THE WAR WITH RUSSIA.
In 1877 the war with Russia broke out, and through the absence of any
powerful naval enemy, little in the way of hard fighting was done; still
some very important service was performed by the Turkish fleet, much
more so than is generally known.
In the first place we had to hold the Black Sea, with its extensive
sea-board. We defended Sulina and Batoum against Russian attack by land,
and by torpedo on the sea. We had to watch the little swift packet-boats
equipped as men-of-war, which constantly made a rush from Sebastopol and
Odessa (as they did, by the way, in the Crimean War, when twenty to
thirty English and French ships were watching them), and when they could
get a chance burnt some unfortunate little coasting craft, sending the
crews of such vessels adrift in small boats to make the best of their
way to the nearest land. In addition to the above-named services, the
Turkish fleet was called upon constantly to transport large bodies of
troops from port to port.
On one memorable occasion the Turkish men-of-war and transports conveyed
the whole of Suleiman Pasha's army, consisting of forty thousand men,
from the coast of Albania to Salonica, a distance of some eight hundred
miles, within the short space of twelve days, a feat, I venture to say,
unheard of in the naval annals of this century. Sulina was held safely
by the Turkish fleet until the end of the war.
Batoum could not have been held by Dervish Pasha and his army had not
the Turkish fleet been there to help him. In short, that fleet kept the
command of the Black Sea during the whole of that disastrous war,
cruising at times in the most fearful weather I have ever experienced,
for twelve months in a sea almost without ports of refuge; and it is a
remarkable fact that the Turks never lost a ship, constantly attacked
though they were, as I shall show hereafter, by the plucky Russian
torpedo boats, who frequently made rushes at them from Muscovite ports,
and only saved from destruction through the precautions taken against
these diabolical machines, which come and go like flashes of lightning.
It is true that _in the Danube_ two small Turkish vessels of war were
destroyed by torpedoes, but it must be borne in mind the Danube was
under _military_ law, and that the look-out kept on board these vessels
was not by any means what it should have been.
But I must repeat, as so many contrary reports have been spread, that no
Turkish ironclad was injured by torpedoes in the Black Sea.
I will explain hereafter how many attacks were made with no result
whatever. Some few days before the war broke out I was sent to examine
the Danube from a professional point of view, and it was soon made clear
to me that much could be done, in the way of defending that great
estuary, had nautical experience and the splendid material of which the
Turkish sailor is made of been properly utilised. But alas! I found
that, contrary to the views of His Majesty the Sultan, a line of action
was followed showing that pig-headed obstinacy and the grossest
ignorance prevailed in the councils of those who had supreme command in
that river. I found that my advice and that of competent Turkish
officers, in comparatively subordinate positions like myself, was
entirely ignored, and that few, if any, proper steps were taken to
prevent the enemy's progress into Roumania, and later on, to his
passing the Danube almost unopposed.
On the day that war was declared I was at Rustchuk, the headquarters of
the Turkish army. On that occasion I made a final effort, by making
propositions which events have proved would have arrested the advance of
the enemy.
I was simply told to mind my own business, and ordered to immediately
rejoin my ships, which were at the moment lying at the Sulina mouth of
the Danube.
It was all very well to tell me to do this; but to do so was apparently
not so easy of execution, for the reason that the Russians had no sooner
declared war than they took possession of the Lower Danube, by planting
fortifications on the hills commanding the river in the neighbourhood of
Galatz and Ibraila, at the same time laying down torpedoes across the
river in great quantities (as regards the latter, it was so reported,
though in my opinion it was no easy matter so quickly to place
torpedoes). I informed the military commanders of this; their answer
was, 'Go, and rejoin your ships _viâ_ Varna, if you will only get out of
this; we don't want your advice.' By this time, however, my professional
pride was wounded, and I determined to do something to show my contempt
for them all.
The only thing left for me to do for the moment was a little
blockade-running, so I resolved to bring my ship back past the Russian
barrier in the Lower Danube at all risks, instead of tamely returning by
land. So great was the jealousy against me that I almost think the
Turkish authorities commanding in the Danube would have been pleased if
I had failed, and so come to grief. I had with me a very fast
paddle-steamer called the 'Rethymo'; her captain and crew were what the
Turks always are--brave as lions and obedient as lambs.
I took on board a river pilot, whom I gave to understand that if he got
me on shore I would blow his brains out. Before starting I sent for my
officers and crew and told them of the perhaps unnecessary dangers we
should run in passing the Russian barrier, and gave to all the option of
leaving or going on. They decided to a man to go on. I arranged my time
so as to pass Ibraila and Galatz during the night. We arrived to within
thirty miles of the former place at about five o'clock in the evening,
when I was met by a Turkish official who was leaving Ibraila on the war
having broken out. He was fearfully excited, and begged of me on his
knees not to go to what he called certain destruction. He told me that
he had seen the Russians laying down torpedoes that same day, that the
batteries were numerous, and that they were aware of my coming, &c., all
of which I took with a considerably large grain of salt, and left him
lamenting my mad folly, as he called it.
Now I must be candid. I did not _feel_ the danger. I calculated that to
put down torpedoes in a current such as was in the Danube would be a
matter of time, and probably they would not succeed after all. I had a
plan in my head for passing the batteries, so as to render them
harmless. So in reality I was about to attempt no very impossible feat.
Three hours after dusk we sighted the lights of Ibraila. The current was
running quite five knots an hour; that, added to our speed of fifteen,
made us to be going over the ground at about twenty knots. It was pitch
dark, and I think it would have puzzled the cleverest gunner to have hit
us, though they might have done so by chance. I determined not to give
them that chance, by going so close under the bank that the guns could
hardly be sufficiently depressed to hit us.
As we approached the batteries to my horror a flash of red flame came
out of the funnel (that fatal danger in blockade-running), on which
several rockets were thrown up from the shore, and a fire was opened at
where the flame had been seen. Meanwhile we had shot far away from the
place, and closed right under the batteries. I heard the people talking;
every now and then they fired shot and musketry, but I hardly heard the
_whiz_ of the projectiles. My principal anxiety was that we might get on
one of the many banks so common in the Danube, and I had perhaps a
_little_ fear of torpedoes, especially when we passed the mouths of the
little estuaries that run into the Danube; once we just touched the
ground, but thank goodness we quickly got free, and though fired at by
guns and rifles, went on unhurt. It took us exactly an hour and forty
minutes to pass dangerous waters, and the early summer morning was
breaking as we cleared all danger. I could not resist turning round and
firing a random shot at the banks studded with Russian tents, _now that
I was able to breathe freely again_.
I must say that my pilot, whom I at first suspected of being a traitor
in Russian pay, behaved splendidly.
He told me he had never passed such a night of fear and anxiety: what
with my cocked pistol at his head and the constant fear of putting the
vessel on a bank, he certainly had had a bad time. However, I rewarded
him well. On arrival at Toultcha, a small town near the mouth of the
Danube, still held by the Turks, I found telegrams from headquarters at
Rustchuk (the place I had left), inquiring if Hobart Pasha had passed
Ibraila and Galatz, and ordering that if he had done so he was
immediately to leave the Danube.
I cannot express my annoyance, as even at that moment I could have
brought a couple of small iron-clads that were lying at Sulina into the
river and played 'old Harry' with the Russian army, then advancing into
Roumania, _viâ_ Galatz. The bridge near Galatz could certainly have been
destroyed. It was hard on the gallant Turks, hard on the Sultan and his
government, and hard on me, to see such magnificent chances thrown away.
From that moment I trembled for the result of the war. I felt that,
although the Turks had a splendid army, and a fleet even for a
first-class European Power to be proud of, the obstinacy and stupidity
of the commanders of the Danube were sure to cause disaster.
Unhappily my prognostications came true. In war the first blow is half
the battle, and it was sad to see such glorious troops out-manoeuvred at
the very outset. His Majesty the Sultan in his wisdom has justly
punished by banishment and disgrace these men who, instead of covering
the Turkish nation with glory through the deeds of its army, were the
cause of the defeat of the finest troops in the world. That the
Russians might and would have been beaten, had the means in the hands of
those commanding the Turkish army being properly utilised, is as clear
as day. However, it is not my business to comment on such matters.
I now return to my own element, and will endeavour to describe some of
the occurrences of the war in the Black Sea. The Russians had three
lines of action in those waters. First, to capture Sulina, and to
destroy the squadron lying at anchor in its roadstead; second, to
capture Batoum and its much-envied harbour; third, the somewhat
undignified action of sending out fast vessels, mostly mail-boats, armed
with a couple of guns, their object being to destroy the Turkish
coasting trade. These vessels were most difficult to catch, as they
always watched their opportunity to slip out of their strongholds when
the Turkish ships were employed carrying troops, or otherwise engaged.
There was, I venture to think, some illegality in this conduct of the
Russian mail-boats.
These vessels were not regular men-of-war, and they did not take their
prizes into port for adjudication, as is usual in war, always burning
what they could catch and capture. However, during war I suppose all
must be considered as fair play. While on the subject, I will recount
one or two exploits performed by these enterprising mail-boats. When
lying off Sulina, one of the ironclad corvettes under my command arrived
from Constantinople, where her captain reported having chased a
well-known Russian mail-steamer called the 'Vesta'; that they had
exchanged a few shots, that he had not followed her because his deck was
loaded with guns for the Sulina batteries. I thought no more about it
till about a fortnight afterwards I saw in the 'Times' a paragraph
headed, 'Turkish ironclad driven off and nearly destroyed by the Russian
mail-boat cruiser "Vesta."' This paragraph, which was founded on the
official report of the captain of the 'Vesta,' was most sensational. It
gave a graphic description of how the 'Vesta' had engaged at close
quarters a Turkish ironclad, killing her crew; how officers in European
uniform had been seen directing the working of the ironclad's guns, &c.;
how her sides were crimson with the torrents of blood pouring from her
decks, and how she would have been surely captured had the 'Vesta' been
provided with sufficient ammunition to enable her to continue the bloody
fight. It added that the gallant Russian commander was received with the
greatest enthusiasm on his arriving at Sebastopol, and immediately
promoted to high rank and covered with decorations.
I could hardly believe my eyes when I read this utter nonsense. I know
the Russians; they are brave and loyal fellows, and few indeed are there
among them who have done (to say the least of it) so foolish an act as
to make so unfounded a report.
However, the commander, whose name I will not mention, did not long wear
his laurels. I suppose he trusted to the Turks saying nothing about it;
but the truth was at last made public. A court-martial was assembled to
try the case, and I believe he was dismissed from the service and
deprived of his decorations. At all events I know for certain that he
was disgraced by his superiors, and held up to ridicule by his brother
officers. Serve him right! Swagger is always an error, and I don't think
naval officers are generally given to it.
The next exploit of these cruisers I shall refer to was one that came
under my own eyes, and was exceedingly interesting.
I was anchored with my flag-ship, a fine thirteen knot ironclad, and a
couple of other vessels, at a port some few miles to the north of Varna,
taking in coals, when the look-out man reported that he saw on the
horizon a column of smoke. I knew that this was not a Russian cruiser,
because these vessels always burnt smokeless coal. I guessed, however,
what it was, namely, that one of the Russian cruisers was burning an
unfortunate coasting vessel. On looking more closely from the mast-head
of the flag-ship, I saw the masts and two funnels of a steamer very near
to the burning ship. The cruiser was somewhat in shore of the place
where I was lying. He seems to have made my squadron out about the same
time I had seen him, and at once made tracks, as the Americans say, to
get out to sea. In doing so he had to near us considerably, so much so
that before steam was ready in the flag-ship I could pretty well discern
what the enemy was. Some persons may be surprised to hear that the
marauding vessel was no less a craft than the magnificent yacht of the
Emperor of All the Russias, called the 'Livadia,' which had condescended
to the somewhat undignified work of capturing small Turkish coasting
craft. Who can fancy the 'Victoria and Albert' being sent to sea, during
a war between England and France, to capture and destroy small coasting
craft on the French shores! However, there was the fact; it was the
'Livadia,' and no mistake. And now commenced one of the most interesting
chases I have ever seen. On our starting the yacht was about four miles
ahead of us, steering a course that would take her straight to
Sebastopol. She had got through all the necessary dangerous manoeuvres of
crossing our bows, from her having been inshore of us, before we moved.
The weather was lovely, not a ripple on the water, dead calm.
We commenced the chase at 4.30 p.m. Unfortunately our decks were loaded
with coal; however, we made a clean thirteen knots. At first it seemed
as if we were coming up with the chase, so much so that I felt inclined
to fire the long bow gun at her. But I always think and I say from
blockade-running experience that firing more or less injures a vessel's
speed; so I refrained from doing so. As night closed in a beautiful moon
rose and made everything as clear as day. The equality of our speed was
most remarkable, inasmuch as the distance between us did not vary a
hundred yards in an hour. All night we were watching, measuring
distances with nautical instruments, &c., hoping at moments that we were
nearer, despairing at others that she was gaining from us. We threw
overboard fifty or sixty tons of coal, to no avail; we could not get
within shot of the 'Livadia,' to capture which I would have given all I
possessed. As day broke we saw the crew of the 'Livadia' busily employed
throwing overboard coal and water. Sebastopol was in sight, and she was
running for dear life to that haven of safety. Lightening her had
certainly a good effect, for it was sadly evident to me that on doing so
she drew ahead a little, but very little. Now I hoped she would burst
her boiler or break down ever so little; but so it was not fated, and
the Emperor's yacht escaped by the skin of her teeth into Sebastopol,
under the protection of batteries that opened a tremendous fire on my
ship on my approaching, forgetful of their existence. I was obliged to
clear out of that pretty sharply or we should have been sunk.
An ironclad corvette that accompanied me, though some miles astern at
the finish, ran so close in that she had her rudder shot away, and we
had the unpleasant task of towing her out under a fire more like a
hailstorm of shot and shell than anything I can compare it to. I am told
the 'Livadia' would have shown fight. I have no doubt she would;
Russians always fight well: but I think the result would not have been
doubtful, and the Emperor's crockery and glass, to say nothing of the
magnificent gettings-up in the cabins, would have lost much of their
lustre during an engagement. So the glory of taking the Emperor's yacht
into the Bosphorus was not to be mine. I cannot express my
disappointment at losing such a chance. The only consolation I have is
that I really believe the brave Russians would have blown her up, rather
than allow such a disgrace to fall on their flag.
Since the war a Russian naval officer told me that he had under his
command at Sebastopol, on the day of my chasing the 'Livadia' into that
port, seven torpedo boats, with which he volunteered to go out and
attack us. His request was not allowed. We discussed at some length the
probable result. These are my views and arguments. I said to him, 'When
I saw your boats coming out I should have steamed away. Now the speed of
my frigate is thirteen knots. You would probably have had a speed of
nineteen to twenty at most. Thus your rate of approaching me would have
been six knots, no great speed with which to approach a vessel armed
with Nordenfelt guns, and six other guns also, _en barbette_, firing
grape, shell, &c. I am convinced we should have destroyed all the
torpedo boats.' 'Well, then,' said the Russian officer, 'I should have
followed and attacked you during the night.' 'There again,' I said, 'I
think you would have failed, because before dark you could not have got
near enough to me, on account of the opposition you would have met with
from my fire, to remark the course I steered after sunset, which course
I should have frequently changed during the darkness. A ship cannot be
seen in the dark if she shows no light at more than five hundred yards'
distance, and a moving ship would have been most difficult to hit;
besides which, if I had stopped and put down my defences, what could you
have done?' This discussion ended in the Russian officer admitting that
he did not think he could have done much.