Red Mutiny (31 page)

"One thousand meters."

Krieger signaled to the
Potemkin
by semaphore, "Drop anchor."

"
Rostislav
and
Three Saints:
cut your engines," Matyushenko answered.

Krieger repeated his command. Neither party intended on backing down.

Matyushenko responded, "Cut your engines or we will fire."

Despite this threat, Matyushenko reminded the
Potemkin's
sailors that the committee's decision was to fire only if fired upon first. He still believed the crews of the squadron would revolt if the choice fell between killing their fellow sailors or overthrowing their officers. It was his only hope.

With the squadron less than a half-mile away from the
Potemkin,
Kirill remained on the bridge with Feldmann, staring at the dull luster of the
Rostislav'
s guns. Kirill found himself surprisingly calm, even as he envisioned the blood of dying men on the
Potemkin'
s decks, their cries, maybe even his own among them, lost in the thunderous roar of the guns.

On the
Rostislav,
a sailor watched, mesmerized, as the lone battleship bore down toward him. He later recounted, "It was the kind of scene one sees only once in a lifetime. The
Potemkin,
powerful, frightening, massive, and strong, advanced at full speed at the squadron of five battleships. This was a scene suitable for an artist's brush." The squadron sailors felt a mix of terror and rapture, as the
Potemkin
came closer and closer. Only a few sailors were visible on the
Potemkin's
decks, giving the battleship the appearance of a ghost ship.

On the
Rostislav'
s bridge, Vice Admiral Krieger was similarly stunned at the
Potemkin'
s suicidal approach. His orders were clear: sink the battleship if the mutinous sailors refused to yield. Yet he hesitated to give the command to fire to his crew or to the other captains in his squadron. It was an order that Captain Kolands of the
Twelve Apostles,
for one, awaited impatiently.

"Two hundred meters."

Kostenko held course. The
Potemkin
was about to cleave the squadron in two, running a gauntlet of five armor-plated battleships with scores of guns, all within point-blank range. The possibility of retreat had passed long ago.

"One hundred meters."

Desperate to get the squadron to fire on the
Potemkin,
thereby instigating a mutiny, Matyushenko ordered Kostenko to veer toward the
Rostislav,
threatening to ram her. But the squadron and battleship, moving in opposite directions, both nearly at full steam, closed on one another before the command could be executed.

The
Potemkin
crossed into the five-hundred-meter channel between the
Rostislav
and the
Three Saints.
An unnatural silence fell on the sea. No explosions of smoke and steel. No shrieks of panic and death. Hundreds of guns were aimed at the
Potemkin,
yet the only sounds were the deep, reverberating bass of the engines and the slow whine of the turrets as they tracked their quickly passing target. The
Potemkin
passed between the squadron's two columns. Many felt time slow down; seconds passed like days. A single gun or rifle shot, accidental or otherwise, from any ship would have precipitated a catastrophic chain reaction, sending hundreds of men to their deaths.

But there was only silence. Krieger lost his nerve, never giving the order to fire. When one of the
Potemkin
's six-inch guns pointed at his position on the bridge, he fell prostrate on the deck, along with several other officers. Resolved not to fire first, Matyushenko remained in the conning tower, watching the squadron pass harmlessly on either side. He felt little relief at escaping death. Instead, he was crestfallen that the other battleship crews had not mutinied.

Then, at that darkest moment on the
Potemkin,
when Matyushenko and the others felt they had been completely abandoned, several sailors on the battleships
St. George
and
Sinop
streamed onto their battle-cleared decks, waving their caps and shouting, "Hurray! Long live freedom!" On the
Potemkin,
sailors left their stations and poured out of hatches onto the upper decks to greet their comrades, urging them to commandeer their ships. Kovalenko, who had come up from the engine room, tried to rein in the sailors. "Gun crews!" he barked. "Back to your posts. The squadron still has its guns aimed at us."

The brief celebration ended as the
Potemkin
steamed past the
St. George
and the
Sinop;
the torpedo boats at the squadron's rear scattered to clear a path for the battleship to the open sea. Matyushenko told Kostenko to turn the battleship around so they could advance against the squadron once again. He was exultant at the first sign of support from the other crews, later writing, "This was the moment we had been waiting for.... The end of tyranny was near. The tsar's puppets had ordered us a welcome of shellfire. Instead, there were cheers."

But, as Kovalenko warned the celebrating sailors, the engagement was far from over. Krieger and the other captains still had command of their battleships and crews. The squadron moved toward Odessa, perhaps to wait out the
Potemkin
or strategize a new battle plan. Then a signal from its flagship ordered a hard turn to port. They were coming back.

Krieger sent a message by semaphore to the
Potemkin:
"Drop your anchors."

Matyushenko had his signalman answer, "Officers of the squadron are to leave their ships and go ashore."

Neither paid any attention to the other, and, once again, the
Potemkin
and the squadron sped toward each other across the sea. From the shores of Odessa, an epic sea battle looked imminent. Krieger hoped the mutineers would capitulate on the second pass, but he quickly realized how wrong he was. The
Potemkin
kept coming toward him, the double-headed eagles on its bow getting clearer and clearer. As the battleship reached the squadron, apparently about to pass through again, one sailor, then two, then wave after wave of sailors poured onto the decks of
St. George,
the
Sinop,
and the
Twelve Apostles,
greeting the
Potemkin
as a victor. Krieger was dumbfounded. Only his and Vishnevetsky's decks were still cleared for action.

As the
Potemkin
passed between the
St. George
and the
Sinop,
Matyushenko burst out of the conning tower. He yelled at the
Sinop's
sailors, lined three deep at the railings, "Arrest your officers and join us." Matyushenko was so excited that Kirill had to hold him by the waist to keep him from pitching overboard. In response, the sailors threw their caps into the air and shouted in unison, "Long live the
Potemkin!
"

Then Krieger signaled the
Twelve Apostles
to attack the
Potemkin,
knowing Captain Kolands would do whatever he could to maintain control of his crew and sink the mutineers. Krieger was right. Not yet past the
Potemkin,
Captain Kolands ordered his helmsman to steer a direct course at the battleship. He would ram it and then detonate his magazines. It was worth his life, he thought, to end this shameful affair. Returning to the bridge, he ordered his officers to regain control of their sailors and clear the decks. They were going into battle.

The
Potemkin'
s signalman intercepted the order from Krieger. As the
Twelve Apostles
turned its bow, he flashed by semaphore: "
Twelve Apostles:
stop." But Kolands was committed. The distance between the battleships closed. The revolutionaries aboard the
Twelve Apostles
had prepared for this moment, however. With several others, Volgin rushed down to the machine area, forcing aside the lieutenant in charge of the engines. "Full speed reverse," Volgin screamed at the sailors. Moments later, the
Twelve Apostles
shuddered to a halt, less than ten meters from the
Potemkin,
which steamed safely past.

Realizing that his orders had been countermanded, Captain Kolands scrambled to the conning tower and pressed the switch to detonate the magazines, an act of suicide and outright murder on his part. Fortunately for the crew, the revolutionaries had cut the wires between the tower and the magazines that had been rigged in order to sabotage the battleship before the squadron left Tendra Island. Kolands bitterly proclaimed, "Shame! It's shameful not to die for the tsar and the motherland."

Unaware of how close they had come to destruction, the
Potemkin'
s crew watched the squadron proceed out to sea, their officers apparently still in command. When the squadron returned to formation, retreating in the direction of Sevastopol, the
Potemkin
sailors were stunned, wondering how it was that none of the ships had joined them. To have shown down the Black Sea Fleet was certainly impressive, but what they really needed was more crews to mutiny, adding strength to their rebellion.

Just when they were convinced that their cause was lost, a lookout spotted the
St. George
falling from the squadron's line.

When the squadron turned out to sea after its second advance on the
Potemkin,
Captain Guzevich, on the
St. George's
bridge, received an angry message from the
Rostislav.

"Why are there so many lower ranks on the decks and not at their battle stations?" Krieger demanded to know.

Guzevich looked across his battleship. The riotous mass of sailors was growing every minute, and his officers seemed powerless to stop the flow of men. "Our time has come!" the sailors yelled. "Off with the officers. We don't need them. Cast them into the sea." Calls to mutiny paralyzed Guzevich with fear.

"The crew is rebelling," he finally replied to the flagship. "They are threatening to throw the officers overboard."

"Go to Sevastopol," Krieger insisted. "Go to Sevastopol."

In the midst of these exchanges, Koshuba and several other revolutionaries stormed onto the bridge, rifles in hand, demanding that the captain stop the battleship.

From the moment the squadron had first set its course from Tendra Island to Odessa, Koshuba had worked to convince the
St. George's
crew to dismiss any orders to fire on their brothers. During the
Potemkin'
s advance against the squadron, with its guns leveled at the two columns of battleships but silent, Koshuba ran through the lower decks, a shovel in hand, urging sailors to mutiny. His fellow revolutionaries, including Zakhary Borodin and Simon Deinega, summoned the crew to leave their stations and go to the decks to show their allegiance to the
Potemkin.
Those who tried to thwart these efforts were knocked aside; to push through, the revolutionaries used whatever they could find—mops, steel pipes, even a fishing pole. For many sailors, shouts of "We've no need for the tsar, only freedom!" and "Enough of our commanders spilling our blood!" were enough to motivate them to back the uprising.

By the time the
Potemkin
made its second pass, the revolutionaries on the
St. George
had chased hundreds onto the decks. Their officers did not fire one shot in resistance. While Captain Guzevich turned the battleship toward Sevastopol with the squadron, Koshuba broke into the armory and dispensed rifles to the sailors. Then he hurried to the bridge to take command.

"Stop the engines," Koshuba ordered the captain.

Guzevich refused. Koshuba knocked him out of the way and sent a message down to the engine room to come to a full stop. A revolutionary comrade left to take over the helm. A few minutes later, the
St. George
slowed down, leaving the formation.

"Why is the
St. George
not moving?" Krieger asked by semaphore.

Koshuba allowed the captain to give this answer: "The crew wishes to land the officers and join the
Potemkin.
"

"Use all your power and follow the squadron," Krieger demanded.

"I can't. I can't. I can't," Captain Guzevich desperately responded, in his final communication with the squadron. Stalling for time, hoping Krieger would turn around to help him, Guzevich tried to negotiate with the crew. He called out to the sailors below, asking those who wished to go to Sevastopol to stand to the battleship's starboard side and those who wanted to join the
Potemkin
to stand to port.

When some stepped to the battleship's port side, he begged, "Brothers, what do you want? I'll do anything you want. Let's just go to Sevastopol." Standing by his side, Lieutenant K. K. Grigorkov, the only officer on the bridge armed with a revolver, felt shamed by his captain's words. This shame was deepened by Guzevich's offer to send to the
Potemkin
any sailor who so wished and his promise not to report the mutiny.

"I'm captain now," Koshuba said harshly, interrupting Guzevich. He then put the officers under guard and directed the battleship toward the
Potemkin.
Before they moved, he had the signalman relay their intentions by semaphore.

Then Koshuba and his fellow revolutionaries left the bridge to secure their command. They were surprised to find that the crew was more willing to refuse their captain's orders than they were to take the irrevocable next step of aligning themselves with the
Potemkin.
At most, Koshuba could depend on seventy sailors from the crew. On the spar deck, some even demanded outright that the
St. George
return to Sevastopol.

On the
Potemkin,
Matyushenko waited for his signalman to interpret the semaphore message. "The ... crew ... of ... the ...
St. George
" the signalman announced, watching his counterpart moving his flags back and forth through the telescope, "wants ... to ... join ... you.... We ... ask ... the...
Potemkin
... to ... approach ... us."

A wave of joy and relief broke over the crew. The
Potemkin
finally had won an ally. A true revolutionary squadron had been born. While Matyushenko and Kirill formed a team to approach their sister ship, Ensign Alekseyev, who had finally emerged from the stateroom where he retired during the confrontation, preached caution. He advised that even though the rest of Krieger's battleships were retreating, Captain Guzevich might be trying to get close enough to torpedo or ram them.