The march to Ardahan—Molla Hassan—A Turkish major—The
garrison of Ardahan—The position of the town—The
fortifications—Procrastination in military matters—The
military governor—A colonel of artillery—The Russians might
take Van—The Ala Dagh mountains—Freemasonry—The ancient
Assyrians—To Livana by road—By the river to Batoum—Selling
the horses—What they fetch—A bad bargain.
I started early the following morning _en route_ for Ardahan, a Turkish
fortress about forty-two miles from Kars. The road was good for the
first three hours, but then became very bad. We rode over some mountains
covered with deep snow, and halted for the night in a small village
called Molla Hassan, inhabited by Kurds. A Turkish major had recently
inhabited the room assigned to us. He had intended remaining there for
some time; but the insects proving too much for him, he had taken up
his abode in a Turkish village near Kars.
"These Turks have thin skins," said an old Kurd, my host, as he told
me the story; "only think of their being frightened by a few fleas. You
Ingliz are much braver people."
"My Effendi is very particular about these matters," remarked Mohammed;
"if he is bitten, there will be no baksheesh."
The Kurd's face lengthened.
"I have a cart," he presently observed; "it is clean, it has been
standing in the cold. The fleas are frozen. I will drag the cart into
the road and the Frank can sleep in it."
This was done, and I managed to secure a few hours' rest, a very rare
occurrence in a Kurdish village. The track was very bad between Mollah
Hassan and Ardahan; after marching for six hours and a half, we reached
the latter place, which was at that time garrisoned by 12,000 soldiers.
Ardahan is surrounded on the north, south, and east by mountains—towards
the west there are some heights about five miles distant from the town.
The site is a bad one for defensive purposes. The roads which lead from
the Russian frontier stations, Akellaki and Akiska, present a series
of commanding positions which dominate the Turkish lines. A little
river winds through a valley on the west front of Ardahan, and finally
traverses the town. The stream is crossed by two wooden bridges without
parapets.
An attempt was being made to fortify Ardahan on its western side by
throwing up some earthworks only eight hundred yards distant from the
houses. No guns had been placed in these batteries.
There were thirteen pieces in a fort on a hill called Manusa, about
3000 yards to the north of Ardahan, and in another position south of
the town on the Kars road. Here there were four small earthworks, called
Ahali, Sangher, Gaze, and Kaptamele, mounting in all twenty-four guns.
Three hundred yards to the east there was one more earthwork, called
Kaiabashe, containing eighteen guns. Fort Manusa, the strongest point
in the defences of the town, is commanded by a height called Ramazan.
The Turks had not thought of occupying this last position; although
should an enemy once succeed in placing some guns on the Ramazan height,
Ardahan must eventually be taken.
On my pointing this out to an engineer officer who accompanied me, he
acknowledged the truth of the remark, at the same time observing that,
Inshallah, when the winter was over, he would fortify the height in
question.
Procrastination in military matters is the great defect on the part of
the Turkish authorities. But it ill becomes an Englishman to blame them.
Perhaps no country is more negligent about these subjects than our own.
"The Russians will not come, Inshallah," remarks the Mohammedan, and he
sits down and lights his pipe.
"It is extremely unlikely that Germany will invade Great Britain, or
that India will ever be attacked," says one Englishman. "It is highly
improbable that Russia will take Constantinople or the highlands in
Armenia," remarks another, "when that moment arrives it will be time
enough to go to war. We can then talk about a conscription for our army.
We have more money than any other nation, and should be stronger at the
end of a campaign than at the beginning." People who make use of these
arguments, forget that France was a very rich country; but that with all
her money and her hastily levied troops she was unable to withstand the
disciplined armies of Moltke.
The military governor was despondent as to his power of defending
Ardahan. If he could have had his own way, he would have selected
another position nearer the Russian frontier. It was now too late to do
this, and the more particularly as the Pacha believed that hostilities
would break out immediately. He had no cavalry at his disposal to bring
him information about what was going on near the border. However, 2000
Circassian horsemen were shortly expected, and wooden sheds were being
built for them close to the Kaiabashe earthworks. A colonel of artillery
called upon me: he had been educated at Woolwich. He had not been in
England for more than twenty years, but he spoke English remarkably
well. On my observing that I had heard that the Russians had lately
withdrawn their troops from Erivan, he remarked that the Muscovite
general had probably done so through fear lest the Turks should advance
upon Tiflis from Batoum.
"What would be the result if the Russians were to take Batoum?" I
inquired.
"They might remain there. It would be very difficult for them to advance
inland," was the reply. "There are no roads. The Russians might take
Van," he continued; "but even if they were to do so, they would find
it very difficult to advance upon Erzeroum _viâ_ Mousch. It would be
almost impossible for them to transport their artillery over the Ala
Dagh mountains."
"Would the Kurds help the Russians?"
"The Kurds would probably join the strongest side. I have been a great
deal in the mountains, and know the Kurds well. There are freemasons
amongst them," added the Colonel. "Their freemasonry dates back from
the time of the ancient Assyrians."
I now learnt that it would be better for me to sell my horses in
Ardahan, than to take them to Batoum. The shortest route to the
last-named town was to go to Livana by road, and then down the Tschoroch
river, to the seaport in question. We could hire five horses so far as
Livana; if we were to take our own animals there, we should not be able
to dispose of them. Calling Mohammed, I desired him to go to the market
and inform any people who might wish to buy horses, that there were four
for sale.
"Five, Effendi," said Mohammed; "I shall sell mine too. When we reach
Batoum the Effendi will go to Stamboul; but I must join my battalion.
That is, unless the Effendi will take me with him."
"Impossible, Mohammed," I replied. "I shall only remain for twenty-four
hours in Constantinople, and from there go to my own country. You would
be taken up as a deserter after I had gone, and perhaps shot. What would
your wife say?"
"I could get a fresh wife at Stamboul."
"Go and sell the horses!"
A tear fell down Mohammed's cheek. He sighed deeply and left the room.
Presently Radford came to me,—
"Bless my heart, sir, if that 'ere Mohammed ain't a crying; he keeps on
saying Stamboul, and wants to go there. He says, _'et à la Franga_, meat
cooked in the European style, is nice; and that he loves my cookery!'
the fact is, sir, he don't want to go to his regiment."
A sound in the courtyard attracted my attention, I went to the window.
Mohammed was outside with the five horses; several Turks and Circassians
were looking at them. The animals had very little flesh on their bones;
but they were in much better condition for work than on the day we left
Constantinople. Mohammed's horse was in a wretched state, he was nearly
blind, from the effects of the snow. In addition to this he walked lame.
"He is a brute," observed an old Turk; "take him away, Mohammed; kill
him for his skin, make leather of it."
"His grandfather was a magnificent animal," replied Mohammed
indignantly. "His sire was the admiration of the people in Tohat. He
himself is thin, he will soon get fat again. Any how," continued my
servant, "my lord's horses are for sale; unless you first buy mine you
shall not purchase his animals."
Some conversation ensued, a farmer at last offered 10 liras for the five
horses.
"The Effendi gave 16 liras for the grey at Stamboul," remarked my
servant.
"Ardahan is not Stamboul," replied the Circassian; "the horses have
carried the Effendi a very long distance."
"This proves that they are good animals," said Mohammed.
"It shows that they were good horses," observed the Circassian drily.
No one would bid any higher, and as I was in a hurry to start, I agreed
to accept 7½ liras for my own four horses, letting Mohammed have 2½
for his own Rosinante-like steed. Seven liras and a half, or 6_l._
15_s._ is not a great price for four serviceable animals. I could have
obtained the same amount for four dead horses in London. However, my
stud had carried us for more than two thousand miles, over a country
without roads, and for the greater part of the distance through snow. I
could not complain that the animals had been dearly purchased. It cost
me a pang to part with the little grey. He was a sterling good horse,
and in England would have been worth from 60_l._ to 70_l._ The sale
was concluded. In a few minutes I was receiving from the Circassian
a pile of Turkish bank-notes, which he extracted one by one from some
hiding-place next his skin.