The expansion in numbers of our army in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries, the suitability of our peace and war
establishments, and the growth of our neighbours’ forces—The
growing complication of our defence problems towards the end
of the last century.
In the year 1700 our forces numbered 56,000; in 1800, 400,000; while
in 1894 our war strength amounted to 2,000,000; but the growth in the
nineteenth century was attended by great fluctuations as compared
with the gradual increase in the previous 100 years. The universal
dissatisfaction with the results of the Crimean War first brought about
the awakening of public feeling which ended in the emancipation of the
serfs, and the great efforts in the direction of economy made at that
time led directly to the reduction of the army. Even while the guns
were booming at Königgrätz in 1866, our standing army in Europe was cut
down from 600,000 to 372,000 men. It was not long, however, before the
Franco-German War opened our eyes to possible dangers from the west.
Up to that time we had been living upon tradition, upon experiences
of the days when war was waged by standing armies, and did not call
for the mobilization of the whole of a nation’s forces; when armies
moved by road, and several months elapsed between the declaration of
war and the first decisive engagement. By her rapid concentration and
by her ability to throw an immense army so quickly across the French
frontier in 1870, Germany showed also what she would be capable of
doing in our direction. We had for a long time neglected to keep up the
fortifications on our western frontier, lest we should give Germany
cause to suspect that we distrusted the long-standing traditional good
feeling between the reigning Houses. The speed, however, with which
she disposed, first of Austria, then of France, her immense increase
in power, and her evident ambition not only to protect herself, but to
gain the hegemony of Europe, together formed a menace against which we
were forced to take strong measures. Accordingly our army was again
increased as quickly as possible, and between the years 1869 and
1880 the peace strength of the forces in European Russia rose from
366,000 to 535,000 men, arrangements at the same time being made for
the mobilization of a field army of 1,500,000. But during the same
period our neighbours were able to perfect their own arrangements
still more, both in the number of men mobilized and the speed of their
concentration. From a force whose strength was the same in peace
and war our war army now became so large that it merited the title
of “national.” But even a national army is not enough nowadays. For
the successful conduct of a conflict against a powerful opponent, a
struggle which calls for the exertion of every effort—moral, mental,
and physical—the whole nation itself must take part. In other words,
to achieve success with an army mainly composed of men called up
for actual operations, the people must be in sympathy with it, must
recognize the importance and magnitude of its task, and must back it up
unreservedly.
The war of 1870–71 was prosecuted by the Germans in a truly national
spirit. The attitude of all grades of society towards the racial
struggle entered upon by their Government was one of the highest
patriotism. The good tone and unselfish devotion of the troops was well
supported by the wave of patriotic feeling which, starting with the
Prussians, ran through all the German nationalities from King down to
peasant. It is a platitude that the German school-teacher was the real
victor in the war of 1870–71. This figure of speech can perhaps be more
truthfully expressed in another way: the French were not conquered by
the German troops, but by the German nation, which gave to the army
both its sons and its moral support. There was no such close union
between the French Emperor, the French army, and the French people. It
was not France which fought Germany, but the French army. The result
we know. When the country was overrun by the invader, the people, with
few exceptions, did not exhibit a proper patriotic spirit, nor did they
assist the soldiers to wage a national war. Some of the intelligent
sections of the populace, indeed, thought fit to carry on an internal
strife directed towards the overthrow of their Government whilst the
war was actually in progress, and as soon as the Imperial forces were
beaten and the Emperor taken prisoner, they succeeded in their effort.
In this sense we fought against Turkey under favourable conditions
in 1877–78. The sympathies of our people for the closely related
Slav races in the Balkan Peninsula had been aroused by the preceding
struggle of the Servians against the Turks, and we were, moreover,
fighting our traditional enemy. Consequently, many volunteers and
large sums of money found their way from Russia into Servia. Society,
worked up by the Press, was deeply moved, and brought pressure upon the
Government to declare war, while active operations were of course the
one desire of our soldiers. The eventual declaration of hostilities
was hailed with acclamation. As has been explained, the slowness of
our concentration in Bessarabia permitted the further training of our
troops, especially of the reservists, and of the selection of the
best men for command, and we consequently moved into Turkey fairly
well prepared. Our troops were in the best of spirits, and their
belief in victory boundless. But valuable time had elapsed, and the
resistance of the Turks was far more determined than anything we had
expected. However, we reinforced rapidly, broke down all opposition,
and eventually reached the walls of Constantinople. It really seemed
as if we were on this occasion about to take full advantage of what
had been done by our army, and place the protection of our Black Sea
coast on a permanent basis. But we hesitated and delayed operations in
front of the enemy’s capital, and so allowed the fruit of our military
success to be snatched from us by the ill-timed action of diplomacy.
Great Britain’s incorrect appreciation of the Eastern Question in 1877,
combined with our distrust of Austria, and, most important of all, the
fact that we were tired of war in high quarters, led to results quite
out of proportion to the sacrifices we had made. When the Agreement of
San Stefano was replaced by the Treaty of Berlin, the national feeling
of optimistic patriotism gave way to general dissatisfaction. Victors
in war, we had been beaten in politics.
Within twenty-five years Russia waged two European wars, which
were prematurely concluded. In 1850 at Sevastopol we acknowledged
ourselves beaten at a moment when our enemies were themselves
powerless to proceed. In 1878, though we had reached the very walls
of Constantinople, we did not occupy it, and though we had conquered
the country, we acknowledged that we alone were not strong enough to
guarantee the peaceful development even of those districts of the Black
Sea littoral which had belonged to us before. But these results, though
surprising and disappointing to the army and the nation at large,
brought their compensations. It was the Berlin Congress that proved to
us in unmistakable terms that we were alone on the Continent of Europe,
and showed how necessary it was for us to set our house in order on the
western border, if we did not wish to be taken unawares by neighbours
already prepared. But it was no simple matter to improve our military
position on that side—especially towards Germany—so that it might be on
a level with that of our possible adversary. It meant large expenditure
in the construction and improvement of fortresses, the making of
roads, and the collection of reserves of supplies, at a time when our
financial resources had been crippled, and the War Department, instead
of having increased funds at its disposal, was receiving a smaller
grant than before the war. In our generosity we had taken so small an
indemnity from Turkey, and had allowed payment to be spread over so
long a period, that it could not be used—as was France’s indemnity
to Germany—as an “iron fund” towards the expenses of the war and the
betterment of the army. About this time, also, the feeling of disquiet
caused by the state of our western frontier was increased by fresh
complications arising on the Asiatic side of the Empire.
The first time we made any effort to use our position in Central Asia
indirectly in furtherance of our general policy was in 1878, when we
sent a force to Djam (near Samarkand), with the object of causing
embarrassment to Great Britain, then at war with Afghanistan. This
attempt to force Great Britain to give us a free hand in the Near East
by means of pressure applied elsewhere (on the Afghan frontier) was not
successful. By Stolietoff’s mission to Kabul the Afghans were assured
of Russian assistance against Great Britain, but when the British
marched into their country in force we held aloof. When the Amir Shere
Ali died, the country was again thrown into complete disorder. From
Samarkand Abdur Rahman went into Afghanistan, and endeavoured to enlist
the sympathies and obtain the assistance of some of the tribes in his
attempts to gain the throne; he also tried hard to obtain our support.
But it was the British who gave him assistance, and, whether for good
or evil, he remembered this fact during the whole of his reign, and
was our enemy. In 1877–79 we might easily have converted Afghanistan
into a friendly “buffer State” between us and India, but in spite of
General Kaufmann’s representations we failed to seize the psychological
moment, and the “buffer” subsequently created by Great Britain was one
hostile to us. Thanks to this short-sighted policy of ours with regard
to this country, we lost prestige in Central Asia for some time, and
numerous English emissaries charged with the task of stirring up the
warlike Turkomans against us penetrated into the steppes of Turkestan.
Raids by Turkomans into our territory on the eastern shores of the
Caspian became more frequent and more daring, eventually reaching even
as far as Krasnovodsk. We could no longer hold our hand, and decided
to send an expedition into the steppes to seize Geok Tepe. The failure
of the first expedition under Lomakin, and the heavy losses suffered
at Geok Tepe under General Skobeleff, were signs that we might expect
serious trouble in Central Asia, and would therefore have to increase
our garrisons there, and also—which was more important—to improve
the communications with Russia. The example of what happened to the
Italians in Abyssinia showed what even pastoral tribes, if patriotic
and well led, can do against European regular troops. It became
increasingly clear that to leave our districts in Central Asia, 1,335
miles by road from Orenburg—Russia’s outpost—with such small garrisons
as they then had, was, under the then complicated conditions, to court
disaster. We therefore began the construction of the Central Asian
railway system, which reached completion only two years ago.[34] These
lines cost a large sum, which had to be provided at the expense of
our preparations on the western frontier and in the Far East; but the
wisdom of our action was amply proved in 1885 during the frontier
trouble, ending in the defeat of the Afghan troops at Kushk.[35] After
negotiations with Great Britain, which at some periods became almost
critical, a _modus vivendi_ was reached, and our present frontier
with Afghanistan, delimitated by a special mixed Boundary Commission,
has not been violated for the twenty years of its existence. I repeat
that it is my firm conviction that this frontier is in every way
satisfactory to us, and to alter it by advancing to Herat[36] would in
no way be beneficial. The period of small expeditions, always ending in
some slight increase to our territory, ceased with the delimitation
of this frontier. Of the two nations who now march with us in Central
Asia—the Persians and the Afghans—the latter possesses such large
armed forces that we should need a considerable army to carry out any
advance into their country, irrespective of any assistance that might
be given to them by Great Britain. On the other hand, the defence
of our own extensive territory has become a very difficult matter,
chiefly owing to the spread of the Pan-Slav[37] propaganda, and were
the Afghans to attempt an invasion on the pretext of liberating our
subject races, partial risings of the population are quite possible. We
must, therefore, maintain sufficient troops in those regions, not only
in case of war, but also to prevent internal trouble. In this way our
position in Central Asia has become more complicated during the last
forty years—in fact, ever since we took Tashkent. Now, instead of the
five or six battalions with which we conquered the country, we have two
whole army corps in Turkestan.
Just as had been the case when the Emperor Alexander II. came to the
throne, a great effort in the direction of military economy was made
after the accession of Alexander III., and the army was reduced by
28,000 men; but the conclusion of the Triple Affiance and the rapid
growth of our neighbours’ armaments brought about a fresh
increase in the army, as well as a _rapprochement_ between ourselves
and France, who was equally menaced. To the creation of new units
by Germany and Austria we replied by raising fresh troops or by
transferring men from the Caucasus and the interior to the western
frontier. In this severe race of preparation for war we were unable
to keep up with our western neighbours, not so much in point of
mere numbers as in necessary organization. We were too poor and too
backward, for modern mobilization entails heavy drafts upon the whole
reserve forces of a State, and is deeply felt by the whole nation.
This is what that distinguished German writer, Von der Goltz, implied
when he wrote that modern wars must be waged by armed nations, not by
armies. Other things being equal, success is assured to the side which
can quickest concentrate superior numbers in the field. These forces
must not only be under competent leaders, but must be well supplied,
reinforced, and equipped. It was chiefly in this respect that we soon
felt our inferiority. By forming cadres without any strength, or with
a very small strength, we are able, thanks to our large population,
our numerous reserves and militia, to mobilize an immense number of
troops of sorts—regulars, reservists, reserve units, and militia. But
owing to the shortage of officers and lack of supplies, these units
would vary much in their value for war. While our advanced troops
only could be concentrated as quickly as those of our neighbours, the
reserve troops could be mobilized but slowly, the reserve units would
be quite inadequate, and, finally, the militia would not be embodied at
the same time as the others, and even then only with great difficulty.
But though we had plenty of men and horses, _matériel_—particularly
technical stores—was insufficient (telegraphs, telephones, balloons,
pigeon post, light railways, explosives, tools, wire, etc.). Owing to
the constant advances in scientific knowledge, and to the continual
demands made for increased strength in construction, fortresses are no
sooner built than the whole of their masonry has to be remodelled. We
could not, therefore, keep our armaments and defences up to date, and
they were largely obsolete. Though our siege artillery had received
a certain number of good and modern guns, it was not equal to our
neighbours’ in mobility, and we did not possess nearly enough technical
troops, such as sappers, and mining and railway companies. There was
no organization either for peace or war of the auxiliary services for
the line of communications; the depôt troops it was proposed to form
would not have been sufficient; and there were no means of keeping up
the numbers of officers and doctors. But our greatest danger lay in the
inferiority of our railways.
After 1882 we made great advances in efficiency, but only arrived at
such a point that we were able to carry out a concentration on the
frontier in double the time it would have taken our neighbours, so that
not only were we condemned to the defensive, but our forces coming
up in succession would be destroyed in detail. Since the lesson of
1870–71, we had become reconciled to the fact that we should never be
able to catch up Germany in speed of mobilization, but we had flattered
ourselves that in this respect we were ahead of Austria. Some ten or
eleven years ago we were undeceived on this point also. The Austrian
War Department had succeeded in working wonders in preparing the
probable area of operations on our side for both attack and defence,
and, owing to the many strategic lines of rail constructed through
the Carpathians, this range had ceased to be a dangerous obstacle in
rear of their advanced position.[38] Besides the sums allotted for the
ordinary expenditure on the army, both the Austrians and the Germans
had had recourse to extraordinary and special grants; thus their
storehouses were filled, their fortresses well built and equipped, and
their roads constructed. Not only did our lack of funds handicap us
in these directions, but our backward state of development proved an
insuperable bar, especially as regards the construction of railways.
With our neighbours, the directions in which strategic lines of rail
were required coincided generally with their economic alignment. With
us the two requirements were at variance, and each strategic line
proposed on our side met with the opposition of the Finance Department
as being economically unsound.
In the Far East we had little trouble for many years. Though
our frontier with China was 6,000 miles long, it was not till
1880—twenty-seven years ago—that the increase in Japan’s military power
and the awakening of China compelled us to think about strengthening
our position in that quarter.
In 1871, when the western provinces of China[39] were convulsed by
the Mohammedan rebellion, we occupied the province of Kuldja in
order to safeguard our own borders. The inhabitants—the Dunganites
and Taranchites—who had previously completely defeated the Chinese
and some of the Kalmuits, gave us very little trouble, and laid down
their arms on our definite promise to make them Russian subjects. But
while our soldiers were doing their work on the spot, our diplomats in
their offices miles away, without consulting any of those with local
knowledge, such as Kaufmann or Kolpakovski, thought fit to promise the
Chinese that as soon as they quelled the revolt and arrived as far as
Kuldja, that province could be restored to them. As a matter of fact,
we hoped, of course, that they would be unable to defeat Yakub Beg, and
so would never gain possession of Kashgaria, and yet we were helping
them towards this very object. The position was a curious one, and in
1876, when I, as Russian envoy, was in Yakub Beg’s camp near Kurlia[40]
negotiating as to the delimitation of the boundary of Fergana, just
conquered by us, he himself remarked on it. He very justly reproached
me with the fact that while I was dealing with him, another officer
of the General Staff, one Lieutenant-Colonel Sosnovski, was, with the
knowledge of the Russian authorities, supplying the Chinese troops
moving against him. His statement was absolutely correct. After
Yakub Beg’s sudden death the Chinese quickly got possession of the
whole of Kashgaria, advanced up to the southern edge of Kuldja, and
asserted their rights to that province also. While Kaufmann urged
most strenuously that we ought not to return the province to them, we
procrastinated. In 1878, when I was at the head of the Asiatic Section
of the General Staff, I put a memorandum before my Chief, Count Heyden,
in which I pointed out the great strategic value of Kuldja to us. I
also stated that, if we felt bound by our loosely given engagement to
return this province to China, we should most certainly be justified
in demanding compensation for the expenses incurred by us during our
eight years’ occupation. I suggested a sum of £10,000,000 in gold, as
being suitable and also opportune for the construction of the Siberian
Railway. My contention was supported by Kaufmann, but our diplomatists
were against it. A special committee, consisting of M. Giers, Minister
for Foreign Affairs; Admiral Grieg, Minister of Finance; Generals
Kaufmann, Obrucheff, and myself, under the presidency of Count Milutin,
was appointed to go into the question by the Emperor Alexander II. M.
Giers and Admiral Grieg were in favour of returning Kuldja to China
without demanding any compensation. Admiral Grieg asserted that Russia
was in no particular need of money, and both Ministers held that we
were bound by the promise to China—a promise lightly made by our
diplomats without the knowledge of the men on the spot—while the other
engagement made with the Dunganites and Taranchites in 1871 could be
forgotten. After prolonged discussions, it was decided to return Kuldja
to China, and to ask for £500,000 as compensation. The member who was
most opposed to obtaining a large sum of money from China was, of all
people, the Finance Minister; he apparently overlooked the possibility
that would be conferred by this sum of carrying out the construction
of the Siberian Railway ten years sooner. For this oversight we
paid later. Meanwhile the Chinese assumed a stiff attitude, and
threatened to seize Kuldja, moving troops towards it to Urumchi, Manas,
Kunia-Turfan, and other points. We, in reply, hastily strengthened
our position by sending up troops from Tashkent towards Kuldja. In
1880 we fortified the Barokhorinski ridge, separating it from parts of
Chinese Turkestan in the occupation of the Chinese. I was in command
of our advanced guard, and saw how gladly our troops would have obeyed
the order to advance. They were disgusted at the thought of having to
abandon the splendid country of which we had been in occupation for
nearly ten years, and at the idea of breaking faith with the people
to whom we had promised protection, who were even then crowding round
our camps in alarm at the rumour that we were going to hand them over
to the Chinese. Of course, at the time this question was decided we
entertained a very exaggerated idea of the value of the Chinese troops
themselves, and also of China’s military resources.
Events afterwards moved rapidly. We commenced the construction of the
railway through Manchuria, and occupied the Kuan-tung Peninsula, thus
alarming not only China, but Japan.
Thus, during the last quarter of the nineteenth century matters
became more involved on all sides. Not only did we have to meet the
preparations of Austria and Germany on the west, and threatened trouble
in our frontier districts near Roumania, Turkey, and Afghanistan,
but from 1896 to 1900 we had, in addition, to face the problem of
safeguarding the position we had suddenly—and, for the War Department,
unexpectedly—taken up in the Far East in our advance to the Pacific
Ocean. The magnitude of the task of protecting 11,000 miles of
frontier, and of keeping up forces so as to be in a position to fight
different combinations of no less than nine adjacent States, conveys
some idea of the colossal expense involved.
FOOTNOTES:
[34] [This evidently refers to the Orenburg-Tashkent Railway, completed
in 1904.—ED.]
[35] Our troops on that occasion numbered 2,000. It was an
insignificant affair, in which we only had forty-three casualties.
[36] Seventy-three miles from Kushk fortified post.
[37] [_Sic._ ? Pan-Islamic.—ED.]
[38] [Galicia.—ED.]
[39] [So-called Chinese Turkestan.—ED.]
[40] Not far from Lake Lob Nor (discovered by Prejevalski), into which
the River Tarin flows.