Friedrich Engels

Prospects in the Crimea

Written about September 14, 1855.

From the English.

[“New-York Daily Tribune” No. 4508 of October 1, 1855, leading article]

Except for an incomplete list of the British officers killed and wounded, the newspapers delivered by the steamship “America” – and we have examined them carefully – add scarcely anything to what we already know of the circumstances under which the capture of the south side of Sevastopol took place. It is true that much is conjectured both about the reasons for and the consequences of Gortchakov’s sudden abandonment of a position so long and so desperately defended; and among these speculations those of our correspondents in London and Paris deserve particular attention. There are, however, several aspects and several considerations with which none of these reporters – however much their views may contradict one another – appears to have engaged sufficiently or to which they have attached the appropriate weight.

The turn that affairs on the Crimea will now take depends to a great extent precisely upon the reasons which induced the Russians to abandon the south side. It is obvious that by no means purely tactical and strategic motives lay at the bottom of this sudden decision. Had Gortchakov been of the opinion that after the fall of the Malakhov the south side, and even the Karabelnaya, could no longer be held, he would not have had so many inner fortifications erected in this suburb. Although the final success of the siege might be regarded as assured by the capture of that commanding point, a stubborn defence, first of the inner fortifications of the suburb and then of the town itself, could nonetheless have gained a respite of four to six weeks. Judging by the best maps, plans, and diagrams, it was not necessary, from a purely tactical and strategic point of view, to abandon with such precipitation what had hitherto been defended with such tenacity. A step of this kind cannot be explained by military science alone, and it can scarcely be attributed to the confusion and fear caused by an unexpected and decisive defeat. Motives of another kind must have forced Gortchakov to a step which compromises his military position and career as seriously as this one does.

There are only two possible explanations. Either the morale of the Russian soldiers was so shattered that it would have been impossible to rally them behind the inner line of defence in any sort of order to continue the struggle, or the shortage of provisions was beginning to make itself severely felt not only in Sevastopol but also in the camp outside. The almost uninterrupted series of defeats inflicted on the Russian army – from Oltenitza and Cetate to the battle of the Chernaya and the storming of September 8 – must certainly have completely broken the courage of the defenders of Sevastopol, all the more so as they were mainly composed of the same troops that had been beaten on the Danube and later at Inkerman. The Russians have a fairly sluggish feeling in enduring adversities and dangers, and can bear defeats longer than most other troops; but no army in the world can hold together for eternity if it is beaten by every enemy it encounters, and if it has nothing to oppose to a long chain of defeats but the negative satisfaction of its stubborn and prolonged resistance and a single example of successful, active defence such as that of June 18. But such a resistance in a besieged fortress itself has, in the long run, a demoralising effect. It involves severe hardships, lack of sleep, illness, and the presence not of that acute danger which keeps the mind at tension, but of the chronic danger which in the long run dulls the mind. The rapidly successive defeats on the Chernaya and at the Malakhov must have completed the process of demoralisation, and it is more than probable that Gortchakov’s troops in the town were no longer fit to be led against the enemy. And since the Malakhov commanded the bridge leading to the other side, and the French guns could have destroyed it any day, relief became impossible, while retreat could at least save the troops. It is no wonder that this demoralisation finally befell the garrison; it is rather astonishing that this did not happen much earlier.

There are also some very weighty indications that shortage of provisions for the army in general had a good deal to do with Prince Gortchakov’s sudden retreat. The interruption of Russian navigation on the Sea of Azov – although it did not have such an immediate effect as the British and French press, then in need of a success story, had hoped – was bound in the long run to prove detrimental to the Russians, since it restricted them to a single line of operations and curtailed their supplies. The enormous difficulties of transporting provisions, ammunition, and forage from Kherson across a thinly populated steppe region must have become even greater when this route became the only one by which the army could be supplied. The means of transport, brought together by requisition from the Ukraine and the Don provinces, must finally have become unserviceable; horses and draught oxen must have fallen victim in large numbers both to overwork and to scarcity of fodder; and once the nearest provinces were exhausted, it became ever more difficult to bring up the necessary stores. This shortage of supply was bound to make itself felt not so much in Sevastopol (where depots must have been established in case the place were also invested from the north side) as in the camp above Inkerman, near Bakhchisarai, and on the line of march of the reinforcements. The commanders of the Allies have more than once mentioned in their dispatches that this was the case, but other circumstances also point to the fact that it must have been so. This inability to supply even the troops now in the Crimea alone explains why the two grenadier divisions, which have been so long on the march and are said to have now reached Perekop, were not allowed to advance and take part in the battle of the Chernaya; it also explains why, although the greater part of the troops intended to advance to relieve Sevastopol did not arrive, the battle was nevertheless risked, albeit with forces ludicrously small in proportion to the task they had to accomplish.

All indications therefore point to the fact that both the demoralisation of the greater part of the Russian troops and the shortage of supplies for the army in the field induced Gortchakov not to stake too much on a short-term postponement of the fall of a fortress that could no longer be held. He made use of the last opportunity to save the garrison, and he seems to have acted rightly. Judging by everything, he would otherwise have had to leave it to its fate, rally his field army, and withdraw into the interior of the Crimea, if not as far as Perekop. In that case, the garrison of the south side would very soon have been forced either to cut its way secretly to the north side or to capitulate; and the north side, deprived of all prospect of ever being relieved, and occupied by demoralised troops, would soon have been compelled by hunger to submit.

As long as the Russians had a chance of maintaining their army in the Crimea not only at a strength approximately equal to that of the Allies, but could even expect reinforcements that would make them far superior to their opponents, the north side of Sevastopol represented a position of immense importance. To hold the north side with the forces of a garrison, while the field army occupied that position where, according to the latest news received by us, it was situated, meant to pin down the Allied army on the plateau of the Heraclean Chersonese. It also meant keeping their ships away from the bay of Sevastopol and depriving them of a suitable operational base for the fleet closer than the Bosporus, for neither Kamysh nor Balaclava could come into consideration for that. So long as the Russians were in a position to maintain the field of battle in the Crimea, the north side was as much the key to the whole Crimea and to everything that gives the whole country military or maritime significance, as the Malakhov was for the south side. But from the moment the Russians can no longer maintain the field of battle, the north side already ceases to have any special significance. It is a fairly strongly fortified position, but one which – if besieged with adequate forces – is doomed to fall, because it can expect no help from anywhere,

This may appear surprising after the great importance rightly attributed to the north side. And yet it is perfectly correct. This whole war had apparently been a war of fortifications and sieges, and in the eyes of superficial observers it has completely nullified the progress achieved by Napoleon’s rapid manoeuvre, thus throwing the art of war back to the time of the Seven Years’ War. In reality, however, the exact opposite corresponds to the facts. Nowadays, fortresses and groups of fortifications have no other significance than that of fixed points on which an army in the field supports itself in its movements. Thus, the camp at Kalafat was a bridgehead which allowed Omer Pasha to threaten the Russians in flank; thus Silistria,

Rustchuk, Varna, Shumla and Silistria were, so to speak, the four projecting angles of a large fortified camp, into which Omer Pasha could withdraw and where he could not be pursued until at least two of those projecting angles had been taken or neutralised. Thus Sevastopol formed the pivot of the Russian army in the Crimea, and whenever this army was numerically inferior or otherwise held in check, Sevastopol gave it a breathing-space until new reinforcements had arrived. For the Allies, Sevastopol was a Russian war harbour which had to be destroyed, and an operational base for the fleet, which was to be won; for the Russians, it signified the possession of the Crimea, because it was the only position that had to be held, until relieved, against a great numerical superiority. Thus the final decision always lay with the armies in the field, and the importance of fortresses depended not on their natural or artificial strength or their actual works, but on the protection and support (appui) which they could afford to the field army. Their value has become relative. They are no longer independent factors in the game of war, but merely valuable positions whose defence with every means and to the utmost may sometimes be advisable, and sometimes not. The Sevastopol affair proves this more than any previous event. Sevastopol, like all truly modern fortresses, has played the role of a permanent fortified camp. So long as the forces available are sufficient to defend this camp, so long as supplies are abundant, communications with the main operational base are secured, and so long, above all, as this camp is held by a strong army and prevents the enemy from passing it by without putting his own safety at risk—so long is the camp of first-rate importance and can thwart an enemy’s plans throughout an entire campaign. But when this is no longer the case, when the defenders suffer one reverse after another, supplies become scarce, and the danger exists that their communications will be cut and they themselves exposed to the same fate as the Austrians at Ulm in 1805—then it is high time to prefer the welfare of the army to the abstract value of the position, and to withdraw immediately to another place offering greater advantages.

This now appears to be the situation of the Russians. The greater part of their original active army—fourteen divisions out of twenty-four—has been engaged and partly destroyed in the Crimea, and what there is of reserves and Opolchenie or other new formations cannot bear comparison with the troops they have lost. They will certainly do well to send no more soldiers to this dangerous peninsula and rather to give it up as quickly as possible. The Allies are far superior to them in numbers and particularly in courage. To risk a battle with Gortchakov’s present army in the field would mean seeking a defeat. Gortchakov can be turned either from the south coast and the valley of the Salghir or at Eupatoria. Both operations would compel him to abandon his communication with the north side, without ever regaining it, because the numerical superiority of the Allies increases from day to day. It seems as if the best thing Gortchakov could now do would be to maintain a front as boldly as possible, while he prepares everything to blow up the northern forts and slip away from his opponents by one or two marches. The sooner he gets to Perekop, the better. This applies particularly if the report we have received from Paris is true that the Allies, immediately after taking possession of Sevastopol, began to send an army to Eupatoria. If they act with energy—either in this direction or along the south coast and the passes of Tchatir-Dagh—the campaign must quickly come to an end, leaving the Allies in possession of the Crimea. As far as we can see, the only mistakes they can now make are a serious frontal attack on the Russian position above Inkerman, or a week’s inactivity. The next steamer, which must arrive here tomorrow evening, will certainly provide the answer to the question of what they intend to do.