The Cotton Spies

by Simon Glyndwr John

CHAPTER 46

  The American consul, Denys Compton, arrived for dinner at the hotel. Compton had a mane of dark hair, was clean-shaven with a powerful pair of shoulders and narrow waist that indicated he might be a sportsman. Edrich guessed Compton’s sport might be or have been boxing because he had two or three small scars round his eyes he looked about thirty-five years old. Denys’ smile was warm and welcoming and his handshake firm but not crushing.

  As they sat Compton identified several police agents that were sitting in the hotel restaurant all trying to get as close as possible to the group’s table. Compton therefore recommended that they say as little as possible about business matters and keep the conversation not only personal but confined to things the Bolshevik already knew about each of them. The mission members were happy to follow the recommendation but it meant that because Compton and the British Mission did not know one another the conversation was stilted.

  The Compton family were from Chicago about which Edrich knew little and demonstrated it by asking such questions like ‘Is Lake Superior the most beautiful of the Great Lakes? Can you see it from your home?’ At which Compton responded with a laugh, a smile and the comment ‘Chicago is beside Lake Michigan and that it is superior to Superior as far as looks go.’ It was at the end of the meal when everyone was getting to their feet with the attendant noise of scraping chairs when Denys Compton said. ‘I am going to see Plasov, tomorrow in the late morning why don’t we go as a group? That way I can vouch for your Mission with the Commissar.’

  ‘According to Hutton and the colonel I gather that Plasov is a bit of a tartar, if that is an appropriate term for a man who is a European Russian.’ Robbins said scraping his chair hard against the floor that set everyone’s teeth on edge.

  Compton pulled a face in anguish as he replied. ‘As a man his bark is worse than his bite. I suspect that because some of the government are,’ he paused and looked around, ‘happy to reduce the population preferably by foul means. That puts everyone in the government under pressure either to act that way or to appear to act that way.’

  The Group moved to the door and said their farewells. As the British party turned towards their hotel Compton called out. ‘Colonel Edrich,’ Edrich turned towards the American whilst his companions stopped, ‘next time I see you I’ll bring an atlas and show you ‘The Great Lakes’ and the towns that lie beside them.’

  Everyone laughed and then Edrich performed an exaggerated bow before he replied. ‘Thank you Mr Compton and then perhaps you can advise me on the purchase of my retirement home - one that has a superior view of Superior, of course.’

  The following morning in a burst of energy Hutton left the hotel after an early breakfast and went and found Captain Anders, the Swedish Red Cross Officer. The Swede was in a house that he was using both as an office and as his quarters. Hutton introduced himself and found Anders extremely happy to speak in English.

  ‘I was so afraid that I am losing my English this will give me practice,’ said Anders as he led Hutton into an upstairs room full of papers and boxes, piled on the floor and scattered on a very large packing case that was clearly his office desk. ‘Excuse the mess, Captain Hutton, but I have had no help since the Bolsheviks took over. The lady who acted as my clerk disappeared along with her family several months ago. Take a seat but be careful it is very unstable.’

  Hutton balanced on the chair gingerly. He frowned at Anders with the air of a man who was expecting to be deposited on the floor at any moment.

  Anders laughed. ‘So what is an English officer doing here? Are you lost?’

  ‘No, I am with a mission who is visiting Tashkent just to find out what’s happening here. It was suggested by my commanding officer that I pop along to see you to find out what is happening to the POWs now that Russia is out of the war.’

  Anders picked up a pencil and began to tap it against his teeth as he stared at Hutton. He balanced his chair onto its two back legs for a moment but when there was a crack he quickly returned it to all four. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Grand.’

  ‘I heard there were two men purporting to be British Officers at the hotel and that a man who was part Chinese joined them yesterday.’

  ‘One of those was me and the other military man is Colonel Edrich. Sir Walter Robbins, who used to be our consul in Kashgar, and is now the political leader of the mission has a Chinese father. When the mission is over Sir Walter is going home to England through Russia. The colonel and I have not been here before. Sir Walter has visited Tashkent on several occasions in the recent past, so there must be someone here who can vouch for him.’

  ‘Whoever did that would probably be shot merely for knowing someone British.’

  ‘Surely you exaggerate?’

  Anders stared at Hutton and then said sharply. ‘No, I do not exaggerate. This man has retired and is going home through Russia at this time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Anders shook his head in bewilderment, ‘I admit I have heard of, but never met, Sir Walter. Going home through Russia seems most odd given the current situation.’ Anders stared with boring eyes at Hutton as if in the deep recesses of Hutton’s mind lay the answer.

  ‘As I said, Captain Anders, we are here to find out exactly what the situation is in Turkestan because it may affect us in India.’

  ‘Have you any papers, Captain Hutton? I would just like to check you are who you say you are.’

  Hutton shook his head and rummaged through his pockets but the only thing he had was a dog-eared postcard from his brother in France. The postcard was one of those that had a series of boxes against which was such text as ‘I am well’ or ‘I received your last letter’. The ‘I am well box’ had a tick so when Hutton held up the postcard Anders’ reaction was a shake of the head and a smile.

  ‘Not formal but it will do. Met anyone from the government yet?’

  ‘Plasov yesterday, but it was not much fun. Today the colonel, Sir Walter and the American Consul Compton, are going to meet him again.’

  ‘Good you have met, Compton.’ Anders took Hutton’s smile to be yes because he went on. ‘I have to be careful on what I say and to whom I say it. If I may I should like to meet with Sir Walter and Colonel Edrich. Perhaps you can arrange it as quickly as possible? In return I will give you what information I can, provided I do not think it too sensitive.’

  ‘I understand. I will arrange for you to meet everyone perhaps tomorrow or tomorrow evening for dinner. This evening we are going to the cinema.’

  Anders stretched and yawned. ‘Perhaps I will go as well. Who knows? Perhaps they will have a Charlie Chaplin film? Now questions?’

  ‘Exactly how many prisoners are there in Turkestan and around Tashkent?’

  ‘Exact figures are difficult because since the war ended the POW camps have not been guarded as they were. I would say that,’ he reached over for a folder and looked inside, ‘there are about fifty thousand German and Austro-Hungarian POWs in the whole of Turkestan, of which twenty five thousand are in and around the city of Tashkent.’

  When Hutton expressed surprise and said that the figures they were expecting were four times that number Anders looked grim then he told Hutton.

  ‘The Russian authorities have said that there never been more than a hundred and thirty to a hundred and fifty thousand prisoners in Turkestan at any one time. I only came to Tashkent at the end of last year so I have no way of knowing if those figures are in any way accurate. Of those POWs held in camps in Turkestan, over the last four years, we estimate about two thirds of them have died from diseases like cholera and typhus and that other problem common to this area – starvation. German and Austro-Hungarian prisoners, perhaps as many as sixty thousand, were apparently transferred to Siberia last year ostensibly because it has a better climate. Rather I should say a different climate because I understand the mortality rates of POWs in Siberia are nearly as high as here.’ Anders then added quietly after pausing to think, ‘the Bolos have
never been too concerned with the POWs but with matters of a political nature. So Germans I think here now,’ Anders stared at the wall and waggled his head, ‘probably no more than five to eight thousand.’

  ‘How many POWs are serving in the Bolshevik army, or police and what are the nationalities of those prisoners?’

  Anders groaned: put his hands behind his head: removed them; jammed his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. Again he stared at the wall for several seconds, ‘I reckon that the number of Germans who have joined the Bolsheviks number about a hundred, probably half that number of Austrians. But the largest recruitment for some reason has been of Hungarians,’ he paused to calculate, ‘say three hundred men. However, these troops are those found in and round the city. There may be a lot more POWs out fighting counterrevolutionaries along the railway.’

  ‘What are the rest doing?’

  ‘The remaining POWs are scattered around the city getting work where they can, others still live in their POW camps and try and get work on farms. Basically all the POWs other than those in the Revolutionary army are living a hand to mouth existence and a perilous one at that.’

  ‘Are they armed? Could they easily become an army again?’

  Anders shook his head as he laughed. ‘No, they are unarmed and disorganised. These are men are at the end of their tether. I am hoping to try and repatriate these soldiers to their homeland but my attempt at repatriation seems to be at the bottom of the local Soviet’s agenda.’

  ‘Why?’

  Anders frowned then shrugged. ‘Repatriation would probably be done by train. Twenty-five to fifty thousand POWs going home by rail takes a lot of organisation and requires many trains. The trains transporting prisoners then cannot be used for anything else, like transporting cotton – not that I know anything about that. I am assuming that the trains can even get to Krasnovodsk through the front lines of the Bolos and their opponents – I’ve heard British?’

  Hutton snorted, ‘we were told that cock and bull story yesterday. I don’t believe for a moment we have troops in Russia – it is all Bolshevik propaganda. Who is commanding the Germans?’

  ‘There are two men I will mention. First, a German captain by the name of Beckelmann has taken it upon himself to try and organise the German prisoners. He has done this for two reasons - first to prevent them volunteering to join the Bolshevik army and second, as a Prussian, he is totally committed to the Kaiser and he thinks that the prisoners could be used to wage war on the British.’

  ‘You said earlier that the Germans were disorganised though.’

  ‘Correct. I did not say that Beckelmann had succeeded in his task but he is trying.’

  Hutton looked and felt puzzled. ‘Only a captain leads the Germans? Are there no more senior officers?’

  ‘The Bolsheviks,’ Anders stopped and thought for several seconds as he searched for the right words, ‘have a passionate dislike, for officers and in particular for senior officers – say colonel and above. This Bolo dislike has been translated into the execution of many of the Russian Imperial officers of senior rank, sometimes I gather on a whim of a particular Bolshevik. I think the German senior officers have noted this Bolshevik behaviour and have decided to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. Not,’ he rummaged through his papers till he found what he was looking for, ‘that there are many senior officers in captivity just two or three colonels and we do try and get people home first who might be vulnerable to Bolshevik retribution just because of their status. There is a Lieutenant Sailer who joined the Bolsheviks. Sailer is the most senior German to do that and he acts as a recruiting officer amongst the POWs. Needless to say Sailer and Beckelmann are at complete loggerheads with one another.’

  ‘What about the Austrians?’

  ‘The Austrians are the province of a Danish officer, Major Bohr. Major Bohr is currently visiting some of the Austrians at Andijan. The Austrians POWs are different from the Germans because there are the pure Austrians and then other nationalities. The non-Austrians POWs are from the ethnic groups found in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Hungarians I’ve already mentioned but there are Serbs, Albanians, Slovaks, Czechs, Bosnians and Croats who have also joined the Bolos. Most of the majority of the POWs just want to go home. Captain Zwemmer leads the Austrians in the Bolo ranks you’ll have to ask Bohr about him and his role. The Austrian Empire is crumbling and some of the non-Austrians from the Empire will probably join and fight for the Allies. Indeed, I understand former Czech POWs are already an army, have switched over to the Allied side because they are promised their own independent country by the Allies. I would not be surprised if other nationalities wanting independence do the same. When Bohr returns I will make sure he visits you and clarifies the situation about the Austrians.’

  Hutton who had made notes of all that Anders had told him thanked Anders. Hutton promised he would introduce the Swede to the rest of the mission if he came to the cinema that evening.

  As he was leaving Anders said to him, ‘Tonight when you attend the cinema take a haversack you will find that useful.’ At that Anders winked and closed the door. Hutton returned to the Grand hotel puzzled by the final remark but as the others had left for their meeting with Plasov he could not discuss it with anyone.