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mullahs.
Tabriz was triumphant. But it was also dying.
Unable to confront so many rebellions and so much disaffection, the Shah
became utterly single-minded: Tabriz, the source of the evil, had to be brought
down. When it fell the others would yield. Since he had failed to take it by
assault, he decided to starve it into submission.
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.

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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

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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 counterattack.
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