Malvinas: Blood Over The Murrell River

Blood on the Murrell River: The Commandos Who Fought in the "Death Zone" and Escaped an Ambush

"They're going to kill us all," muttered the Army and Gendarmerie men as they faced off against British paratroopers in the Falklands. They were trapped in the strip of land where a soldier’s chances of survival are nearly nonexistent—but they fought back. The bullets shattering the rocks, the shrapnel that tore into them, and how they ultimately forced the British to retreat when all seemed lost.
Nicolás Kasanzew || Infobae




Captain Figueroa (center), Lieutenant Anadón (right) y First Lieutenant García Pinasco (back), planifying the mission, June 6th, 1982 (Photo: Nicolás Kasanzew)


Through freezing cold and sleet, they navigated a sector battered by naval gunfire and riddled with their own minefields. Leading them was Lieutenant Marcelo Anadón, who knew the terrain well. Advancing cautiously along the riverbank, spaced about fifty meters apart, they suddenly found themselves bathed in the glow of a massive, radiant moon.

Sergeant Guillén, scanning the far side of the Murrell, noticed a faint glimmer. At first, he assumed it was just the moonlight reflecting off the water. Only later would he realize—it had been the sheen of a plastic poncho worn by a British soldier.


"They shredded my hood and the back of my jacket, but I kept firing. The medic, Moyano, pulled a bunch of shrapnel out of my arm and back."

As they reached the bridge—a simple wooden structure with no railings—Anadón and his men prepared to cross. That was when the British opened fire.

Figueroa, along with Non-Commissioned Officers Poggi and Tunini, was making his way back from the far side of the river, where they had gone to set up a post-ambush blockade. Just then, an explosion ripped through the air, followed by gunfire. Instinctively, all the commandos flattened themselves against the ground.

The British were about 80 meters away, positioned on a rocky high ground across the river.

"We're exposed. They're going to kill all three of us," Figueroa thought. In trying to set an ambush, they had walked straight into one. Without hesitation, he opened fire toward the flashes of enemy gunfire. His blood felt like it was bubbling in his veins, and his nostrils were flooded with the sharp scent of adrenaline.

The Argentine commandos had landed in what soldiers call the "death zone"—a stretch of battlefield where survival is almost impossible.


Figueroa: "We're Exposed. They're Going to Kill All Three of Us."

The British fired both in single shots and rapid bursts. Figueroa saw streaks of red and orange whipping through the darkness, writhing toward him like demonic ribbons, hunting for his life. They were tracer rounds—illuminated bullets the British loaded every five shots to guide their fire in the night.

"It was the most magnificent sight I’ve ever witnessed in my life," he tells me.

Bullets slammed into the nearby rocks, shattering them into a storm of dust and shrapnel. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled his lungs, leaving him lightheaded, almost intoxicated. The fear of death dulled, swallowed by

• "Captain, I'm hit!"
• "Where did they get you?"
• "In the leg, but I can crawl back."
• "Fall back, we’ll get to you soon."

"I'll help him and pull back with him," Tunini interjected.

The round had pierced Poggi’s calf, passing clean through without hitting bone.

Figueroa kept firing until his rifle jammed. Fortunately, his comrades—especially Sergeant Guillén—were scattered beyond the bridge, taking cover behind the rocks. Their relentless fire on the hill forced the British machine guns and rifles to divide their attention, shifting some of the incoming fire away from Figueroa.

Guillén recalls: "They shredded my hood and the back of my jacket, but I kept firing. The medic, Moyano, pulled a bunch of shrapnel out of my arm and back."

"Cheto" (Handsome) Anadón asked García Pinasco for permission to charge the British, but the section leader held him back, telling him to wait until daylight.

As Figueroa fell back, he heard several explosions—then silence. The British machine guns had gone quiet. It was the fearless Anadón, standard-bearer of Commando 601, who, with deadly precision, had launched FAL-mounted PDF grenades directly into the enemy’s position. Only their riflemen were still firing now.

Once again, "Cheto" Anadón asked García Pinasco for permission to attack. Again, the lieutenant denied him, insisting they wait. But as Figueroa reached their position, he roared, "Let’s go get these bastards!" The adrenaline and fury coursing through him made it impossible to hold back.

Despite his reservations, García Pinasco relented. Figueroa took command, and the unit stormed across the bridge to launch their assault. Anadón quickly organized his men into a staggered formation: Vergara, Suárez, Quinteros, and two gendarmes from the elite Alacrán group—Natalio Figueredo and Miguel Puentes.

A faint light was beginning to creep over the battlefield. The attack was about to begin.

"The objective was to sprint forward, surround them from both sides of the ridge, and wipe them out—leave no one behind," recalls Captain Figueroa.

Once everything was set, he raised his right arm and gave the order: "Charge, damn it! Let’s wipe these bastards out!"

The commandos stormed ahead, firing from the hip in fully automatic bursts, mimicking the cadence of a machine gun. Their shouts and insults tore through the night, meant to unnerve the British troops.

The first to reach the enemy position was the fearless Lieutenant Anadón. But as he scanned the area, he realized the British paratroopers had already fled in haste, dragging their wounded with them.

In their retreat, the enemy had left behind a trove of abandoned equipment—firearms, radios, rucksacks, tents, communication codes, berets, gloves, a camera, and even a small Union Jack. That flag would soon be displayed as a trophy at the Commando 601 headquarters in Puerto Argentino/Stanley.

García Pinasco had been ordered to strike the enemy with a swift raid and set up an ambush.

The sheer speed of the assault forced the British paratroopers into a chaotic retreat. In their haste, they left behind an active radio—still transmitting—used to communicate with their high command. Bloodstains pooled on the ground, grim evidence of their casualties.

Later, the Argentine troops intercepted enemy radio chatter: urgent requests for helicopters to evacuate the wounded. Not long after, about four kilometers away, they spotted a flare piercing the sky—followed by the descent of a Sea King helicopter, marked with the white insignia of a medical evacuation unit.

After the battle, Guillén helped Indio Poggi to his feet. Poggi looked at him and said, "Wash my wound."

Guillén reached into his pack and pulled out a Margaret River triangle-shaped bottle. He raised it to his lips, pretending to take a swig.

"You bastard!" Poggi roared. "Don’t drink my medicine!"

Spoils of Battle: British Paratroopers’ Abandoned Gear – June 7, 1982 (Photo: Nicolás Kasanzew)

Needless to say, the commandos eagerly devoured the gourmet rations abandoned by the men of the 3rd Parachute Battalion—dried apple compote, chocolate, nuts, biscuits, and raisins.

A bitter blow for the Brits; a feast fit for kings for the Argies.

But not all rewards were sweet. The Gendarmerie generously decorated its two men for their role in the battle. The Army, however, completely ignored the commandos of 601—the very unit that had handed them victory at the Murrell River.

Malvinas: Tumbledown Night

Tumbledown: Blood and Courage

The Battle of Mount Tumbledown: A Nocturnal Clash in the Malvinas War

The Battle of Mount Tumbledown took place on the night of June 13–14, 1982, as part of the British campaign to recapture Puerto Argentino, the capital of the Malvinas Islands. It was a brutal, close-quarters fight in freezing, rugged terrain, pitting the Argentine 5th Marine Infantry Battalion (BIM 5) against a British force comprising the 2nd Battalion Scots Guards, the 1st Battalion 7th Gurkha Rifles, elements of 42 Commando Royal Marines, and supporting units like the Welsh Guards and Blues and Royals. The battle’s savagery stemmed from its nocturnal setting, the rocky landscape, and the desperate stakes for both sides.

The Setting: A Dark, Hostile Landscape

Imagine a moonless night, the Malvinas’ winter wind slicing through the air, temperatures hovering near freezing. Mount Tumbledown, a jagged, 750-foot-high ridge of crags and boulders, looms west of Stanley. Its slopes are slick with wet peat and frost, littered with rocks perfect for defensive positions. The Argentine 5th Marines, under Commander Carlos Robacio, are dug into trenches and sangars (stone shelters), their positions fortified with machine guns, mortars, and snipers. They’re cold-weather trained, hardened, and determined to hold this key height overlooking the capital. On the British side, soldiers huddle in the darkness near Goat Ridge, their breath visible as they prepare for a silent advance, weighed down by packs, rifles, and anti-tank weapons.

The Opening Moves: Diversion and Stealth

Picture the battle starting at 8:30 p.m. local time. A diversionary attack kicks off south of Tumbledown—four light tanks from the Blues and Royals (two Scorpions, two Scimitars) rumble forward, their engines roaring, accompanied by a small Scots Guards detachment. Their muzzle flashes light up the night, drawing Argentine fire. Meanwhile, the main assault begins from the west: three companies of Scots Guards—Left Flank, Right Flank, and G Company—move silently in phases, bayonets fixed, under cover of darkness. Mortar teams from 42 Commando set up behind, ready to rain shells, while naval gunfire from HMS Active’s 4.5-inch gun booms offshore, its explosions illuminating the horizon in brief, eerie flashes.

The Clash: Savage Close-Quarters Fighting

Visualize the moment the Scots Guards hit the Argentine lines. Left Flank Company, leading the assault, creeps undetected to the western slopes—then a Guardsman spots an Argentine sniper. A single shot rings out, followed by a volley of 66mm anti-tank rockets streaking through the dark, their fiery trails briefly exposing the enemy. The Guards charge, machine-gunners and riflemen firing from the hip, a chaotic line of muzzle flashes advancing over open ground. Argentine marines of N Company, entrenched with FAL rifles and MAG machine guns, return fire—tracers arc across the night, ricocheting off rocks. Grenades explode, showering shale and dirt; bayonets clash in brutal hand-to-hand combat. The air fills with shouts, screams, and the metallic clatter of weapons.

Halfway up, Left Flank’s 15 Platoon, under Lieutenant Alasdair Mitchell, takes heavy casualties—two men fall dead, others wounded, their blood staining the rocks. Right Flank Company, under Major John Kiszely, pushes east, meeting fierce resistance from Marine Sub-Lieutenant Carlos Vázquez’s 4th Platoon. Phosphorous grenades burst, casting a ghastly white glow, revealing Argentine defenders fighting from crag to crag. The Scots Guards lose eight dead and 43 wounded in this relentless grind, their red tunics (in spirit, if not literal uniform) soaked in sweat and blood.

The Gurkhas and Mount William: A Parallel Struggle

Now shift your gaze south to Mount William, a sub-hill held by the Argentine O Company. The 1st Battalion 7th Gurkha Rifles, held in reserve initially, moves in after Tumbledown’s summit is secured. Picture Gurkhas in camouflage, kukris gleaming faintly, advancing across a shell-pocked saddle under Argentine mortar fire from Sapper Hill. Eight are wounded as shells burst in the soft peat, muffling some blasts but not the chaos. They take Mount William by 9:00 a.m., their disciplined advance a stark contrast to the earlier melee, yet no less determined. Robacio would say "We're not afraid of them, they fell like flies". They were humans after all.

 

The Welsh Guards and Sapper Hill: Delayed but Deadly

Imagine the Welsh Guards, paired with Royal Marines, stuck in a minefield en route to Sapper Hill. Their frustration mounts as Argentine mortars pound them from above, one man killed earlier on a motorbike dispatch. They’re meant to follow the Gurkhas but are bogged down, their silhouettes barely visible in the pre-dawn murk, cursing the delay as shells whistle overhead.

 

The Argentine Retreat: A Final Stand

See the Argentine 5th Marines’ resolve crack as dawn nears. A sniper—perhaps Private Luis Bordón—fires at a British Scout helicopter evacuating wounded, injuring two Guardsmen before being cut down in a hail of Scots Guards gunfire. By 9:00 a.m., the Scots Guards hold Tumbledown’s eastern high ground, and the Gurkhas secure Mount William. Commander Robacio plans a counterattack from Sapper Hill, but his men—16 dead, 64 wounded—begin a disciplined retreat toward Puerto Argentino, marching in parade order, colors high, defiant even in defeat. Thirty Argentine bodies lie scattered across the battlefield, a testament to the fight’s ferocity. As soon as Robacio arrives, ask the Militar Governor Menéndez to send all of his men to the front. He was disregarded.

The Aftermath: A Hard-Won Victory

Envision the scene at sunrise: British troops, exhausted, consolidate their positions. The Scots Guards’ Pipe Major James Riddell stands atop Tumbledown, his bagpipes wailing “The Crags of Tumbledown Mountain,” a haunting tribute to the fallen. A Volvo BV-202 lies wrecked by a mine, its crew dazed. The British tally: 10 dead (8 Scots Guards, 1 Welsh Guard, 1 Royal Engineer), over 60 wounded. Medals—DSOs, Military Crosses, Distinguished Conduct Medals—will follow, but for now, the survivors catch their breath, the road to Puerto Argentino open at last.

Malvinas: The Fall of Gazelle XX-411 Under Güemes Team’s Fierce Fire

A Unique Photo… and Why It Matters

This photo is unique because the British NEVER show their dead—by law. In stark contrast, we have been bombarded with images of our fallen, displayed as trophies by them. To put it into perspective, the contingent of journalists embedded with British forces during the war was strictly forbidden from photographing bodies—unless they were already inside a body bag.

Now, let’s analyze this moment: May 21, 1982.

The wreckage belongs to the Gazelle helicopter of 3BAS, shot down by the brave men of Equipo Güemes (Güemes Combat Team), stationed in San Carlos. That day, they didn’t just take down this aircraft—they brought down three more helicopters. After the battle, they managed to break through the British encirclement and reached an estancia called Douglas, in the center of the island. There, on May 25, they formed up to honor Argentina’s national day before being airlifted to Puerto Argentino. Legendary footage by Eduardo Rotondo captures their arrival, where they were greeted with chocolates by Colonel Seineldín himself.

That same day, May 21, as British troops were landing, Sea King helicopters were transporting components of a Rapier surface-to-air missile launcher. One of these Sea Kings came under concentrated Argentine fire from a hill defended by Lieutenant Esteban (RI-25) and Sub-Lieutenant Vázquez (RI-12). The aircraft was forced into an emergency landing.

Then came the Gazelle XX-411, piloted by Sergeants Andy Evans (Royal Marines) and Eddy Candlish, rushing to assist. But as it approached, it was met with a relentless storm of Argentine gunfire. It crashed into the water—Evans perished, while Candlish managed to swim to shore, where kelpers helped him.

The British response was immediate. Another Gazelle, XX-402, armed with rocket pods, was dispatched to the battlefield. Lieutenant Ken D. Francis RM and his co-pilot, Corporal Brett Giffin, were at the controls. But once again, the Argentine riflemen struck with precision. The helicopter was torn apart by FAL fire, crashing at Punta Camarones, killing both men on board.

And that’s what we see in the photo: the shattered XX-402, guarded by a sentry. The lifeless bodies of the pilots lie on the ground.

Approaching rapidly, with his back to the camera, is Dr. Rick Jolly, the British medic who was later decorated by Argentina for saving the lives of countless soldiers—a true man of honor.

This image holds countless details of significance: the rocket pods, the antennas, the helmets… every element a silent witness to that day.

And there was yet another Gazelle—XX-412—that came in for a direct attack on our troops. It, too, was hit by Argentine fire. According to British reports, it managed to withdraw and was later repaired.

That afternoon, four British helicopters were knocked out of combat—by just a handful of brave men.

This isn’t just history. This is the untold story of courage, strategy, and sacrifice.

Source: Pucará de Malvinas

Conquest of the Argentine Chaco 

The Argentine Republic at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century carried out the military occupation of the Central and Southern Chaco, which until then had been in the hands of indigenous peoples. The first military expedition took place in 1870 at the end of the War of the Triple Alliance and in 1917 the conquest of the territory was concluded.
The region between the Pilcomayo, Paraguay, Paraná and Salado rivers was inhabited at the end of the 19th century by indigenous peoples:

• Guaycurúes: mocovíes, tobas and pilagáes 
• Mataco-mataguayos: wichís, chorotes and chulupíes 
• Other: vilelas, tonocotés, tapietés, chanés and chiriguanos 

El Chaco

Military expeditions and reconnaissance explorations

On April 16, 1870, Lieutenant Colonel Napoleón Uriburu left Jujuy with 250 men on mules, belonging to a regiment that he had formed with recruits from Salta and Jujuy and destined for the Orán border. He passed through La Cangayé, the old reduction of Nuestra Señora de los Dolores that had been founded in 1781 and abandoned in 1797 near the junction of the Teuco and Bermejo rivers, continued along the Bermejo and then entered the Chaco until reaching the Paraná River opposite Corrientes after 1,250 km traveled in 56 days. He subdued eleven chieftains and thousands of indigenous people who were assigned to the sugar cane harvest and reconnoitered a road to Corrientes. During this campaign, a detachment expelled a Bolivian squadron that was incurring in Argentine territory.
On February 26, 1871, the ship Sol Argentino left Buenos Aires to explore the Bermejo River as far as the province of Salta and then returned to Buenos Aires in February 1872. During this trip, there were numerous clashes with indigenous people.
President Domingo Faustino Sarmiento created the Gran Chaco National Territory with its capital in Villa Occidental (today in Paraguay) on January 31, 1872, with Julio de Vedia as its first governor.
In 1872, Uriburu traveled through the Chaco to assist the steamship Leguizamón that was stranded in the Bermejo.
In 1875, Napoleon Uriburu, already as governor of Chaco, attacked the encampments of the chiefs Noiroidife and Silketroique, defeating them. That year, the American captain Santiago Bigney and six crew members of the barge Río de las Piedras were killed by the Tobas when they were sailing along the Bermejo River and trying to trade with them. To recover the boat and another that had helped it, on December 25, 1876, Navy Captain Federico Spurr entered the Bermejo River with the Viamonte, fighting in several actions against the Tobas, whom he defeated at Cabeza del Toba. The two boats had been sunk by the natives and were recovered by Spurr with part of the cargo, arriving at Corrientes on January 17, 1877.
On July 23, 1875, Commander Luis Jorge Fontana began a reconnaissance of the entrance to the Pilcomayo River, sailing 70 km along the river.

Line Cavalry in the Southern Chaco Campaign, 1885

On April 19, 1878, Uriburu carried out a new punitive expedition.
On August 29, 1879, Colonel Manuel Obligado left Reconquista with 150 men to reconnoiter a road and returned on October 12, after traveling 750 km, without fighting the natives.
On May 4, 1880, by order of President Nicolás Avellaneda, Major Luis Jorge Fontana left Resistencia with 7 officers, 30 soldiers, 8 natives and 2 civilians with the objective of reconnoitring a road that linked Corrientes with Salta. After 104 days he arrived at Colonia Rivadavia in Salta after traveling 520 km along the Bermejo and leaving a trail open. He defeated a group of Tobas who outnumbered him in a battle in which he lost an arm. Text of the telegram sent to Avellaneda: 

I am in Rivadavia. The Chaco has been surveyed. I lost my left arm in a battle with the Indians, but I still have the other one to sign the map of the Chaco that I completed on this excursion.[1] 

On May 20, 1881, Colonel Juan Solá y Chavarría set out from the Dragones fort with 9 officers, 50 troops and 3 volunteers, with the objective of reconnoitering the interior of the area between the Pilcomayo and the Bermejo to the port of Formosa. From Fortín Belgrano he sailed along the Bermejo and, due to his delay in reaching his destination, the governor of Chaco, Colonel Bosch, sent 100 soldiers in his search. On September 3, Solá reached Herradura and from there he traveled by boat to Formosa.
On April 19, 1882, the Tobas murdered the French doctor Jules Crevaux and eleven of his companions near La Horqueta in the Pilcomayo. In mid-1882, Fontana, with the steamer Avellaneda and the launch Laura Leona, explored the Pilcomayo in search of Crevaux's remains, returning on September 18 without managing to find them. To punish the Tobas and Chiriguanos for the murder of Crevaux, Lieutenant Colonel Rudecindo Ibazeta left Dragones on June 11, 1883, leaving Dragones with 135 men. On August 10, they were attacked in the Pilcomayo by 650 partly mounted Indians, ending with the death of 60 of them. They returned on September 10 after having taught the Indians a lesson.
The French explorer Arturo Thouar made four expeditions in the Pilcomayo area in 1883, 1885, 1886 and 1892.

Victorica Campaign

In 1884, the Minister of War and Navy of President Julio Argentino Roca, General Benjamín Victorica, led a military campaign that aimed to extend the border with the indigenous people of Chaco to the Bermejo River, establishing a line of forts that would reach Salta.
Five military columns set out from Córdoba, Resistencia and Formosa with the order to converge on La Cangayé, two squadrons were to go up the Bermejo and Pilcomayo rivers and the reserve was formed by part of the Marine Infantry Regiment at Fort General Belgrano. The campaign took place between October 17 and December 21, achieving its objectives and founding three towns (in El Timbó Puerto Bermejo, Puerto Expedición and Presidencia Roca were founded, and navigation on the Bermejo River was also opened.2
On August 21, 1884, a fleet under the command of Navy Sergeant Major Valentín Feilberg left Formosa, consisting of the Pilcomayo bomber, the Explorador tug, the Atlántico steamboat, the Sara barge and another smaller one. The objective was to explore the Pilcomayo and establish a fort at its mouth. This "Coronel Fotheringham" fort is the current city of Clorinda. They explored several branches of the river up to near Salto Palmar and returned to Buenos Aires on April 14, 1885. The Swedish naturalist and hydrological engineer Olaf J. Storm participated in the expedition.
On June 25, 1885, The steamer Teuco set sail from Buenos Aires under the command of Juan Page to explore the Bermejo, returning to Corrientes on October 3.

Formosa At the End of thr 19th Century

In August 1885 a fleet of three vessels sailed along the Bermejo under the command of Guillermo Aráoz, also exploring the Teuco River. The expedition continued in January 1886 to the San Francisco River under the command of second lieutenants Sáenz Valiente and Zorrilla.
On September 19, 1886, a squadron under the command of Navy Captain Federico Wenceslao Fernández, composed of the steamer Sucre and the barge Susana, set sail from Buenos Aires with the objective of exploring the Aguaray Guazú River and verifying its links with the Pilcomayo.
On March 12, 1890, the ships Bolivia and General Paz began a new exploration of the Pilcomayo under the command of frigate captain Juan Page (who died during the exploration), exploring the Brazo Norte.
On September 1, 1899, General Lorenzo Vintter began a military campaign in the southern Chaco, commanding 1,700 men from the Chaco Operations Division, made up of an infantry battalion, five cavalry regiments, and an artillery regiment. An attempt was made to peacefully convince the indigenous people that they should submit, but several battles took place and the border line was established at the Pilcomayo River. Advanced military posts were created, communicated by telegraph and a road. The campaign concluded with the effective military occupation of the Argentine Chaco, which was carried out with little indigenous resistance.
The Chaco Cavalry Division was dissolved in 1914, leaving only the 9th Cavalry Regiment in the area.
On December 31, 1917, the Conquest of Chaco was declared over, but in March 1919 a group of Paraguayan Indians, presumably Maká,3 attacked the Yunká fort (on the Pilcomayo, in Formosa), killing the entire garrison and the inhabitants who were there, except for a soldier named Barrios who had been evacuated to Formosa, sick with malaria. He lived for many years in Clorinda, where he died in the 1970s. Today the place is called Fortín Sgto. 1º Leyes, in honor of the leader who died in that attack.

Treaties

During the Spanish colonial period, several treaties were signed with the indigenous people of Chaco:4
1662: Peace treaty between the Tocagües and Vilos Indians and Santa Fe
1710: Treaty between Governor Urizar and the Malbalaes
17??: Treaty between Governor Urizar and the Lules
1774: Treaty between Matorras and Paykin
After 1816 in the Argentine colonial period:
1822: Peace treaty between Corrientes and the Abipones
1824: Perpetual agreement between Corrientes and the Abipones
1825: Treaty between Corrientes and the Chaco Indians
1864: Agreement between the Corrientes governor Ferré and the Chaco chieftains
1872: Peace treaty between the National Government and chieftain Changallo Chico
1875: Peace treaty between the National Government and chieftain Leoncito

References 

[1] LA ARMADA ARGENTINA Y LAS CAMPAÑAS AL GRAN CHACO - 4 
[2] Expediciones y Campañas al Desierto (1820-1917) 
[3] El Río y la Frontera: Movilizaciones. Aborígenes, Obras Públicas y MERCOSUR en el Pilcomayo. Pág. 39. Autores: Gastón Gordillo, Juan Martín Leguizamón. Editor: Editorial Biblos, 2002. ISBN 9507863303, 9789507863301 
[4] Tratados en Argentina 

Wikipedia

English Invasions: Battle of Pedriel

Battle of Perdriel

Lorenzo López Saves the Life of Gral.
Juan Martín de Pueyrredón
in the battle of Perdriel.

The colonel Gillespie not is the only English who praised the benevolence with which the conquerors were treated by the main families of Buenos Aires. And if well the gentlemen showed certain reluctance in political matters, "the ladies –says– us compensated with excess the absence of those matters, with the animated chat, the fascinating sweetness and, by what never fail in their purposes, the desire of pleasing." Ignacio Núñez adds that, except for objections related to points of religion, the English "were particularly distinguished by the main families of the city, and their generals walked arm in arm through the streets, with the Marcos, the Escaladas and Sarrateas." And the lieutenant Linch reassured his mother with a letter in which he said: "Here not me consider as an enemy; the kindnesses of which I am object in all parts and especially those that me dispense the noble families of Lastra, Terrada, Sarratea and Goyena, are very great for attempt to explain them with words."

Be what be about these refinements, and of one that other romance with which Buenos Aires gifted to the English, we know that to many Spaniards and Creoles dominated them the rancor, the indignation, the shame; as was seen in the rudeness of the countryman Guanes, which had to cost him a beating with belts and a night in the stocks, in the pride of a foul-mouthed girl of the inn. "Astonished the people at seeing conquered the city by a handful of men that could undo with stones," soon began to react. "All we fled to hide in the farms and in the fields; but with the purpose of avenging ourselves," tells us José Melián. They had to "combine some plan to shake off the yoke that the English just imposed on them," says Trigo.

With much secrecy, some patriots began to mature the idea of reconquering the country. "I, who desired it with eagerness –would say Zelaya– and who had many friends with whom I met, I resolved immediately to work in this sense."

Indeed: in the 46 days of English domination there were complaisant ones who entertained the invaders with their gatherings, their sweets, and their waltzes. There were helpful spies who, by night, brought them the small snack of their betrayal. "We had in the city some hidden enemies," tells Gillespie. There were others who already practiced the "do not get involved" inside the city or moving away from it with some pretext. But, also, there were those who risked themselves to vindicate the masculinity stained that should have been in half of Buenos Aires: those who would risk their fortunes and their lives to expel the intruders. Among these dissenters was Zelaya. He was then 24 years old.

Various subversive groups intended to harass the English, each one in their own way. Gerardo Esteve Llach, with the help of Pepe "the Blond" (José Alday), wanted "to gather a portion of sailors," to capture with them the English ships that were at anchor and take them to Montevideo. But the young Felipe de Sentenach convinced him that "it would be better if they tried to see if they could achieve the reconquest of this plaza," for which it would be a good strike to install mines beneath the barracks occupied by English detachments.

For his part, Juan Vázquez Feijoo had proposed to Juan Trigo that on a determined day and at an agreed hour, they attack the parade and the detachment of the fort "with knife in hand."

Martín Rodríguez thought that, taking advantage of the habit of Beresford and Pack of going out for horseback rides with two soldiers up to the Paso de Burgos, they could be kidnapped.

Several conspirators who were with Liniers before he went to Montevideo in search of reinforcements, tried to dissuade him, and "they proposed to him several projects for an immediate movement"; but to him, they seemed some absurd and others very dangerous (Nuñez).

With the purpose of "gathering the spirits of the various factions and opinions that there were" and joining their efforts, Sentenach, Llach, Tomás Valencia, Trigo, and Vázquez met on the outer seats of the Plaza de Toros (Retiro) and decided to work together. New meetings were held at the house of the comedian Sinforiano, in the back room of Valencia’s bookstore, and in other homes, with the necessary secrecy, to discuss what should be done.

Don Martín de Alzaga, who was willing to contribute "all the money that was needed," summoned the conspirators for a decisive meeting at his house (today, Bolívar 370). In it, "each of the attendees proposed the idea that in his concept should be adopted"; and, "after having debated various plans to carry out the reconquest," they agreed on a common plan.

This agreement did not entirely conceal, however, the ill-will between the subversive group of "the Catalans," led by Sentenach and financed by Alzaga, with the "party" of Trigo and Vázquez. The resentment of these was particularly directed at Alzaga, whom his followers would come to call "the Father of the Homeland"; and his detractors, "Martincho Robespierre." And it would culminate later when Trigo accused Alzaga and the Catalans of having "ideas of independence" that were heard in the secret councils of the conspirators. More precisely, it was stated that in the back room of Valencia’s bookstore, they had talked about forming an independent republic after the reconquest. And perhaps something of this was overheard by an orphan girl that Valencia had; "because as a girl she sneaked in to hear everything, although sometimes they threw her out of the room, and she would go and come, either out of curiosity or with the purpose of bringing some mates." Such a "horrendous crime" could not be proven, which slander had attached like burrs to the honor of faithful vassals; but it gave them a grievance.

To all this would lead the rivalry of the Catalans with the "dependents" of Trigo, for the moment still united in a common subversive plan.

The Plan in Motion

The plan consisted of recruiting people, stockpiling horses, weapons, and ammunition, and placing explosive mines beneath the barracks where English detachments were stationed.

For the mines, they considered renting the house of Manuel Espinosa, in front of the first bastion of the Fort, towards La Merced; but as they could not, they rented the house next door, which had an entrance through La Alameda and belonged to P. Martiniano Alonso. To disguise it, a supposed carpentry was installed there.

Near the grounds of San Ignacio, on the streets of San Carlos and the Holy Trinity (Alsina and Bolívar), in the building that had belonged to the Procurator’s Office of the Missions, was installed the Fixed Infantry Barracks, commonly called Ranchería Barracks; in it, there was also an English detachment. Therefore, they rented, in its vicinity, the house of José Martínez de Hoz; and there the "miners" Bartolomé Tast and Isidoro Arnau dug the tunnel entrance to place the explosive. An armed group watched from the rooftop of the Café and billiards of José Marco.

Recruiting people carried the risk of being discovered by an informant. To avoid greater harm in this case, they adopted a cell system, the only contact being 5 volunteers; and each captain would be the head and only contact of 5 corporals.

In this they set out to see a subject who had told me he had 80 men ready –tells us Domingo Matheu–; but that they had to be given 4 reales daily until the reconquest." There was no issue: Alzaga had assured that they had "a great fund at disposal"; and he was not the only one contributing money.

The 27 of June at night, instructed to Cornelio Zelaya, who in little time recruited 72 countrymen. Each one received daily, at the prayer, their four reales (Honor for Hipólito Castañer, a modest laborer “who wanted nothing”). The canary Zerpa recruited 50 men. Others stockpiled white weapons and firearms. In some secret place, howitzers were being mounted. The conspirators did not rest.

Another relevant “leader” was Juan Martín de Pueyrredón, who had arrived from Montevideo with Manuel Arroyo to recruit countrymen and prepare provisioning, in support of the expedition of Liniers. “Pueyrredón passed us the word, that instantly found echo in all our friends” – tells us Melián. “We enlisted more than 300, who should meet armed on a given day in the Chacarita of the Colegiales,” adds Martín Rodríguez.

It had been arranged that the volunteers were concentrated and prepared outside the city. For that, the called “Chacra of Perdriel” was rented, a property situated 4 leagues from Buenos Aires (Villa Ballester, Street Roca 1860, 200 meters from kilometer 18 of Route 8), not far from the farm of Diego Cassero. It had taken the name of its former owner, the Frenchman Julián Perdriel, and later belonged to Domingo Belgrano. It was enclosed with thorny trees that bordered a ditch and had a building of two bodies and a terrace, whose rooms faced a central patio, closed with a gate.

In the night of the 26 of July, Trigo and Vázquez went with some 200 men towards the farm of Perdriel and installed the camp there. There are those who say that the objective was to call the attention of the enemy “and distract it from what was being executed in the city,” where “there was already enough scandal or murmur” about the conspiracy.

Certainly, “the enemies did not lack news about these movements” (Núñez), due to “their informers, of whom they had many” (Beruti).

One day (27 of July), while Zelaya was at his house with his friend Antonio Villalta, discussing details of the subversive plan, a constable of the Cabildo, nicknamed Petaca, came to look for him and said:

• “Are you Mister Cornelio Zelaya?”

• “Yes, sir, I am.”

• “By order of His Excellency the Governor, you must present yourself immediately in the chapter hall, where His Excellency awaits you.”

• “Very well. Tell His Excellency that I will go at once.”

Zelaya entered, meditating on a well-founded suspicion, and told Villalta:

• “Friend, they have discovered me! Beresford is calling for me, and it can only be to hang me. While I go to the billiard hall to see if I can find Palomares to arrange something, do me the favor of saddling my horse. As soon as I return, I will mount and ride to the countryside before they capture me. And you will lead the people to Perdriel.”

Indeed, Palomares was in the billiard hall, and upon learning that Beresford had found the end of the thread, he fled along with Zelaya, fearing being turned in “by so many informers.”

Both went to the farm of Francisco Orma, in Barracas, where they met with Diego Baragaña, Manuel Arroyo, José Pueyrredón, and other patriots who had gathered to go together to Luján, where they would join the forces of Juan Martín de Pueyrredón.

They left at dusk in the direction of the newly founded parish of San José, in the lands of Ramón Flores (today the neighborhood of Flores). From there, they took the road to Córdoba (today Gaona), which crossed the ravine of Morón by the north of Nuestra Señora del Camino (Morón), and at midnight, they reached the bridge of Pedro Márquez, from where they would continue to Luján.

Pueyrredón had gathered the contingent of countrymen summoned in the Chacarita of the Colegiales and in the Holy Places of Jerusalem (today San Martín), along with the dragoons that Commander Antonio Olavarría had collected on the frontier. Together, they returned towards the farm of Perdriel.

For their part, the Catalans had dispatched, on the 30 of July, a body of 50 riflemen and 4 howitzers under the command of Esquiaga and Anzoátegui, with the secret intent of replacing Trigo and Vázquez, either peacefully or forcibly, in the command of the camp. But they had not yet mounted the howitzers when they encountered an unexpected surprise.

Battleground Today

Time To Fight

Informed Beresford of that concentration of forces and that they had few weapons, he decided to strike. At dawn on August 1st, a division of 500 infantry with two cannons, commanded by Colonel Pack and guided by the disgraced mayor Francisco González, left the city stealthily.

At 7 in the morning, they fell by surprise upon the farm of Perdriel and, in one swift blow, dismantled that camp of inexperienced men where, with little fortune, the homeland was beginning to be foreseen.

Although Beruti strives to prove that "the victory was ours" due to the stubborn resistance against the enemy, let us accept that, when the English deployed in battle line and opened fire at will, "the rout was total, without a single man remaining in the field," as Martín Rodríguez states. "Ours defended themselves bravely," affirms Sagui, "but could not avoid retreating with some losses." This is corroborated by the author of Diary of a Soldier, admitting that the patriots "fought like lions, but there was no other choice but to flee each as best they could."

With greater detail, Núñez tells us that the patriots insisted on fighting, despite the disadvantage of their weapons, forgetting that the main objective was to prepare to operate with the expedition that was expected to arrive at any moment. “The result was as it had to be: the supporters could not withstand the enemy’s volleys and fled in disorder, despite the heroic efforts of Citizen Pueyrredón and the brave volunteers who accompanied him.”

Yes, the confrontation was unequal. The determined effort of a hundred armed countrymen, the cries of Viva Santiago Apóstol! and Death to the heretics! were not enough to hold back that barrage for long. Olavarría retreated with his blandengues. The howitzers were abandoned. Confusion and panic spread. Suddenly, Pueyrredón and twelve horsemen appeared, launching a fierce charge against the enemy artillery, seizing a cart of ammunition. A bullet struck down Pueyrredón’s horse, but a comrade saved him. The English were victorious but stunned by the audacity of Pueyrredón’s men, among whom was Cornelio Zelaya. He was “one of the few intrepid ones who charged the enemy at my side,” Pueyrredón himself would later say. Palomares confirmed that Zelaya had been “one of those who helped seize the ammunition cart taken from the enemy.”

Pueyrredón, Zelaya, Francisco Orma, Francisco Trelles, José Bernaldez, and Miguel Mejía Mármol headed to San Isidro, where they boarded a boat that took them to Colonia, from where they would return with Liniers’ expedition.

Meanwhile, the scattered men from Perdriel regrouped at the Chacra de los Márquez (Boulogne, Thames Street, between Fondo de la Legua and the Panamericana), where they would meet the expeditionary forces.

When the time came for accusations and justifications, the Catalans blamed the failure at Perdriel on Trigo’s incompetence: “he is a thief who has squandered all the money for the reconquest” and, on the eve of battle, allowed gambling, drunkenness, and the constant presence of “women for dancing and jokes” in the camp. No less scathing were the accusations against Vázquez, who, coming into the city every night, “would speak at gatherings about everything that was being planned” with reckless carelessness. Sentenach added that, while the battle was raging, Vázquez appeared at Fornaguera’s house “dressed in an old poncho, a polished felt cap, and some sandals tied with leather strips”; and to avoid danger, he disguised himself as a friar and disappeared until after the reconquest when he reappeared in uniform once more.

Without adding or removing anything, we suppose that these disputes were influenced by the rivalry between the Catalans and the followers of Pueyrredón. This rivalry had a colorful outburst once in the hallway of Llach’s house when he, unwilling to send his men to San Isidro under Liniers’ command, lost his temper at a pestering interlocutor and responded, “flipping his fingers under his chin” three times: “Do you know what I will give Señor Liniers? A garlic!” (we record the euphemism as it appears in a famous lawsuit later aired publicly). “I do not work for others to take the glory!”

As events accelerated, the Catalans hurried to gather their men in Plaza Nueva (on today’s Carlos Pellegrini Street, between Cangallo and Sarmiento) and sent them to Retiro under Liniers’ command.

August 12

The hour of the reconquest had arrived. On one side were the victors: some disinterested, others ambitious, some opportunists, others dead. On the other side were “the heretics” and the traitors. Núñez recounts that gangs mercilessly targeted those “who had acted as informers” or aided the enemy with “other vile tasks,” dragging them out to be prosecuted, stripping them of everything—“even the iron bars from their houses.”

In that world of joy and tears, of shouts and silences, like a reawakening of the old virreinal Buenos Aires, stood, proud, that reckless young man whom Liniers had praised so highly for being “one of the citizens of this capital who fought most fervently from the beginning to free it from enemy rule.”

Thus had Cornelio Zelaya begun his service to his homeland. He would continue for many years, selflessly. At the end of them, he found himself alone with his memories, in poverty and obscurity. “Even the gold medals with which my homeland decorated me—I had to sell them for trinkets to feed my family…”

 

Source

Barrionuevo Imposti, Victor – Un combatiente de Perdriel.
Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado.
Todo es Historia – Año XV, Nº 178, marzo de 1982.
www.revisionistas.com.ar

Se permite la reproducción citando la fuente: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Conquest of the Desert: The Alsina Trench

The Alsina Trench






When the forts along the line corresponding to the Northern Frontier were completed and occupied by different detachments, the rest of the troops of the Division began executing the third phase of Minister Alsina’s plan: the construction of an obstacle to discourage indigenous raids—a trench with a parapet.

The project aimed to defend the occupied area, and approximately 650 kilometers of trench were planned, stretching from Fort Cuatreros in Bahía Blanca to Laguna La Amarga in Córdoba.

Alsina’s concept was to gain land through successive advances and to hold onto the conquered territory with a system of fortifications. Despite strong criticism from Buenos Aires newspapers and the opinions of influential figures knowledgeable about the indigenous issue, nothing could stop Alsina’s project. Once the forts were completed, work began on the trench.

The trench, as planned, was to be 3 meters wide and 2 meters deep (these measurements varied according to the terrain), with a parapet 1 meter high built on an embankment facing east, which had a base width of 4.50 meters.

The Northern Division was assigned to complete this work over a stretch of 30 leagues. Colonel Villegas began the construction with dedication and completed the assigned work in a short time.

Soldiers and hired civilians worked on the trench, receiving a payment of 12 strong pesos per meter of trench built. The work was overseen by the French civil engineer Alfredo Ebelot (1), while the efforts of the Northern Division were led by its undisputed commander, Colonel Conrado E. Villegas. They completed 152 kilometers and 200 meters of the planned trench, securing a conquered area of 127,472 square kilometers—the largest territorial gain of the entire advance. This achievement elicited expressions of satisfaction from Minister Alsina when he visited the Trenque Lauquen camp in January 1877.


Profile of the Alsina Trench

The originally projected 600 kilometers were never fully realized, with only about 325 kilometers being built.

To monitor it, 109 forts were established—small, circular structures just over twenty meters in diameter, featuring an adobe hut and a watchtower at the center, surrounded by a ditch and a stockade of pointed wooden stakes to reinforce their defense. Each fort housed between seven and ten soldiers specifically chosen for this assignment, who were required to conduct daily patrols along the line to scout enemy activity. The distance between forts was short, allowing for rapid communication in case of raids or other incidents.

The command post was a fort like the others but with higher status, as it managed the supply of horses and centralized all information from nearby forts. Additionally, soldiers’ families lived there, providing support and companionship, which helped reduce desertion rates.

Reference

(1) Alfred Ebelot, engineer, journalist, and writer, was born in Saint-Gaudens in 1837 and completed his professional studies in Paris. Due to his republican ideals, which opposed the rule of Emperor Napoleon III, he refused to pursue a career as a government official. This defiance led him to work as an editorial secretary for Revue des Deux Mondes, a highly respected publication among Europe’s and America’s intellectual circles.

In 1870, when the French Empire seemed stronger than ever and the impending catastrophe was not yet foreseen, he decided to try his luck in Argentina. He arrived in 1871, during a period of transition. Buenos Aires was still "the great village," and the term "the desert" was used to refer to the vast region about 300 kilometers from the capital that remained outside the authority of the national government.

At the time, Argentina’s total population was 1,819,000, with the French community, numbering 32,000, being the third-largest foreign group. It included professionals, industrialists, merchants, landowners, artists, and craftsmen.

In 1870, news of the Franco-Prussian War, which led to the fall of the Empire and the creation of the Third Republic, kept both the French community and the broader public on edge. Upon arriving in Buenos Aires, Ebelot founded a politically charged newspaper, Le Républicain, aimed at defending republican ideals and promoting the actions of Léon Gambetta, whom he knew and admired.

However, the newspaper was abruptly discontinued due to the yellow fever epidemic, which coincided with the dramatic days of the Paris Commune. Seeking new opportunities, Ebelot was hired by the Argentine government to conduct frontier studies. After overseeing the construction of the "Alsina Trench," he accompanied General Julio A. Roca in the Conquest of the Desert.

He passed away in Toulouse in 1920..

Source

• Mayo, José F. – Un titán del desierto, Gral. Conrado E. Villegas – Trenque Lauquen
• Sáenz Quesada, María – Argentina, Historia del país y de su gente – Ed. Sudamericana
• Colaboration: Patricia Cabeza Miró – Trenque Lauquen.

Argentine Army: Roca's Pardon for Soldier Evaristo Sosa

The day Roca saved a man sentenced to death half an hour before the execution

The general was president and granted a pardon to a soldier imprisoned for attacking a superior who had mistreated him. The details of the decision.

By Luciana Sabina || Infobae



Evaristo Sosa, the soldier “saved” by Julio A. Roca

In January 1902, the country was on edge for days following the death sentence of soldier Evaristo Sosa, a humble-born serviceman who, after being subjected to mistreatment, attempted to take the life of a superior. The press captured the social outrage sparked by the sentence, whose outcome was worthy of a suspense novel.

On January 3, 1902, Sosa, a volunteer soldier with six years of service in the national army, was arrested drunk in a store, an act that, according to reports of the time, "caused disturbances." He was immediately taken to Campo de Mayo (Argentine Army Headquarters). There, he was placed under the charge of Second Lieutenant Ramírez, whose first name, curiously, was not mentioned in the accounts of those years. As punishment, Sosa was sentenced to a “plantón” — the military obligation to stand guard without relief — for six hours, although he only completed three.

The "Sosa Case" caused a great stir in its time

After serving his punishment and being released, the condemned Sosa became enraged. He then took his regulation weapon and, in the early hours of January 4, went to the room of the second lieutenant, who was dozing in a rocking chair. With almost no words exchanged, he fired his Mauser carbine at him, destroying part of the officer's face. Sosa was imprisoned without resistance and stated that he attacked the officer because he had punished him in a "demeaning manner." Ramírez, meanwhile, was transferred to the Military Hospital, where he managed to recover. For this attack, the assailant ended up shackled and brought before a military tribunal, which sentenced him to death.

The sentence was handed down on January 17 and was to be carried out the following day. Soon, society mobilized to prevent it, aware that Sosa's reaction was the result of the well-known mistreatment inflicted on lower-ranking members of the Army. A group of Buenos Aires women even went to request a pardon from then-President Julio Argentino Roca. However, they received no response.

Meanwhile, the press denounced the situation nationwide, highlighting how abhorrent it was. While the death penalty was legal in the country, it caused immense social rejection.

As the hours passed, the impotence of many grew. That night, Evaristo Sosa did not sleep. At 5 a.m., they came for him to begin the routine ordeal to which prisoners were subjected before being executed. His composure did not falter, despite the terrible night he had spent under the weight of his sentence.

He was placed "en capilla" under a tent, a concept that warrants explanation. The term refers to the space occupied by any condemned prisoner while awaiting execution. As historian Carlos Riviera points out, it originates "from a tradition at the ancient University of Salamanca [Spain], where doctoral candidates, the day before defending their thesis before the tribunal, had to confine themselves for an entire day in the chapel of Saint Barbara in the old cathedral of Salamanca to seek enlightenment from the Holy Spirit. There, they had to prepare in complete solitude, as even their meals were passed to them through a small window."

Sosa was placed “en capilla” during the night he awaited execution

Returning to Sosa, half an hour after being "placed en capilla," he was visited by a priest who held Mass near the tent. The soldier, deeply moved, took Communion, impressing the few witnesses present with his demeanor. Shortly after, he received visits from some comrades to bid farewell and find comfort in the face of his imminent end. One of them strummed a melancholic tune on a guitar and sang its verses, further unsettling the condemned man.

As emotion overtook the small group of soldiers, moving everyone to tears, the surroundings were filled with noise and activity. The magazine Caras y Caretas covered the event in detail. Among other things, it reported that Commander Rostagno, the military secretary to the President of the Republic, arrived "carrying a note for the senior commander of the forces."

"‘The pardon!’ murmured most, as the rumor spread throughout the camp, even though preparations for the execution continued, keeping Sosa isolated," the magazine recounted.

They were not mistaken. At the very last moment, Julio Argentino Roca decided to grant the longed-for pardon. However, the soldier misunderstood the situation and cried out in despair: "I have half an hour to live!"

Roca decided to pardon the prisoner

But the panic lasted only a few minutes, and Sosa regained his composure upon seeing a group of commanders and officers arrive at his tent. Caras y Caretas reported: "They were the bearers of the good news, who at first merely hinted at a glimmer of hope to avoid what was feared (...) They allowed Lieutenant García to notify the prisoner of the commutation—as he had informed him of the sentence the day before. The poor soldier collapsed onto a bench, seized by a terrible nervous breakdown that alarmed the doctors, making them fear a cardiac syncope. He registered 120 beats per minute initially, which then dropped so quickly that ether inhalations had to be applied to help him recover."

"The tent was then cleared, and Sosa asked to be left alone for a moment. Shortly after, he fell into a heavy, leaden sleep. Meanwhile, the entire camp showed visible signs of relief, with the good news spreading among commanders, officers, and soldiers alike. More than 500 people from the capital and nearby towns had come to Campo de Mayo, and all of them carried away the joyful impression of the atmosphere that, just moments earlier, had been prepared for a grim execution," the publication detailed.

Evaristo, a native of the province of Mendoza, was married to Teresa Espíndola and had a young son, nine years old. It is easy to imagine the happiness of them all.

Undoubtedly, the person most surprised by the news of the commutation of the sentence was the condemned man himself, who experienced an episode of mental disarray just a few hours later.

The entire country had anticipated Roca's intervention. While Sosa's actions were undeniably criminal, many regarded them as a natural reaction to the mistreatment soldiers faced at the time. Furthermore, the Supreme Military Council that issued the sentence disregarded the involvement of the Ministry of War, stating it was beyond its jurisdiction. This was seen as a significant affront to the Executive Branch.

Despite receiving the news with relief, public opinion criticized Roca for waiting until the last moment instead of acting sooner.

"It would have been more humane to act earlier," Caras y Caretas remarked at the time, "since the prisoner, as we said from the start, worn down by so many emotions and convinced that his offense would not be met with mercy, has experienced a significant physical and moral decline. Clear signs of mental distress had been evident for days, and on Friday morning, after learning of the commutation, it was necessary to transfer him to the Military Hospital."

Indeed, under such extreme suffering, Sosa lost his sanity and spent months hospitalized. He deluded himself into thinking he had bullets in his chest, believing he had been executed by firing squad.

Once he recovered, he was imprisoned again. In 1909, he was transferred to the military prison in Ushuaia, where he worked as a muleteer. From that point on, his name faded into the pages of oblivion.

But this was not the only person from Mendoza whom Roca pardoned in 1902. Another singular episode occurred in July of that year.

In Mendoza, Juan Rodríguez was imprisoned for murdering a pregnant woman and her husband to steal a meager sum of money. The crime, which took place in the department of Rivadavia, caused great public outcry. From the presidency, a telegram arrived approving the execution of the accused, with the support of the governor and the Mendoza judiciary. The shock in Mendoza and the rest of the nation was indescribable when, through another communication, General Roca himself declared the initial telegram to be fraudulent.

It was later revealed that the author of the telegram was none other than his own son and personal secretary, Dr. Julio A. Roca. The improper and informal nature of this procedure put both the president and the Mendoza governor under scrutiny. As a result, Rodríguez’s life was spared.

Beyond these particular cases, it is important to highlight the strong societal rejection of the death penalty. At the beginning of the 20th century, the liberal press referred to it as "an act of barbarity, far removed from the civilized society we aspire to be." Years later, socialists, particularly Alfredo Palacios, joined the fight for its abolition.

Finally, in 1922, with the reform of the Penal Code, the death penalty was abolished in Argentina.

Malvinas: The Counter Attack of the "3 de Oro" at Wireless Ridge

The Counterattack of the "3 de Oro" (Golden 3) (Part 1)

By Lt. Col. (R) (Malvinas War Veteran) Víctor Hugo Rodríguez

The author served in the Malvinas as a First Lieutenant, Chief of the 1st Section of Company "A" of the 3rd Mechanized Infantry Regiment "Gral. Belgrano," nicknamed "3 de Oro" (Golden 3) during the Triple Alliance War, due to the yellow breastplate that adorned their blue jackets.





June 13, 1982, 22:00 hours — Tumbledown Hill, overlooking Moody Brook Valley. To the left was Longdon; in front, the 7th Infantry Regiment of La Plata was enduring relentless fire for two days, June 11th and 12th. It was hell. Positioned 100 meters above them and 5 kilometers away, we witnessed how the British enemy left no centimeter unscathed by naval, artillery, and mortar fire. It was clear they were preparing an assault on the regiment's heights. Occasionally, they turned their attention to us, a forewarning of their advance towards Tumbledown.

Below Longdon, Captain Soloaga—a war hero who carried his Sanmartinian values into peace—"clung like an oyster" to the rocks. His men were already fighting, enduring an infernal bombardment day and night. From our vantage point, we watched, both awestruck and helpless, as their resilience unfolded. Occasionally, patrols emerged—but only to retrieve their fallen and place them in an abandoned ambulance stuck in the valley's mud before returning to combat. Watching them march back into that artillery barrage was profoundly moving.
At 22:00 hours on June 13th, Captain Zunino, commander of Company A "Tacuarí" of the "3 de Oro," summoned us. A remarkable officer for wartime, Zunino convened 2nd Lt. Dobrovevic (support group leader), 2nd Lt. Mones Ruiz (2nd rifle section), Sub-Lt. Aristegui (3rd section leader), and me (1st section leader).

“We need to support the 7th Regiment, which is under attack on those heights,” he said.”. 

We knew the terrain only by sight—no reconnaissance had been done. The day before, we had deployed to Tumbledown, abandoning previous positions. Defending our spot against the expected assault the next day was our sole focus. Our positions consisted of low rocks; our aluminum screw-shovel “Tempex” tools had broken within a week, unable to withstand the greda soil. Digging foxholes was impossible. Equipment? Just a blanket, a shared tent cloth, and only five magazines per soldier. Night vision? Only the captain had one. Radios? None. Batteries were dead, leaving us with no communication within or outside the company. To supplement ammo, I ordered rounds carried in socks tied around our necks.



Aristegui, a 4th-year cadet serving as a "commissioned sub-lieutenant" in the Malvinas, was barely older than his soldiers. Yet, he was an example of leadership. I said,

“Aristegui, form up. You take the right, and I'll take the left. Let's cross the valley quickly and head for the heights.”. 

The battlefield was chaos—roaring, blazing, hellish. Longdon, the valley, Wireless Ridge where the 7th Regiment was positioned, Port Argentino, Mount Williams—all were alight with tracer rounds and rocket fire. It was full-on war, the final assault. We waded through a freezing brook, soaked to the waist. Snow fell. The cold? I can’t remember. The adrenaline heated our bodies.

From the valley, we realized the heights, where the 7th Regiment was supposed to meet us, were instead occupied by British forces, firing rifles and rockets at the abandoned Royal Marines barracks. Without communication, we had to resolve it on our own. I turned to Aristegui:

“The enemy’s up there. Let’s surprise them. Don’t advance straight—move to the right, gain the height advantage.”

Moments later, I heard, 

“The sub-lieutenant’s been hit in the neck!” 

I ran to him, blood pouring from his neck, when one of his men, slapping his cheek, shouted:

"You’ve been good to us, kid. We’ll get you out of here."

They carried him back to safety. Today, Aristegui, nicknamed “Nono,” is an exemplary Malvinas officer, earning the respect of his soldiers at just 19 years old. The bullet had pierced his neck, narrowly missing his spine..

Still in the valley, the enemy illuminated us with flares. Forty of Aristegui’s men and forty of mine were exposed. Knowing artillery fire was imminent, I ordered an assault on their positions, 100 meters above us on Wireless Ridge’s heights. Seconds later, an artillery barrage rained down where we had stood moments earlier. The shells exploded 50 meters overhead, showering us with lethal fragments.

“Charge!” I yelled. There was no other option to reach the heights and support the 7th Regiment. What a sight—my soldiers and Aristegui’s, running uphill, driven by sheer determination. “Cata” Carballo, my speedy aide; “Mono” Paz, my radioman without a radio; Aumasane, Izaguirre, “Bombón” Díaz, Juan Fernández—young men from Buenos Aires, cold, hungry, yet filled with love for their country, surging from the valley to claim that piece of Malvinas soil.

They were just 18 years old. They had little food, no communications, yet an unyielding spirit. To think the tabloids later dismissed them as mere “boys of war”...