Dear Arthur,

How are you doing?

I've received your Englishman magazine from London. Thank you very much and Charles, Benjamin, Alexander, and other kind friends for taking the time to compile my correspondence into a volume and serialize it in The Briton under the title "The Voyage Diary of the Beagle".

I am flattered by the fact that you told me in your letter that this naturalist travel diary was very popular in London. I know I don't deserve to be compared to the naturalists of Linnaeus, Banksy, Buphon, etc., but it's always a pleasure to occasionally find out in a reader's letter that your name is in the same sentence as them.

Since embarking on the Beagle, I have come to understand more and more why Britain's greatest naturalists often come from the Royal Navy, and that the opportunity to sail around the globe is indeed a naturalist's greatest blessing. Along the way, I saw many strange things that I had never heard of or seen.

Before the Berger left the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, I went out of my way to visit the residence of the Consul General of Montevideo, Mr. Hood. For long before we visited the area, we had heard of an amazing thunderstorm in the area, and a ship moored in the harbor, two churches, and Mr. Hood's house were all struck by lightning.

About a foot of wallpaper near the sides of the bell line in Mr. Hood's home was charred and the metal was melted. Although the room was about fifteen feet tall, the molten metal dripped onto the chairs and furniture, drilling a series of small holes.

Some of the walls seemed to have been shattered by explosives, and the shards flew out so hard that they smashed the other side of the room into a crater. The frame of the mirror was blackened, and the gilding on the frame had apparently evaporated, for a salt-sniffer placed on the mantelpiece was coated with shiny metal beads, as strong as if it had been glazed.

The scene was shocking enough, but I heard from the sailors at the tavern that it wasn't the worst lightning strike in the area. According to his memory, the thunderstorm that struck Buenos Aires in 1793 was the most devastating in history: 37 places across the city were struck by lightning and 19 people died.

Based on the phenomena described in several travel books, I am inclined to believe that thundershowers at the mouth of large rivers are very frequent. I think this may be because the mixture of large volumes of fresh water and salt water disturbs the balance of electricity? Hehe, but this is just my personal speculation, the specific cause of this phenomenon has to be answered by you, a professional electromagnet researcher. If you figure out what causes it, please let me know in your reply.

As soon as we leave the mouth of the Río de la Plata, we pass through Maldonado and head towards the mouth of the Negro estuary. It is the main river on the coastline between the Strait of Magellan and the Río de la Plata, and was founded as a small colony about fifty years ago, under the Spanish government. And to this day, it is still the southernmost point of civilized settlement on the east coast of South America.

It is the terminus of civilization for a reason. Here you can hardly find green trees, only vertical cliffs and gravel, open plains littered with gravel, water is scarce, vegetation is even more sparse, and only low, hard-thorned bushes can be seen.

We walked a long way down the Negro River before we finally saw the ruins of a large and exquisite estate. According to the locals, it was destroyed by the Indians a few years ago. He told me vividly that it was the Araúcan people from southern Chile who had come in the hundreds, each on horseback, covered with a fur cape, a hat decorated with ostrich feathers, and a chuso gun (a local bamboo pole spear) in his hand.

The Indians surrounded the people of the manor, and the chieftain Pinchera ordered them to lay down their arms or cut their throats. But none of the people believed the Indians, and it was not once or twice that their throats were cut after laying down their arms. Thus, the firing of the Mauser became their only answer.

The Indians slowly advanced to the fence of the corral. They were surprised to find that the fence was not locked with a belt, but with iron nails, so they had to cut it with knives. Many of the wounded Indians were carried out by their companions, the last little chief was wounded, and the trumpet of the retreat was finally sounded.

The Indians returned to Shema and appeared to have held a military meeting. Then, the second wave of attacks soon returned. This should have been the most difficult time for the Spaniards, as they had only a few boxes of gunpowder left, but fortunately they had a few small cannons on their estate, and they were lucky enough to have a retired French artilleryman in command.

The Frenchman, who had both military prowess and a cool head like Alexander, waited until the Indians were close enough to give the order to open fire, and grapeshotfire sprayed out, and thirty-nine men fell in the front row of the Indians in an instant. Needless to say, such sharp artillery fire was enough to make them retreat.

Fortunately, these Christians survived. Unfortunately, the estate was ruined.

The town in which the estate is located is called El Carmen, and it is also called Patagones. The town was built on a rock face facing the river, and many of the houses were built in sandstone. The size of the town is small, with only a few hundred local residents. And these Spanish colonies are not quite the same as our British ones, they have no basis for expansion. So in addition to the colonists, many purebred Indians also lived nearby.

The local government provided some supplies to the nearby Indian tribes, such as giving them all the old and weak horses. They made money by making saddle blankets and other harnesses. These Indians were naturalized and less ferocious, but they also became unscrupulous and industrious.

But fortunately, the young people of the tribe are progressing, and they are willing to work. A recent team went on a seal hunting expedition, and the captain said the boys did a great job.

When we arrived in town, they were enjoying the fruits of their labors, dressed in lively and clean clothes, and wandering around in a leisurely manner. The taste of their dress is admirable, and I assure you that any of these young Indians are used as models for bronze statues, and his robes are elegant enough.

But Elder was clearly more interested in the boys than I was, and we hadn't seen anyone alive for five or six days before we arrived in El Carmen. So as soon as Elder arrived in town, he went to the only tavern in town to drink and brag with the boys.

I don't know how this guy managed to mingle with the Indians, because they didn't even know the language, but after three or two beers, it seemed that all they needed was a shameless smile or a vulgar gesture to understand what the other meant.

Elder was even invited by the Indian tribe to their traditional celebrations, but Colonel Fitzroy, fearing that the Indians would kill him, did not allow Elder to leave the camp without permission. But Elder told everyone that he didn't care about the rotten life, he just wanted to get the two Indian girls back.

Although we sent someone to keep an eye on the boy, he sneaked out of the camp that night and had a good night with his new friends. Although he did not get his wish to bring back the Indian girl, when he returned the next morning, his clothes and hat were all changed to Indian style.

In this way, there was suddenly an Indian gentleman in British style in the town, and we also had an Indian-style British jungle warrior in our ranks. Everyone said that Elder had not managed to rob the Indians, but Elder argued that he had slept five last night, and that his clothes were a token of love for the girls.

Most of the people in the camp didn't believe Held's words, but Colonel Fitzroy did. He angrily ordered Elder to be locked up for a day, saying that Elder could give away his clothes today, and that he would be able to send guns to the Indian wives tomorrow.

And once the guns of the fleet fall into the hands of the Indian girls, then the Royal Navy will lose an expedition and gain an Indian marine. As a captain in the Royal Navy, Colonel Fitzroy insisted that his power was not yet strong enough to form an autonomous, reorganized corps.

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

Every year, the salt lake produces thousands of tons of salt bricks in large cubic crystals, which are so pure that the prosperity of the region depends almost entirely on it.

Mr. Trenham Ricks, a local salt merchant, was kind enough to analyze the composition for me. He found that the salt contained only 0.26 percent gypsum and 0.22 percent soil. Curiously, this pure salt is not as good for curing meat as the sea salt of the Cape Verde Islands. They even have to import sea salt from Cape Verde and mix it with local salt. Pure salt is not as good as impure salt, which is something that no one expected.

The problem of salt didn't bother me for long, though, because I spotted the flamingos, a beautiful and amazing animal, resting on the shores of the salt lake. They can be seen wading through water in search of food, and their targets may be worms that are swaying through the mud, while the latter may feed on trichomoniasis or filamentous algae.

While I was contemplating the habits of these beautiful creatures, I noticed a troop of cavalry passing by on the shore of the lake. They are the troops of General Rozas, commander-in-chief of the armed forces of Buenos Aires. In view of the recent intensification of raids by nomadic Indian tribes on large estates near settlements, General Rosas had deliberately established such a force to sweep the 500-mile area between Buenos Aires and Puerto Blanca.

And as we crossed the Colorado River, we happened to pass by their base camp. Their soldiers were almost exclusively cavalry. However, I believe that an army that looks so much like a rogue bandit should be unprecedented. Most of the soldiers were of mixed black, Indian and Spanish descent. I don't know why, but people from this background rarely have good intentions.

But fortunately, our side is not bad, with a guy like Elder who is not left behind. He volunteered to find the secretary of the unit, but because he was too strong of Indian elements, he was taken down by the soldiers on the spot before he could get close to the camp. Elder first explained in English, but the other party did not understand, so he switched to Latin and cursed, resulting in two mouths.

Colonel Fitzroy hurried forward to help explain, showing the clerk a letter of introduction from the Buenos Aires Provincial Government to the Commander of Patagones. The clerk ran into the tent with the letter of introduction, and in a short time he saw a small but muscular officer come out, and he was General Rosas.

He told us in a kind but kind manner that we were willing to serve, and invited us to sit in the tent together. He asked us a lot of questions, including our travels and life experiences, but the one that intrigued General Rosas the most was Held's mysterious friend, the Shadow Pope of Scotland Yard.

That's right, Arthur, that's what he said. O my God! You'll have to be glad you're not there, or you'll be embarrassed to get into the cracks. In Elder Person's mouth, it seems that you have become the mastermind behind all the judicial forces in London, and you can find out any case, and all the crimes will be hidden in front of you.

Perhaps Elder was aware of General Rosas's devout beliefs, so he added a rather old-fashioned medieval phrase to your impartial law enforcement - all in the name of the Father. I don't know if General Rosas has been in the moor so long that there is no entertainment left, but he listens to Elder with great relish.

What's even more nonsense is that Rosas is still interested in hearing these stories, saying that he is preparing to expand the size of the police force in Buenos Aires, and if one day you feel that the task of Scotland Yard is no longer challenging for you, you can try it in South America.

Just as General Corcoran, who was forced to retire from the Royal Navy, can make a mark in Chile and Brazil, General Rosas has no doubt that a senior police officer from Scotland Yard is more than capable of taking on the post of commander of the Buenos Aires Police Force.

And it's not just you, he even wants to recruit Colonel Fitzroy and the rest of our team. At first I wondered why he was so interested in recruiting Europeans, but when I went to bed in the arranged house, I realized that the cavalry captain with whom I lived was also from Europe, who had served in Napoleon's army and had participated in expeditions against Russia.

I asked him about General Rosas, and he told me that General Rosas was a man of extraordinary qualities, who had a great influence in the country, and that he wanted to use that influence to promote the prosperity and progress of the country. It is said that he owns 74 square leagues of land and more than 300,000 head of cattle.

There are many stories circulating about his strict implementation of his family laws. One rule is that no knives are allowed on Sundays, and those who violate them are to be handcuffed. This is because Sunday is the main day for gambling and alcoholism, and there are a lot of quarrels, and when a fight starts, knives are used, and people are often killed.

One Sunday, when the dignitaries came to visit the manor in full costume, General Rosas rushed out to meet him, his sword still pinned to his belt as usual in his haste.

The butler touched his arm and reminded him that there was this law.

He turned to the high-ranking official and said that he was very sorry, but he was going to be handcuffed and had no right to welcome guests, even in his own home, until he was released.

After a while, the butler was persuaded to open the shackles and let him out.

But as soon as he came out, he said to the butler, "By doing this, you are also breaking the law, and you must wear a yoke." ”

Hearing this, do you feel a little familiar, Rosas is very similar to that man in everything he says and does, and I can even assert that he is deliberately imitating the big devil from Corsica.

And I'm not the only one who thinks so, even the veteran from France thinks so. But my behavior towards Rosas is mainly contempt, and the veteran is reverence.

That's why, he said, he chose to be loyal to Rosas, and he saw in Rosas the shadow of that man, Napoleon, the great Emperor of the French Empire.

And an English merchant in a nearby town provided me with another story about General Rosas, who assured me with honor that the following story was true:

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

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

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

Arthur, do you think my guess makes sense?

I didn't like Rosas, but at first it didn't rise to the level of disgust.

But then a tragic incident that I witnessed finally confirmed his position as a cruel dictator in my mind.

While we were in Puerto Blanca, the place was in a constant state of commotion, with rumors of wars and victories between the army of Rosas and the uncivilized Indians.

One day, the news came that the soldiers of the squad that had gone to a post in Buenos Aires had all been killed.

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

I can't imagine a wilder and savage place in the world than their camp.

A considerable number of their soldiers were converted Indians, from the tribe of Chief Benantio. Some people were so drunk that they were so drunk, and some people drank the blood of the cows they had killed for dinner. After getting drunk, he vomited again, and his body was covered with blood and dirt.

A few days later, I came across this bandit-like soldier who was campaigning against an Indian tribe near the salt pans.

The men, women, and children of the Indian tribes, together numbered about one hundred and ten, and each man was slashed and almost all of the rest were killed or captured.

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

A dying Indian gritted his opponent's thumb with his teeth, allowing his eyes to be pulled out, and not letting go. The other was wounded and pretended to be dead, but he had his knife ready, waiting for the opportunity to deliver the final fatal blow to the enemy.

What a dark picture, and even more appalling but indisputable truth, all women over the age of twenty were also slaughtered in cold blood!

I yelled at them, "Why are you doing this? This is simply inhumane! ”

The commander, however, lightly wiped off the scarlet saber with a handkerchief and replied: "Why?" What else can I do? They're going to breed! ”

Everyone here is convinced that this is the most just war, because it is the barbarians who are killed. Who would dare to believe that such atrocities could occur in a civilized Christian country in this day and age? The children of the Indians were spared from slaughter, or sold or given away as servants, and when they said they were servants, they were slaves!

It is all the more shameful that General Rosas, like Lord Chesterfield of our country, believes that today's friend may be tomorrow's enemy, so he always puts his Indian allies at the front of the ranks in order to reduce their numbers. Such an act goes beyond the minimum of defending private property, and is not intended to spread advanced civilization, but is an outright act of genocide.

Elder and I were about to dissuade the Rosas army from continuing to slaughter the hopeless little tribe of 100 Indians, but Colonel Fitzroy told us to leave our minds alone, and we had a big fight.

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

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

So they were shot one after the other.

The third also said, "I don't know." ”

At the end, he added: "Shoot, I'm a man, I can die." ”

In order to defend their homeland and compatriots, they refuse to confide a word!

But their chief was different, he was a bad breed. In order to save his life, the guy explained the battle plan and meeting place of the Indian Alliance.

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

This ruthless executioner still delusions that we would be willing to be the butcher's knife held high in his hands, not everyone in the world cannot see through what an ugly face is hidden under his cold iron mask!

I cursed him and his army day after day with this desire, but my prayers that God would punish evil and promote good were once again in vain.

On 20 October, as soon as we came ashore from Las Conshas, we found ourselves invisibly prisoners. A violent revolution has taken place, and all ports have been sealed off by order of Roses.

We could not return to the ship, and we were not allowed to go by land. After a series of negotiations, we were allowed to meet General Lorol, the commander of the Rosas rebels in Las Consas, the next day.

The next morning, I rode to his camp. Generals, officers, and enlisted men look like a bunch of villains, believing that so it is.

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

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

The Argentine populace did not seem to have any complaints about the revolution, nor any excuse for resentment.

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

It is impossible for General Rosas not to be unaware of this uprising, for it is clearly in perfect harmony with the plans of his faction.

A year ago, he was elected a senior official, but refused to accept it unless the provincial legislature gave him special powers. After this request was rejected, his faction made it clear to everyone that if Rosas was not a high-ranking official, then no one would be able to sit in the position of a high-ranking official.

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

A few days after we left Buenos Aires, a warrant arrived from Rosas, which stated that he was not in favor of breaking the peace, but that he also believed that justice was on the side of the rebels.

With just such a small note, hundreds of people, including high-ranking officials, government officials, and part of the military, fled from the capital.

The next day, the rebels entered the city and elected new high officials, who were paid in full for their votes for Rosas.

From these events, it is clear that Rosas will eventually become a king who is not a king, a great dictator. And he will not be crowned king only because the people here, like the people of other republics, hate the title of 'king'.

After leaving Argentina, we heard that Rosas had been elected to the top office, but that his powers and tenure had completely deviated from the constitutional principles and original intentions of the republic.

Arthur, sometimes, I'm really glad I'm British. If I had been born in a country like Argentina, I really wouldn't have known what to do. Rosas could fool the Argentines, but he couldn't fool me, and he shouldn't have deceived the good people of Britain.

I know he's preparing to issue a new Argentine bond on the London Stock Exchange, but should we give him what he wants?

Of course not, that's why I'm writing this letter. We have no reason to provide him with bullets to shoot at the Indians, nor are we obliged to help his dictatorship. His acting skills are so clumsy that it's really not worth us to pay a ticket for him to watch the show.

Neither a military junta nor a dictator should be an indicator of an advanced civilization. For God's sake, Arthur, please do everything you can to stop him. Like the slave ships we chased Fred on the high seas, people like Rosas would never understand that an upright Scotlandfield police officer could not be bought off with filthy silver coins and honor stained with the blood of others.

Naturalist who fought for the truth, your friend, Charles Darwin.

February 11, 1832.

In the offices of Scotland Yard, the smoke is thick and the strong smell of West Indian tobacco can be heard everywhere.

Arthur leaned back in his chair with his pipe in his mouth, his eyes fixed on Darwin's letterhead.

The Red Devil stood right behind him, his slender and sharp black nails pressed lightly against Arthur's shoulder, and there seemed to be a hint of mockery in his tone.

"Arthur, I told you not to look at it. You know what's going to happen in London, but if you're on the right track, you'll be on the horizon for the next 30 years. But...... But you prefer to see an inconsequential gadget at such a critical moment, but it may shake your mind. ”

Seeing that Arthur didn't speak, the Red Devil immediately sighed again, and he put one hand on his forehead and complained: "Don't blame me for not reminding you, you have to think about it before you make a move." Because this time it's not like you're going to fight Fred's kind of East End clown, do you know what will happen to you if you make a mistake this time? It is to inherit the wrath of the Tories of the Duke of Wellington, Sir Peel, the Duke of Newcastle and the Earl of Elden! Face the roar of Whig giants such as the Earl of Grey, the Duke of Bedford, the Viscount of Palmerston and the Viscount of Melbourne! It's a broken bone!! It's a catastrophe!! ”

Arthur just turned his head to look at the Red Devil.

I saw that the Red Devil had changed into his classic appearance again, with a clown suit, a clown hat, and a colorful unkempt wig.

Agareth stretched out his oozing red tongue and curled it over his lips like a broomstick.

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

Knock knock!

There was a knock on the office door.

"Superintendent Hastings! Fifth Urgent Report! ”

Arthur twisted his head and tilted his neck from side to side, and he pressed the red nose in, and it was firmly fastened to his nose.

Agareth's smile flickered, and then the corners of his mouth rose higher and higher, and it seemed that his cheek might be torn at any time: "Arthur...... You! He!! Mother!!! Target!!!! ”

Arthur clapped his hands lightly and shouted, "Come in!" ”

(End of chapter)