful families. Don Carlos, I would be the first to admit that troops in this war, or any war, can occasionally let their enthusiasm run away with them. But to rein our troops in, to force them to fight with one hand tied behind their backs, could be fatally damaging to our cause. If we do not act strongly now, we will be guilty of hesitating in the face of this menace, when we should have given leadership. That is something history will not forgive. But before those history books are written, we will hunt down our adversaries, and we will continue to do so for as long as it takes to bring them to the justice that they deserve. This is not the time to falter — I will not be party to such a course. We must show that we have the courage to do the right thing.’
It was a powerful speech, and Darwin felt fairly blown away by the sheer persuasiveness of it. Rosas appeared to him as a Christian knight, standing defiant, boldly protecting the vulnerable and the innocent.
‘They tell me, General, that this is a war with no prisoners taken.’
‘On the Indian side, perhaps. They murder, they torture and they mutilate. We, of course, take our enemies prisoner in the conventional way. But I must stress that this is not a conventional war. So they are not prisoners of war. They are criminals, and liable to the due process of Christian justice as would any criminal be. And, as I am sure you aware, the penalty for murder, or for helping to plan or carry out murder, is death.’ ‘Of course.’
‘Tell me, Don Carlos, are you disturbed by the sight of blood?’
‘Not at all. I am a keen sportsman. Why, only yesterday, one of my gauchos slit the throat of a cow! I assure you, such things do not bother me.
‘Good. Then what you are about to witness will not seem very different. Come with me.’
He led Darwin out of the tent and across the makeshift parade ground, through a blizzard of salutes. They arrived at a large, fenced-off compound, where Indian prisoners knelt in chains, their eyes blindfolded and their mouths tightly gagged. Rosas spoke to the adjutant, who had three prisoners separated from the others and brought into an adjoining tent. Three loaded pistols were placed on the table opposite.
‘These men,’ Rosas explained to Darwin, ‘were captured at the recent battle in the cordillera. We know from our spies that they were on their way to a general council of the Indians to plan a new wave of atrocities. They have already been condemned to death by due process of law. I am now prepared to offer them an amnesty - to show mercy - if they will only tell me
where the council is taking place.’
Darwin looked at the three, who stood blinking and panting, their gags and blindfolds having been removed. They were superb physical specimens, in their mid-twenties perhaps, tall and muscular, each between six and seven feet tall, with long, wild, jet-black hair and coppery skin. Rosas nodded to the adjutant, who picked up the first pistol and placed it between the eyes of the first Indian.
‘¿Donde sera la reunion?’ demanded Rosas. Where will the council take place?
‘No sé,’ replied the Indian blankly. Rosas gave another nod, and the adjutant shot the prisoner through the head. Darwin almost jumped out of his skin. His ears rang from the deafening report of the gun. Blood pooled at the far wall of the tent, where the impact of the ball had flung the Indian’s body. Darwin found himself gagging for breath.
The adjutant placed the second gun against the forehead of the second Indian. A cloud of blue smoke hung in the air from the first shot, making the general’s point as eloquently as ever he could have done himself.
‘¿Donde sera la reunion?’ demanded Rosas, more forcefully this time.
‘No sé,’ replied the second Indian, bluntly, defiantly.
Again, Rosas nodded. Again, the adjutant shot the man clean through the head. This time Darwin was prepared, but that did nothing to lessen the shock. He had seen public hangings outside the Old Bailey, of course, but this was a different sort of execution. Somehow the baying crowds, the food stalls, the ribald remarks, the sheer distance involved when the unfortunates of Newgate met their fate, all combined to lend the proceedings an air of bleak levity. This was altogether starker, more brutal. The second Indian jack-knifed backwards and slumped to the ground, his chains clanking once before falling silent. The adjutant placed the gun at the third Indian’s temple, smiling this time. Rosas spoke once more. ‘¿Donde sera la reunion?’
‘Adelante. Dispara. Yo soy un hombre. Sé como morir.’ Go ahead. Fire. I am a man. I know how to die.
Rosas looked at him. ‘Tu deseo ha sido concedido.’ Your wish has been granted.
Darwin stared hard at his feet. The noise of the third gunshot assaulted his eardrums. When he looked up, the third Indian was dead.
‘Do you see what I mean?’ asked Rosas. ‘They are fanatics.’
‘I can tell that what you have witnessed has disturbed you.’
Rosas’ voice was full of concern. They sat in his quarters once more, a plate of fresh meat interposed between them on the table, but Darwin did not feel like eating.
‘Allow me to apologize for your distress. But when you have seen what I have seen, Don Carlos — dead children, mutilated women - I must take the tough decisions that are necessary to modernize our society. Patagonia and the pampas must be opened up to free and fair settlement, and these criminals must be wiped out as part of our programme of national consolidation. Ours is a passion allied to reason, Don Carlos, an alliance of strength and justice for the many, and not the few, for the future, and not the past. We must develop a strong, united society, which gives each citizen the chance to develop their potential to the full.’
Sincerity shone from Rosas’ every pore; Darwin felt the warmth of the general’s conviction, and his doubts began to recede once more.
‘I have heard tell, General,’ he ventured, ‘that you are the only man capable of bringing together Buenos Ayres, and Mendoza, and the United Provinces, and all the countries of this region.’
‘Please, Don Carlos, I do not seek power for myself. I only want what is best for Buenos Ayres. But I tell you that if the countries that depend upon the silver trade were to form a federation - the federation of Argentina, let us say - with a single currency, a single defence policy, a single economic policy and a single law, then the benefits of such co-operation would be immeasurable. I do not speak of amalgamation into a single, huge nation, of course - nothing could be further from my mind - but to be left out of such a union would be a catastrophe, whether or not I were to lead it. It is better, is it not, to be a leading partner, helping to shape such a federation from the inside, than to be isolated on the outside?’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Darwin. Rosas’ logic was unanswerable.
The general indicated the plate between them. ‘Please. Have something to eat. You must recruit yourself, and settle your stomach.’
Darwin took a reluctant bite. ‘What is it? Veal?’
‘Puma. Our puma-extermination programme has been a tremendous success. Already we have killed over a hundred pumas in three months. The benefits to agriculture are incalculable. I tell you, Don Carlos, the power of progress, allied to our essential values and beliefs, will prove unstoppable.’
Every syllable the general uttered seemed to be filled with integrity and scrupulous candour. Whatever the atrocities committed by either side in this nasty little Latin American war, here, Darwin felt, was a man with at least the potential to lead his people to some sort of salvation.
‘Don Carlos, I am afraid that my time is running short. But before you return to your own country, let me make you two presents. First’ — the general drew a piece of paper from the table drawer, scribbled a few lines thereon and sealed it with red wax melted in the candle flame - ‘let me give you a passport. If ever you should meet any problems with officialdom, this paper should see you safely through. It is valid for all the territories under army control. Woe betide the man who dares harm any traveller carrying such a passport!
‘Second, Don Carlos, I hope you will forgive my presumption, but I notice that your morning coat has become ripped. While I cannot hope to replace the costume of an English gentleman here on the Rio Colorado, I am told that you like to ride with the gauchos’ — Rosas snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared at the tent flap — ‘and that you are fast becoming an expert with the bolas.’
The servant marched across and presented Darwin with a complete gaucho costume — spurs, boots, striped white poncho, voluminous scarlet drawers — and his very own set of bolas.
‘General Rosas! What a wonderful present! I couldn’t possibly — ’
‘We will make of you un gran galopeador yet, Don Carlos!’
‘I am indebted. Thank you so very, very much.’
‘And remember.’ Rosas reached across and clasped Darwin by the wrist. ‘When you return to England, tell them that we are fighting the most just of all wars, because it is a war against barbarians.’
He is man of quite extraordinary character, thought Darwin. I know that he will use his influence to the prosperity and advancement of his country.
He walked from Rosas’ tent in a daze.
‘How was it?’ asked Harris.
‘Amazing,’ replied Darwin. ‘Quite amazing. He is an incredible man.’
Alongside a row of tents, a figure in bright clown’s makeup was performing a slapstick act before a row of cross-legged troops.
‘Who in God’s name is that?’ asked Darwin.
‘Oh ... the general likes to surround himself with the latest comedians and entertainers.’
‘He did not strike me as a humorous individual.’
‘Indeed not. But I dare say it makes him popular among the troops.’
Harris had woken that morning with a stomach complaint, having eaten none too wisely the previous evening, and announced to Darwin that he would travel with the next convoy of soldiers instead, in the hope of catching him up at some point. So it was that a column of six gauchos took the road north out of camp that day, a proud Don Carlos among their number, the solitary, lumbering figure of Syms Covington bringing up the rear in his naval ducks.
I really must get him a servant’s uniform, thought Darwin. He’s making me look absurd.
There were seventeen postas strung between the Rio Colorado and Buenos Ayres, a total of seventeen days’ ride across the stark emptiness of the pampas. Throughout their journey, the evidence stacked up against FitzRoy and his Biblical flood. On the first day they crossed an eight-mile-wide belt of sand dunes, a
lmost certainly the former estuary of the Rio Colorado at the point where it had entered the sea. On the second day, they came upon gigantic heaps of half-buried animal bones - the result, Esteban told him, of the gran seco drought of 1827-30, when a million cattle had perished for want of water.
What would be tbe opinion of a future geologist viewing such an enormous collection of bones? wondered Darwin. The bones of all kinds of animals, embedded in one thick earthy mass? Would he not attribute it to a flood having swept over the surface of the land, rather than to the common order of things?
He learned to catch partridge in a different way, by riding round them in ever-decreasing circles until the birds were sufficiently confused to submit uncomplainingly to their fate. He tried to catch armadillo, but they buried themselves in the sandy soil so quickly that he could not grab them fast enough. Esteban showed him how to fall from his horse directly on to one before it could disappear. The beast curled into an armoured ball in the gaucho’s arms, like a giant woodlouse.
‘It seems almost a pity to kill such nice little animals - they are so quiet,’ said Esteban with a jaunty grin, sharpening his knife on the armadillo’s hide before sliding it ruthlessly between two of its armoured plates. ‘Dinner for this evening, my friends,’ he announced.
At the posta that night, little more than an open shed with stabling for the horses and a fire of thistle-stalks, Darwin sat playing cards with the gauchos, drinking maté tea and smoking their little paper cigaretos. He lost money, of course, but that was as nothing to the joy of his companionship with these wild men. Covington, like Banquo’s ghost, was a pale, sullen presence somewhere behind him, but he did his best to forget about Covington during the evenings. He had spent much of the day teaching the boy how to shoot birds with a rifle, using mustard-shot and dust-shot so as not to damage the all-important skins; by evening, Covington’s principal duty was to melt into the background. Somehow, the servant’s relentless indifference impinged upon the masculine solidarity that bonded him to these marvellous warriors, who were so fearless, so alert, so attuned to their surroundings. A faint cry in the distance, a call from the pampas so slight that Darwin had barely noticed it, froze the card-game in an instant. Every head inclined. One of the gauchos went to the door, knife drawn, and placed his ear to the ground. Then he stood up and laughed. ‘Only a pteru-pteru, boys,’ he said. ‘Only a pteru-pteru.’