Red Mutiny (33 page)

The
Potemkin
had especially driven fear into the Romanov family. At the mutiny's onset, Nicholas's sister Xenia frantically wrote in her diary: "God knows what's happening and there is nothing to be done! It's terrible, terrible.... This news has simply killed us. We have been wandering around in a daze all day—what a nightmare, it's too awful." A few days later she added, "Why, why are we being punished so by God?!" Their cousin, Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich, who had been a close friend of Captain Golikov, lamented, "What is happening to Russia? What disorganization, what disintegration. Just like a piece of clothing that is beginning to rip and tear along the seams, and fall open ... There is an actual mutiny on the Black Sea Fleet warship
Potemkin....
It's complete revolution."

Yet even as the pressure mounted on Nicholas from all sides, he resisted pursuing peace vigorously with Japan or changing his mind about liberal reforms. Nelidov, his first choice for plenipotentiary at the proposed peace negotiations, had backed out, citing illness, and the tsar again avoided choosing Witte, the foreign minister's recommendation, to be his representative. Instead, he selected one of Witte's rivals, Nikolai V. Muravyev, the ambassador to Rome and a favorite of the late hardliner Grand Duke Sergei. More concerned with being adequately recompensed for his travel expenses to the peace talks than with their substance, Muravyev was another weak choice as emissary to represent Russia in negotiations with Japan. Nicholas held to the belief that his empire would survive a prolonged war and that, with more time, he could bleed concessions out of the Japanese.

Meanwhile, he stalled any progress on the proposal for a duma—holding committees on the matter, promising that he was considering the possibility, but deciding nothing. Sending a distressing signal to reformers, he had also invited a delegation of staunch monarchist nobles to an audience at Peterhof.

On the evening of June 17, news of the mutiny's end from Kakhanov came as a great comfort. Nicholas could once again dispel the rash of nervous proclamations that revolution was at hand. The mutineers would be punished, and that was the end of it. Then, only a few hours later, he learned from the Naval Ministry that not only had the
Potemkin
not surrendered but also another battleship had gone to its side. Further, Krieger had retreated to Sevastopol with the squadron, frightened about additional mutinies.

The whole Black Sea Fleet appeared lost, Nicholas thought; his nightmare only worsened. Each day that the mutiny dragged on was another blow against his reign. In his secluded idyll on the Gulf of Finland, try as he might to ignore the thought, it was impossible to know whether these unfolding events might be the first stages of his own downfall. Only God knew what was to be the tsar's fate.

That same evening, at a railway station deep in the Ukraine, Vice Admiral Chukhnin was handed two secret telegrams from the naval minister before he reboarded his special train from St. Petersburg. The comforts of the private railcar—its curtained bedroom and salon fitted with mahogany tables and velvet-covered chairs—did little to ease his strain. He was impatient to get to Nikolayev, still twelve hours away, and personally take control of the disaster revealed in the telegrams clutched in his hand.

The first one repeated the mistaken report of the mutiny's end but also included a note from Avelan, complaining about how much time Krieger and Vishnevetsky had taken to confront the
Potemkin.
Chukhnin was well aware of his officers' embarrassing timidity, an issue that he had often raised with his superiors at the Admiralty in St. Petersburg. At least the squadron had somehow managed to win the
Potemkin!
surrender. The second telegram, explaining the true course of events, sent Chukhnin reeling. The day before, helpless to do anything but worry while on the train, he had written to Avelan, telling him that if Krieger and the other captains faced revolts by their own crews, the officers would surrender without resistance rather than risk being killed. Now that he had been proved right, he planned to see Krieger removed from his post after this debacle ended.

Chukhnin was most troubled over losing the chance to end this mutiny within seventy-two hours. If Krieger had shown more initiative and decisiveness, he was certain the sailors in the squadron would have remained loyal. But delays had given traitors within the crews time to seed dissent. Obviously, Krieger and the other captains had neglected to arrest such men before they confronted the
Potemkin.
Now the mutineers had the momentum, and every battleship in the Black Sea Fleet was suspect.

As the train hurtled across the dark countryside, Chukhnin sat at a table and devised a plan to deal with the evolving crisis. Foremost, he had to prevent the
Potemkin,
or any other battleship, from taking the Sevastopol naval base. He drafted orders that were stricter than the measures taken by the Russians to protect Port Arthur from the Japanese: first, the fortress should have its troops and guns ready to fire on any ship, day or night; second, torpedo boats must stop any ship five miles from the base and determine the loyalty of the crew; third, another set of torpedo boats should inspect these same ships two miles from the base for the same purpose; and fourth, if any ship was suspect, the fortress was to fire on it immediately.

Having decided this defensive plan, Chukhnin still needed to come up with a way to defeat the
Potemkin
and the
St. George
if the mutinous battleships did
not
attack Sevastopol. Their prolonged presence in Odessa was unacceptable, and they posed a grave danger to the entire Black Sea region. Through the night, Chukhnin deliberated on the problem. Because the fleet's crews had clearly shown sympathy with the mutineers, he could hardly send the squadron back after the
Potemkin,
even if he commanded it himself. There had to be another way to end this treason. Until Chukhnin figured out how, General Kakhanov would have to do what he could to defend Odessa.

Once again, Kakhanov found himself alone, trying to protect the city—but now against two battleships instead of one and without the hope of the Black Sea Fleet's aid. Odessans fled on whatever transport they could find. "The train station is a veritable Armageddon. There are no tickets to be had," a witness recounted. Those who did manage to get out packed the hotels and lodging houses in surrounding towns. Troops flowed into Odessa, camping in parks and courtyards throughout the city. The streets, usually bustling with commerce, were busy only with soldiers on patrol. They posted signs threatening that they would fire on gatherings of more than twenty people. Throughout the day, most of the population had been too captivated by the action out at sea to muster any strikes. Even with the squadron's retreat and the
Potemkin
's victorious return alongside the
St. George,
the Peresyp and Moldovanka worker districts remained calm. Everyone was waiting for the next move of the mutinous sailors.

Despite the futility of his previous efforts, Kakhanov prepared for an attack. He sent reinforcements to the artillery brigade stationed at Langeron Point. He ordered the assembly of a battery of nine-inch guns that had recently arrived. He requisitioned more high-caliber bombs from Ochakov and torpedoes from Sevastopol, though they were unlikely to be delivered in time. Finally, he told his officers to strengthen their guard along the shoreline to prevent the sailors from mounting a land assault or coming into the city for provisions.

While he delivered his orders, foreign consuls, city officials, and journalists pestered his office, asking what would happen next. His earlier statement that the
Potemkin
sailors had surrendered when the squadron approached had already been proved wrong—a black mark for Kakhanov with the tsar and an embarrassment sure to be headlined worldwide. Enough of pronouncements, he thought. Everyone would have to wait, including himself, for what the sailors had planned next.

After arriving at Odessa's harbor, the
St. George
approached and saluted the
Potemkin,
the revolutionary squadron's flagship. Sailors congregated on the
St. George's
forecastle, fall of confidence and eager for the next step in their struggle. The sight lifted the hearts of the
Potemkin's
crew, who had fought alone for three days, desperate to know if others in the fleet would join them. "We're not afraid of anybody—any longer," a crew member said, capturing the mood. "And tomorrow we'll take Odessa." Even the most timid sailors walked the decks, recounting the confrontation with the squadron as if it had already entered legend. The success of their fight for freedom seemed assured.

Matyushenko left this revelry to deliver the
St. George's
officers ashore. Moments after he had dropped them off and turned back toward the battleship, he saw a band of dragoons rush at the officers, who were scrambling up the steep shore. "Get down on the ground!" one of them yelled; rifles drawn, the dragoons had mistaken the officers for
Potemkin
rebels. Matyushenko looked back to see Captain Guzevich and the others retreat into the water. A few dived under in an attempt to escape; others even tried to swim back to the launch. "Another act of heroism on the part of the tsar's officers," Matyushenko joked to his fellow sailors. Leaving the officers to fend for themselves, they returned to the
Potemkin.

On the
St. George,
the crew elected Koshuba and nine other sailors to the ship's committee. Senior Boatswain A. O. Kuzmenko was nominated to command the battleship, a role parallel to that of Ensign Alekseyev on the
Potemkin.
Then, the roll call sounded, and the sailors came together for the evening prayer. Feldmann, who had stayed on the
St. George
to educate the sailors on the revolution, listened to the crew chant in unison. He found it strange to listen to the sailors, who were now on a free ship, utter words that honored the tsar. The scene revealed to him how difficult it would be to break the sailors from their instincts and traditions. "It was strange to hear the patriotic words of this prayer, here now, on a free ship, in the midst of the sea," he remembered. "They were a reminder that, though the old bogeys were thrown down, their power was still unbroken."

After the prayer, the committee headed to the admiral's stateroom, where they found a sailor haphazardly banging on the piano, enjoying his newfound liberty. Once he was ushered out of the room, the sailors sat around the table. With smoke and a feeling of serious consequence heavy in the air, they made their first decisions as the
St.
George's
leaders. Suspecting that the petty officers might spread dissent, they resolved to send them ashore the very next day. Koshuba and Deinega were also worried about their crew's loyalty. Many sailors had been slow to help take over the ship.

While the committee met, a government cutter approached the
St. George.
It was commanded by port official Nikolai Romanenko. "I've been sent by Brigadier General Pereleshin to inquire whether the new ironclad needs anything," he said, clearly hoping to spy out the situation.

"Go to our flagship," the sailors advised.

When Romanenko came to the
Potemkin
's side, Matyushenko allowed him aboard in order to learn more about the situation in Odessa. The port official was elusive, though, steering the conversation to why the sailors had fired on the unarmed city the day before and what they wanted now.

"Tomorrow we want coal and provisions delivered to the
Potemkin
" Matyushenko said harshly, tiring of the game. "And tell General Kakhanov that he should disband his troops and let the people rule the city."

Romanenko made his exit. Soon after, Koshuba and several other
St. George
committee members arrived with boatswain Kuzmenko to coordinate their actions with the
Potemkin.
As the new commander, Kuzmenko made a poor first impression. His ruddy, flat-nosed face had a "dull, feral, and aloof expression," Kovalenko recalled. "His little eyes moved back and forth constantly, like he had stolen something, and his movements and gestures were unnaturally free and loose." Putting aside his initial disgust, Kovalenko introduced himself and asked Kuzmenko about the battleship's operations. As they shuffled toward the wardroom, Kovalenko concluded that much needed to be done on the
St. George,
especially in terms of making it battle ready.

Over two hundred sailors crowded into the wardroom, anxious to hear about their sister battleship's mutiny and the revolutionary squadron's next course of action. The hubbub of conversation had to be quieted before the committee could begin. Koshuba recounted their journey from Sevastopol and Vishnevetsky's morning retreat. He then explained how they had overtaken the
St. George.

"With a single shot," one sailor interrupted, referring coldly to the lieutenant who had killed himself on the bridge. The wardroom erupted in laughter.

When Koshuba finished, he requested the exchange of three hundred sailors between the two battleships to solidify support for the mutiny, but the
Potemkin'
s leaders thought this too extreme. Instead, they agreed to send fifty sailors to the
St. George.
Then they settled on a list of demands for Kakhanov to fulfill: the delivery of necessary provisions (coal, drinking water, and other supplies), the release of all political prisoners, the removal of troops from the city, and, finally, the transfer of political and military control to the people. If the general failed to comply within twenty-four hours, the joint committee agreed that they would bombard Odessa. With cheers, the sailors welcomed the plan to take the city by force.

After the meeting disbanded, Kirill drafted the ultimatum in the name of the "Crew of the Revolutionary Squadron." The ultimatum concluded with the statement that the loss of innocent life during any bombardment would be Kakhanov's responsibility. He had been given proper warning.