On His Majesty's Service

‘A VERY OBSCURE PORTION OF EUROPE’

The Spectator, for the week ending 5 July 1828

THE THEATRE OF WAR IN TURKEY

The ignorance which prevails respecting the situation of the Russian army has been displayed in many of the speculations on its progress … The truth is, that the Danube debouches in a very obscure portion of Europe, and, except in the case of a contest, like the one commencing, there is very little reason why we should trouble our heads with its geography. Between 1805 and 1812, however, a most sanguinary struggle was maintained between these two ancient enemies on the same ground, so that it might have been supposed that some recollections had remained on men’s minds. The slowness of the progress of the Russian army, for instance, and that the Lower Moldavia, by which the Russians approach the Danube, is a perfect swamp. In 1736, Count Munich required no fewer than 90,000 waggons to conduct the supplies of an army that never exceeded 80,000 men – and the features of nature are not changed. It is now supposed that, because the Russians have passed the Danube, they have nothing to do but march to Constantinople. Russian armies, however, as vigorous and as resolute as this under the Emperor Nicholas, have done the same thing frequently enough, and been compelled to return. We will endeavour, in a brief compass, to explain the geographical position of the parties.

The Danube flowing to the east separates Bulgaria from the provinces of Wallachia and Moldavia – dependencies only of the Porte. Between the Danube and Constantinople lie this Bulgaria and a principal part of Roumelia. Bulgaria is an agricultural district, rich in soil, but thinly inhabited. The part of Roumelia, towards Constantinople, chiefly consists of downs: between these two provinces exists the great obstacle to the progress of the Russians. Roumelia is cut off from Bulgaria by the chain of mountains called the Balkan, which runs from the Black Sea to the Adriatic: over the lofty and precipitous ridges there are five passes – by either one of the two lying to the east the Russians will, in all probability, attempt to pass: these precipitous passes are, in length, about twenty-seven or thirty miles across, though, as the mountains push outworks, and form ridges a considerable distance before the most elevated points are arrived at, the roads difficult to pass, may be said to be ninety-six or a hundred miles across. The passes are such as a few troops could defend against any greater number: wretched bridges over ravines must constantly be passed; the paths are slippery, and it would be almost impracticable to convey artillery along the ledges of the precipitous sides of the mountains. Among the ridges which strike out from the main chain, lies the fortified town of Shumla, whence the two paths across the Balkan just mentioned, diverge. This town contains about sixty thousand inhabitants: its fortifications would be weak and contemptible in the eyes and in the hands of European troops, but are a very efficient defence when manned by Turks. They consist of earthen ramparts and brick walls. It is here that the Turks form their entrenched camps in their contests with Russia; and the Russians have always found it impregnable.

VIII

THE BLACK SEA HOST

Siseboli, on the Black Sea, 3 April 1829

‘Bastard!’

Private Johnson lay sprawled in a stinking pool, half-stunned and pride wounded.

The others rushed to his aid, Hervey leading.

‘Are you hit? There’s no blood.’

‘Ah don’t think so,’ Johnson gasped as they pulled him up. ‘Bastard thing. What wor it, sir?’

‘A rifle,’ said Hervey. ‘And a Turk with a damn fine eye – or the Devil’s luck. See, the ball struck your knapsack’ (the corner was holed). ‘Keep your head low. I want to find yonder marksman.’

He turned to clamber over fallen masonry to a half-demolished wall, pulling out his telescope from the holster slung over a shoulder. Fairbrother, Cornet Agar and Corporal Acton scrambled after him.

There was a billow of white smoke, a report – louder in the warm, still air – and a flutter, bat-like, as the ball passed close and then struck the wall of the house behind. And it had been less than a minute: a Turk adept with powder and ramrod – or were there two rifles?

‘Mark the time, Mr Agar. What would you say it was, Fairbrother – three furlongs?’

His friend was observing with naked eye. ‘At least. Deuced fine shooting.’

‘I wish I’d a rifle!’ snarled Johnson as he struggled out of his soiled tunic below the wall. ‘I’d knock ’im over all right!’

Hervey kept the glass to his eye as he addressed the aspirations of his long-time companion: ‘To begin with, Johnson, His Majesty would not approve of your firing on our friend the Turk. Recollect that he is our friend, every bit as much as the Russian is. Or rather, the Turk is no more our enemy than is the Russian. Our situation here is as strict neutrals. And, even more to the point, yon fellow must be using double the charge. Your shoulder would be bruised a good deal more than it is now were you to try the same.’

Johnson chose to ignore the challenge of a double-charged rifle, offended even more by the notion of being fired on by a friend. ‘’Is Majesty ought to ’ave a word wi’is friend t’Sultan. I thought we was just supposed to be ’ere watching?’

‘Observing. Observing the conduct of the belligerents with complete impartiality.’

‘Well, either way it’s not right to shoot an’ us not meant to shoot back!’

‘I dare say so. But at this range, ethics are anyway otiose.’ He knew pretty well how to silence Johnson in his canteen-advocate’s hat.

Another loud report, more smoke, then the fluttering ball – and this time the breaking of tile.

‘Forty seconds, sir,’ declared Agar.

‘Mm. Indeterminate. Certainly it might be the same rifle. Do you think he sees us, or having first seen us does he fire speculatively? What’s his game, eh, Fairbrother?’

‘One of us, if we’re not careful,’ replied his friend ruefully, unable to resist the pun. ‘Wily devils, I fancy. If there’s a pair of them, the other will be waiting his chance.’

Wily for sure, but this was indeed a very … sedentary way of making war. He could not get the measure of it. The Russians had landed at this place almost two whole months ago, a full dozen leagues south of the Balkan, the mountains beyond which no Russian general had marched for a thousand years, and still the Turk made no substantial move against them. Just this franc tireur. Perhaps he – they – were not even Turk? Tatar, maybe, for that people were hunters, and might have facility with such a weapon; or else one of the Albanians who fled the place without much of a fight when the Russians landed.

The Seraskier (commander-in-chief), so the spies said, was at Aidos, only three days’ march north-west, with ten thousand men. Why did he tarry when every day the Russian fleet brought more men – three thousand, now – and stores enough for the whole army? Perhaps he thought it not worth the trouble, that the stores would never see the mouths or the guns they were meant to feed. It would be a brilliant thing indeed for the Russians to bring off: the army marching south from the Danube, gaining the passes of the Balkan, debouching on the plains of Thrace – and at once their lines of communication shortened to a fifth by this bold seizing of Siseboli. He was full of admiration for this new Russian general-in-chief’s art (though it was one thing to make a plan, and quite another to execute it).

Yet he would concede that the Russians had wasted no time here at Siseboli. It was an ancient place, with ancient walls that might once have withstood a powderless siege, and now the garrison had dug entrenchments, thrown up breastworks, hauled forward guns and made it into a decent fort. But they scattered their waste around as bad as anything he’d seen in India. The place stank; the air was foul with incipient disease (and the sun was not yet half its summer strength). Admire this coup de main as he did, he could not wait for their passage out – north to Varna, the Russians’ principal base, or, better still, to join General Diebitsch himself before Silistria. If this new man was to lead the army over the Danube and then the Balkan, he wanted to witness it.