Red Mutiny (36 page)

In the wardroom, Koshuba made a frantic appeal to change direction toward Sevastopol. "This is what we'll do, brothers. We'll get close to Sevastopol and land one hundred determined fellows. We'll stuff their shirts full of cartridges, and by night they will fall upon the sentry and enter the town. Then we can make our way into the fortress, disguised as government troops. There, we'll arrest the officers and proclaim an insurrection." The foolhardy, though bold plan was dismissed. The crew was set on Constanza.

The
Vekha
struck a further blow to their morale when it ignored the
Potemkin
's repeated wireless telegraph messages. After a few hours, it became clear that its crew had betrayed the battleship as well. The dramatic turn of events within the past twenty-four hours left the sailors exhausted and dispirited, particularly in contrast to their frame of mind the night before, when they had returned to Odessa, painting in their minds beautiful pictures of the revolutionary squadron bringing the tsar's regime to its knees.

Looking out into the emptiness of the sea, Kirill and Feldmann despaired together. "It appears that we're lost," Feldmann sighed.

"There's nothing else for us," Kirill agreed. "But until we see that all is utterly lost, we must fight on. And it's not clear yet that all is lost."

With nothing left to say, they each thought about the fact that they might never see their hometown of Odessa again. It was likely they would die in the coming days.

Kovalenko could barely stand the terrible flight from Odessa, either. The crew's hopes had been upended so swiftly, and he was also worried about the men's low morale, fearing that the "dark forces" that had taken over the
St. George
might also find similar success on the
Potemkin.
Bearing the weight of the revolution without another battleship at their side might prove too great a responsibility for the crew.

A disheartened silence fell across the battleship. Some sailors thought they had fled Odessa like cowards. Others believed they had been helpless to do anything else, but now that they were alone, they were more helpless still. "What now?" was the question on everyone's mind. The journey to Romania, one sailor felt, reminded him of a dying man barely hanging on to life.

The only voice heard on the
Potemkin
that rang hopeful, strained though it was by overuse, came from Matyushenko. He walked about the battleship, reassuring the crew that there was no reason to be discouraged. Late that night, he entered the wardroom, where some of the committee members had assembled to avoid being alone. With a bold mien, Matyushenko told his comrades, "All was not lost, even now." He promised they would revive the crew's spirit and that their journey to Romania was merely a way station in their struggle for freedom.

Heartened by his conviction, the ship's leaders left for the open air of the spar deck. They looked out to the sea, almost as if in the darkness they might see a vision of the future confirming what Matyushenko had said.

In Odessa that evening, Kakhanov negotiated the
St. George's
surrender. The nightmare that had begun with the
Potemkin's
arrival four days before was almost over, and he felt triumphant in
his
saving of the city.

At first, he had thought the
St. George's
mad dash into the harbor signaled the beginning of the bombardment. While bracing his troops for the attack, he learned that the battleship had run ashore, aided by the courageous effort of the port official Romanenko. Soon after, the counter-mutiny's leaders delivered the
St George's
flag to Kakhanov. However, the battleship's complete surrender was stalled by the crew's demand for an official pardon before they disembarked. Kakhanov sent General Karangozov to the battleship and was awaiting his response. In case the sailors refused to leave peacefully, Kakhanov repositioned his artillery batteries for a clear shot at the battleship.

The citizens of Odessa waited impatiently as well. The past twenty-four hours had been a tumultuous experience. The night before, Kakhanov had announced that the squadron had defeated the
Potemkin
and won its submission. But then Krieger's battleships disappeared from the horizon and the
Potemkin
returned to the harbor with the
St. George
at its side. Troops still occupied the streets, and the city was shut down for yet another day. The foreign consuls, expecting the worst, instructed their expatriate citizens to leave the city by any means possible. Now the
Potemkin
had left without firing a shot. In a letter to St. Petersburg, the American consul praised the
Potemkin
sailors for their restraint in not bombarding Odessa in retribution before leaving. But with the
St. George
still under its crew's control, the city faced the possibility of a devastating assault.

At
11 P.M.
, General Karangozov returned to the military headquarters with three sailors from the battleship who wanted to express their regret and plead for Nicholas II's mercy. The
St. George
crew finally allowed Kakhanov's troops to take over the battleship. The boarding soldiers arrested those suspected of participating in the mutiny. Everyone was led to shore peacefully, except for machinist quartermaster Pavel Gulyayev, one of the mutiny's leaders. While being transferred by ferry, he jumped into the harbor and drowned. Three hours later, General Kakhanov telegrammed Nicholas II, detailing how successful he had been in ending the
St. George
mutiny. He also told him that the
Potemkin
was likely on its way to Sevastopol.

That same night, Lenin's representative, Mikhail Vasilyev-Yuzhin, arrived by train at Odessa. He had traveled from Vienna with a fake passport and residence permit (using the name of a famous general's son), passing through border patrols, once even receiving a salute from the guards. He was excited to return to Russia, although his chances of getting on board the
Potemkin
were limited. All hope was lost when he looked out at the harbor and realized that the battleship was no longer there. He contacted the Odessa Bolsheviks to find out what had occurred and where the
Potemkin
was heading. They could only guess at its destination. Distraught that he had come too late, Vasilyev-Yuzhin made preparations to take a steamer to the Caucasus port city of Batumi. Given the inroads made by the Social Democrats among its people, it was the obvious base for the sailors. This decision guaranteed that he would never meet up with the
Potemkin.
The battleship's crew was alone, without help from its fellow Black Sea sailors or any revolutionary political leadership on land.

We must dare, and dare again, and go on daring.

—GEORGES JACQUES DANTON,
French revolutionary

What tragic poetry lies in the fate of this exile, condemned to wander far at sea night and day, alone, cut off from friends, pursued by enemies. Its fatal cannons gaze wrathfully toward the horizon, the watchman stands his guard without rest, every moment may prove decisive for the crew—though the enemy does not dare approach the floating fortress—and no harbor is safe for the brave souls; the menacing shore compels them onward, and only the sea that knows not the meaning of shackles and servitude, embraces the freedom fighters.

—Proletary,
on the
Potemkin
mutiny

O
N THE AFTERNOON
of June 19, the
Potemkin
traveled slowly across the Black Sea. On the forecastle, the crew congregated in small groups. One sailor played a Russian folk song on his accordion and those around him sang along. In another group, a sailor wearing an army private's tunic mimicked a marching soldier. His crewmates laughed uproariously at his mock stiffness and at the badly sewn patches on his sleeves. Many lounged on the decks, enjoying the sun or watching the school of dolphins that followed the battleship at a distance. Now that only open waters surrounded them, their gloom over events in Odessa was dispelled by a renewed sense of freedom.

As the battleship steamed toward Constanza, the sailor committee convened to determine a plan of action. Before the meeting started, the crew presented an impromptu fund they had collected in a sailor's cap—many sailors donated their meager savings for the entire battleship's benefit. The sum of money was insignificant compared to the amount in the ship's safe, but the gesture reassured the ship's revolutionary leaders that they still had the crew's allegiance.

Matyushenko refused to consider using Romania as anything more than a stopping point on the journey—never a surrender—but even the sheer force of his personality had yet to win everyone over to his position. Furthermore, the sailors questioned how Constanza's officials would receive them. One thing was certain: the shock over the
St. George's
actions had inspired a determination not to follow in its path. The committee believed that Romania was their best option for help because of its independent stance against the tsar. Romania's lands had long been caught between the shifting domination of the Ottoman and Russian Empires—as well as the interests of Austria-Hungary and western Europe. In 1878, the Treaty of Berlin had formalized its true sovereignty, a long and hard-fought victory that its constitutional monarch, King Carol I, was eager to protect, particularly from his country's former occupier, Russia. Given his respect for civil liberties, the sailors suspected the Romanian government would sympathize with their struggle. On the other hand, King Carol would not want to inflame relations with Russia, and therefore he might reject the
Potemkin'
s requests for aid, or, worse, try to win favor from Nicholas by capturing the battleship.

In the midst of this discussion, a sailor standing against the wall voiced a desire that many crew members secretly held: "Maybe they'll let us stay in Romania." Another sailor seconded this idea: "That's right. Their tsar will allow us to live there."

Having anticipated this thinking, Kirill opened an old naval-regulations handbook he had fortuitously found in Golikov's library. He read from an earmarked page stating that foreign governments under international law were required to return mutineers to their country of origin.

Sailor Lychev then pushed for resolution. "After we get fuel and supplies in Constanza, we'll return to Russia to fight. Yes?"

Matyushenko looked around the table, sensing agreement. "Are there any other opinions?"

The wardroom was silent. It was unanimous: the
Potemkin
would stop in Constanza to obtain coal, drinking water, and food. The sailors would also plumb for any word on the squadron's movement and news on other uprisings in Russia, hoping Odessa was the start of many. Then they would decide where the
Potemkin
could best advance the revolution back in Russia. Perhaps, some hoped, their Tsentralka brothers in Sevastopol would lead a revolt to take over the naval base or manage, at least, to win control of another battleship to join the
Potemkin.
But since they no longer had the element of surprise, this would not be easy.

While most of the crew relaxed outside, the sailor committee continued meeting until early afternoon, discussing the reasons for the
St. George's
counter-mutiny and for their own failure in Odessa. Feldmann stridently argued that they must avoid falling prey to further dissension or indecision.

Then Kirill interrupted. "Comrades, there's a significant reason for our failures. You all know that, don't you? It's the petty officers and Ensign Alekseyev. They've shown us time after time that they're just waiting for a critical moment to throw the whole crew into confusion ... to hurt us and to interfere in our plans. We should've gotten rid of them long ago."

Some agreed that the petty officers should be cast off in a boat from the
Potemkin.
Others disputed this. "They already know our plans and intentions and about the conflict among the crew. On reaching Sevastopol, they'll tell Chukhnin everything. They'll even advise him on how to act against us." Unable to reach a consensus, committee members tabled the issue for later discussion.

Finally, they turned their attention to the best way to present themselves in Constanza. Reznichenko spoke up: "We need to let the workers of
all
countries find out about the campaign of the Russian people against the tsar. Once we get the word out in Germany, Italy, France, and elsewhere about our uprising, we'll have the support not only of Russia but abroad as well."

"True ... We must let everyone know," Matyushenko said. They then decided to draft a declaration to issue to the international community.

The meeting concluded. Some of the sailors stayed in the wardroom as the
Potemkin
cut through the choppy waves of the Black Sea. They spoke of the great revolution that would sweep Russia by virtue of their actions—how the people would embrace their newfound freedom and equality, how the sailors could return to their families and pursue the lives they wanted. For a brief time, they forgot the many challenges ahead, such as what to do if the Romanians rejected their request for help, how to survive with enough coal for only a few hundred miles of travel and enough food and water to last three days, whether dissent among the crew would spark a counter-mutiny, and how the tsar and the Admiralty were planning to crush their rebellion. They would face these realities in the days ahead, but for now, they dreamed of what could be.

***

In Nikolayev, a port at the mouth of the river Bug where the
Potemkin
had been launched in 1900 with much celebration (the presence of dignitaries, the sprinkling of holy water, the stirring sounds of a full orchestra, and the boom of gunfire), Vice Admiral Chukhnin now prayed for that ship's demise. At naval headquarters, a host of aides and telegraph operators sent out his orders in a flurry, giving wings to those prayers.

Chukhnin had arrived in Nikolayev the day before, June 18. The fights that broke out there between sailors and Cossacks, simultaneous with the first reports of the
Potemkin
mutiny, had already been quelled, but Chukhnin wanted to judge the fleet's morale for himself. From the train station, he went straight to the port to speak to his sailors. In his usual fervent manner, he explained to them their moral obligation to serve the tsar faithfully and told them that "shameful acts of treason" wrought tremendous harm to Russia. In conclusion, he asked the sailors to take an oath that they would perform their duties without hesitation, even if sent against the
Potemkin.
Without exception, the sailors gave their oath, but Chukhnin heard listless hesitation in their voices. He knew that, given the chance, they would rebel against their officers; moreover, he was convinced that the sailors would refuse to fight against their own.