War of Paraguay: Battle of Humaitá

Battle of Humaitá

Battle of Humaitá – 18 February 1868

During the War of the Triple Alliance, Marcos Paz, Vice President of the Argentine Republic, died in Buenos Aires from a cholera epidemic brought back from the front, which spread like a curse throughout the summer of 1867–68. The truth is that the Brazilians—by then almost the sole owners of the war, as only the Empire was sending reinforcements and arms—grew serious with Mitre after the disastrous defeat at Tuyú-Cué, and pressured him into returning to Buenos Aires. Constitutionally, his presence was not required, even after Paz’s death, since the Cabinet continued functioning (there was no law governing presidential vacancy), and only eight months remained in the presidential term. But Brazil was eager to hasten the end of the war.

With Mitre removed (never to return), prospects brightened for Brazil. Marshal Caxias resumed command of the allied forces. Perhaps he had never read Frederick the Great, but unlike Mitre, he knew how to win battles.

With the Commander-in-Chief out of the way, things moved swiftly. On 19 January, Admiral Inácio forced the passage at Humaitá; by the 24th, two Brazilian monitors reached Asunción and bombarded the Paraguayan capital. With the river now under Brazilian control, it became impossible for Marshal Solano López to hold the fortifications at Humaitá and Curupaytí. On 10 March, he began withdrawing the bulk of his army via the Chaco route, leaving behind just 4,000 men at Humaitá to cover the retreat. In dugouts, barges, and rafts, the decimated Paraguayan troops—who had defended the Curupaytí–Humaitá line with heroism beyond imagination—crossed the Paraguay River and headed north through the Chaco. At Monte Lindo, they crossed the river again and finally camped at San Fernando. This operation was a feat of leadership and courage: an entire army, with its supplies, wounded, and sick, evacuating a compromised position in the presence of the enemy. They crossed the river twice without, as Arturo Bray notes, “the Brazilian fleet even realising the bold double manoeuvre”.

Colonel Martínez remained in Humaitá as a decoy, to tie down the allied army. But by then the once-impenetrable fortress had lost its strategic purpose. In July, Martínez received orders to abandon it with his remaining men, spiking the 180 cannons that could not be transported. Yet the impatient Marshal Osório was determined to seize the fortress by force and launched an attack with 8,000 men. Martínez responded in Humaitá much as Díaz had in Curupaytí: he let the attackers approach and then unleashed a deadly storm of artillery fire. Osório paid dearly for his ambition to storm the fortress and was ultimately forced to withdraw. Thus ended the last great Paraguayan victory of the war. But unlike Mitre, Osório had the foresight to order a timely retreat and managed to save most of his men.

The cambá (Black Brazilian troops) would enter Humaitá and Curupaytí only after the last Paraguayan soldier had evacuated them on 24 July. On the night of the 23rd, Martínez had sent out the final detachments—men and women—by river. At dawn on the 24th, the Brazilians raised the imperial flag over the now-legendary fortress; shortly beforehand, they had done the same at Curupaytí.

Martínez’s retreat through the Chaco was far from successful. The heroic defenders of the fortress had sacrificed themselves to protect the withdrawal of the main army. As they made their way through the Chaco, they were harassed by vastly superior enemy forces and bombarded from the river by the fleet. Inácio and Osório were determined to exact revenge on Martínez for the three years during which Humaitá had resisted them. Eventually, the depleted Paraguayan garrison was encircled at Isla Poi. They held out for ten days, but hunger and overwhelming numbers forced their surrender. These were the last Paraguayan troops remaining in that theatre of war. Moved by the scene, General Gelly y Obes had the Argentine forces march past “the great heroes of the American epic.” A noble gesture that should fill us with pride.

For a Paraguayan, surrender was unthinkable—even if starvation made it impossible to move, and the lack of ammunition rendered any response to enemy fire futile. Solano López, by now the frenzied “soldier of glory and misfortune”, as Bray puts it, was merciless with those who did not share his unwavering resolve. Victory was no longer possible, and attempts to secure an honourable peace had come to nothing. Thus, for Paraguayans, the only path remaining was death—a chance to give the world a lesson in Guaraní courage.

Colonel Martínez had conducted himself as a hero in the defence of Humaitá and in his doomed retreat through the Chaco. But he had surrendered. It did not matter that he had only 1,200 men and women, lacking uniforms, most with only tattered trousers and military caps, no gunpowder for their flintlocks, and no food—facing a force twenty times their size. The Marshal had surrendered, and that was forbidden for a Paraguayan. The word “surrender” had been erased from the national vocabulary. López declared the defender of Humaitá a traitor.

Three years of unjust and unequal war had transformed the refined Francisco Solano López into a wild beast. He was resolved to die with his country and could neither understand nor forgive any other course of action—not even from his closest friends, his most capable commanders, or his own family. Paraguay came before all else, and for it, he would sacrifice his dearest affections. His actions were certainly not “humane”, but in that final agony, López was no longer a man bound by conventional morality. He had become the very symbol of a Paraguay determined to die standing—like a jaguar of the forest, relentlessly pursued by its hunters.

It was in this final stage of the war that the legend of the monster, the bloodthirsty tyrant, and the great executioner took shape—a narrative that would fuel half a century of Paraguayan liberal historiography. He was accused of terrible acts—and not all were inventions of the enemy. Some accounts are deeply disturbing, but we must place ourselves in the land and time to judge them—amid the tragedy-shrouded Paraguay of the war’s final days. Think of the thousands of Paraguayans who died in battle defending their land, or who perished of hunger or disease behind the lines. Only then can one begin to judge a leader who could not forgive those who showed weakness, who spoke of surrender, or who harboured thoughts other than dying in battle. To understand him, one would need the heart of a Paraguayan and a soul torn by the looming collapse of their homeland.

Terrible things would follow: the execution of Bishop Palacios; the flogging and execution of Colonel Martínez’s wife; the death of López’s own brothers, accused of conspiracy; the imprisonment and whipping of his siblings—even his mother. In this tragic atmosphere, the figure of the implacable Marshal looms large, convinced that for the Paraguayans, under his command, there remained only one path: to contest every inch of their beloved soil—or die.

Source:

• César Díaz – Memorias Inéditas, published by Adriano Díaz – Buenos Aires (1878)

• Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

• Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

• Adolfo Saldías – Historia de la Confederación Argentina – Ed. El Ateneo, Buenos Aires (1951)

Reproduction permitted with citation: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Argentina: On Gaucho Diet

Gaucho Diet

1800s Argentina: British writer William Henry Hudson visits the Pampas, encounters gauchos. Documents their diet with horrified fascination.

"The gaucho eats nothing but beef. Flesh morning, noon, and night. Never bread, never vegetables, rarely salt."

Hudson expects malnutrition and disease. Finds "men of extraordinary stamina and strength, capable of riding 12-14 hours without rest, then dancing all night."

The diet: beef, mate tea, occasionally grilled kidney fat (delicacy). Nothing else.

Darwin visits 1832-1833, observes gaucho life: "I was surprised at the difficulty persuading gauchos to eat anything but beef. I brought biscuits and found them thrown away. They'd rather go hungry than eat bread if beef was available tomorrow."

Typical meals: Morning - beef roasted over fire, fattier cuts. Afternoon - grilled ribs. Evening - beef again, tougher cuts slow-cooked.

Zero vegetables. Zero grains. Zero variety. Just beef and tea.

Hudson documents outcomes: "The gauchos suffer none of the ailments common to civilised man. No digestive troubles, no obesity, no tooth decay I could observe. Their teeth were uniformly excellent despite never cleaning them and consuming nothing but meat. Physical endurance such that they could ride for days with minimal rest, fight when necessary, resume riding without apparent fatigue."

French physician Dr. Jules Crevaux, 1850s-1870s: "These men live exclusively on animal flesh and appear healthier than our European peasantry who eat varied diet of grains and vegetables."

When asked why they don't eat bread or vegetables, common response: "That's food for horses and cattle. We eat cattle."

They understood hierarchy. Cattle eat grass, convert to meat. Humans eat meat. Eating what cattle eat makes you perform like cattle.

Into early 1900s, traditional gauchos maintained beef-exclusive diet. Then European immigration brought wheat cultivation.

Health transformation documented by Argentine physicians. Traditional gauchos: healthy into old age. Urbanised former gauchos on European diets: diabetes, obesity, cardiovascular disease, dental decay.

Modern Argentina: 28% obesity, cardiovascular disease leading cause of death, diabetes nearly 10%.

The gauchos who ate nothing but beef had none of these. They rode horses 12 hours daily into their 60s, maintained teeth without dental care, died from accidents or old age, not chronic disease.

Same beef. Different context. When you eat beef with grains, seed oils, sugar: modern disease. Beef alone: You have the health of a 19th century gaucho.

Malvinas: My Experience in the 12th IR

 

My Experience in the 12th Infantry Regiment (Final Part)

VGM Soldier JUAN ALBERTO VACA

On 21 May, the British landing at San Carlos took place, coming up against the Argentine troops who were deployed forward. We were several kilometres from that area. The English pirate had set foot on our islands, and we knew that before long rifle fighting on our own ground was imminent; “at last I’ll be able to face them and see the British in the flesh,” I thought to myself. From that moment on, the attacks by ships and aircraft against our positions intensified. I remember that in one of those attacks a large number of bombs fell on us, destroying the troops’ hut area and all of the officers’ tents. By a miracle, and thanks to God’s help, we did not have any fatalities to mourn—only a few wounded with minor injuries.

On 27 May, we entered into direct combat with the enemy. We fought for two days without stopping, resting sporadically for a few hours or minutes whenever we could. The troops who were deployed forward absorbed the first attack, but because of the enemy’s superiority they began to fall back, leaving us on the front line of defence. The assault on our positions was ferocious: we were harassed by enemy riflemen, while at the same time we endured bombardment from frigates and from the air. I recall that before attacking us they lit up the sky with flares—but only over the sector where we were—so that they could see us, while we could not see them. That night we fought for several hours, until the order came to withdraw towards Goose Green, where the Regiment’s other companies were located.



The following day we reorganised and prepared to face another onslaught. The Air Force personnel were with us as well, having also withdrawn. Goose Green is a small settlement near the sea, surrounded by low hills. There, more than a thousand of us were packed together. The enemy, taking advantage of the ships’ attacks that were giving us a hard time that day, encircled us and took the high ground. On the night of the 28th we learned that the British had demanded our surrender, and our commander replied in the negative, as we believed they would not open fire because they might cause casualties among the islanders. But after a further attack by enemy artillery, Lieutenant Colonel Piaggi, together with the commander of the Air Force personnel, decided to surrender in order to avoid an unnecessary massacre.

We had to hand over our weapons; we had resisted as much as we could. I remember our wounded being taken to a hospital ship, where they were operated on, while those with light injuries were treated in the shed where we were being held. In San Carlos, I continued working at my trade as a cook, always under guard by the Gurkhas, who were recognisable—besides their Asian features—by their short stature and by carrying a large, curved knife. They directed everything with gestures, but they treated us well.

When the war ended they took us to Uruguay, and from there to Buenos Aires by ship. As soon as we arrived, we were transferred to the Campo de Mayo barracks, where we were warmly received: we were given plentiful food, soft drinks, issued with new clothing, and we were able to bathe. Unfortunately, I was kept in hospital for two weeks because of a condition caused by the blast wave from a bomb that fell near me during the battle. The explosion threw me into the air and, as I came down, I struck my head on a stone. In that bombardment, two sergeants, a corporal and two soldiers were wounded. Thank God I recovered just in time to return with the rest of the soldiers to Mercedes, where, after completing the usual formalities, we were discharged and I was able to return to my beloved Santiago.



“Lastly, I want to say that I feel proud to have taken part in that great deed for our country. Sadly we could not overcome the military superiority of a powerful nation, but I am convinced that we did what we could and gave the best of ourselves. The images of the war—the cold, the anxiety, the fear, the sound of bombs falling close by, the aircraft and helicopters harassing our positions, the shouting, comrades dead and wounded—will never be erased from my memory, and form a body of recollections that will remain with me until the end of my days. But we were not ‘boys’, as some would have people believe: we were soldiers.”

Civil War: Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Monument erected on the site of the Battle of Campos de Álvarez, fought on 31 January 1852

Juan Manuel de Rosas and Ángel Pacheco, respectively, facilitated for the Empire of Brazil and for Urquiza the easy success they achieved in their triumphant march into the interior of Buenos Aires Province. Rosas referred all matters to Pacheco, and Pacheco, in turn, failed to take timely or effective action. One need only consider the decisive events that shaped the operations culminating in the Battle of Caseros.

A month before Oribe’s capitulation, Colonel Martiniano Chilavert submitted a memorandum to Rosas in which he presented numerous reasons and favourable prospects for having Oribe move to engage Urquiza and, at the same time, preparing an army to invade Brazil. Rosas approved the memorandum and said he would consult Pacheco—but meanwhile allowed Oribe’s army to be undermined.

When Urquiza was gathering his forces in Gualeguaychú, Chilavert again urged Rosas to defend the Paraná River line, offering to lead the defence himself. Rosas responded that he would consult Pacheco. Soon thereafter, Pascual Echagüe was forced to abandon Santa Fe. When Urquiza moved from Rosario and Pacheco ordered Lucio Norberto Mansilla to withdraw from positions along the Paraná, Mansilla assumed this was to reposition him with infantry and artillery to the northern front dominated by Lagos with 8,000 cavalry, in order to defend the line of the Arroyo del Medio. Pacheco would then reinforce him from Luján, and together they would present battle to Urquiza. In the event of defeat, they could retreat to the barracks at Santos Lugares. This strategy would also buy Rosas time to raise the southern campaign in a unified effort and place Urquiza in a critical position, encircled and cut off from his supply lines. Mansilla presented this logic to Rosas, who again directed him to consult with Pacheco. Urquiza then advanced his vanguard to the Arroyo del Medio.

When Urquiza reached that point, and Pacheco insisted that Hilario Lagos retreat to headquarters, Lagos protested to Rosas, stating that he and his soldiers were determined to stand and defend the invaded land. Rosas responded affirming his confidence in Lagos's patriotism and advised him to harmonise his actions with General Pacheco's orders.

There were moments when Rosas showed signs of reacting—particularly when he sensed the disorganisation of his forces. He summoned Major Antonino Reyes, commander at Santos Lugares, and spoke of convening a war council of senior officers. But the impulse passed quickly. It was Pacheco—his constant reliance on Pacheco—that caused him to waver. Still, he told Reyes: “I’ll need you by my side; we must urgently appoint someone to command your battalion, the coastal battalions, and other units that together would make up about 1,500 men with six artillery pieces.” Reyes proposed Colonel Pedro José Díaz, a seasoned officer residing in Buenos Aires since being captured at Quebracho Herrado (28 November 1840) with the last remnants of Lavalle’s infantry. Díaz responded: “Tell the Governor I appreciate the trust he places in me; though a 'Unitarian', I will fulfil my duty as a soldier under the orders of my country’s government.” This led to the formation of that infantry brigade—the only one that, alongside Chilavert’s renowned artillery, held fire until the very end against the imperial forces.

Pacheco’s decisions, however, consistently cleared the path for the allied advance. On 26 January, as the allies reached Arroyo del Gato and moved on to Laguna del Tigre (near Chivilcoy), he ordered all troops withdrawn from the “Guardia de Luján” (present-day Mercedes), leaving only 600 men under Colonel Lagos—the sole commander actively resisting the enemy. Yet on the 28th, Pacheco wrote to Lagos suggesting he proceed as he saw fit with his forces, referring vaguely to movements supposedly made on the night of the 26th. He claimed that Major Albornoz was withdrawn because Lagos’s division was strong enough on its own.

But Pacheco’s assumptions were false—no such movements had occurred. Moreover, he ordered the withdrawal of all reserves, leaving Lagos isolated with a small division facing the enemy. Lagos replied on 28 January:

“Colonel Lagos, sir, made no movement whatsoever with the divisions encamped at Arroyo de Balta on the night of the 26th. I was informed by Major Albornoz that Your Excellency had ordered the withdrawal of all forces from Guardia de Luján on that same day. If I have been forced to engage the enemy solely on their left flank, it was because I was reprimanded for advancing with my force to Laguna de las Toscas, which I calculated (correctly) would be the enemy’s route.”

At the same time, serious accusations circulated against General Pacheco—some alleged that between 26 and 27 January he had established secret contact with General Urquiza, even removing Colonel Bustos’s aides from the area around Luján to that end. Bustos relayed the matter to Rosas through Major Reyes. Rosas simply replied: “He’s mad, sir.” The same was said of a Justice of the Peace who travelled from his post to confirm the rumour, and even of a prominent member of the legislature who echoed the report: “He’s mad,” Rosas repeated.

The allied army advanced from Chivilcoy to Luján, arriving on the morning of 29 January. By the 30th, its vanguard was positioned at Campos de Álvarez, just over two leagues from some of Buenos Aires’ forward divisions, located along the left bank of the Río de las Conchas (today the Reconquista River), defending the Márquez Bridge. Pacheco had just crossed the bridge without issuing orders and took the road to his estancia at El Talar.

Upon hearing of the enemy’s approach, Rosas instructed Lagos to engage them in battle, assuring him that General Pacheco would defend the Márquez Bridge with superior forces. With his own division and those of Colonels Domingo Sosa and Ramón Bustos (son of the Córdoba caudillo Juan Bautista Bustos), Lagos gathered approximately 2,500 men. At dawn on 31 January, he organised three parallel columns, deployed light cavalry to the front, and advanced to confront the enemy.

The allied army had formed in an extended line on the left flank, matching Lagos’s direction. General Juan Pablo López held the left; Colonel Galarza commanded the Entre Ríos cavalry in the centre; Colonels Aguilar and Caraballo positioned their divisions on either side. The allied force numbered about 5,000. The elite Buenos Aires squadrons clashed with the seasoned cavalry of Entre Ríos. These initially wavered when Lagos personally led charges that earned him lasting renown in Argentine military history. But the allied regiments, reinforced by López’s timely support and flanking manoeuvres, overwhelmed Lagos’s inexperienced squadrons. He then regrouped his best troops, led a final charge to stall the enemy, and withdrew in good order to the Márquez Bridge, losing around 200 men—including Commander Marcos Rubio—and several officers, weapons, and horses.

Allied reports and General César Díaz’s “Unpublished Memoirs” (pp. 265–267) claimed Lagos had 6,000 of the finest cavalry, and inconsistently reported both a lack of resistance and 200 casualties among Lagos’s forces, while stating the allies lost only 26 men. General Díaz had no direct knowledge, as he was two leagues from the battlefield and only joined the allied vanguard the next day. It was assumed Lagos still commanded the same force with which he had withdrawn from the northern line, but in reality, at Álvarez he had:

• His own division, militia from Bragado, and veteran detachments: 600 men

• Sosa’s division: 1,300 men

• Bustos’s division: 600 men

Echagüe’s and Cortina’s divisions did not participate. The bulk of Lagos’s Bragado division had been redirected by Pacheco across the Márquez Bridge.

Lagos expected to find Pacheco at the bridge with infantry and artillery, as instructed. But Pacheco was not there—he had left not a single man. Lagos requested orders, reporting he was still skirmishing with the enemy’s advance units. From Santos Lugares came the reply: “Hold your position.” On 11 February, the entire allied army assembled at Álvarez. Lagos informed Santos Lugares, and only late that day was he told that if the enemy attempted to cross the river, he should retreat to headquarters.

In this context, Pacheco resigned as General-in-Chief, stating Rosas was already at Santos Lugares in command of the army. Rosas took it as a personal blow. Showing the resignation to Major Reyes, he said: “Don’t you see, sir? Pacheco is mad, sir.” Yet, as Pacheco had informed all commanders of his resignation and urged them to report directly to Rosas, Rosas responded that he had “not accepted General Pacheco’s request; and given the importance of his role and his distinguished performance, the illustrious general continues in command.”

Rosas, however, flew into a rage when told Pacheco had failed to defend the Márquez Bridge with the troops withdrawn from Luján, as previously ordered: “It cannot be—surely the General Pacheco could not have disobeyed the orders of the Governor of the Province!” On the night of 31 January, Benjamín Victorica arrived at Santos Lugares on Pacheco’s behalf. Rosas dismissed him without hearing the message. The following afternoon, Pacheco himself arrived. Reyes announced him and returned to speak with Colonel Bustos. Moments later, both men were astonished to see Pacheco leave Rosas’s quarters, head down, without speaking, mount his horse, and ride to Witt’s estate, from where he witnessed the subsequent military events.

The victory at Álvarez was naturally celebrated in Urquiza’s camp and boosted allied morale. In light of the ease of their progress, they began to believe—perhaps rightly—that they would soon enter Buenos Aires with weapons in hand. In Rosas’s camp, although the defeat was keenly felt, it produced no outward sign. On the night of 1 February, some 400 men deserted from the allies and joined Santos Lugares, greeted by cheers from their former comrades.

Among the Buenos Aires population, strong support for Rosas persisted, rooted in a cultural loyalty reinforced by shared adversity and struggle. Many soldiers believed they were defending national honour against a foreign invasion. Was that merely poetic? Perhaps, but it was the poetry of honour—an inner truth resonating within individual conscience. The rural population saw only the astonishing fact of the Brazilian Empire’s invasion and rallied around Rosas as the personification of national salvation.

General César Díaz, commander of the eastern division of the allied army, observed:

“The people of Luján displayed the same studied indifference as those of Pergamino; and to the outward signs of sympathy for Rosas, they added actions clearly reflecting their sentiments. They exaggerated the size and quality of Rosas’s forces, recalled the many political storms he had weathered, and were convinced he would once again emerge victorious.”

Upon the full allied army’s arrival at Álvarez, Díaz recounts Urquiza’s thoughts:

“I went to visit the General and found him in the Major General’s tent. He spoke of the bitter disappointment in the spirit we had expected from Buenos Aires. Until then, we had not faced any resistance. The General said, ‘If it were not for my interest in promoting the Republic’s organisation, I should have remained allied to Rosas, for I am persuaded that he is a very popular man in this country.’”
And Díaz concludes:
“If Rosas was so publicly hated, or no longer feared, as was claimed, why did the people not seize this opportunity to realise their long-held desires? Why did they show such exaggerated zeal in defending their own servitude? From what I witnessed, I am deeply convinced that Rosas’s authority in 1852 was as strong—perhaps stronger—than it had been a decade earlier, and that neither popular submission nor confidence in his leadership had ever abandoned him.”

Sources:

• César Díaz – Unpublished Memoirs – Adriano Díaz Publications – Buenos Aires (1878)

• Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

• Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

• Adolfo Saldías – Historia de la Confederación Argentina – Ed. El Ateneo, Buenos Aires (1951)

Reproduction permitted with citation: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Captured Land Based Exocet Launch System (ITB) Trial in 1985

Argentine Confederation: Embargos on Unitarians in Flores

Embargo on the Unitarians of Flores

The Jueces de Paz (Peace Judges) replaced the former Alcaldes de Hermandad (Brotherhood Majors) when the Cabildo of Buenos Aires was officially dissolved in 1821. To the traditional rural lower-court powers held by their predecessors, new responsibilities were gradually added—especially during the Rosista era—turning them into central figures in the machinery established by Juan Manuel de Rosas to control life in the countryside, thereby consolidating their role as an effective instrument of rural population control.

Between 1832 and 1852, only four men held the office in the Partido de San José de Flores: Martín Farías, Vicente Zavala, Eustaquio Martínez, and Isidro Silva. The years 1841–1842 imposed an even heavier burden on these Justices of the Peace, beyond their usual judicial and policing functions, as they were tasked with enforcing the decree of 16 December 1841, which ordered the seizure of property from the opposition known as the “Savage Unitarians”:

“All movable and immovable property, rights, and claims of any kind, located in the city or countryside, belonging to the savage Unitarian traitors, are to be used to compensate for the damages inflicted on the fortunes of loyal Federalists by the hordes of the unnatural traitor Juan Lavalle; for the extraordinary expenses incurred by the public treasury in resisting the barbaric invasion of this execrable murderer; and for the rewards granted by the government to the regular army, the militias, and the other brave defenders of the freedom and dignity of our Confederation and that of America.”

Estates in Flores belonging to the “Savage Unitarians” that were seized:

• Achaval, José

• Blanco, Francisco

• Borches, José

• Carabajal, José María

• Castro, Joaquín

• Cortés, Alejo

• Díaz, Fermín

• Florete, Manuel

• Mainuetas, Manuel

• Mayoral, Regina

• Ramos de Lastra, Josefa

• Ramos Mexía, Francisco

• Ramos, Ramón

• Ruvino, Ignacio

• Zurita, Francisco de Paula

The same decree required the Justice of the Peace to submit a monthly report detailing the condition of the animals and properties that had been confiscated. These reports, titled “Monthly report showing the status of the animals that belonged to the Savage Unitarians, kept in winter pasture, specifying location, condition, and quantity”, were accompanied by correspondence sent to Santos Lugares, which was the General Regiment. They reveal compliance with the decree through records such as:

• Notes on animals in winter pasture

• Tree maintenance

• Firewood dispatches

• Wages for firewood cutters

• Transfers of money from firewood sales

• Sale of seized livestock

• Requests for wages for firewood cutters

• Funds for caretakers of winter pastures

• Funds to repair carts

• Funds for the construction of sheds

• Hiring of labourers

This measure was a response to one of the most severe crises faced during Rosas’s long rule, which included the French blockade of the port of Buenos Aires (1838–1840). The blockade severely disrupted the province’s foreign trade and, as a result, its public revenues. This period also saw the 1839 rural uprising in the southern campaign of Buenos Aires, known as the Libres del Sur. Finally, in 1840, Rosas was confronted with an invasion from the north of the province led by General Juan Lavalle, his old rival.

The principle behind the measure was not unprecedented, neither before nor after Rosas. In our civil wars or major social upheavals, confiscation and embargo have consistently been employed by governments to punish opponents or secure funding. Consider, for example, the confiscations during the French Revolution, or in the early 20th century during the Russian Revolution. It is, at first glance, logical that the material damages of war or revolution should be paid by those who seemingly provoked them; for the state, or peaceful citizens, ought not to bear the burden of conflicts they did not seek.

In the 1840 annual address, Arana justified the measure in unequivocal terms, which confirm this interpretation of what had become an almost codified custom:

“The government found itself faced with the choice of either passively allowing the wealth of the enemies of the Republic to support the barbarian invaders, or depriving them of every means of hostility. It could not hesitate in its choice.”

And, indeed, it did not.

Source

Deppeler, Néstor R. – Los embargos en la época de Rosas -, Ed. La Facultad, Buenos Aires (1936).
Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado
Gavilán Enciso, Digna – Pueblo y campaña en la época de Rosas: San José de Flores, 1832-1852 – UNAM, San Justo (2018).
Gelman, Jorge y Schroeder, María Inés – Los embargos a los “unitarios” de la campaña de Buenos Aires – Duke University Press, (2003).
Heras, Carlos – Confiscaciones y embargos durante el gobierno de Rosas – UNLP, La Plata (1921).
Portal revisionistas.com.ar

Malvinas: Call Sign Fortin 1

Call Sign Fortín 1

In 1982, he was an experienced squadron leader in the VI Air Brigade. Assigned with his squadron to the San Julián Military Air Base, on May 1st he answered the bugle call and climbed into the aircraft. The FORTIN fighters were to cover the attack and subsequent return of the TORNO squadron on a bombing mission. After takeoff, as a precaution, he ordered the cannons tested. He pulled the trigger several times and checked the fuses: his cannons weren't working. Perhaps he should return, but... how could he leave his comrade alone? "It doesn't matter," he thought, "the British don't know my weapons aren't working." While the TORNO fighters were successfully attacking the ships shelling the Malvinas runway, a British patrol began to pursue them. The Malvinas radar operator, who also didn't know that FORTÍN 1 lacked cannons, ordered it to position itself between the two squadrons. The pilot ordered the jettisoning of its auxiliary fuel tanks and dove toward the Harriers. The sun in its face jammed its missiles, preventing them from launching, but "the British probably don't know that either," he figured, and continued accelerating, trying to impress the enemy. The false signal of the ace of spades worked. Alerted by a ship's radar, the British broke off the pursuit.



On May 21, dozens of ships invaded the San Carlos Strait. In a small bay, they began their landing, and only the air force was there to try and stop them. This time, FORTÍN 1 was ordered to load bombs. It took off at the head of three M-5s, hoping to hit the target. Formed in line, about two hundred meters apart, they approached the area. Ears, attentive to instructions; eyes, searching for the distant silhouette of the enemy. Suddenly, a number sounded the alert: “Aircraft to the right.” Going against orders to jettison the bombs and return, the hunter's spirit of FORTÍN 1 prepared to engage them. He lightened the aircraft, traded speed for altitude, a Harrier below his Dagger, and he dove. Without tracer ammunition, guided by instinct, he predicted the opponent's trajectory and angrily squeezed the trigger. It was a hypnotic instant, an instant in which he imagined that one of his shots would hit the Harrier, an instant in which he had to react and recover the aircraft plummeting to only thirty or forty meters above the ground. He initiated a turn, attempting to engage again, but abruptly lost control. A missile had mortally wounded his Dagger, and the only option was to abandon it. He reached the ejection seat; the explosive charges ripped the cockpit apart, then his seat was ejected, the wind buffeted him, and he quickly deployed his parachute. One push and he was suspended in mid-air. As he fell, Captain Guillermo Donadille tried to recall the instructions from the survival course, those given to hunters for when the fate of combat abruptly clips their wings... but not their spirit.