The Shadow of Great Britain

751: 358 751: 358 Fitzroy hurried forward to help explain, presenting an introduction letter from the Government of Buenos Aires to the Commander of Patagones that the clerk then took into the tent.

In a little while, an officer came out.

He was not tall, but he was robust; he was General Rosas.

He rarely smiled, yet his tone was kind as he told us he was at our service, and he invited us to sit in the tent.

He asked us many things, including about our travels and life experiences, but what interested General Rosas the most was the mysterious friend Eld spoke of—the Shadow Pope of Scotland Yard.

Yes, Arthur, it was you.

Oh my God!

You should be glad you weren’t there, for you would have wanted to crawl into a hole.

In Eld’s words, you seemed like the covert force behind all judicial power in London, capable of resolving any case thoroughly, with no evil eluding your sight.

Perhaps sensing General Rosas’s devout beliefs, Eld even added an archaic medieval rationale to your just law enforcement—All in the Father’s name.

I don’t know if General Rosas had been in the wilderness too long, bereft of any entertainment, but he found Eld’s nonsense utterly fascinating.

What’s more absurd, after hearing all these stories, Rosas expressed a lingering interest, stating he was planning to expand the police forces in Buenos Aires and suggested that if you ever found your duties at Scotland Yard no longer challenging, you might try your hand in South America.

Just as Cochrane, once compulsorily retired by the Royal Navy, had made a name for himself in Chile and Brazil, General Rosas was utterly convinced that a senior officer from Scotland Yard certainly had the capacity to take up the post of Commanding Officer of the Buenos Aires police force.

And not just you, he even wanted to recruit Colonel Fitzroy and our other team members.

Initially, I wondered why he was so keen on recruiting Europeans, but when I arrived at the lodging he arranged, I discovered that the Cavalry Captain sharing the room had also come from Europe; he had served in Napoleon’s army and had participated in the expedition against Russia.

I asked him about General Rosas, and he told me that General Rosas was a man of extraordinary qualities, highly influential in this country, and also eager to use this influence to foster national prosperity and progress.

Apparently, he owned seventy-four square miles of land and over three hundred thousand head of cattle.

Many stories circulated about his strict enforcement of family law.

One decree was that carrying knives on Sundays was forbidden, with violators handcuffed.

This was due to Sundays being prime days for gambling and heavy drinking, which led to many arguments; fights would break out, often fatally.

One Sunday, a provincial governor came to visit the estate, neatly dressed, and General Rosas rushed out to greet him, his knife still at his waist as usual.

The butler touched his arm, reminding him of the law.

He turned to the governor and said, “Very sorry, but I must be chained now, and until released, I have no right to welcome a guest even in my own house.”

A little while later, the butler, persuaded by others, unlocked Rosas and let him out.

But once out, Rosas told the butler: “By doing so, you too have broken the law and must wear the shackles.”

Hearing this, don’t you find it familiar?

Everything Rosas does is very much like that person; I can unequivocally assert he is deliberately imitating that great demon from Corsica.

And it’s not just me who thinks this way, even the old soldier from France agrees.

But my reaction to Rosas’s actions is disdain, while the soldier’s is admiration.

He said that’s why he chose to serve Rosas, seeing in him the shadow of that man, Napoleon, the great Emperor of the French Empire.

An English merchant from a nearby town also provided me another story about General Rosas, assuring me with honor that the following account was true:

A man had killed another and, when apprehended by the police and asked why, replied, “He spoke disrespectfully of General Rosas, so I killed him.”

It turned out, just a week later, this murderer was released.

Well…

that was surely the doing of Rosas’s subordinates, not his own idea.

Arthur, do you think my guess is plausible?

While I disliked Rosas, initially, this feeling hadn’t escalated to detest.

But then, I witnessed a tragedy that finally cemented his position in my mind as a cruel dictator.

While we were in Port Blanca, the place was always in a state of turmoil, with endless rumors about the wars and victories between Rosas’s troops and the savage Indians.

One day, news came that a detachment of soldiers from a post on the way to Buenos Aires had been entirely massacred.

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

I couldn’t imagine a more barbarically mad site than their encampment.

A significant number of the soldiers were Indians who had submitted, from Chief Benantio’s tribe.

Some were dead drunk, and others drank the warm blood directly sprayed from the cattle killed for dinner.

They vomited while drunk, covered in filth and bloodstains.