The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov

by Carl Douglass

  Batak and Perushtitsa, Bulgaria, June 7, 1875-December 10, 1877

  The Imperial Guards battalion rode into an area which was in a state of pandemonium. The ragtag Bulgarian irregulars were ostensibly preparing to do battle with a far superior number of Turkish Ottoman regular troops—the Nisam—and irregulars—the Redifs, Bashi-bazouks, Bulgarian Muslims, and Crimean Tatars imported from the Caucasus. Boris and his Cossacks rounded up a few dozen of the toughest looking Bulgars and made attempts to teach them disciplined cavalry tactics. The attempts were futile; the Bulgarian fighters saw the issue as a personal rebellion against the Ottoman atrocities. They were adverse to obeying orders from leaders of their own clans, to say nothing of obeying Russian interlopers.

  Boris and his fellow guards officers were able only to convince the insurgents to adopt guerilla tactics of attack and vanish and to abandon their villages which could not be defended. Boris was dubious about the likelihood of his Russian counterparts being able to convey even that simple strategy. For the next year, the Cossacks and the brave Bulgars carried out annoying and costly raids hitting ammunition dumps, food storage depots, train tracks, and small encampments of Ottoman Janissaries and Yayas spread out across the Bulgarian plains and mountain valleys. At best, Boris and his unit were able to keep the advancing Ottoman army at bay and to delay their advances down the peninsula.

  In the spring of 1876, word came to the Russians and the Bulgarians–who had come to accept that Russia was their protector–that another uprising had erupted in south-central Bulgaria in conjunction with rioting in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Boris considered this to be the opportunity they had been waiting for and convinced his superior, Polkovnik Baritsky, that now was the time to strike and to catch the Turks while their attention was spread out to multiple fronts. Boris and his Cossacks and his few trained Bulgars rode out of Batak and Perushtitsa on May 28 and made a series of punishing raids on small Ottoman units scattered out for a hundred miles around the two small Bulgarian cities.

  Satisfied that he had inflicted enough damage on the poorly disciplined Turks, Boris ordered his men to cease their looting and to make their way back to their base cities. They rode into what was left of Batak and Perushtitsa on June 8. Of the towns themselves there were only a handful of buildings left standing, and they were charred ruins still smoking. There was not a single woman or child left in either city, and the few survivors described a nightmarish scenario of Ottoman atrocities which had seen as many as twenty thousand to possible thirty or even forty thousand Bulgarians slaughtered—murdered—including every last man and boy over the age of twelve.

  The Russian government reacted with fury. Perhaps the Ottomans believed that such savagery would quell any further resistance, but they had not counted on the effect the atrocities had had on the civilized Russians. Colonel Baritsky sent messengers to Sofia and Plovdiv where they sent emergency telegraph messages in Morse code to all the Russian military installations in Russia and to the capitals of Europe. The response was dramatic. The Ottomans were considered to be uncivilized barbarians before the events in Batak and Perushtitsa, but afterwards the entire civilized world deemed them to be ravening sadistic monsters.

  Tzar Alexander II was particularly incensed by the savagery of the Ottomans, but he was also a pragmatist who saw the events as an opening for his imperial army to recover the territorial losses suffered during the humiliating Crimean war and as an opportunity to establish Russian bases on the Black Sea to enable his empire to have an exit into the Baltic Sea and the Atlantic Ocean. He spread the word throughout his empire that this coming war should be considered the rival of the Great Patriotic War of 1812 when the Russians drove out the invading French under Napoleon. Religious Russians saw the upcoming campaign as the divine mission to unite all Bulgaria, Romania, Serbia, Montenegro, and Russian Orthodox, under the Russian flag and the Russian Orthodox cross. The nonreligious Russians saw it as a once in a lifetime chance to save Bulgaria and its downtrodden and abused people and to rid the world of the heathen Muslim Turks.

  Alexander raced to get his armies to Bulgaria before any of the other European powers could arrive and claim credit. Since Boris was on the scene, he was given a two-step increase in rank to Polkovnik and Baritsky was advanced the same day to K-4, General mayor, in anticipation of the major influx of troops which would come pouring in within a matter of a few weeks.

  Boris could hardly believe his luck. He had expected to be reprimanded or even punished for having drawn troops away from the unfortunate Bulgarian cities; but instead, events had gone the opposite way; and he was promoted on what would likely lead to a rapid rise to the field general status he and his father dreamed of. He treated his men to champagne the evening he learned the almost incredibly good news.

  From that day forward, the new colonel drilled his Cossacks and as many Bulgarian horsemen as he could round up in cavalry tactics, swordsmanship, riding into battle with a lance, and hand to hand combat with saber and daggers. They were tired, and they griped; but they had a level of esprit de corps none of them could have imagined the month before when they first looked at the devastation of Batak and Perushtitsa. They were ready for the large battles to come, both horses and men literally chomping at the bit. Boris was deeply proud of his men, and rewarded them liberally with medals, drink, and time off.

  Kizil-Tepe, Turkey, June 25, 1877

  For all its good intentions and enthusiasm for the war against Turkey, the Russian Imperial Army moved with glacial celerity as it always did when approaching battles. Boris and his Cossacks thought they would go mad as the higher brass dithered, planned, made logistic decisions, then redid the whole thing again and again. Boris recognized the need for the 100,000-man Russian army to establish itself, but he could also see the Ottomans pouring into central and southern Bulgaria from the Turkish border. When the order finally came to march, a full year had been wasted. The target of the Russian force was a timid effort to lay siege against the Ottoman Fort Kars in Turkey. He wanted to gallop his cavalry unit all the way to the objective, but he was instructed—ordered—time and again to damp down his ardor and to pull back.

  Finally, on June 25, the Russians surrounded Fort Kars and issued an ultimatum: surrender or be destroyed or starved out. The response from the Ottoman commander was insulting. The sultan stood on the parapet near the main gates and laughed out loud, then turned his back on the Russians and disappeared back into his fortified city. The Russians launched attack after attack during the entirety of an exhausting hot day—all to no avail. Boris was beside himself sitting on his massive chestnut horse Kryzhu waiting for the call to arms. It had to come after the walls were broached, but that never happened. Late in the afternoon, the fresh and enthusiastic Turks exploded out of the front and rear gates of the city and appeared out of nowhere from the surrounding hills and valleys and routed the Russians and Bulgarians in an ignominious defeat. It became apparent that the Russians had woefully underestimated the size of the Ottoman hordes commanded by Hussein Pasha arrayed against them.

  It was not until the next September when Boris was able to bloody his sword. At long last, the major force of the imperial Russian army crossed the Danube, linked up with the Yusupov and Baritsky forces, and began an attack on the highly fortified city of Nikopol. The Turks recognized the great significance of Nikopol to their continuing survival as an empire and ordered the renowned Ottoman general, Osman Pasha to race to Nikopol. The Russian IX Corp got to the city first and bombed the garrison of the city into abject submission before the Ottoman general could get there and make his bid to save the city. Osman Pasha retreated to the city of Plevna, and awaited the Russian attack which they knew was inevitable once Nikopol fell.

  Again, the Russian Imperial Army paused, but this time only for a few days until the Romanian Army could assemble with the Russians for the march to the south to begin the siege of Plevna. It was in the battle that ensued that the newly minted Polkovnik Prince Boris Nikolaiovich Yusupov made h
is name. The Russians fought foray after foray for five torturous months without making significant progress. During the fourth month of the advance, his superior, General mayor Baritsky led an infantry and artillery attack on the Ottomans who were ensconced in a rugged narrow mountain pass. He ordered Boris and his guardsmen and Cossacks to ride to the ridges on both sides of the pass, and to gain the advantage of elevation over the well-armed and determined Turks hiding among rocks and firing artillery at will from fortified caves.

  Boris ordered his cavalry and his infantry guards unit to move as quietly as possible up the steep slopes of the ridges on the opposite side of the valley where the major attack by Baritsky’s forces were very slowly beginning to advance up the bottom of the valley, suffering terrible losses of men, horses, and equipment. Boris drove his men to near exhaustion until they were above the Ottoman positions and behind them. He sent a message by courier to Baritsky:

  My esteemed General, it is my pleasure to inform you that we have gained the vantage point over the heathens and are ready to attack at your command.

  Your obedient servant,

  Polkovnik Boris Nikolaiovich Yusupov

  The reply came from Polkovnik Grinevitski, the colonel second in command to Baritsky in the main forces in the valley. It was a terrible shock to Boris:

  Polkovnik Yusupov. It is my sad duty to inform you that our esteemed general has been killed in action by treasonous Bulgarian Ottomans. You were second in command, and in a dispatch sent by General roda voysk Ivan Borisovitch Gagarin and confirmed by the tzar himself and Prince Carol of Romania, you are now the commander of this mission. Further, Sir, I am to congratulate you on having been given a field commission to the rank of General Mayor. The Branch General instructed me to convey the congratulations of your Father, Prince Nikolai Yusupov, and the tzar. I await your orders, Sir.

  Your obedient second in command,

  –Polkovnik Leonid Brodinsovitch Grinevitski.

  Boris took several minutes to absorb the shocking news from headquarters. Then he had a period of intense grief because he had loved the late general as an uncle and esteemed advisor. He then experienced a moment of conflicted emotions. He had attained his life’s goal, and his career would have no limits from this time forward. He was quietly elated. He felt guilty that his ascension had come from the death of his general and friend. Vlad and the Cossacks looked to him for orders. He asked for a piece of parchment and a pen and ink.

  He sat on a rock and very slowly and thoughtfully composed a directive—one which would either make or break him as a Russian Imperial Army general.

  Polkovnik Rasputin: Convey my shock and sorrow at learning of the death of our great leader. It is fitting that he should die a hero in combat, but nonetheless sad. We must carry on, nevertheless. Continue to bombard the valley redoubt manned by the cursed Ottomans, but take great care not to suffer losses on the part of our great army for the time being. I will attack the heathens from above and behind them in an all-out attack. As soon as you see that we have made full contact, move the bulk of your forces up the valley under artillery cover fire. God grant that we meet at the summit of the valley as victors. If God does not grant us victory, let us die as courageous imperial army soldiers, true to our oath.

  –General mayor Prince Boris Nikolaiovich Yusupov

  Boris turned to his officers and sergeants major, “On my command, ride down both sides of the ridge and into the valley. Fix bayonets; put protectives on your horses, and ride to glory or to death in the name of the tzar.”

  He sent his swiftest horseman to carry a dispatch to his cavalry and infantry now lined up out of sight behind the opposite ridge. The dispatch rider returned and announced that the men on the other side were ready to die for him if necessary.

  Boris was humbled. A thrill ran through him. He ordered his men to climb to the top of the ridge, knowing that the Ottomans would quickly become aware of their presence. When he was certain that his regiment on both sides of the valley was ready, he gave the fateful order:

  “ZARYAD!” [CHARGE]!”

  Boris and his Cossack and Imperial Guards Cavalry roared down both sides of the ridges approaching the astonished Turkish Ottoman regular troops—the Nisam, Janissaries and Yayas—and irregulars—the Redifs, Bashi-bazouks, Bulgarian Muslims, and Crimean Tatars imported from the Caucasus. The Ottoman army had to make a split-second decision: turn about and concentrate fire on the new threat from above and their flanks or continue the defense against the regular Russian Imperial Army attacking from below. They hesitated. Then they became confused and alarmed as Boris’s forces swept behind them in a criss-cross cavalry drill formation ending up on opposite sides and in the midst of the terrified Ottoman forces. No sooner had they collected themselves to defend against the Cossacks and guardsmen, but the imperial forces from below made it to the rough ground directly in front of them.

  The ensuing battle was a scene of violence, cacophony, clashing sabers, screams of men impaled on pikes or suffering loss of limbs or deadly abdominal and chest stabbings. An objective observer–had there been one–would have been at a loss to follow the struggle and to come to a conclusion regarding winners and losers. The course of the battle moved up and down the mountain side and the valley and laterally across and up the mountain walls.

  Boris screamed orders at his men to hold the line and to remain disciplined. They did so even without his added orders and demands. Slowly the Ottoman forces began to dwindle down and to form small groups of desperate soldiers fighting for their lives. The pincers of Cossacks, guardsmen, and regular imperial army officers and men ground the knots of courageous Ottomans into the bloody earth. The world there was hellish with the screams of men and horses being wounded and killed. There was a stench of fresh blood, gun smoke, and terror.

  Boris sighted a horseman he recognized as one of the tzar’s court who had come ostensibly to be an observer but was now besieged by Bashi-bazouks intent on mutilating him. He was beginning to falter, and shortly fell to the ground when his horse died of spear thrusts. A dozen Bashi-bazouk scimitars raised above his head, ready to end the aristocrat’s existence. Boris on Kryzhu and Vlad on his horse rode into the screaming irregulars like freight trains. The horses trampled most of the attackers as they passed through them. The Bashi-bazouks with their threatening scimitars ran from the Russian aristocrat and tried to match might and killing power with the Cossack sabers. They were overwhelmed in less than a minute. Boris and Vlad leapt from their horses and executed the few Bashi-bazouks still showing signs of life.

  Boris hurried to reassure the terrified tzarist bureaucrat and would-be adventurer. It was glaringly apparent that he had soiled himself, adding humiliation to his fear and now overwhelming relief.

  Boris said, “Allow me to present myself, Sir. I am General mayor Prince Boris Nikolaiovich Yusupov at your service. You are now safe and under my protection and that of my superlative Cossack officer, Vlad.”

  Vlad saluted and said to the aristocrat in his Kuban language, “It is my pleasure, Sir.”

  “I can never thank you enough, Prince Yusupov. I presume that you are of the House of Yusupov?”

  “I have the honor to be the first son of Prince Nikolai Borisovich Yusupov.”

  “I am Alfred, Hereditary Prince of Sax-Coburg and Gotha, and first cousin of his majesty the tzar.”

  He extended his gloved hand to Boris, and they shook hands as if they were old friends or even family members who had not seen each other in years. Boris was awestruck. It occurred to him–in all humility—that this incident might well be a major stepping stone in his developing career, to say the least.

  Boris and Vlad assisted the thoroughly frightened and much chastened great prince back to the main encampment at the mouth of the valley and saw to it that the man was able to rest in a sumptuous tent until the end of the battle.

  Then, the two men raced back up the valley to reengage in the still ongoing vicious fray. Saving the great prince enlivened B
oris and gave him a new infusion of energy he would not have imagined he would be able to summon. He and Vlad led their cavalrymen and infantrymen into the thick of the battle hacking and slashing with lethal efficiency. Finally, the enemy’s center broke; and the completely defeated and disheartened Ottomans and their assortment of irregulars fled in all directions.

  Boris and the other imperial officers staved off a complete massacre and managed to save a significant minority of the enemy combatants as POWs. Many of them were clearly worthy of large ransoms—enough to pay for the Russian costs in the battle. The battle and the Russian-Romanian victory was decisive enough for Russia to obtain the complete capitulation of the garrison, to decide the outcome of the short war, and to result in the liberation of Bulgaria. Russia was able to wrench a province of Bulgaria for the tzar out of the surrender agreement.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  POSSIBLE YUSUPOV CONNECTION

  “Challenges, failures, defeats, and ultimately failure, are what makes your life worthwhile.”

  —Maxime Lagacé,

  Quotes Amigo, 2018

  National Archives of Australia, Victorian Archives Centre, 99 Shiel Street, North Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, January 8, 2014

  It had been a long cold day for summer. It had rained the night before, and the sky was still full of mist and clouds. The air felt damp. Yesterday, it had been hot. The changeable weather reminded all the missionaries of the Rocky Mountain West where change was the rule. This was the best time of day—lunch—when they could shed some of the formality of their missionary duties and become more themselves and more like a group of friends. None of them even thought of breaking the mission rule against calling each other by first names, but lunches were somewhat more relaxed anyway.