Chapter V: With the Army of “pacification”

Arrival in Kutais--A siege city--“The very walls have
ears”--Cossack barracks--Loot--“Bloody” Alikhanoff--A dramatic
interview--Justification for burning homes--Military outrages--Why
the inhabitants of the Caucasus are revolutionists and terrorists.

Ivan called me at daybreak. At seven o’clock we alighted at Kutais station. Besides ourselves only officers left the train. A small force of infantry held and guarded the station. The early morning air was heavy with the odor of charred wood; opposite the platform the debris of two buildings was smoldering.

We found a lone cab to convey us to the local hotel--a comfortable inn in normal times, kept, strangely enough, by two old Swiss ladies. In places the streets were almost impassable. Telegraph wires lay in tangled profusion where they had curled when the great poles were felled. The poles, too, lay as they had fallen. Obstacles of every description lay in heaps at intervals. Reinforced sentries guarded each corner. Once we met a patrol of fifty Cossacks, riding by twos behind the scarlet standard of their regiment.

The town was a veritable siege city. Walls of grim ruins faced rows of battered houses. There is a clause in the terms of agreement between nations concerning the conduct of international wars which reads: “The attack or bombardment of towns, villages, habitations, or buildings which are not defended is prohibited.”[3] Kutais town was undefended. It was defenseless. But Russian troops had attacked it with rifle fire and light artillery. On the short ride from the station to the hotel I saw many instances of shell fire and infantry volleys. At the hotel entrance a Cossack stood guard.

Ivan presently brought to my room an employee of the hotel, whom he introduced as a friend of his of twelve years’ standing. “Good,” I replied, thinking the man might prove a source of information. “Get him to tell us what is going on here.” After a moment’s hesitation the man answered: “Ivan, I have known you long and would tell you everything if I dared, but whoever speaks in Kutais, even to a friend, is put in prison and his house burned. I dare not tell you anything.” “That is nonsense,” I replied. “There is no one in this room but ourselves. He can speak with utter frankness,” but the man only shook his head and replied: “Even the walls of Kutais have ears.” Ivan himself yielded to the suspicious atmosphere and added, as if to quiet me, “That is true, sir! One dare not speak in his own room.” No amount of persuasion, not even the persuasion of money, which the man doubtless needed, would induce him to say more.

After breakfast I ventured out for a survey of the town--much to Ivan’s disgust. Ivan was a brave fellow in the mountains, but he had seen the Cossacks of this same General Alikhanoff, who now commanded Kutais, hack off the fingers of fine ladies for the rings they wore, in Tiflis only a few months before.

During the first hour we were out I must have seen

It was from hamlets like this that General Alikhanoff tried to collect taxes with machine-guns and field-artillery]

twenty political arrests. Demolished houses were in every block. Occasionally an entire block had been swept away by fire. That afternoon when I talked with General Alikhanoff he explained to me that when “his soldiers were ordered to burn down a certain house they do not always have time to see that other houses do not burn also!”

Toward noon we came upon a group of Cossack barracks, and I proposed to Ivan that we run through them.

“Not for a thousand rubles,” replied the redoubtable Ivan. But I finally persuaded him.

No soldier above the rank of what we would call corporal was anywhere in evidence. Near a thousand lawless, undisciplined, unrestrained men lounged about the barn-like halls, singing boisterous songs, smoking, and relating stories. Months of service had hardened them and apparently developed traits that lie dormant when they are at home in their own villages. At all events these fellows seemed much more brutalized than any I saw on my expedition from Vladikavkaz. In one room I found a pile of new blankets more than ten feet high, blankets of a quality and texture never before supplied to an army. In this same room twelve or fourteen men were amusing themselves with as many brand new American sewing-machines.

“Where did you get these?” I asked in amazement.

“We bought them,” replied a hulking fellow of at least six feet three, and pointing to a large shop up the street added: “Go up there and learn about it.”

When first I entered these barracks I refrained from much conversation, but as the mood of the men was jovial and amiable I told Ivan to explain to them that I was in Circassian dress only by courtesy, and that in reality I was an American correspondent. At the beginning I entertained some doubt as to the wisdom of this frankness, but as soon as my position was made clear to them they were friendlier than ever, and took it as a great compliment, and honor, that I should wear their costume. They took me all over the barracks, allowed me to photograph them, and even invited me to lunch with them. I was anxious, however, to learn more about the fine blankets and the American sewing-machines.

The shop pointed out to me from the barracks windows proved to have been a small department store. I found it decidedly a “had been.” The floor space was a vast heap of merchandise that might have been tossed up by a cyclone. The shelves were stripped. The fittings of the store were twisted and broken. The proprietor, a sorrowful bankrupt Armenian, was perched on an upset counter contemplating his ruin. His nationality was an advantage to me for Ivan was able easily to satisfy him as to my status, and he opened up readily. The previous evening, just after he had closed his place for the night, a crowd of Cossacks--the same whom I had visited in their barracks--had come along with push-carts. They had smashed in his doors and windows, ransacked the whole shop, taken what they wanted of trinkets, blankets, and sewing-machines, and carried off their loot in the hand-carts, leaving behind them the pile of wreckage I saw.

Article 48 of the above mentioned proceedings of The Hague Conference reads: “Pillage is absolutely prohibited.” But under Russian military rule each commander is a law unto himself, and under commanders like General Alikhanoff each soldier is a law unto himself. The laws laid down and accepted by nations for the conduct of international wars do not, strictly and technically, apply to wars between a government and its people, but the laws of nations are merely civilized standards, and Russia, in its war against its own people, falls leagues short of these.

The same grim sights met my eyes on every hand. The same tear-bringing tales were poured into my ears, wherever Ivan was successful in convincing the people that I was trustworthy. General Alikhanoff--“Bloody Alikhanoff” the people called him--was ever and always held responsible for the misery and sufferings, the cruelties, the tortures, the inhumanities. During that one day I heard more deeds of monstrous wrong laid at this man’s door than I had ever heard of any living mortal. I determined to see him, to tell him fairly and squarely of the things the people of Kutais were saying about him, and give him an opportunity to deny them if he cared to do so, before I repeated them to a wider world outside of Russia. Or, if they were true, I would have his justification of them.

Ivan described General Alikhanoff as a “Persian Turk,” which was by no means an inappropriate description. He was a Moslem, born within the region of olden Russian domination. Originally his name was Ali Khan, which name he Russianized by putting the two words together and adding “off.” Alikhanoff has a unique record in the Russian army. Some years ago he was sent to Turkestan, where his ruthless pacification methods won for him the title of “Bloody Alikhanoff.” Three times he has been reduced to the ranks for his excesses, and on one of these occasions because of his corruption. Drastic punishment of this character is rarely applied in Russia, and indicates the monstrous misuse of power of which this man had been guilty. In the spring of 1905, General Alikhanoff was sent to Nakhitchevan, where he remained until Prince Napoleon was appointed governor-general of Erivan, when he was recalled. The pacification of Georgia was placed entirely in the hands of Alikhanoff, who, as governor-general of the district, was in supreme command, responsible only to the Czar. Kutais, where I found him, is the central and most important province of Georgia.

Kutais is on the southern slope of the central Caucasus, and a little more than midway between Tiflis and the Black Sea. The population of the city of Kutais is made up of Georgians, Mingrelians, Armenians, Kurds, and Jews. A polyglot population with diverse traditions, with but one thing in common--a wholesome and heartfelt dislike for Russia. The hillsides of the province are spattered with miserable hamlets; valleys that should have been beautiful are unlovely, marred by desolation, where excessive taxation and endless government impositions have produced a condition of ugliest poverty. The taxes levied upon these people were so far in excess of the prosperity in the region[4] that in the autumn of 1905 and the spring of 1906 the people ceased to pay any taxes at all, mostly because they could not, and so General Alikhanoff was sent with a force of about 18,000 troops into the district to collect the taxes and to “restore” order. At five o’clock Ivan and I drove to the official residence of the military governor-general. As I stepped out of the carriage at the door, Ivan naïvely remarked that he

would await me in the carriage. It took considerable persistence to persuade him to follow me. The general was asleep, we were told, but we might wait for him if we chose. “Come to-morrow,” pleaded Ivan, but I knew it would not be safe for me to retreat, having once got successfully over the threshold of the official residence with him, for I already realized that the sense of insecurity and fear which possessed the entire population was taking fast hold on my interpreter, and as his services were essential to the success of my interview I dared not risk losing him. We took seats in the outer hall to abide the time when the general should awake and be ready to receive us. Several times the outer door was opened to officers of the household. As each drew off his overcoat, he took from his right hand pocket a revolver, and usually, with the revolver in his hand, disappeared through one of the three doors leading from the main hall, or up-stairs.

The general’s nap proved a long one, for it was after seven when an orderly appeared to announce the general as ready to attend to business. I sent up my card. An aide-de-camp of the rank of colonel presently came down to inquire the purport of my business. To him I explained carefully my relations with the officers of the regiment with whom I had been traveling and presented my letters and credentials. The colonel reported to the general and returned to me with the message that four days from then at three o’clock in the afternoon General Alikhanoff would receive me for two hours. “I do not desire two hours of his time, but two minutes,” I replied, “but it is most important that I have those two minutes with him to-day.” It was only after considerable insistence that the colonel consented to again intrude upon the general, but when he did word was immediately brought back that I would be received at once. During the second disappearance of the colonel a farcical scene was enacted between Ivan and myself. The aide-de-camp had scarcely disappeared up-stairs when Ivan, apparently overcome by the fear of seeing General Alikhanoff face to face, started toward the door.

“Now that it is arranged, sir,” he said, “I will return to the hotel, sir, and wait for you.”

“No, no, Ivan,” I said, “you must come with me, for if General Alikhanoff speaks nothing but Russian and Tartar, I shall be in a hopeless predicament with him.”

“You want me to go into the room with Alikhanoff, sir--‘Bloody Alikhanoff!’ No, sir!”

“Yes, you must. I need you,” I replied.

He glowered at me in a fright palpably real and started doggedly toward the door. I stepped in front of him so as to prevent his escape.

“No, sir!” he argued. “Not to Alikhanoff. I took Baron de Hirsch to the top of Kazbek, sir, and I have hunted with the Duc d’Orléans for a month in the high mountains, sir, and I was with the correspondent of the London _Times_ in the bad days,--but I never had to do anything like this, sir. I shall go back to Tiflis to-night.”

There was determination in his voice and for the first time I became seriously alarmed, for as I had no way of knowing whether the general spoke French, I could not risk going alone into his presence. But Ivan pushed steadily to the door. At the threshold I felt that I must act instantly or lose him, for he was forcing his way past me in spite of all I could do. So, drawing my revolver, I said very quietly:

“Ivan, the officers coming back from Manchuria tell of how the Japanese placed machine guns behind their regiments when they were sent into battle and at the first indication of retreat these guns opened fire. Now, you know that General Alikhanoff probably will not harm you.”

“No, not now, sir,” he interrupted, “but after you are away, sir, he will send his soldiers to Tiflis for me.”

“Nonsense,” I answered. “I am responsible here and I will tell him that I made you come with me.” He shook his head and once more started past me.

“Ivan,” I said, determinately, “you may get by Alikhanoff, but you cannot get by me,” and I shook the revolver menacingly before him. The poor man was almost beside himself and I suffered for him. But it was the only thing I could do. He looked at the revolver in my hand, then scrutinized my face, and, shaking his head despairingly, he slowly returned to near the front of the stairs and folded his arms in dumb resignation.

Two guards were standing in the hall and witnessed this little scene, but they evinced no other sign than of amused interest. The fact that they did not understand our conversation did not arouse their suspicions or their fears.

When the Colonel returned with the word that I was to be presented to the general at once, Ivan and I were conducted up-stairs. At the door of the ante-room a guard stepped up and a second aide-de-camp apologetically asked me to leave my arms outside. I drew my saber and dagger from their sheaths, my revolver from its holster, and handed them to an orderly. Ivan here saw another opportunity to avoid meeting “Bloody Alikhanoff.” “I will stand by them,” he exclaimed eagerly.

“No, thank you, Ivan,” I replied. “You must come with me.” But now that I had been stripped of my arms, I had not the same means of impressing him as before, and in spite of me he started to slink away. Fearful lest I lose him after all, I clutched at him firmly by the coat-sleeve. He realized that there was no escape, and so, with the expression of a man who accepts the worst, when it is the inevitable, he yielded.

A sentry stood upon the threshold of the chamber. We passed by him and entered a large salon with highly polished hardwood floor. A small room led off from the farther end, into which the general was just stepping. He was a tall man and heavily built. Though his back was toward us, I could see that he wore the undressed jacket of a Russian officer, highly polished riding-boots, and spurs which clanked as he walked. His head was inclined slightly forward, but I noted that he pulled impatiently at his long, heavy mustache, now partly gray. We paused for a second, long enough for him to disappear into the smaller room, and then, at a signal from the colonel, followed him. There were others in the smaller room, but at the moment I did not notice them particularly, for General Alikhanoff received me at once with cold courtesy. I was pleasantly surprised when he greeted me in French and I briefly explained to him who I was and why I had come to see him. After a brief introduction, I asked his indulgence that I might address him through my interpreter.

“But, why?” he asked. “You speak French.”

“Very badly,” I answered, “and it is most important that I understand you precisely.” I did this chiefly because I wanted the opportunity of studying his features and expression, as I could better do when he was addressing the interpreter than when he was speaking directly to me. He acquiesced and motioned me to a chair before his desk.

At this point, an officer took his stand by my right

Guerilla warfare]

side, a little behind me, and another at my left. A third man in civil dress, evidently an officer, stood immediately behind the general. A Cossack guard, rifle in hand, stood by the door. It was evident that, in spite of my credentials, the general had decided to keep an eye upon me. He knew full well that sooner or later his life would be attempted, as indeed it was a few weeks after this interview.[5]

Without further preliminary, I came abruptly to the point upon which I desired light.

“Your Excellency,” I said, “I have come to you on a strange errand. I have heard worse stories about you than I have ever heard about any living human being. As an American I do not wish to repeat these stories to my countrymen, if they are not true. On the other hand, if they are true, I want to hear your side of the case, your justification--if such there be.”

The general was somewhat surprised by my abruptness, but inquired as to the nature of these stories.

“The people of this province,” I replied, “tell me that your soldiers are burning the homes of the people indiscriminately at your order,--the homes of people against whom there is no legal evidence, only suspicion; that your soldiers are encouraged to loot and to pillage the shops; that not only the women and the girls, but also little children, fare very badly at their hands.”

The general received these words quietly, but answered with some heat: “The people of this province are bad, all bad, very bad. There is no other way to repress them than as my soldiers are now doing.”

“There are many people here,” I added, “many different tribes and races--are none good?”

“No! they are all bad! The Georgians are the worst, but they are all against the government, and must be put down.”

“By putting down, do you mean arresting them and burning their homes, or are these stories false?”

The general showed slight irritation at this, and replied: “There are more than one hundred thousand houses in this province, one hundred and twenty have been ordered burned since I came to Kutais. What are one hundred and twenty out of so many?” Then, flashing his eyes directly upon me, he added, in excellent French: “These people are terrorists, they are socialists, and revolutionists. When I hear that a man is a socialist or revolutionist, I order my soldiers to burn down his house. It is the only way.”

“One hundred and twenty houses, general?” I replied. “I have been only a short time in Kutais, but I have seen the ashes of far more than one hundred and twenty houses.”

“Oh, yes,” replied the general. “That may be explained: My soldiers are ordered to burn down a certain house, but of course they do not always have time to see that other houses do not catch fire and so burn also.”

Later I had opportunity to verify the truth of this explanation. The soldiers would apply the torch to a particular house and if a wind chanced to be blowing up the valley of the Rion the flames would spread from house to house and leap from street to street, and perhaps the whole village would be destroyed.

Pursuing the interview further, I told the general of the rumors which I heard on every hand concerning the treatment of the women and the girls by the soldiers. I spoke specially of a rumor concerning five little girls of tender years, the oldest, I believe, thirteen, who had within a few days been sent from Kutais to a hospital in a neighboring city as a result of the outrages perpetrated upon them by the soldiers. He denied any knowledge of this incident, but he admitted that officers have their headquarters in the hotels and were frequently ignorant of the whereabouts of their soldiers, and, of course, not responsible for single acts of violence which might occur from the hands of the soldiers. Any officer, he maintained, would prevent such gross outrages as that of which I had spoken. He added that his soldiers were frequently forced to shoot women, but that was because women were often revolutionists.

Just here Ivan could scarcely contain his wrath at the general. A flush of angry resentment crossed his face, but as soon as he realized that he was showing his incredulity he became almost paralyzed with fear. His anguish was almost pain to look upon. He suddenly went pallid. When he tried to speak his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth and refused to act. I motioned him to cease trying, and for the rest of the interview I talked directly with the general in French.

In regard to the looting of shops, the general made no attempt to deny the fact, merely explaining that the pillaged stores were owned invariably by revolutionists and socialists. Inasmuch as the general had already called all of the people in the district “socialists” and “revolutionists” and “bad,” this classification and explanation was rather sweeping. Further conversation with him merely emphasized his position. He was on the spot to “pacify” the people, to “suppress” all signs of revolutionary activity, even of passive resistance. In other words, to restore the province to normal conditions, and the policy employed to do this was the only policy which General Alikhanoff believed could be crowned with success, namely, the policy of repression or extermination.

As we talked he leaned both arms on the desk before him and his fingers toyed quietly with a box of cigarettes. A bright jewel in a large ring on one of his fingers constantly caught the glint from a near-by light and flashed its rainbow colors. The cold, hard flash of the jewel was no brighter than that of the general’s gray eyes, which flashed fire as he spoke and reflected the indomitable will of a man who is accustomed to fight against odds, and who lives in constant expectation, though not in fear, of assassination.

When I had questioned him as fully as I desired and was fully convinced that he had no further justification for his extreme policy than that which he so frankly offered me, I thanked him for his courtesy and candor, and retired with Ivan.

At the head of the stairs my arms were returned to me, and as we descended to the main hall I took from my pocket a small gold coin and dropped it into the hands of Ivan, with the remark that never before in his life had he earned so much money in so short a time.

“That is true, sir,” he answered, “but if I had to do it again to-morrow, sir, I would put myself in the river to-night, sir.”

It was eight o’clock when we started to leave the residence of the governor-general, and night had settled over Kutais. Ivan and I took our places in our little _droshky_, and as we started away, the colonel, who had been present throughout the interview, called after us, bringing us to a standstill.

“Have you no escort?” he asked.

“Why, no,” I replied. “I think none is necessary.”

“We cannot even permit you to return to your hotel without an escort. You must never go from one street to another unaccompanied. One moment, please.” The colonel disappeared, returning in a moment with a Cossack soldier, who at the command of the colonel took his place on the box next to our driver, his unslung rifle resting loosely across his lap.

Once more the carriage started, and once more the colonel stopped us.

“Where is your revolver?” he asked.

“It is here, sir,” I replied, “in my belt.”

“In your belt? But of what use is it there? In your hand, if you please, sir.”

I laughed outright at this. I had seen officers going through the streets with their revolvers in their hands, but I had always looked upon this as an affectation or the result of an absurd timidity. In Vladikavkaz when I was about to drive out with the chief of police, I had been asked to put my revolver in my outside overcoat pocket, in order to have it ready for immediate use, but I had at no time dreamed of carrying my revolver in my hand. However, since the colonel commanded, rather than suggested it, I drew my Browning from its holster, only adding that it seemed unnecessary with a Cossack on the box and only eight o’clock in the evening.

“Pardon me,” answered the colonel in excellent French. “No precaution is unnecessary just now. Your revolver in your hand, please--your ungloved hand.”

And so we drove to the hotel.

Once a man slunk back into the shadow of a building as we approached; he might have been a Kurd tramp, I could not see clearly. At every corner stood soldiers, and several times we passed a mounted patrol. Not another sign. Not a store open. Not a human voice, nor footstep. Deserted streets, as of a city of the dead. Literally a city of “dreadful night.” For here was Alikhanoff, “Bloody Alikhanoff,” who was pushing forward the repression and all Kutais knew that Alikhanoff’s peace was obtained through a policy of pacification which, if resisted, meant extermination.

When we were once more in the hotel, Ivan, forgetting that his friend had sworn in that very room a few hours before that “even the walls have ears,” burst forth into a perfect frenzy at what he called the “bad things” Alikhanoff had told me.

I told Ivan that I thought the general had been exceedingly frank in admitting that he burned the homes of the people and that his soldiers looted and pillaged at their own will and pleasure without restraint. “But he did not admit to you, sir,” said Ivan, “what beastly things they do to our women and little girls.”

Early next morning Ivan awoke me. He appeared to be much excited and asked me to come immediately down-stairs to talk with a man whom he had brought to me. He would not explain, but merely urged me to haste.

When I went below Ivan confronted me with a workingman--a carpenter, I think,--a man of ordinary intelligence. Ivan told me that I must listen to this man’s story.

Briefly it was this: In the dead of night, twelve soldiers with no officer to restrain them had entered his home; they had pinned him in a corner and then each of the twelve soldiers had violated his wife before his eyes.

About the time I was here an official commission was collecting testimony to put on authoritative record the things that happened under “Bloody Alikhanoff.”

“Of course I order my soldiers to burn down the homes of these people.” General Alikhanoff]

Here is a single page from a volume of evidence collected:

The Village of Tug

(1) TAKUI KUSHLYANZ, 30 to 35 years old. When the detachment
arrived and the women ran away, I also ran; the Cossacks were
chasing us; being pregnant and frightened, I gave birth to a child
who died on the spot.

(3) MATHUSAN PULYEVA, 35 years old. I could not run away because I
have a baby at the breast, and my other children are also small.
Three Cossacks broke into our house, beat and bruised my husband,
and all three violated me. My husband was beaten so mercilessly
that he is still sick. The traces of the assault are still evident.

(4) MARIAM OVANESYANZ, 60 years old, married: Being an old woman I
did not run away, thinking that they would not touch me. The
Cossacks were given freedom, all rushed into the house; they began
to beat, rob, and assault; throughout the village cries for help
were heard, but the authorities paid no attention to that. In our
house the locks were broken from the doors of the rooms, and they
took silver, dresses, and various other things, and then they
violated me. There were three or four Cossacks in our house.

(5) BALAKHANUMA CHITCHAYANZ, 25 years old: Having a nursling and
other small children, I could not run away; the most terrible
assaults were committed by the Cossacks in my house; the Cossacks
broke into our house several times in separate groups; my little
girl, Nadyezhda, 4 years old, died for fright; she was healthy
before, and my boy Armenak is still lying in bed sick from fright.
Each group entered and violated me; there was about six or seven
such groups,--I don’t remember exactly how many, because I lay
almost unconscious, and after they left I was very sick in bed and
am still sick.

(6) MAIBO SARKISYANZ, 16 or 17 years old: I have been married for
two years, I did not succeed in running away in time. Two Cossacks
broke into our house, beat my husband, drove him out, and both of
them violated me; then, gathering together all valuable things,
they went away.

(9) SHOGANATA CHAKH-MISYANZ, 14 years old: I was among those women
that did not succeed to hide in time. On Monday morning two
Cossacks came up our stair-case. I ran into the room and was about
to hide myself, but they broke into the room and one after another
violated me. I was a virgin. I became unconscious.[6]

Why continue this revolting story? During the length of my stay in this region each day added to the weight of tragedies. I was more than five weeks, all told, in the Caucasus. Time enough for me to see what Russian administration there means, time enough to learn of and to witness the terrible inhumanities of an army of “pacification” under a General Alikhanoff. The hours I spent with my officer companions were pleasant hours, bright with song and laughter. They were good fellows. And yet--I could not but understand, through them, and through other officers and officials with whom I came in contact, why assassination is deemed a legitimate weapon of warfare by the people of the Caucasus. I am a thoroughgoing American in spirit. As such, revolution is my most sacred heritage. If I lived in the Caucasus, suffering and bleeding under Russian misrule, I would be a revolutionist. If my home were invaded, and burned by an Alikhanoff before any legal evidence were gathered against me; if members of my household were abused by Cossacks precisely as hundreds of girls and women there are abused, I think I might reply to these barbarous weapons--sanctioned and approved by the Czar’s government--with the most effective weapons I could command--possibly even the revolver, the knife, and the bomb.

It is easy enough to talk restraint, when one has not been wronged. To look upon the things I looked upon in the Caucasus with one’s own eyes brings the awfulness of the régime home with overwhelming force, and if one is not actually driven to take up arms in defense of helpless, outraged, human beings, one is at least forced to charity and forbearance in passing judgment upon the methods of these wronged people in their efforts to defend themselves, and to correct by every means they know the cruel and inhuman régime under which they live and suffer.