BRAZILIAN IRONCLAD SUNK BY TORPEDOES ON THE PARAGUAY

CORRIENTES, 1866-09-03. — The Brazilian ironclad Rio de Janeiro has been sunk by submarine torpedoes in the Paraguay River during the operations against Curuzú. The disaster occurred yesterday, September 2, and the loss is reported at fifty-three officers and men. Two explosions struck the vessel in succession, and she went down with a rapidity which left little opportunity for escape. To-day the Brazilian troops have carried the position at Curuzú; but this success cannot disguise the gravity of the naval reverse. A vessel constructed to withstand the enemy’s artillery has been destroyed by charges concealed beneath the water through which the squadron must advance.

The Rio de Janeiro was a new addition to the Imperial navy, built at Rio de Janeiro and brought into service during the present year. She belonged to the class of armoured vessels upon which Brazil has placed much dependence in this river campaign: a wooden hull protected by iron, with the principal guns enclosed in an armoured battery. Such construction affords a measure of security against shot striking the vessel’s sides. It does not place the bottom beyond the reach of an explosion from below. Her destruction is therefore not merely the subtraction of another gun-platform from the fleet; it exposes a danger against which the most conspicuous part of her protection could furnish no sufficient answer.

The operations at Curuzú began on September 1. Brazilian ships engaged the Paraguayan works, while troops under the Baron of Porto Alegre moved against the position by land. The fort stands upon the Paraguay below Curupayty and the greater defences of Humaitá. Its possession gives the allies a footing farther up the river, but does not open an unobstructed road to the Paraguayan capital. The batteries and entrenched positions beyond it remain to be dealt with. Yesterday’s sinking occurred in the midst of this combined undertaking, in which the army requires the assistance of the squadron and the squadron cannot disregard the enemy’s command of the banks.

The engines which destroyed the Rio de Janeiro are described in naval language as torpedoes—explosive charges placed in the water, rather than projectiles discharged from a gun. Their peculiar strength lies in concealment. A battery may be observed, its fire answered, and its embrasures battered; a charge beneath a muddy river offers no such distinct mark. The very channel which permits a vessel to approach may bring her over the danger. Nor does the passage of one ship establish that another may follow securely. The loss before Curuzú makes plain that possession of powerful guns and iron sides cannot alone settle the question of navigation.

This consideration bears heavily upon the whole design of the campaign. The Paraguay is not an incidental feature of the country through which the armies are moving. It is a principal avenue of communication and supply, and upon it lie the approaches to the enemy’s strongest river positions. The fleet carries artillery into places where movement by land is difficult, protects transports, and supports troops operating near the banks. If its advance must be delayed while submerged obstacles are sought, the delay concerns the army also. Yet to press forward without examination may purchase a few miles of water at the price of ships which cannot readily be replaced at the seat of war.

The allies have already obtained an important naval success in this struggle. At Riachuelo, on June 11 of last year, the Brazilian fleet defeated the Paraguayan squadron, greatly strengthening Brazil’s position upon the rivers. But superiority over an opposing fleet and freedom to navigate an enemy’s waters are different possessions. Shore batteries, narrow passages, and concealed explosives remain available to a belligerent whose ships have suffered defeat. Curuzú supplies a severe illustration of that distinction. The Imperial squadron is still the stronger naval force; nevertheless, the weaker party has found means to inflict a sudden and grievous loss without meeting an ironclad upon equal terms.

The political object of the undertaking remains that declared by Brazil, the Argentine Republic, and Uruguay in their treaty of alliance of May 1, 1865. Its language binds the allies “not to lay down their arms unless by mutual consent,” and makes the overthrow of the existing Paraguayan Government a condition of their enterprise. That declaration leaves little room for treating the capture of a single river fort as the conclusion of the war. President Francisco Solano López retains his Government and his principal defences. The Emperor of Brazil and the allied administrations must therefore reckon both with the encouragement afforded by Porto Alegre’s success and with the fresh expenditure of men and vessels required to carry it farther.

The treaty also declares that the war is “not against the people of Paraguay, but against its Government.” The distinction is an important statement of allied policy, though it does not diminish the military obstacles before the invading forces. For the present, the question is how to bring the proclaimed object within reach. President Bartolomé Mitre of the Argentine Republic holds the chief command of the allied armies, while Brazil supplies the great naval strength upon which the river operations depend. A loss such as that of the Rio de Janeiro consequently falls most directly upon the Empire, but its effects cannot be confined to Brazilian counsels.

For the commerce of the Plate, the lesson is scarcely less serious than for the combatants. These rivers are highways into the interior, not waters which merchantmen may avoid by choosing an open-sea course a few leagues distant. Where forts dispute the passage and explosive charges lie hidden, the movement of ordinary trading vessels cannot be restored merely by announcing naval superiority. No particular alteration in freight or insurance can yet be established from this disaster alone. The practical concern is nevertheless evident: security must attach to the channel itself before commerce can enjoy the fruits of a military advance. An armoured ship’s loss is a warning which the master of an unprotected steamer cannot dismiss.

Thus the intelligence from Curuzú presents victory and calamity together. The Brazilian soldiers have won the position, and the river campaign has gained a new point of support; beneath the same waters lies a recently completed vessel with a substantial part of her company. The immediate prospect is not a withdrawal from the allied purpose, but a more exacting contest over every further passage. Whether the works above Curuzú can be reduced, and how the squadron may approach them without repeating yesterday’s loss, remain questions for the commanders. What is already established is that the river itself must be treated as part of the enemy’s defences.