This Thing Of Darkness (55 page)

‘Sharp work,’ murmured Covington admiringly, opening his mouth at last. The
Beagle’
s voyage was the first time he had journeyed beyond the confines of rural Bedfordshire; it drew him closer to home to witness some skill or accomplishment that would have garnered a reassuring nod back in Ampthill.

‘Are we going to just . . .
leave
the rest of it?’ Darwin indicated the body of the cow, which had finally given up its struggle for life.

‘There are many cows. You will see. They once belonged to the
estancias.
The Estancia del Rey had a hundred thousand head of cattle. There are still many left, running wild.’ He indicated another cow on the northern horizon. ‘Tell me, Don Carlos, do you use the
bolas
to catch cattle in your country?’

‘Er, no, no, we don’t.’

‘Ah, so you use the
lazo
instead. Would any of you like to try the
bolas?’

Harris declined, perhaps wisely in view of the fact that he appeared to weigh almost as much as his horse. Covington shook his head politely, out of deference to his master. Darwin, however, was enthusiastic: he took the
bolas
that had been unwound from the dead cow and whirred them above his head. It seemed easy enough.

He set off at a gallop, the others in pursuit. This time the cow, an Ayrshire, had considerable advance warning of his intentions, and began its flight at once, but Darwin’s big white stallion soon overhauled it. Before long the two beasts were galloping alongside each other across the level ground. The philosopher unhooked the
bolas
from his saddle and rotated them at high speed about his upraised wrist; he took aim; and then he let fly. The
bolas
flashed from his arm and wrapped themselves neatly about the animal’s fetlocks, bringing it crashing to the ground.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong animal. Darwin’s horse, which had been
bola’d
many times as part of its training, knew exactly what to do: let the legs go limp, go into a roll, being careful not to crush one’s mount. As horse and rider went flying, it even managed to deposit Darwin with some precision into a passing thornbush.

The gauchos arrived, almost sick with laughter. ‘We have seen every sort of animal caught, Don Carlos, but we have never before seen a man caught by himself!’

Darwin’s morning-coat was ripped almost beyond repair, but he did not care. Let them laugh - he would soon be in the way of it. He felt free, and wild, as if he was living the life of his dreams. If there was danger, then it gave the trip a relish, like salt to meat. That night, as they lay out under the stars, when he was absolutely sure that nobody was looking, he surreptitiously pulled off his nightcap and threw it away

 

General Rosas’ camp lay on the far bank of the Rio Colorado, a square of covered waggons a quarter-mile across that fenced in an entire army division and all its artillery pieces. After two and a half days without encountering a living soul, all of a sudden the empty landscape swarmed with soldiers: soldiers marching, soldiers riding, soldiers cleaning their weapons, soldiers lazing about, soldiers eating, drinking, gambling or picking fights with each other. The river itself, thick and muddy and bordered by reed-beds, cut and twisted through the baking plain; an immense troop of mares was being driven across it, on their way to provide food for the divisions fighting in the interior. Hundreds upon hundreds of horses’ heads all pointing the same way protruded from the turbid current, ears alert and nostrils distended with effort, turning this way and that like a flotilla of fish, as if guided by a single collective intelligence.

‘The gauchos love Rosas,’ Harris explained to Darwin in English. ‘They think he is one of them. He even dresses like them when he is among them. Anything they can do - horse-breaking, bareback-riding, whatever you care to name - he can do just as well. And he is a mortal strict disciplinarian. When he makes rules, he sticks by them. At his
estancia
once, he banned the carrying of knives on a Sunday. Then his steward pointed out that the general himself was carrying one. So he had himself put into the stocks for the day. When the steward took pity and released him, he had the man put in there instead, for violating the law. If he is not in charge of this country within a year or two, I’ll eat my hat.’

‘I should very much like to meet this General Rosas.’ Darwin turned to Esteban. ‘How do we get across?’

‘How do we get across, Don Carlos? We do what the horses do. We swim.’

So saying, the gaucho stripped naked, rolled his clothes and belongings into a bundle, and strapped them to the top of the bewildered horse’s head with his belt. Then he drove the animal down the riverbank with a hefty smack, plunged into the water after it, and held on to its tail while it pulled him across. Whenever the horse tried to turn, or dislodge him, or alter its course, he splashed water in its face to keep it on track. Pulling powerfully against the flow, it was not long before the animal had breasted the current, and horse and rider stood dripping on the opposite bank.

Darwin was next to go, and made the crossing with surprising ease. He was able to enjoy the luxury of donning his battered morning-coat once more, while simultaneously enjoying Harris and Covington’s floundering progress through the Rio Colorado’s glutinous brown soup. How preposterous Covington looked - he even swam gracelessly — while Harris resembled a vast pink sea creature, his glistening flesh porpoising unpleasantly through the turgid waters.

Once dressed and reconstituted on the far side, the party reported to Rosas’ sentries. They were escorting the famous English
naturalista
Don Carlos, Esteban explained, who had travelled many thousands of leagues in the hope of an audience with the mighty General Rosas. After an hour or so’s delay, they were informed that the general had indeed granted an audience to his distinguished visitor, but that he would not be at liberty to meet him until the following day. So, for the next twenty-four hours, they had no option but to kick their heels around Rosas’ camp. There were a good many gauchos in Rosas’ ranks, men exactly like those of Darwin’s escort, but the vast majority of the uniformed foot-soldiers milling about were either black — former slaves, presumably — or of mixed race. Darwin thought he could detect some Indian blood present as well. ‘I know not the reason,’ he remarked to Harris, ‘but men of such origin seldom have a good expression of countenance.’

‘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.’