The Last Step in Advance

The ignominious campaign of 1861 was the last organised effort put forward by Persia to protect her northern provinces. Secure in a splendid strategic position, ¹ the Tekkes extended their devastations far and wide. When, in 1871, a fearful famine ² more than decimated the population of Khorāsān, bands of Tekke horsemen took advantage of their neighbours’ weakness to sweep the entire province with their marauding parties. It would have been an easy task to check the aggression which depopulated the richest province of Persia and caused incredible misery to the people. But so utterly corrupt was the administration of the Shāh that the governing class found its account in encouraging the perpetrators. Troops were paid for by Government which existed only on paper, and the local authorities shared in the Tekkes’ booty. The first effectual blow struck at this gigantic machinery for plunder and oppression was the direct result of the Khivan campaign of 1873. General Kauffman had encountered some opposition from the Yomud Turkomans who ranged the desert of Khiva, and he was not a man to tolerate half-measures. He waged a war of extermination against this once powerful tribe, and the ruthless cruelty that attended it struck terror throughout the southern steppes. The Gokhlan Turkomans, inhabiting the estuary of the Atrak and the rich valleys behind it, had been brought to heel by an energetic governor of the Persian province of Bajnard in 1869, ¹ and their piracies on the Caspian had been put down with a strong hand by the Russian naval authorities. ² With the pacification of Khiva, too, came the formation, in 1874, of a Transcaspian military district, subordinate to the Caucasus, ³ which was placed under the governorship of Major-General Lomakin. On the north-west the Tekkes saw an iron wall arise which checked their aggressions and was a standing menace to their independence. Nor were the prospects in the west of their habitat more encouraging. The Russian treaties with Khiva and Bokhārā forbade slavery, and closed the principal markets for the captives of their bow and spear. In 1877 the Tekkes turned to Persia, and made her an offer of their allegiance in return for support against the white man’s encroachments. This contingency was not to be regarded with equanimity by the Russians, for they rightly considered the Turkomans as within the sphere of influence of the Transcaspian district. ⁴ Nor were commercial considerations wanting. Russia was by this time the virtual mistress of the Khānates, and was directly interested in the development of their trade ; but caravans were unable to cross the Turkoman Desert while the nomads remained untamed, and were driven to take circuitous routes in order to reach the commercial centre of Orenburg. ¹ And the authorities in St. Petersburg were still dominated by the schemes first promulgated by Peter the Great for diverting the course of the Oxus into the Caspian, and regarded the Turkoman Desert as a potential breeding-ground for cattle which would supply the home markets with hides. The Tsar Alexander II. was thus led, much against his wish, to permit his lieutenants to adopt a forward policy against the one obstacle to the Russification of Central Asia. In the spring of 1877 General Lomakin received orders to occupy the Tekke fortress of Kizil Arvat, ² 200 miles east of Krasnovodsk. He set out on the 12th of April with 9 companies of infantry, 2 squadrons of Cossacks, and 8 guns, and soon came to blows with the Tekkes. His artillery and arms of precision struck terror into their hearts. They dispersed and afterwards sent delegates from every village of the Akkal oasis to offer submission ; but Lomakin did not wait to receive it. Seized with a sudden panic, he retreated on the 9th of June. Then came the Russo-Turkish War, and the Tsar had more than enough to occupy his attention nearer home. The Turkomans were left unmolested for a while, ³ but hardly had peace been restored ere measures were concerted against the tribesmen. In April of that year General Lazareff advanced with an expeditionary force from Chikisliar, near the mouth of the Atrak, and on his death, which took place at Chat, higher up that river, command was assumed by General Lomakin. The Kopet Dāgh Mountains were crossed by the Bendesen Pass ; and on 9th September an attack was delivered on the Turkomans’ entrenched camp at Dangil Teppe, ¹ which contained 15,000 Tekke warriors, with 5000 women and children. The kibitkas, crowded within its clay ramparts, were raked by artillery fire, and the fugitives were driven back into this hell on earth by Russian cavalry. On 9th September an attempt was made to storm the stronghold, but, maddened by their losses, and inspired by their women to resist, the Tekkes fought like demons. Lomakin was defeated with a loss of 450 killed and wounded, and retreated on Chikisliar with the remains of his shattered force. The news of his reverse was carried at lightning speed through the length and breadth of Central Asia. Turkoman bands made their appearance on the Amū Daryā, proclaiming the victory with all the hyperbole which is a special gift of Asiatics. They even presented the Khān of Khiva with Russian rifles and revolvers abandoned during the abortive siege of Dangil Teppe, alleging that the spoils of war were so abundant that they had no use for them. ² Their raids were carried on with greater activity than ever. At the commencement of 1880 a horde 3000 strong swept the banks of the Amū Daryā in Bokhāran territory and plundered some villages close to the fortress of Charjūy. The shock to Russian prestige can be compared only to that suffered by ourselves when the news of the Mirat rising in 1857 was flashed by telegraph over India. Even the dauntless Skobeleff began to despair of the destinies of his country. “ If we consider our position during the last six years,” he wrote to St. Petersburg, “ we cannot avoid regarding the abyss which opens before us with terror, for it may well disorganise the economic and political condition of the empire. The English ¹ have succeeded in convincing Asiatics that they have forced us to stop before Constantinople and abandon the Balkan peninsula. Thanks to their agents’ zeal, a version of the Treaty of Berlin, very disadvantageous to ourselves, has been spread throughout Asia. Great God, what sacrifices of blood and honour will this peace, so painful to Russian hearts, entail!” To this illustrious soldier the Tsar turned in his perplexity. A better choice could not have been made. Michael Dmitriavitch Skobeleff was, at this epoch, in the prime of life, ² and at the zenith of his preternatural activity. His military career had begun at the age of twenty, and, two years later, he won his spurs during the Polish Rebellion. Between 1871–1875 he was in the thick of Central Asian affairs, one of the leaders against Khiva, and the conqueror of Kokand. The Russo-Turkish War of 1877–1878 found employment for him nearer home. He commanded the left wing at the storming of Plevna, and afterwards took Adrianople ; but experience and military genius are of small avail without that magnetic personal attraction which is inborn only in the greatest leaders. Skobeleff possessed this heaven-sent gift. “ He was the God of War personified,” said his trusted lieutenant, General Kurapatkine ; and his troops loved him with a passionate ardour which no general has inspired since the days of Napoleon. A conference took place in January 1880 between the Tsar Alexander ii. and his brilliant subject, followed by others at the Ministry of War presided over by General Miliutine. The ways and means were fully discussed. It became clear that the failure of 1879 was due to defective transport. The camels on which General Lomakin relied perished by thousands in the desert, and he found himself, at a critical moment, without the means of continuing the siege of Geok Teppe. ¹ By one of those happy inspirations which flash on the brain of men of genius, Skobeleff was led to invoke the aid of steam. He knew that the desert was a dead level, without rivers to bridge, and that a scarcity of water was the only difficulty before his engineers. Nay, his eagle eye ranged far beyond the needs of the moment, and clearly foresaw the advantages which would flow from a railway connecting the Caspian and the Amū Daryā. ² A special railway battalion was formed, and materials for a portable line on the Decauville system were brought to Uzun Ada, the base on the Gulf of Michaelovsk. Before the close of 1880 the section between that post and Mullā Kārī, a distance of thirteen miles, was completed. The control of the expedition was vested in the commander- in-chief of the Caucasus, but a free hand was practically given to Skobeleff, who was named “Temporary Com- mander of Troops operating in Transcaspia.” He obtained full powers to prepare and execute military operations, to negotiate with the neighbouring native states, and to organise the administration of conquered territories. Skobeleff knew that Orientals attach an exaggerated importance to artillery. “ To conquer,” he said, “ is to astonish.” Nothing has so marked an effect in Asia as the thunder of great guns and the havoc wrought by shell-fire. He stipulated for ten pieces of artillery for every 10,000 of numerical strength. Lomakin’s abortive attack on Dangil Teppe had demonstrated the power possessed by dense masses of felt-covered kibitkas to resist artillery fire. Skobeleff asked for and obtained a large supply of shells charged with petroleum, which masters the least inflammable materials. Lastly, a plentiful supply of water is essential in a tract where the heavens are clear for many consecutive months. A complete distillery was established at Krasnovodsk, and it supplied no less than 750,000 gallons daily to the troops. But the personal equation overrides the most complete material equipment. “ In war,” said Napoleon, “ men are nothing; a man is everything.” The general bethought him of one who had been the chief of his staff in the recent struggle with Turkey, and had shown in the darkest days of Plevna the noblest form of courage— that which stands undismayed in the presence of disaster. This was Colonel Alexis Kurapatkine, who is now Minister of War at St. Petersburg. He was resting at Samarkand from the fatigues of a recent campaign in Kulja, on the Chinese frontier, but he hastened to obey his loved master’s call. Starting from Samarkand in November 1880, with a detachment 500 strong, he hurried through Bokhārā to Charjūy, barely three days’ ride from the Tekke lair at Merv; then, fetching a long détour by way of Khiva to avoid the Tekke bands with which the desert swarmed, he joined headquarters on 24th December. Well might Skobeleff say of him, “ Kurapatkine is the only man capable of performing so dangerous a mission.” The general’s staff was strengthened by other great authorities in Central Asian warfare—Petrusevitch, unrivalled for his knowledge of the Turkomans; Grodekoff, and Leokovitch, professor at the War Academy. Meantime Skobeleff had reached Chikisliar in May, and after a general survey of the situation had pushed forward to Bami, a Turkoman post at the entrance of the Akkal oasis, which commands the route by way of Chikisliar and Krasnovodsk, and is only seventy miles from the capital, Geok Teppe. He occupied this stronghold on the 10th of June, and on the 13th of the following month advanced at the head of 1000 men to reconnoitre the enemy’s central settlement. Arriving on the fourth day at Egman Batir, a Tekke village six miles from Geok Teppe, he formed an entrenched camp there and sallied forth to inspect the Tekkes’ position. He found them crowded into three camps, surrounded by clay ramparts. The fort at the base of the hills was known as Yangi Kal‛a ; the second, or central position, Dangil Teppe, from a mound at the north-western corner ; the third was an insignificant collection of huts, called Geok Teppe, which, by a process akin to that which has produced the nomenclature of Arbela and Waterloo, has given its name to the scene of the last great battle of Central Asia. Having ascertained that the hornets’ nest could be taken only after a regular siege, Skobeleff’s little band returned to Bami, which had been christened Fort Samursk. He was harassed during retirement by clouds of Turkomans, whose activity in checking the arrival of supplies extended far into the rear of the Russian advanced base at Kizil Arvat. The ensuing months were occupied in active preparation for the siege. A force of 12,000 men and 100 guns had been summoned from the Caucasus, and the Russians were engaged in completing the railway and providing the vast mass of stores needed for a march through 300 miles of desert. In the beginning of December 1880 all preparations were completed, and Skobeleff advanced in force, occupying all the Tekke settlements in succession between Bami and Egman Batir, or Samursk. He arrived at this point of vantage on the 16th December. A reconnaissance made on the following day showed the majority of the foe massed in Dangil Teppe, the central encampment, an irregular parallelogram with an area of a square mile. It was surrounded by a mud wall with a profile 18 feet thick, and 10 feet high on the interior side, the exterior varying with the soil, but averaging, perhaps, 15 feet ; a ditch which could not have been more than 4 feet deep. At the north-west corner was the mound from which the fortress derived its name, on which was planted the only piece of artillery possessed by the Turkomans—an antiquated smooth-bore captured from the Persians. The 30,000 Tekkes massed within these rude entrenchments obtained water from a stream which flowed through the place. This the Russians intentionally refrained from’ diverting, lest the quarry should desert its lair under cover of the night. No forward movement was made for more than a week. The interval was probably spent in forming depôts for supplies ; but it is, perhaps, more than a coincidence that the next movement took place on the 24th December— the day of Kurapatkine’s arrival from Samarkand. It was a reconnaissance in force, which encountered a huge mob of Turkomans, and was hard pressed until the arrival of reinforcements. A further delay of eight days followed, and then, on 1st January 1881, a fierce attack was delivered on Yangi Kal‛a, the encampment at the foot of the cliffs, by 8000 troops in three columns, with 5 2 pieces of cannon and 11 Hotchkiss machine guns. The southern column, commanded by General Kurapatkine, forced the entrenchment in the rear, and compelled the Tekkes to evacuate Yangi Kal‛a under a terrific artillery fire and join the main body at Dangil Teppe. Twice did the garrison sally forth to their countrymen’s help, and when night fell they made a determined attempt to recapture Yangi Kal‛a, but on each occasion they were driven back by the Russian artillery. On the 3rd January the Russians removed their camp from Samursk to that abandoned by the foe at Yangi Kal‛a, and the following day saw the first parallel laid against Dangil Teppe, at a distance of 800 yards south of the fortress. This movement provoked a sortie of the garrison, who had been reinforced by 5000 warriors from Merv. They fell with fury on the besiegers, and, seizing their rifles with one hand, hacked them with their razorlike blades, covering the soil in places with heads and limbs. Nothing can be conceived more terrible than their death-struggle at close quarters, from which arose the clash of steel, shrieks, oaths, and shouts of “ Allah,” or “ Hurrah.” ¹ View from the Interior of the Fort of Geok Teppe https://s3-euw1-ap-pe-df-pch-content-public-p.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/9780203641705/a1bea995-d2ca-4507-82f4-7e6333957ed9/content/figu_24_B.jpg" xmlns:xlink="https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"/>