The tragic execution of Santiago de Liniers

The story of Santiago de Liniers is one of those tragic pages in which a hero becomes a victim of the very cause he helped forge. The count, famous for his heroic deeds during the English Invasions, was a protagonist in the most memorable episode of revolutionary violence at the dawn of 1810.

Informed of the events in Buenos Aires, he decided to lead a counterrevolution from Córdoba. With an iron will and still convinced of his duty to the Crown, he gathered nearly a thousand men and personally trained them.

In those days, the atmosphere within the Viceroyalty was divided. Dámaso Uriburu, a contemporary witness to the events, reported that the people, "with the exception of the European Spaniards and government employees, sympathized with the ideas promoted in Buenos Aires and supported their propaganda with the greatest fervor." Despite this, fear spread when it became known that the capital was sending an expedition to Córdoba. Liniers's figure still inspired respect and support; his prestige as a victor over the English drew many toward him.

In August 1810, the men sent by the Junta took the city without resistance and appointed Juan Martín de Pueyrredón as commander. His arrival was celebrated; enthusiastic young men even asked to join the patriotic troops, among them a teenager named José María Paz, a future general for the independence movement.

Two days earlier, Liniers had left Córdoba. Determined to prove his loyalty to the Spanish monarch, he ignored the warnings of Belgrano, Saavedra, and even his own father-in-law, Martín de Sarratea, who begged him to stay out of the way to save his life. Everything went wrong from the start: his troops quickly dispersed—some even insulted him as they left—and the ammunition wagon exploded. With no other resources, he hid in San Francisco del Chañar. He paid a laborer not to reveal his hiding place, but the man betrayed him. That informer, scarred for life by his act, would be remembered with contempt by the people as the "mangy traitor."

The midnight scene of his capture is one of the most moving scenes in revolutionary history. Liniers and his companions were violently awakened by a posse under the command of José María Urien. The treatment was cruel: they were stripped of all their belongings and left almost naked. Paul Groussac described how the hero was tied up so brutally that "blood burst from his fingertips." Months later, the Junta would prosecute Urien for "not having behaved with the purity and honor he owed in the prison of Don Santiago de Liniers."

At first, no one imagined that it would end in a firing squad. When the execution order arrived from Buenos Aires—prompted by Mariano Moreno—it was disobeyed. Kill Liniers? Impossible. Francisco Ortiz de Ocampo refused to comply, which earned him the repudiation of the Junta and his dismissal. Castelli and French were sent to ensure the sentence was carried out. Bartolomé Mitre records the dramatic exchange between Moreno and Castelli:

"Friend, you are capable of killing your father." Castelli tried to excuse himself, and Moreno replied: "Go ahead, and I hope you won't incur the same weakness as our general; if the decision taken is still not carried out, Member Larrea will go, and I believe he will not lack resolve, and finally, I will go myself if necessary."

During those days, the mistreatment of the prisoners shocked the Cordoban residents, who tried to bring them supplies. They were often discovered, and the deliveries ended up in the hands of the soldiers. Among these compassionate ones was Doña Tiburcia Haedo, the mother of young Paz. The denunciation of Urien's own subordinates led to his removal; however, Liniers's fate was already sealed.

On August 26, 1810, in a lonely spot called Tiger's Head, the tragedy unfolded. Castelli read the verdict. Groussac recounts it with harrowing vividness:

“The prisoners were placed in a line, some distance apart, at the front of the formed troop… there were two terrible seconds of waiting to ensure the shot, and then, at the cry of “Fire!” a single thunderclap shook the woods, and the five bodies rolled on the ground… it is said that French, a soldier of the Reconquista, had to discharge his pistol at the Reconquistador’s head.”

The bodies were dumped in a ditch, although a local priest dug them up for burial. Years later, in 1862, Liniers and Juan Gutiérrez de la Concha were transported to Spain. Their mausoleum bears a poignant inscription: “The last heroes of the Old Homeland were the first victims of the New Homeland. Tribute by the Argentine Navy, August 1960.”

The execution was, above all, an act of political fear. Buenos Aires venerated Liniers, and his presence could have jeopardized the revolution. It was safer to kill him in Córdoba than to allow him to set foot in the capital. The Junta, aware of the scandal, published a manifesto attempting to justify the act, even claiming that the count had "insulted the Junta by attributing to himself revolutionary intentions against the sovereignty of Lord Ferdinand VII."

Many years later, Juan José Rodríguez Peña summed up the logic of that act with brutal frankness:

“We were cruel! What a charge! (…) Throw the blame in our faces and enjoy the results. We will be the executioners; you be the free men.”

Thus, the hero of the Reconquista became a martyr of the Revolution, a victim of a time when loyalties and fears intersected in a setting where a new homeland would be born.