Chapter 393 It's Your Turn to Be the Clown (7K6)

Dear Arthur:

How are you doing recently?

I have received the "British" magazine you sent from London. Thank you very much for your enthusiastic friends such as Charles, Benjamin, Alexander, etc., who can compile my letters into a book and serialize them in "British" under the title of "The Voyage Diary of the Beagle".

You told me in your letter that this natural history travel diary was very popular in London, which really flattered me. I know that I am not worthy of being compared with natural history masters such as Linnaeus, Banks, and Buffon, but occasionally I can't help but feel happy to find my name in the same sentence with them in readers' letters.

Since embarking on the journey of the Beagle, I have increasingly understood why the greatest naturalists in Britain often come from the Royal Navy. It is indeed the greatest fortune for naturalists to encounter such a global voyage. I saw many strange things that I had never heard of or seen on this journey.

Before the Beagle left the mouth of the La Plata River, I specially visited the residence of Mr. Hood, the Consul General in Montevideo. For we had heard of a terrible thunderstorm before our visit, which had struck a ship in the harbor, two churches, and Mr. Hood's house.

The wallpaper on both sides of Mr. Hood's house, about a foot from the bell wire, was singed and melted. Although the room was about fifteen feet high, the molten metal dripped on the chairs and furniture, making a series of small holes.

Parts of the wall were shattered as if by dynamite, and the flying fragments were so powerful that they dented the other side of the room. The frame of the dressing mirror was blackened, and the gilding on the frame had obviously evaporated, because a smelling salt bottle on the mantelpiece was coated with shiny metal beads, as strong as a layer of glaze.

Although this scene was shocking enough, I heard the sailor in the tavern say that this was not the worst lightning strike in the area. According to his memory, the thunderstorm that occurred in Buenos Aires in 1793 was the most destructive in history: thirty-seven places were struck throughout the city, and nineteen people died.

Based on the phenomena described in several travel books, I tend to believe that thunderstorms are very frequent at the mouths of large rivers. I think this may be because the mixing of large volumes of fresh water and salt water disturbs the electrical balance? Haha, but this is just my personal guess. The specific cause of this phenomenon has to be solved by you, a professional electromagnetic researcher. If you figure out its cause, please tell me in your reply.

After we left the mouth of the La Plata River, we passed Maldonado all the way and headed towards the mouth of the Negro River. It is the main river on the coastline between the Strait of Magellan and the La Plata River. About fifty years ago, when it was still under the rule of the Spanish government, a small colony was built here. And to this day, it is still the southernmost point where civilized people have settled on the east coast of South America.

There is a reason why it is the end of civilization. Here, there are no lush green trees, only vertical cliffs and gravel, and the open plains are full of gravel. Water is very scarce, and vegetation is sparse, with only some low bushes with fierce thorns.

We walked along the Negro River for a long time before we finally saw the ruins of a fine manor. According to the locals, it was destroyed by the Indians a few years ago. He told me vividly that the people who came at that time were the Araucans from southern Chile. There were hundreds of them, each riding a horse, covered with a fur cloak, wearing a hat decorated with ostrich feathers on his head, and holding a chuso gun (a local bamboo spear) in his hand.

The Indians surrounded the people in the manor, and Chief Pinchera ordered them to lay down their weapons, otherwise he would cut their throats. But no one believed the Indians, and it was not the first or second time that their throats were cut after laying down their weapons. So the sound of Mauser rifles firing became their only answer.

The Indians slowly advanced to the fence of the corral. They were surprised to find that the fence was not locked with belts, but with iron nails, so they had to hack it with knives. Many injured Indians were carried out by their companions, and the last little chief was also injured, and the horn of retreat was finally blown.

The Indians returned to the resting place and seemed to hold a military meeting. Then, the second wave of attacks soon came back. This should be the most difficult time for the Spaniards, because they only had a few boxes of gunpowder left, but fortunately there were several small cannons in their manor, and they were lucky to have a retired French artilleryman as the commander.

This Frenchman, like Alexander, had both superb military literacy and a calm mind. He waited until the Indians were very close before ordering the cannons to fire. Grapeshot sprayed out, and thirty-nine people in the front row of the Indians fell instantly. Needless to say, such sharp artillery fire was enough to make them retreat.

These Christians were lucky to save their lives. But unfortunately, the manor was destroyed.

The town where the manor is located is called El Carmen, and it is also called Patagones. The town is built on a rock wall facing the river, and the foundations of many houses are built in sandstone. The town is not large, and there are only a few hundred local residents. And these Spanish colonies are not quite the same as our British ones. They have no foundation for expansion. So in addition to the colonists, many purebred Indians also lived nearby.

The local government provides some supplies to the nearby Indian tribes, such as giving them all the old and weak horses. They make money by making saddles, blankets and other horse gear. These Indians are naturalized, less fierce, but they have become unscrupulous and lazy.

Fortunately, the young people in the tribe are making progress and are willing to work. Recently, a team of people participated in a seal hunting voyage. The captain said that these Indian boys performed very well.

When we arrived in the town, they were enjoying the fruits of their labor, wearing lively and clean clothes and strolling leisurely. Their taste in clothing is enviable. I assure you that any of these young Indians would be elegant enough to be used as a model for a bronze statue.

But Elder was obviously more interested in these Indian boys than I was. We hadn't seen a living person for five or six days before arriving in El Carmen. So as soon as Elder arrived in the town, he ran to the only tavern in the town to drink and brag with these boys.

I don't know how this guy managed to get along with the Indians, because they didn't even speak the same language, but after a few beers, they seemed to understand each other with just a shameless smile or a vulgar gesture.

Elder was even invited by the Indian tribe to participate in their traditional celebrations. Colonel Fitzroy was worried that the Indians would kill him, so he didn't agree with Elder leaving the camp without permission. But Elder assured everyone that he didn't care about his life, he just wanted to bring back two Indian women.

Although we sent someone to monitor this guy, he still slipped out of the camp that night without anyone noticing and had a good night with his new friends. Although he didn't get his wish to bring back the Indian women, when he came back the next morning, his clothes and hat were all changed to Indian style.

In this way, there was suddenly an Indian gentleman dressed in British style in the town, and there was also an Indian-style British jungle warrior in our team. Everyone said that Elder might have been robbed by the Indians, but Elder argued that he slept with five girls last night and his clothes were tokens of love left for the girls.

Most people in the camp did not believe Elder's words, but Colonel Fitzroy did. He was so angry that he ordered Elder to be locked up for a day. He said that Elder could send his clothes today and send guns to those Indian women tomorrow.

Once the fleet's guns fell into the hands of Indian women, the Royal Navy would lose an expedition team and gain an Indian Marine Corps. As a captain of the Royal Navy, Colonel Fitzroy insisted that his power was not yet great enough to reorganize the team structure in an organized manner.

When the camp was in chaos, I rode to the Great Salt Lake fifteen miles away to relax. The crystal white, flat and boundless Great Salt Lake is located in the middle of the brown and yellow desolate plain. The lake is two and a half miles long and one mile wide. It is a shallow salt lake in winter and a snow-white salt flat in summer.

Every year, the salt lake produces thousands of tons of salt bricks in large cubic crystals. The quality is very pure, and the local prosperity depends almost entirely on it.

Mr. Trenham Ricks, a local salt merchant, was very enthusiastic to analyze its composition for me. He found that the salt contained only 0.26% gypsum and 0.22% mud. Strangely, such pure salt is not as suitable for curing meat as the sea salt from the Cape Verde Islands. They even have to import sea salt from Cape Verde and mix it with local salt. Pure salt is not as good as impure salt, which is unexpected by everyone.

However, the problem of salt did not bother me for too long, because I found flamingos resting on the shore of the salt lake. They are beautiful and magical animals. Here you can see them wading in the water to find food. Their target may be the worms that shuttle through the mud, while the latter may feed on infusoria or filamentous algae.

Just as I was thinking about the habits of these beautiful creatures, I found a group of cavalry passing by the lake shore. They were the troops of General Rosas, the commander-in-chief of the Buenos Aires Armed Forces. As the Indian nomadic tribes have recently increased their harassment of the large estates near the settlements, General Rosas specially established such a force to carry out a straight-line sweep of the 500-mile area between Buenos Aires and Porto Blanca.

When we crossed the Colorado River, we happened to pass by their base camp. Their soldiers were almost all cavalry. However, I believe that an army that looks so much like a gangster bandit should be unprecedented. Most of the soldiers are mixed-race of blacks, Indians and Spaniards. I don't know why, but people of such origins rarely have kind faces.

Fortunately, our side is not bad either, with a guy like Elder who is not behind. He volunteered to find the clerk of the army, but because of the strong Indian elements in him, he was captured on the spot by the soldiers before he approached the camp. Elder first explained in English, but the other party didn't understand, so he switched to Latin and cursed, and ended up getting two slaps in the face.

Colonel Fitzroy hurried forward to help explain and showed the clerk a letter of introduction from the Buenos Aires Provincial Government to Commander Patagones. The clerk ran into the tent with the letter of introduction, and soon saw a short but strong officer coming out. He was General Rosas.

He told us in a serious but kind tone that he was willing to help, and invited us to sit in the tent with him. He asked us many things, including our travels and life experiences, but what interested General Rosas the most was the mysterious friend Elder spoke of - the Shadow Pope of Scotland Yard.

Yes, Arthur, that's you. my Lord! You have to be lucky that you are not there, otherwise you would be so embarrassed that you would want to crawl into the cracks in the ground. In Elder's words, you seem to be the mastermind behind all the judicial forces in London. You can get to the bottom of any case, and all crimes will be uncovered in front of you.

Perhaps Elder was aware of General Rosas' devout faith, so he specially added a rather clichéd medieval saying for your impartial law enforcement - all in the name of the father. I don't know if General Rosas has stayed in the wilderness for so long that he has no entertainment items. He listens to Elder's nonsense stories with relish.

What's even more ridiculous is that after hearing these stories, Rosas still said that he was preparing to expand the size of the police force in Buenos Aires. If one day you feel that Scotland Yard's mission is no longer challenging for you, , you can come to South America to try it.

Just as General Corcoran, who had been forced to retire from the Royal Navy, could make a career in Chile and Brazil, General Rosas also had no doubt that a senior police officer from Scotland Yard was absolutely capable of taking charge of Buenos Aires. Position of Commander of the Leith Police Force.

And it's not just you, he's even trying to recruit Colonel Fitzroy and the rest of our team. At first I was confused as to why he was so interested in recruiting Europeans, but when I came to the arranged house to sleep, I discovered that the cavalry captain who lived with me was actually from Europe. He had served in Napoleon's army. , and participated in the expedition to Russia.

I asked him about General Rosas, and he told me that General Rosas was a man of extraordinary qualities who had a huge influence in this country, and he also wanted to use this influence to promote the prosperity and progress of the country. It is said that he owned seventy-four square leagues of land and more than three hundred thousand cattle.

Many stories circulated about his strict enforcement of his family's laws. One of the laws was that you were not allowed to carry knives on Sundays, and those who violated the law were put in the pillory. This is because Sunday is the main day for gambling and drinking, and there are many quarrels and fights involving knives and often fatalities.

One Sunday, a senior official came to the manor in full dress, and General Rosas rushed out to greet him. In the rush, his knife was still on his belt as usual.

The steward touched his arm and reminded him of the law.

He turned to the high official and said that he was very sorry, but he was going to be put in the stocks and had no right to receive visitors even in his own house until he was released.

After a while, the housekeeper listened to the advice and opened the shackles and released him.

But as soon as he came out, he said to the steward: "If you do this, you are breaking the law and you must wear the shackles."

When you hear this, do you feel something familiar? Everything Rosas says and does is very similar to that person. I can even conclude that he is deliberately imitating the big devil from Corsica.

And I'm not the only one who thinks so, even the veteran from France thinks so too. But I view Rosas' behavior mostly with disdain, while the veteran has reverence.

He said that this was the reason why he chose to be loyal to Rosas. He saw the shadow of that man in Rosas, Napoleon, the great Emperor of the French Empire.

An English merchant from a nearby town gave me another story about General Rosas, and he vouched on his honor that the following story was true:

A man killed someone. After he was caught, the police asked him about his motive. The man replied: "He was disrespectful to General Rosas in his words, so I killed him."

As a result, only a week later, the murderer was released.

Well... of course this was the work of the general's men, not the general's own idea.

Arthur, do you think my guess is reasonable?

Although I don't like Rosas, at the beginning, this feeling did not rise to the level of disgust.

But then a tragedy I witnessed with my own eyes finally confirmed his status as a cruel dictator in my mind.

While we were in Puerto Blanca, the place was in a constant state of agitation, with rumors going on of wars and victories between Rosas's troops and the savage Indians.

One day, news came that a small group of soldiers heading to a post in Buenos Aires had all been killed.

The next day three hundred men under the command of Colonel Miranda arrived from the Colorado River.

I can't imagine a more insane and barbaric place in the world than their camp.

A considerable number of the soldiers were surrendered Indians from the tribe of Chief Benantio. Some people got drunk, while others drank the hot blood of the cows killed for dinner. After getting drunk, he vomited again and his body was covered with blood and dirt.

A few days later, I encountered this group of bandit-like soldiers who were conquering an Indian tribe near a salt pan.

The men, women, and children of the Indian tribe, which totaled about one hundred and ten persons, were cut down for every man, and almost all the rest were killed or captured.

The Indians were now so frightened that they no longer united to resist, but abandoned their wives and children and fled in all directions. But if they are hunted down, they will act like wild beasts, even if they are outnumbered, they will fight to the last moment.

A dying Indian bit his opponent's thumb with his teeth and refused to let go even when his eyes were gouged out. The other one was injured and pretended to be dead, but he had his knife ready, waiting for an opportunity to deliver the final fatal blow to the enemy.

What a dark picture this is, and the even more shocking but unquestionable fact is that all women over the age of twenty were also massacred in cold blood!

I shouted to them: "Why are you doing this? This is so inhumane!"

The commander lightly wiped his scarlet saber with a handkerchief and replied: "Why? What else can be done? They can reproduce!"

Everyone here firmly believes that this is the most just war, just because they are killing barbarians. Who dares to believe that in this era, such atrocities would occur in a Christian, civilized country? The children of the Indians were saved from being slaughtered, and were either sold or given to others as servants. They were said to be servants, but in fact they were slaves!

What is even more shameful is that General Rosas, like our country's Lord Chesterfield, believed that today's friends may be tomorrow's enemies, so he always placed his Indian allies at the front of the line to reduce their numbers. Such behavior has gone beyond the minimum protection of private property, not to spread advanced civilization, but outright genocide.

Elder and I both planned to dissuade Rosas's troops from continuing to massacre this small tribe of Indians who had lost hope, but Colonel Fitzroy told us to mind our own business, and we had a big quarrel about this.

We could only watch as they interrogated the last three Indians, trying to get the location of the other tribes from their mouths.

The first two Indians replied, "I don't know."

So they were shot one after the other.

A third also said: "I don't know."

At the end, he added: "Shoot, I am a man and I can die."

In order to protect their homeland and compatriots, they refused to say a word!

But their chief was different, he was a coward. In order to save his own life, the guy told the Indian Alliance the battle plan and the meeting place.

I curse Rosas and his shameless soldiers, and I hope they end up in vain.

This ruthless executioner actually thinks that we are willing to be the butcher's knife he holds high. Not everyone in the world can't see through what an ugly face he hides behind his cold iron mask!

I cursed him and his army day after day with this wish, but my prayer that God could punish evil and promote good was once again ineffective.

On October 20, as soon as we landed from Las Conchas, we found ourselves virtually prisoners. A violent revolution has occurred and all ports have been blocked by Rosas.

We can neither return to the ship nor leave by land. After a series of negotiations, we were allowed to visit General Lorol, the commander of the Rosas rebels in Las Conchas, the next day.

The next morning I rode to his camp. The generals, officers, and soldiers look like a bunch of villains, and I believe they are.

General Lolor told us that the night before he left Buenos Aires, he took the initiative to meet with General Rosas and swore his eternal loyalty to him by laying his hand on his heart.

General Lorol told us that the city was completely blocked and the only thing he could do was to give me a pass to Quilmes to meet the rebel commander-in-chief Rosas.

The people of Argentina seemed to have no complaints about the revolution and no excuses for dissatisfaction.

According to the constitution, the term of each senior official is three years, but after all, this country has experienced 15 government reshuffles in just nine months, so it seems unreasonable to question Rosas' coup.

General Rosas could not have been unaware of this insurrection, for it was evidently in perfect harmony with the plans of his faction.

He was elected to high office a year ago but refused to accept it unless the provincial legislative assembly gave him special powers. After this request was rejected, his group made it clear to everyone that if Rosas was not a high-ranking official, then no one would be able to secure a high-ranking official position.

Until Rosas's opinion was heard, both sides stood still.

A few days after we left Buenos Aires, Rosas's warrant arrived, stating that he disapproved of a breach of the peace, but that he also believed justice was on the side of the rebels.

With just such a small note, hundreds of people, including senior officials, government officials and some members of the military, fled the capital.

The next day the rebels entered the city, new officials were elected, and five thousand five hundred people were fully paid for their votes for Rosas.

It was clear from these events that Rosas would eventually become a king who was not a king, a great dictator. And he will not be crowned king simply because the people here, like the people of other republics, particularly hate the title 'king'.

After leaving Argentina, we heard that Rosas had been elected to a high official position, but that his power and tenure had completely deviated from the constitutional principles and original intentions of the Republic.

Arthur, sometimes I'm really glad I'm British. If I were born in a country like Argentina, I really don't know what I would do with myself. Rosas could fool the Argentines, but he couldn't fool me, and he shouldn't fool the good people of Britain.

I know he is preparing to issue a new Argentine bond on the London Stock Exchange, but should we let him get his way?

Of course not, which is the fundamental reason why I wrote this letter. We have no reason to supply him with bullets to shoot at the Indians, and no obligation to aid his dictatorship. His acting skills are so poor that it's really not worth paying for a theater ticket for him.

Neither military governments nor dictators are indicators that should appear in an advanced civilization. Arthur, for God's sake, do whatever you can to stop him. Just like when we chased Fred's slave ship on the high seas, people like Rosas will never understand that an upright Scotland Yard police officer cannot be bought by dirty silver coins and honor stained with the blood of others. of.

The naturalist who fought for truth, your friend, Charles Darwin.

February 11, 1832.

The Scotland Yard offices were filled with smoke and the strong smell of West Indian tobacco could be smelled everywhere.

Arthur leaned back on his chair with his pipe in his mouth, staring at the Darwin letter and unable to move.

The red devil was standing behind him, his slender and sharp black nails gently pressing on Arthur's shoulders, and there seemed to be a hint of ridicule in his tone.

"Arthur, I told you not to look at it. You clearly know what may happen in London soon. As long as you stand in the right direction, your future for the next thirty years will be secure. But...but you insist on it. At a critical moment like this, look at a little thing that doesn’t matter but may shake your mind.”

Seeing that Arthur was silent, the red devil immediately sighed again. He put a hand on his forehead and said plaintively: "Don't blame me for not reminding you. You have to think carefully before taking any action. Because this time it's not the case. Go and meet a low-life East End clown like Fred. Do you know what will happen if you go wrong this time? You will take on the Duke of Wellington, Sir Peel, the Duke of Newcastle and the Earl of Eldon and other Tories? The anger of the party bosses! The roar of the Whig giants such as Earl Gray, Duke of Bedford, and Viscount Melbourne!

When Arthur heard this, he just turned his head and looked at the red devil.

At some point, the red devil put on his classic appearance again, including a clown suit, a clown hat, and a colorful shaggy wig.

Agares stuck out his oozing red tongue and rolled it over his lips like a broom.

He took off his red nose and pressed it on Arthur's face: "April 1st is here again. This time, will you be the clown?"

Boom, boom, boom!

There was a knock on the office door suddenly.

"Superintendent Hastings! Emergency report from Section 5!"

Arthur turned his head and tilted his neck from side to side. He pressed the red nose tip inward and fastened it firmly to his own nose.

Agares's smile suddenly stagnated, and then the corners of his mouth rose higher and higher, as if it might tear his cheek apart at any time: "Arthur... you! Him!! Mom!!!!! !”

Arthur clapped his hands gently and shouted loudly: "Come in!"