Whether or not this was true, London was quick to discover that the two men, having patched up their differences, were now proposing to join forces and divide the world between them. France was to have the West, and Russia the East, including India. But when Alexander demanded Constantinople, the meeting point of East and West, for himself, Napoleon had shaken his head. ‘Never!’ he said, ‘For that would make you Emperor of the world.’ Not long afterwards intelligence reached London that just as Alexander’s father had put a plan for the invasion of India to Napoleon, so the latter had proposed a similar but greatly improved scheme to his new Russian ally. The first step would be the seizure of Constantinople, which they would share. Then, after marching the length of a defeated Turkey and a friendly Persia, they would together attack India.
Greatly alarmed by this news, and by the arrival of the powerful French mission at Teheran, the British acted swiftly – too swiftly in fact. Without consulting one another, both London and Calcutta dispatched trouble-shooters to Persia to try to prevail upon the Shah to eject the French – ‘the advance guard of a French army,’ Lord Minto, Wellesley’s successor as Governor-General, called them. The first to arrive was John Malcolm, hurriedly promoted to Brigadier-General to give him added weight in his dealings with the Shah. In May 1808, eight years after his previous visit, Malcolm arrived at Bushire in the Persian Gulf. There, to his intense irritation, he was kept waiting by the Persians (under pressure, he was convinced, from the French), who refused to allow him to proceed any further. The real reason for the delay was that the Shah had just learned of Napoleon’s secret deal with Alexander, and it was dawning on him that the French, like the British before them, were in no position to help him against the Russians. Napoleon’s men, realising that their days in Teheran were numbered, were trying to persuade the wavering Shah that because they were no longer at war with the Russians, but their allies, they were now in an even stronger position to restrain Alexander.
Becoming increasingly annoyed at being kept waiting on the coast while his French rivals remained in the capital, enjoying the Shah’s ear, Malcolm sent a sharp note to the Persian ruler warning him of the grave consequences if the mission was not expelled forthwith. After all, had not the Persians, under the treaty that he himself had negotiated with them, solemnly undertaken to have no dealings whatsoever with the French? But the Shah, who had long ago torn up the treaty he had signed with the British, was merely angered by Malcolm’s high-handed ultimatum. The latter thus continued to be debarred from visiting the capital and putting the British case in person. As it was, he decided to return at once to India and report in full to the Governor-General on the Shah’s intransigence, with the strong recommendation that only a show of force would knock any sense into his head and see the French on their way.
Shortly after his departure, Sir Harford Jones, London’s emissary, arrived. By good luck he did so just as the Shah had reconciled himself to the fact that it would take rather more than the good offices of the French to get the Russians to withdraw from his Caucasian territories. The Persians proceeded to take another U-turn. The French general and his staff were handed their passports, and Jones and his accompanying staff feted. The Shah was desperately looking for friends, and was only too happy to forget the past – especially as Jones had brought with him as a gift from George III one of the largest diamonds he had ever set eyes on. If he was puzzled by the arrival, in such quick succession, of two British missions, one breathing fire and the other bearing gifts, he was tactful enough to say nothing about it.
Although relations between Britain and Persia were now cordial again, those between London and Calcutta were not. Smarting from the easy success of London’s man where his own had failed, Lord Minto was determined to reassert his responsibility for British relations with Persia. The somewhat undignified quarrel which ensued marked the beginning of a rivalry which would bedevil relations between British India and the home government for the next century and a half. In order to keep India’s interests paramount, the Governor-General wanted his own man, Malcolm, to negotiate the proposed new treaty with the Shah, while London opposed this. A face-saving compromise was eventually reached, under which Sir Harford Jones, a highly experienced diplomat, would stay on and complete the negotiations, while Malcolm, promoted to Major-General for the occasion, would be sent to Teheran to ensure that this time its terms were firmly adhered to.
Under the new agreement the Shah undertook not to allow the forces of any other power to cross his territory for the purpose of attacking India, or himself to engage in dealings inimical to Britain’s interests, or those of India. In return, were Persia itself threatened by an aggressor, Britain would send troops to its assistance. Were this to prove impossible, she would send instead sufficient arms and advisers to expel the invader, even if she herself were at peace with the latter. Clearly this meant Russia. The Shah was not going to make the same mistake again. In addition he would receive an annual subsidy of £120,000, and the services of British officers to train and modernise his army in place of the French. Malcolm would be responsible for supervising the latter. However, there was another compelling reason why Lord Minto was so anxious to send Malcolm back to Teheran.
Fears of a Franco-Russian attack on India had brought home to those responsible for its defence how little they knew about the territories through which an invading army would have to march. Something had to be done quickly to remedy this, for all the treaties in the world would not stop a determined aggressor like Napoleon. In Minto’s view, there was no one better equipped to organise this than Malcolm, who already knew more about Persia than any other Englishman. In February 1810, he arrived once again at Bushire and made his way, unhindered this time, to the Persian capital. Accompanying him was a small group of hand-picked officers, ostensibly there to train the Shah’s army in the arts of European warfare, but also to discover all they could about the military geography of Persia – just as Napoleon’s men had been doing before them.
However, that was not all. Further to the east, in the wilds of Baluchistan and Afghanistan, regions through which an invader would have to pass after crossing Persia, other British officers were already at work, secretly spying out the land for Malcolm. It was a hazardous game, calling for cool nerves and a strong sense of adventure.
·3·
Rehearsal for the Great Game
Had one been travelling through northern Baluchistan in the spring of 1810, one might have observed a small party of armed men mounted on camels leaving the remote oasis-village of Nushki and making for the Afghan frontier. Ahead of them in the distance, vivid sheets of lightning lit up the blackened sky, while now and again in the surrounding mountains the rumble of thunder could be heard. A heavy storm seemed imminent, and instinctively the riders drew their cloaks about them as they headed into the desert.
One of the men stood out from the others, his skin being noticeably lighter than that of his companions. They believed him to be a Tartar horse-dealer, for that is what he had told them, and never having seen one before they had no reason to doubt him. He had hired them to escort him through the dangerous, bandit-infested country lying between Nushki and the ancient walled city of Herat, 400 miles to the north-west, on the Afghan–Persian frontier. There, the fair-complexioned one explained, he hoped to purchase horses for his rich Hindu master in far-off India. For Herat was one of the great caravan towns of Central Asia, and especially renowned for its horses. It also happened to be of considerable interest to those responsible for the defence of India.
The stranger had arrived in Nushki a few days earlier, accompanied by another man of like complexion whom he had introduced as his younger brother who worked for the same Hindu merchant. They had reached Nushki from Kelat, Baluchistan’s mud-built capital, after disembarking on the coast from a small native vessel which had brought them from Bombay. The journey up from the coast had taken them the best part of two months, for they had not hurried, asking many questions on the way,
while trying not to appear too inquisitive. It was at Nushki that the two had separated, the elder heading for Herat with his escort, while the other struck westwards towards Kerman, in southern Persia, where he said he too hoped to buy horses for their employer.
Before going their own ways, the two men had taken leave of one another in the privacy of the native house they had rented for their brief stay in Nushki. They were most careful to ensure that they were neither observed nor overheard. Indeed, had an inquisitive person happened to peer through a crack he might well have been puzzled by what he saw and heard. For it was obvious that this was more than simply the parting of two brothers. With lowered voices and a careful eye on the door, the two men discussed, with an un-Asiatic degree of precision, the details of their respective routes, and last-minute arrangements should anything go amiss. They discussed other matters too which an eavesdropper would have had difficulty in following. For had the truth been known (and it would have meant instant death for both), neither of them was a horse-dealer, let alone a Tartar. Nor for that matter were they even brothers. They were young British officers engaged on a secret reconnaissance for General Malcolm through wild and lawless regions which had never previously been explored.
Captain Charles Christie and Lieutenant Henry Pottinger, both of the 5th Bombay Native Infantry, were now about to embark on the most dangerous and – to those who had sent them – the most valuable part of their mission. Already, during their apparently leisurely journey up from the coast they had managed to gather considerable intelligence concerning the tribes, their leaders and the numbers of fighting men they controlled. They had also taken careful note of the defensive possibilities of the terrain through which they had travelled. As strangers, even as Tartars professing the Muslim faith, they were looked upon with intense suspicion. More than once they had had to lie their way out of trouble by embellishing and improving their cover story to suit the circumstances. Had the fiercely independent Baluchis discovered what they were up to, it would immediately have been assumed that the British were exploring their lands preparatory to seizing them. But fortunately for Christie and Pottinger no one living in this remote region had ever set eyes on a European. So far nobody had penetrated their disguise – or so it appeared.
Nonetheless, as they parted, each wishing the other good luck, they were aware that this might be their last meeting. Assuming all went well, however, their plan was to meet up again at an agreed rendezvous, in the relative safety of the Shah’s domains, after completing their respective reconnaissances. If by a certain date one of them had failed to arrive, then the other should assume that he had either been forced to abandon the journey, or had been killed, in which case the one who did make the rendezvous would proceed to Teheran alone and report to General Malcolm. If either found himself in difficulties, he would try to get a message to the other, or to the British mission in Teheran, so that some kind of help might be organised.
After Christie’s departure with his men on March 22, Pottinger remained in Nushki preparing his own small caravan. Malcolm had given him the task of exploring the great deserts which were thought to lie to the west, presenting a major obstacle, it was hoped, to an advancing army. But on March 23 he received alarming news. A message sent by friends whom he and Christie had made in Kelat, the Baluchi capital, warned him that men had arrived there from neighbouring Sind with orders to arrest the two of them. They had told the Khan of Kelat that Christie and Pottinger were no more horse-dealers than they were, and that they had adopted this guise to survey the country for military purposes, a move which threatened both their peoples.
The two Englishmen were to be seized and taken back to Hyderabad, the capital of Sind, where they would be severely dealt with. The armed Sindians, the message warned, were on their way to Nushki, a distance of only fifty miles across the desert. He and his companion, it advised, should leave while there was still time, as the Sindians made no secret of the fact that they were to be bastinadoed. Aware that this was the least of the fates he might expect in Hyderabad, Pottinger made plans to leave immediately. The following morning, with an armed escort of five Baluchis, he hastily set off westwards, profoundly grateful to their friends at Kelat who had endangered their own lives to protect his and Christie’s.
Meanwhile, oblivious to all this, Christie had encountered another hazard as he and his small party approached the Afghan frontier. Not long after leaving Nushki he had been warned by a friendly shepherd that thirty armed Afghans were planning to rob him, and were at that moment waiting in ambush in a gully some distance ahead. To add to Christie’s discomfort, the storm which had been brewing as he rode out of Nushki now broke with a vengeance, soaking everyone to the skin, as well as their possessions, and forcing them to seek what little shelter they could find in that barren landscape. It was hardly an encouraging start to an unimaginably lonely assignment. But by the following morning the storm had passed, and so too, it transpired, had their foes. Nonetheless the fear of raiders in this lawless realm was a perpetual trial to both Christie and Pottinger, as it would be to all subsequent players in the Great Game.
In the hope that it might offer him some protection against bandits, Christie decided to abandon his horse-dealer’s guise and adopt that of a pious hadji, or Muslim pilgrim returning from Mecca. In his account of his journey he does not go into details, but this transformation appears to have been conducted with the help of an Indian merchant to whom he bore a secret letter, and between the signing off of one escort and the acquisition of another. His new cover, however, was not without its own problems and dangers, and he soon found himself embarrassingly out of his depth when a mullah engaged him in a theological discussion. He managed to avoid exposure by explaining that he was a Sunni Muslim and not, like his interlocutor, a Shiite. Christie must have been an exceptionally resourceful individual for at one point he managed to obtain a forged laissez-passer, purportedly from the tyrannical local khan and bearing his genuine seal. With the aid of this he ensured himself a warm welcome from the khan of the neighbouring region who even entertained him in his palace.
By now Christie was within four days of his goal, the mysterious city of Herat which only one other living European had dared to visit. It lay on Afghanistan’s frontier with eastern Persia, astride the great network of trans-Asian caravan routes. Its bazaars displayed goods from Khokand and Kashgar, Bokhara and Samarkand, Khiva and Merv, while other roads led westwards to the ancient caravan cities of Persia – Meshed, Teheran, Kerman and Isfahan. But to the British in India, fearing invasion from the west, Herat possessed a more ominous significance. It stood on one of the traditional conqueror’s routes to India, along which a hostile force could reach either of its two great gateways, the Khyber and Bolan Passes. Worse, in a region of vast deserts and impenetrable mountain ranges, it stood in a rich and fertile valley which – or so it was believed in India – was capable of provisioning and watering an entire army. Christie’s task was to discover the truth of this.
On April 18, four months after he and Pottinger had sailed from Bombay, Christie rode through the principal gateway of the great walled city of Herat. He had abandoned his disguise as a holy man and had reverted to that of a horse-dealer, for he carried with him letters of introduction to a Hindu merchant living in the town. He was to remain there for a month, taking careful notes of all that caught his soldier’s eye, or ear. ‘The city of Heerat’, he observed, ‘is situated in a valley, surrounded by lofty mountains.’ The valley, running from east to west, was thirty miles long and fifteen wide. It was watered by a river which rose in the mountains and ran the length of the valley which was intensively cultivated, with villages and gardens stretching as far as the eye could see. The city itself covered an area of four square miles, and was surrounded by a massive wall and moat. At its northern end, raised up on a hill, was a citadel built of baked brick, with a tower at each corner. Surrounding this was a second moat, spanned by a drawbridge, and beyond this another high wall and a thir
d moat, albeit dry. Spectacular as all this appeared to anyone approaching the city, it failed to impress Christie. ‘On the whole,’ he wrote, ‘it is very contemptible as a fortification.’
But if he was not struck by Herat’s capacity to defend itself against attack by an army supplied with modern artillery, like that of Napoleon or Tsar Alexander, Christie was much impressed by its obvious prosperity and fecundity, and capacity therefore to support and supply any invading army into whose hands it might fall. In the surrounding countryside there was excellent grazing, an ample supply of horses and camels, and an abundance of wheat, barley and fresh fruit of all kinds. The population of Herat and its suburbs Christie put at 100,000, including 600 Hindus, mainly wealthy merchants.
On May 18, satisfied that he had nothing more of value to discover, Christie announced that before returning to India with the horses he proposed to buy for his employer he would make a brief pilgrimage to the holy city of Meshed, 200 miles to the north-west, in Persia. He was thus able to leave Herat without having to buy the horses which his cover story demanded. The following day, with considerable relief, he crossed into eastern Persia. After months of lying and subterfuge, he at last felt reasonably safe. Even if it was discovered that he was an East India Company officer in disguise, Britain’s now good relations with Persia would ensure that no serious harm befell him. Nine days later he turned off the old pilgrim road to Meshed, striking south-westwards across the desert to Isfahan, which he calculated Lieutenant Pottinger should by now have reached.
The Great Game: On Secret Service in High Asia Page 5
