In spite of rationing, bread was rare. By the end of March there were already several deaths, mostly among the old and very young.
The press in London, Paris and St Petersburg was shocked and started to criticize the Powers, who, it was stated, still had in the besieged city many of their nationals whose lives were now in danger. Echoes of this stance reached us by way of telegraph.
Fazel summoned me one day to tell me:
‘The Russians and the English are going to evacuate their nationals soon so that Tabriz can be crushed without it provoking too much commotion in the rest of the world. That will be a hard blow for us, but I want you to know that I will not oppose the evacuation. I shall not hold anyone here against his will.’
He charged me to inform the people involved that everything would be done to facilitate their departure. Then the most extraordinary event of all came to pass. Having been there as a privileged witness allows me to overlook much human pettiness.
I had started my round, intending my first visit to be to the Presbyterian Mission where I felt some trepidation about seeing the Reverend Director again and having to suffer his reprimands. He who had been counting on me to reason with Howard, was he not going to reproach me for having taken an identical path? Indeed, he was quite distant with me and showed the minimum of courtesy.
However, when I had explained the reason for my visit he responded without a moment’s hesitation:
‘I shall not leave. If they can organize a convoy to evacuate the foreigners, they can just as well organize similar convoys to bring supplies to the hungry city.’
I thanked him for his viewpoint which seemed to me to conform to the religious and humanitarian ideal which drove him. Then I went off to visit three businesses which were in the vicinity and to my great surprise their response was identical. The businessmen did not wish to leave any more than the pastor. As one of them, an Italian, explained to me:
‘If I left Tabriz at this difficult moment, I would be ashamed to return later and carry on my business here. So I shall stay. Perhaps my presence will help make my government act.’
Everywhere it was as if word had gone round. I received the same immediate, clear and irrevocable reply. Mr Wratislaw, the British consul, and the staff of the Russian Consulate, with the notable exception of the consul, Mr Pokhitanoff, all gave the same reply to me and to their shattered governments: ‘We will not leave!’
In the city, the foreigner’s admirable solidarity lifted people’s spirits, but the situation was still precarious. On 18 April Wratislaw telegraphed London: ‘Bread is hard to find today, tomorrow it will be even harder.’ On the nineteenth he sent a new message: ‘The situation is desperate, there is talk here of a last attempt to break the strangle-hold.’
In fact a meeting was being held that day at the citadel at which Fazel announced that constitutionalist troops were advancing from Rashd toward Teheran, that the authorities there were on the verge of collapse and that it would not take much to make them fall and our cause triumph. But Howard spoke after him to mention that the bazaars were at present devoid of all foodstuffs.
‘People have already slaughtered domestic animals and street cats. Whole families wander around the streets, night and day, in search of a shrivelled pomegranate or a piece of Barbary bread dropped in a gutter. Soon we run the risk of seeing people turn to cannibalism.’
‘Two weeks. We only need to hold out two weeks!’
Fazel’s voice was pleading. But Howard could do nothing about it:
‘Our reserves have allowed us to survive up until now. But there is no longer anything left to distribute. Nothing. In two weeks the population will have been decimated and Tabriz will be a ghost town. In recent days there have been eight hundred deaths — from starvation and the numerous diseases which go with it.’
‘Two weeks. Just two weeks!’ Fazel repeated. ‘Even if we have to fast!’
‘We have all been fasting for several days!’
‘What else can we do? Capitulate? Let go of the huge wave of support that we have so patiently built up? Is there no means of lasting out?’
Last out. Last out. These twelve men were haggard and dizzy with hunger and exhaustion, but also drunk on the thought that victory was within grasp. They had no thought in mind other than holding out.
‘There might be a solution,’ Howard said. ‘Perhaps …’
All eyes turned towards Baskerville.
‘If we attempt to break out, by surprise. If we manage to take this position,’ he pointed to a spot on the map, ‘our forces will be able to sweep into the breach and re-establish contact with the outside world. By the time the enemy recovers, help will perhaps be in sight.’
I immediately stated my opposition to the plan; the military chiefs were of the same opinion. Everyone, without exception, considered it suicidal. The enemy was situated on a promontory at some five hundred meters from our lines. It meant having to cross that distance over flat ground and scaling a massive wall of dried mud to dislodge the defenders and then getting enough men into position to be able to resist the inevitable counter-attack.
Fazel hesitated. He was not even looking at the map, but was pondering over the political outcome of the operation. Would it allow him to gain a few days? The debate went on and became animated. Baskerville insisted and argued, often supported by Moore. The Guardian correspondent laid out his own military experience and stated that the surprise element could turn out to be decisive. Fazel brought the debate to a conclusion.
‘I am still not convinced, but, as no other action can be envisaged I will not oppose Howard’s plan.’
The attack was launched the next day, 20 April, at three in the morning. It was agreed that if by five o’clock the position had been won, operations would take place at multiple points along the front in order to prevent the enemy pulling troops back for a counterattack. However, within the first minutes the attempt seemed in jeopardy: a barrage of fire met the first sortie, led by Moore, Baskerville and some sixty other volunteers. Apparently the enemy was not all taken by surprise. Could a spy have informed them of our preparations? We will never know, but the sector was guarded, Liakhov having entrusted it to one of his most adept officers.
Fazel sensibly ordered the operation to be halted without delay and had the signal for a withdrawal given — a lengthy bird-call. The fighters rushed back. Several of them, including Moore, were wounded.
Baskerville was the only one who did not return. He had been felled by the first salvo.
For three days Tabriz would live to the rhythm of condolences. There were discreet condolences at the Presbyterian Mission and noisy, impassioned, incensed condolences in the districts held by the sons of Adam. My eyes were red as I shook hands with people whom I mostly did not know, and I listened to endless tributes.
Among the throng of visitors was the English consul. He took me aside.
‘It will perhaps be of some consolation to you to learn that six hours after your friend’s death I received a message from London informing me that the Powers had reached agreement on the question of Tabriz. Mr Baskerville will not have died in vain. An expeditionary force has already set out to relieve the city by bringing in provisions, as well as to evacuate the foreign community.’
‘A Russian expeditionary force?’
‘Of course,’ Wratislaw admitted. ‘They are the only ones who have an army in the area. However we have obtained guarantees. Constitutionalists will not be troubled and the Tsar’s troops will withdraw when their mission is completed. I am counting on you to convince Fazel to lay down his arms.’