The Cotton Spies

by Simon Glyndwr John

CHAPTER 36

  On his arrival in Baku Fernee set off through streets thronged with people rushing hither and thither seemingly, to him, in a panic. He arrived at the Europe Hotel and went straight to the dining room where he saw Mawle and McWilliam eating a late breakfast at a speed that was in direct contrast to the streets he had just left. Mawle when he saw Fernee approaching groaned loudly.

  ‘So what is happening here?’ snapped Fernee looking angrily at Mawle.

  McWilliam who was reading a newspaper looked up and put the newspaper deliberately on the table. ‘Good morning, Captain Fernee, have a seat.’ He pointed and Fernee sat. ‘Happening?’ muttered McWilliam, ‘the whole place is in turmoil because the Turks are really close by and the damn Bolsheviks won’t do a thing to help the town against them. The Bolos have also refused to allow General Muncerville to come from his base in Enzeli to help the Baku citizens. So the upshot is, yesterday our local government underwent a radical change. The Bolsheviks under Hagopian, their leader, have been replaced by the Social Revolutionaries (SRs). The SRs are the political group with whom you and Captain Mawle dealt on the other side of the Caspian –namely the FTU.’

  Mawle began to gabble as though his life depended on it, ‘this is why, Captain, I haven’t come back to report yet. Things have been happening so quickly I thought it best to stay. When Hagopian failed to get any support from Moscow to fight the Turks, he and the rest of the Bolsheviks took umbrage and shipped out across the Caspian and headed for Astrakhan. But when they did that the swines took with them not just their soldiers but all the arms and ammunition they could carry.’

  ‘Christ, what nice people,’ Fernee said and slapped his thigh.

  ‘Exactly what I said, Tom, though I uttered a lot of Anglo-Saxon words normally found amongst our rankers. Armed ships loyal to the Social Revolutionary Government were dispatched to seize the Bolsheviks before they arrived in Astrakhan and bring them back with their weapons. It is like a game of musical chairs here.’ Mawle’s final remark was accompanied by a jovial grin.

  ‘What about General Muncerville what is he doing?’ Fernee looked from one to the other.

  ‘I am sailing for Enzeli,’ McWilliam looked at his watch, ‘within the hour. I have instructions from the new government here to invite General Muncerville to come to Baku with his soldiers and see what he can do. I recommend that Captain Mawle stay here.’

  Fernee look surprised at McWilliam, ‘why?’

  ‘I think the presence of an experienced British Officer,’ Fernee glanced at Mawle, who studiously and with a reddening face looked away as McWilliam continued, ‘will help bolster up the town’s defences by giving advice to the local Armenian commanders.’

  ‘Not that they will pay any attention to me,’ said Mawle.

  Thank god for that thought Fernee who switched his attention back to McWilliam, ‘what, should I do, major?’

  ‘Go back to Krasnovodsk and help organise their government to oppose the Turks from there. Even if Muncerville can get here I’m not sure he will be able to hold the Turks for long. If the Turks take Baku then we must stop them crossing the Caspian at all costs. The other thing you must do is get the FTU Government in Krasnovodsk to stop the Bolshevik army, currently in Merv, coming west.’

  ‘I will try on both accounts. Perhaps by the time I get back they will have heard from Barber or the War Office about what we are going to do. I assume Captain Mawle told you of our meeting across the sea?’

  ‘Yes he did. I cannot believe that Barber will send troops to fight the Bolos in Turkestan because it is still feasible the Bolos will change their minds return and fight the Turks her. The Bolos certainly won’t return here if we’re fighting their comrades in Turkestan. Actually I thought we were short of troops everywhere and had none to spare for a Russian venture. If the Bolos remain adamant that they won’t fight the Turks we cannot afford for the oil to get into Turkish hands. If that happens then London or India must surely send soldiers from Mesopotamia to fight the Turks and wrestle Baku back into sympathetic hands – presumably the FTU.’ McWilliam stopped to take a sip of coffee, an action that made him grimace because it had gone cold.

  ‘What about the Germans - any news of them?’ Fernee said thinking that if they were to arrive in the place that would be a very different arrival from that of the Turks – they wouldn’t massacre the Armenians.

  ‘On their way here though we have no idea exactly where they are, probably still at Georgia’s capital, Tiflis. We are still hoping that if and when the Germans get closer to here there will be a falling out with their allies.’ McWilliam sounded as unconvincing as he felt.

  There was a silence between the three Britons as they each thought about what the arrival of the Germans in Baku might mean. Fernee wondered how control of shipping on the Caspian might be achieved in order to prevent either of Briton’s enemies crossing that sea. The silence between the three men ended when Mawle spoke. ‘Do you need me to do anything, captain?’ His voice sounded so contrite that Fernee, despite himself, almost burst out laughing.

  ‘The harbour map, did you do as I ask and get one?’

  ‘Yes I did. It is in my room.’ Mawle stood up and left the table. ‘I’ll get it now.’ He scuttled off like a frightened rabbit.

  McWilliam watched him go. ‘Anxious to see action is our Captain Mawle. I suspect when he’s seen some he won’t want to do it again.’ McWilliam wiped his mouth with a dirty napkin, ‘I better warn you that other things have changed since you were last here. The government has just introduced a new law that anyone who leaves the town needs a visa. Getting a visa takes an age. It is so vital that you go back across to Krasnovodsk immediately that I recommend that you smuggle yourself aboard, somehow, without one.’

  ‘Why? If they want British help won’t they just give me one?’

  McWilliam pointed a finger at Fernee. ‘Well being dressed like you are as a Persian trader yet claiming to be a British officer would arouse suspicions. The locals are shooting people on the spot whom they have the slightest doubt about. Trust me on that. Anyway, how come Mawle is in uniform and you are not?’

  ‘My uniform was not packed in my luggage, Mawle’s was.’

  McWilliam smiled and added, ‘no disguise could hide the fact that Mawle is other than a British officer. Now there is one other thing that I want you to report on and it has nothing to do with military matters. Because of the cowardice the Bolsheviks have shown here, by abandoning Baku to the Turks, I think they are going to lose support everywhere in Russia just like they have done here. That said then one of Britain’s major future concerns is - who is going to get their hands on the Baku oil? I want you to report that I have met an American oil-man from Standard Oil, who are I believe are the largest oil company in the USA. He is quite clearly here for one purpose only - to get his hands on the oil.’

  ‘Surely if the Turks get here his life is in as much danger as much as ours would be?’

  ‘You are forgetting, Captain Fernee, that the USA is not at war with the Turks.’

  At that moment Mawle returned with the map, which was huge being roughly five feet by four feet. ‘I’ll accompany you down to the quayside, captain.’ Mawle took out his watch and looked at it before snapping it shut, ‘the boat won’t be off for a couple of hours but it pays to be an early bird.’

  ‘Trying to get rid of me, John?’ Fernee said his face expressionless.

  ‘No of course not, Tom,’ Mawle was relived to be back on friendly terms.

  ‘Now,’ said Fernee and tapped the map, ‘this. If I can get shot by just trying to get a visa what will happen if I am found with this.’

  McWilliam stood up and shook Fernee’s hand before he left the table with the parting shot, ‘you’ll get executed. Still take care and good luck. Here you are take this with you, it is a nice bit of fiction. I’m off to Enzeli.’ McWilliam picked up his newspaper from the table and tossed it over to Fernee.

  Mawle raised his eyebrows at Fernee as
they both watched McWilliam disappear. ‘A very solitary and remote man is our Major McWilliam as his casual remark about you getting shot demonstrated.’

  ‘Perhaps. Now, how am I going to get on board ship and what am I going to do with the map?’

  ‘I have an idea about boarding but did you bring luggage with you?’

  ‘I left it with the porter here. Time being of the essence I thought I’d catch you both before I unpacked. Just as well then that I’m going straight back to Krasnovodsk.’

  ‘Can’t you put the map into your valise?’

  ‘Well I haven’t got any secret drawers if that what you are thinking. It is certain they’ll search that first. I suppose I might as well take this for some light reading.’ Fernee picked up the newspaper and put the map on top of it before he and Mawle stood up and got ready to leave the table. As Fernee bent down to pick the newspaper and map up with his hand the thought struck him. Fernee looked at Mawle and then back at the two objects in his hand, again he looked at Mawle. Slowly a smile spread across Mawle’s face as he realised what Fernee had worked out and then nodded his appreciation whilst he watched Fernee fold the map and hide it in the newspaper.

  ‘I’ve a thought on how we might get you onto the boat. I’ll come down with you in case you don’t make it and they take you off and shoot you.’

  ‘In that case I order you to get back to Krasnovodsk somehow, anyhow and telegraph Meshed about the current situation.’

  As the two men left the hotel what worried the two British officers was the number of soldiers in the town. If the soldiers were in Baku they could not be at the front opposing the Turks – had they abandoned their positions or were the Turks further away than was thought? When they walked through the main square of the town and saw a row of field guns lined up neither man said anything, but both pondered whether anyone was endeavouring to get them to the front.

  As the pair drew near to the quay the press of people grew greater. The crowd seemed to consist of large groups of people. The noise emanating from each group seem to consist of women crying on the shoulders of men, children wailing as they clutched their mother’s skirts and the men making clucking noises whilst trying not to look apprehensive. Anyone who was trying to get on board the ship was being funnelled past a customs barrier. At the custom’s barrier hatchet faced police and other officials were thoroughly checking everyone’s baggage. Most of the people trying to get on board were women and children – virtually all of whose dress indicated that they were Armenian. The only men who seemed to get through were either old or were clearly not Armenians which made Fernee thank his god that he was still in disguise.

  Fernee with the clever use of his elbows and with sheer determination pushed and eased his way through the crowd. Mawle was not so aggressive and soon the two men were separated by several yards. Finally Fernee arrived at Customs barrier where his case was searched thoroughly and a cursory search made of his person; all the while the latter was occurring he held the newspaper in his hand. As Fernee closed his case two policemen began to question him.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Asked one of the men amiably and in what seemed to Fernee a disinterested manner.

  ‘Persia. A town called Meshed.’

  The man who’d asked him the question nodded and then said, ‘And what were you doing here?’

  ‘I am a trader. I was hoping to transact some business.’

  ‘You were?’ The second policeman, who had been watching Fernee, said with such intensity that the latter began to feel nervous. ‘What sort of business is that? You have nothing with you that indicates what you are doing here is what you claim.’

  ‘I and my family trade in wheat. Our supply used to come from the Ukraine to Baku then across the Caspian and from there rail to Kaakha and finally by camel to Meshed. Recently we have had to buy very expensive wheat through a British agency because of this war. I was sent here to find out if there was any chance of supplies re-commencing and seeing how we might pay for it.’ He received a thrust in the back as people waiting to board pressed up against him and he stumbled forward.

  ‘Stop pushing!’ The first policeman shouted in a manner Fernee thought ineffective because after a pause of a few seconds the pressure on his back returned as before and he had to lean backwards to stop himself falling forwards.

  ‘Why don’t you have anything in your luggage that indicates that you are what you say you are?’

  Fernee thought for a moment. The man was right he had nothing to show that he traded in wheat; then he thought I wonder if the man knows what I should have. Fernee opened his mouth to speak when suddenly he stumbled forward as the pressure behind him suddenly catapulted him forward. People behind him fell. A great outbreak of children and women’s screams broke out as people tried to keep their feet under the forward press of the crowd. One woman in order to keep her balance as she stumbled forward seized hold of the aggressive policeman in a place where normally men like to be grabbed by a woman - if rather more gently. The aggressive policeman was howling and doubled over in pain as he tried to prise open the woman’s hand. The placid policeman was desperately trying to retrieve his hat that had been knocked off, keep his feet and not to laugh at his colleague’s predicament. Then anyone who had fallen or stumbled once they had regained their feet or were stable suddenly started pushing, fighting and screaming at each other, and anyone behind them who they thought was responsible. For an instance Fernee watched as the two policemen waded in to stop the melee and smiled as he saw the aggressive policeman still bent over in pain trip over someone’s case and disappear entirely from view as a woman appeared to fall on him. Fernee raised his gaze and in the distance he saw Mawle disappearing as fast as the crush would allow. Fernee turned away from the fighting scrum and saw that every official who had been between him and the boat had moved forward and were laying into the crowd with fists, batons and anything else they had found to use as a weapon. Casually he walked away from the melee, came to a corner which he slipped round, then slowly strolled towards the ship’s gangway swinging his case. Fernee was just about to ascend the gangway when he was thrust violently aside. Fernee struggled to keep his feet and cursed loudly in Persian at his assailant. When Fernee saw who it was he smiled because it was the woman who he had seen just hanging on to the aggressive policeman’s nether regions at the Customs barrier. Fernee’s smile faded when the woman turned round and snarled something in Armenian before she galloped like a wounded rhinoceros up onto the deck where by the time Fernee arrived she was nowhere to be seen.

  A sentry on deck looked at Fernee suspiciously as he came aboard. ‘What’s happening down there? Why are you not in the army fighting against the Turks?’

  ‘I’d just had my visa checked and started walking here when there was a lot of shouting – over what I don’t know. I certainly did not bother looking. As for not being in the army I am a Persian,’ stated Fernee, ‘it is not my war!’

  The man looked around as more women and children swarmed up the gangway and piled onto the deck in a mass of shrieking children and concerned mothers; the soldier then focussed his attention back onto Fernee. ‘I’m not sure that’s relevant. How old are you?’

  Fernee thought for a moment as to why the soldier might be asking that question. Fernee’s true age was 29 but he decided to make himself older. ‘38. I say again I am a Persian.’

  ‘Your nationality is irrelevant! You don’t look 38. I suggest you find somewhere quiet and lie low. The small forward saloon on the next deck down will do. When I come round I expect you to,’ the soldier hesitated for a moment, ‘enable me to go and have an eye test.’

  Fernee puzzled about this for a moment before the penny dropped then he turned without another word and disappeared below. He walked forward until he came across what appeared to be the small saloon the soldier had mentioned. The saloon was for smoking but contained no-one. Fernee sat down and stowed his case under his seat and kept the newspaper firmly tucked under his a
rm. From time to time he stood and looked out of the porthole and watched people come aboard; very few young men boarded the ship and those that did inevitably went down again escorted by a soldier. At one stage an announcement was made in the corridor ordering all men ashore. Fernee deduced that the saloon was empty because from what he could hear all the passengers when they boarded crowded immediately to the ship’s rail and shouted to people on the quay. Also Fernee realised the paucity of men aboard meant that there would be few smokers who would otherwise avail themselves of the saloon – he felt lucky.

  When Fernee heard the engines begin to rev up he began to relax and imagined the soldier had forgotten him. Then he heard the clatter of boots and the saloon door opened to admit the soldier Fernee had met on deck. The soldier looked quickly over his shoulder and then at Fernee. Fernee stood and handed over a wad of Russian Imperial notes that he had been keeping in the lining of his coat. The soldier took them and looked at Fernee who shrugged to indicate that that was all he had. The soldier thrust the notes into his pocket and went back out through the door and as he did so Fernee heard him say.

  ‘All clear here. That Persian looking man you’re looking for is not in the saloon, neither is that woman you said grabbed you in the unmentionables.’

  ‘Right then,’ a voice replied, ‘get ashore at the double.’

  Footsteps clattered before fading away. A few minutes later Fernee felt the ship get underway. Half an hour later when Fernee could no longer see the port buildings he escaped the stifling saloon heat and joined his fellow passengers on the ship’s upper deck where much to his delight there was a semblance of a sea breeze.