Sabres on the Steppes Page 11

  Chapter 6

  James Longworth: The Intrepid Journalist

  ‘Dangers by being despised grow great.’

  – Edmund Burke (1729–97)

  The enduring mystery about James Longworth’s perilous year-long visit to Circassia – the western Caucasus – in the late 1830s is why he went there at all. His friends in England were baffled; his companions in the enterprise were confused; the Circassians remained mystified and surprised; the Russians were highly suspicious and hostile; and even the readers of his two-volume, seven-hundred-page account of his exploits (published in 1840) find it difficult to work out quite what he thought he was doing.

  Longworth was at pains to try to rationalize his adventure. He wrote that ‘lest the reader should appreciate no better than the Hadji [his pilgrim guide] my motives for breaking through the Russian blockade, and penetrating into countries hitherto deemed scarcely accessible to Europeans, I shall here take the liberty of adding a few words of explanation’. He goes on to explain that while living in Constantinople (the Porte) he had become enthralled with the strange and romantic image of Circassia. He had also been affronted by the brutality of the Russian incursions – amounting to full-scale invasion – of this independent land which had ‘lived in jealous seclusion for centuries’. The Russians were pursuing a policy of ‘war to the knife’. He was incensed by the unequal nature of the conflict, where simple tribesmen from the hills were confronted with the full force of a superior military power. He felt that the Russian naval blockade of the Circassian coast amounted not only to a crippling trade embargo for the inhabitants, but also denied Turkey – and by extension her trading partner England – an important market. But none of this really amounted to explaining a one-man mission with only the vaguest of objectives into a war zone in which Britain had no direct involvement.

  One other possible explanation was professional ambition. The concept of a war correspondent was totally undeveloped at the beginning of the nineteenth century; indeed, it was only with the appearance of R. H. Russell as the correspondent of The Times during the Crimean War (some twenty years later) that reporting from the front line became a feature of British journalism. But Longworth had long been a writer for The Times and contributed occasional dispatches from Constantinople and elsewhere. He doubtless thought that he would have a great story to tell if he could play a role in the insurgency and resistance of the mountain tribesmen of the Caucasus against the onslaught of the Russian military machine. He would be the first to tell the story to the outside world. This would provide not only material for dispatches but for a substantial book.

  So it was that, for all or any of these reasons, he set about trying to secure a passage on a ship through the Black Sea from Constantinople to the beleaguered coast of Circassia. It was not an easy task, because the Porte was filled with Russian emissaries keeping a vigilant eye on shipping that might be intent on evading their blockade. Russian consuls bullied the Turkish authorities into helping them frustrate such endeavours or, if that failed, into punishing with fines, imprisonment and destruction of vessels any seafarers who attempted to run the gauntlet of their Black Sea fleet. Longworth, who spoke fluent Turkish, eventually managed to contact some rough Turkish sea captains who were prepared to negotiate a passage for himself and some trade goods – mostly salt and gunpowder – if he would meet them on board their vessel. The vessel was already under suspicion, as it was distinguishable from the ordinary run of shipping around the Golden Horn, being ‘built to run low in the water, or, as the Turks say, like a thief’. In fact, one of the reasons for this design of blockade-running vessel was so that it could be more easily dragged up on the beach and hidden on the Circassian coastline than a more conventional ship. After making these arrangements, the Turks ‘went away as stealthily as they had come’ and Longworth had to sneak off and get a caique to take him to the rendezvous. Even when he got to the ship, he had to meet with the captain and his five crew below decks, ‘where we might confer without being seen from the shore’. Having agreed the extent and nature of the cargo, and the price for chartering ship and crew, they agreed to sail in four days’ time.

  Longworth spent these few days in recruiting a dragoman – in addition to his Hadji guide – who allegedly had some knowledge of local Caucasian languages and who could ‘mend and wash, dress a dinner and serve it, and, if necessary, fight’. He also gave some thought and time to collecting provisions that could act as currency or gifts. In addition to salt, gunpowder, lead (for bullets), steel (a euphemism for swords and sabres), they also loaded bales of a coarse white calico (used for clothing and other purposes); these goods, he reckoned, would be readily exchangeable for ‘all other property – slaves, horses and guns’. Thus equipped he set out for ‘the land of heroism and adventure’.

  The voyage was not without incident. They gave Trebizond (on the north Turkish coast) a wide berth, because it was known to have a vigilant Russian consul who would try to get the vessel impounded or otherwise frustrate onward progress. Soon they were within sight of Mount Elbruz (though some of the crew mistook it for a cloud formation) and Longworth allowed himself to be lost in classical reveries about the landscape – Prometheus ‘bound and bleeding on his rock’ and Jason navigating his Argonauts through these waters. However, he was soon recalled to reality. A boy at the masthead reported sighting a warship bearing down on them, which turned out to be a Russian corvette. Every scrap of sail was unfurled and every man took his turn at the oars to distance themselves from the approaching predator, apart from one pilgrim who decided that vocal prayer was likely to be more effective than sail or oar. The corvette got within firing range of them, but – after a four-hour chase – the Turkish ship managed to pull away from its pursuers before nightfall. By the next morning they were within sight of the beach where they planned to land, and friendly figures could be seen on shore.

  The reception accorded to Longworth came fully up to his expectations. A lone horseman on a white stallion rode into the water and with a flourish made clear that they were welcome ashore. Soon the beach was crowded with tribesmen from the surrounding mountains and forests, who conducted Longworth and his companions to a hut where more formal salutations were exchanged. From the outset, he was left in no doubt that he was among warriors: they were all dressed in sheepskin bonnets, bedecked with cartridge belts, and in addition to the muskets slung over their shoulders they had silver-mounted pistols and daggers stuck into their belts and ebony-hilted sabres slung beside them; to complete the attire they wore ‘gaily-gartered galoshes’. While his guide went off to arrange where to stay, Longworth was provided with a horse with a curious saddle having ‘an upright piece of polished wood four inches high’ before and aft, on which he nearly impaled himself on mounting. The stirrups were also absurdly short and uncomfortable. But Longworth soon realized that whatever the discomforts, this was a saddle on which he could easily turn completely around and shoot behind him at any pursuing foe.

  News of the impending visit of an Englishman had clearly preceded his arrival, and he was taken to meet a local nobleman, or bey, who was somewhat upset that an English bey was not staying under his roof, but with a merchant (chosen by the guide for reasons of personal profit). From the start his visit was welcomed as evidence of England’s concern for the plight of the independent Caucasians in the face of Russian invasion and attempted colonization. And from the start there was confusion about his precise role. Everywhere he saw little groups of people in discussion, and soon found that they were speculating among themselves as to ‘in what degree of relationship I stood to the King of England’ (William IV). When Longworth started to distribute some of the merchandise he had brought as presents, the recipients were uncertain as to whether they were indebted for these gifts to the sultan of Turkey or to the king of England, and when Longworth explained that he had come as a private visitor to find out what was happening in this inaccessible land, and that his gifts were – in part – to test the market
for a development of trade between England and Circassia, he was met with polite deference, because ‘everyone here has the undisputed right to tell as many falsehoods as he pleases’, but with total incredulity. They just could not believe that anyone could be induced simply by sympathy and curiosity to face the Russian blockade and expose himself to the dangers and fatigues of a journey in the Caucasus.

  The reluctance of both the beys and the tribesmen to accept Longworth’s reasons was enhanced by the conduct of his guide and dragoman. These followers of his were continually hinting that Longworth was really a person of great importance and in some way an emissary of the sovereign and government of his country; they did this largely to inflate their own importance and attract attention, gifts and hospitality. The Circassians themselves preferred to think of their visitor as representing government rather than trade, because they suspected that a merchant once established might prove to be a wooden horse within their Trojan defences – an illusion encouraged by the fact that many of them believed themselves to be descended from the inhabitants of Troy.

  It did not take long for Longworth to realize the intensity of the Circassians’ hatred of their Russian oppressors. Russian prisoners of war were to be found doing the most basic manual labour, and they were pointed out to him as having ‘piggish eyes and a shuffling gait [. . .] a compromise between the peasant’s slouch and a military strut’. The Russians had brought this hatred on themselves by their brutal and vicious behaviour: knowing that all Circassians felt particular reverence for the dead, and that they went to enormous pains to retrieve the bodies of their fallen comrades, the Russians had deliberately mutilated the bodies of local fighters they had killed. They were also reported to have burned Circassian prisoners over slow fires.

  In the months before Longworth arrived, Russian tactics had changed: whereas previously they had mostly engaged in cavalry skirmishes using Cossack units along the Kuban river, now they had started making prolonged sorties with infantry and artillery from their forts along the Kuban and penetrating far into the tribal interior. One of the chiefs was pointed out to him as the marksman who had picked off a Russian general riding in the middle of his regiment in one such sortie, and brought him crashing from his saddle. The Russians’ use of grape shot from their cannons had caused great damage and resentment within the ranks of the tribesmen, who no longer felt they could confront the enemy on a battlefield but were reduced to guerrilla warfare in the hills. Also the Russians had started making military highways through Georgia and Abkhazia; since such roads were not in continual use by the invaders, they were a two-edged asset: the insurgents used them to move quickly around their own country and they also placed ambushes on them to surprise Russian columns on the move. Indeed, the gorges and defiles of the Caucasian mountains provided the ideal terrain for guerrilla warfare – a permanent hinterland into which the tribesmen could withdraw to reform and consolidate.

  But the most visible and immediately provocative evidence of the Russian presence was their string of forts along the Black Sea coastline. These were extending steadily southwards, from Anapa (not far from the Crimea) to the mountain ranges in the mid-Caucasus. They were instrumental in enforcing the blockade, and they were also the jumping off point for punitive raids – slashing and burning villages and stealing cattle – into the mountains and the heartlands of the tribes. But a posting to these forts was highly unpopular with the Russian garrisons, who felt holed up with meagre rations in confined quarters from which they seldom dared to sally forth. As a consequence, there was a steady trickle of deserters from the garrisons, soldiers who felt that anything – even labouring as prisoners of war or, worse, being sold on as slaves to the Ottoman empire – was better than the claustrophobic and brutal regime of Tsar Nicholas I’s army. The largest element among these deserters were Poles who had been conscripted into the tsar’s army and who felt little patriotic allegiance to it. But many who described themselves as Polaks to the Circassians were in fact Russians who thought – hardly surprisingly in view of the atrocities they had committed – that they would be less harshly treated if they concealed the fact. Indeed, so many alleged Poles were reaching the independence fighters that they thought of trying to form a regiment of them to fight against the Russians.

  Against this background of fear and hatred, it was especially alarming to Longworth to find that from time to time he was under suspicion of being a Russian spy. These suspicions surfaced as a consequence of his hosts’ bafflement at the purpose and sponsorship of his visit: if he was really not an agent of the British government, what was he doing there? Were such suspicions to crystallize, he feared that the first intimation he might have that something was wrong might be ‘an apology for the necessity they were under of selling me to the Abasseks or of throwing me into the sea’.

  The best way that Longworth could think of disproving such suspicions was to offer himself as a front-line combatant against the Russians: he wanted to join in some daring raid and put his life as much at risk as his hosts were doing; it was easier said than done. Time and again he was frustrated by promising forays being aborted at the last moment. But he did manage to join in reconnoitring the defences of one or two of the Russians’ coastal forts, being shot at in the process, and consequently became a friend of the most rash and dashing of all the guerrilla leaders, a chief invariably known as ‘the Wolf’.

  Throughout these adventures, Longworth was not entirely a lone Englishman in this part of the world. Mr J. S. Bell (the owner of the ship Vixen whose passage to the Caucasus had provoked David Urquhart’s row with Lord Palmerston) was also in Circassia at the same time, but was less inclined than Longworth to risk his person in conflict with the Russians, since he had ongoing commercial interests which he did not want to jeopardize. Longworth wanted to meet up with Bell, and was delighted when this was arranged by his hosts, but – part way through Longworth’s stay – another unknown Englishman appeared on the scene who was also assumed to have a close link with King William IV and to be a precursor of official British aid to the beleaguered independence fighters. This figure is referred to throughout Longworth’s book as Nadir Bey (the title and name allotted to him by his Circassian hosts). He was in fact a Mr Knight, of whom little is known, but who was such a charismatic character that he instantly established a reputation for being a quintessential English gentleman: he out-rode the locals, shot better than them, bestowed lavish gifts, and – when cornered – was capable of setting his horse at any ditch, hedge or barricade and clearing it in the best Leicestershire-hunting-field style.

  In addition to the presence of these three loose-cannon Englishmen on the Black Sea coast, there was another factor which persuaded the Circassians that the king of England and his government stood firmly on their side in their conflict with Russia. A message had been received by one of the chiefs from no lesser person than Lord Ponsonby, the British ambassador to the Porte. Ponsonby urged them to send a placatory message to the Russians, offering to stop all hostilities if the Russians for their part withdrew beyond the Kuban river and dismantled their forts along the Black Sea coast. They were authorized to offer in support of their terms ‘the guarantee of England’. The terms were to be offered three times, and if consistently rejected by the Russians, the Circassians were to report the fact back to Lord Ponsonby. They took this as a clear indication that Britain was standing behind them in their troubles, and two ‘heralds’ set out immediately under a safe-conduct to deliver the message to the Russian commanding general. In fact, the chiefs probably read much more into the message than was intended by the British government or even by Ponsonby himself.

  Predictably, the Russian general who received these advances did not react favourably. He treated the suggestions with derision and spoke of the British government in disparaging terms. As to Longworth and his fellow Englishmen on the ground (of whom it seems they were well aware through their own spies) the general said ‘they were unprincipled adventurers who were endeavouring to
mislead [the Circassians] for their own ends, and the best they could do was to cut them into pieces’. Submission to Tsar Nicholas I was, he said, the only serious option open to the rebellious chiefs; the alternative was an immediate slash-and-burn operation by the Cossacks.

  When this was related to Longworth, he commented that the Russians seemed to think they were addressing the ‘crouching and defenceless population of the steppes’ rather than ‘a hardy race of mountaineers’ who could plunge into their native forests and fastnesses and defy the Russians to follow them. With his encouragement, a bold and provocative response was sent back to the Russian general: ‘You seem proudly to imagine you can do as you please; but, though we be but a small nation, with God’s blessing and the succour of England, we will resist you still’. The chiefs went on to declare the war against Russia a jihad: everyone who died would be a martyr to whom the gates of paradise would promptly swing open.

  Islamic practices also involved Longworth in one or two embarrassing incidents. When he started trading the goods he had brought with him to test the local market, he received – as well as wax, butter and fox-furs – ‘a buxom damsel of seventeen’. The girl was terrified when she learnt that she had been sold to a Westerner, because a malicious Islamic friend had told her that Christians had cannibalistic tendencies and that her new owner was likely ‘to roast and pickle her’. When during the subsequent night an alarm was raised, everyone thought a Russian attack was imminent; only the night before, a slumbering elderly sentry had been aroused by two Cossack scouts who had threatened to kidnap him. But on this occasion the disturbance turned out to be caused by the seventeen-year-old girl effecting an escape. She was eventually found and returned to the camp. The young man who, it turned out, had eloped with her, gave a solemn assurance under oath on the Koran that she was ‘undamaged’. Nonetheless the deal regarding the girl was called off and Longworth had his trading goods returned to him – somewhat to his relief.