A picture worthy of Rembrandt! A little room, log-built and
rough, and humidly hot from a well-stoked sheet-iron stove of modest proportions.
Smoke as of dense fog, partly the fault of the stove and partly the inmates,
for the district soviet is in session.
But this is not the only contrast the room affords, for, I
repeat, the Soviet of Mouman District, North Russia, is in session. Here at the
table’s head, in full light, is Urieff; there in the shadow is Grokatoff; both
Bolsheviks: one straightforward and open, the other careful, diplomatic, and
almost crafty. Urieff, constantly puffing at his inseparable and immense
calabash, says little, keeps order, and puts the question.
Grokatoff is “foreign commissar” and Trotsky’s personal
representative. He, too, speaks seldom, but notes everything and daily sends
his minute report to Moscow. It is his task to prevent the entrance through
this port of all “counter-revolutionists” and undesirable foreigners of the
bourgeois and capitalistic classes.
Senkavitch, the vice-president, is a Pole. He is labor
delegate and head of the Red Guard. I can hear his cheery half-broken “Hello,
John!” as he pulled me and my baggage on the crowded weekly freight at a little
junction point one bitter midnight last winter. For seven years he had worked
as a lithographer in Buffalo, and he said it sounded good to hear English.
Always quick to speak his mind and as quick to act, he became less popular with
his constituents as the days wore on; and when he tried to stop looting at a
fire in the British barracks, his “soldiers” turned and would have lynched him
but for the timely arrival of marines from the American cruiser, who sent him
aboard the admiral’s flagship for safety.
Contrast Senkavitch, unkempt and uncombed (as he was in his
ante-sergeant days) with the trim Zvginseff, who sits opposite. He has been a
general, commanding one of the Czar’s crack regiments and for “certain reasons”
advanced one of the grand dukes to a prominent position which developed into a
place of real danger in battle, so that the grand duke lost his life—and the
general his position. (Since then Zvginseff has been a democrat.) It is interesting
to see him and the Pole together. One, the polished gentleman with French, English,
and Russian at his tongue’s end; the other a rough workingman unable to speak
even Russian with grammatical correctness, each admiring the other and
complementing the other—the old Monarchist and the new Anarchist, each a real
patriot, and learning to work together—this augurs well for the future of
Russia.
In the background always, moving quietly to obtain some
papers from the adjoining room or motioning to the president as he calls
attention to some forgotten detail, never conspicuous but always quietly
dominating, is Vesallago, “business manager and secretary.” He was a naval
captain, and one night his flotilla of destroyers crept out of their Black Sea
base and raided a Turkish port. Partially successful, he undertook to repeat
his exploit the following night. The crew mutinied, but he drove them to their
task. When returning to port, after accomplishing their objective, his sailors
drove him off the ship. His admiral, who supported him, was also dismissed by
the sailors. This was in the early days of the revolution, and both men luckily
escaped with their lives. A few months later officers were not “dismissed” in
this gentle fashion, and soon after Vesallago had come to the north and held a
place as chief of staff to Admiral Katlinksy, two shots were fired in the
halflight of the Arctic day, and the admiral fell dead at his office door.
Vesallago succeeded to the admiral’s place, without his rank, and during the days
of open anarchy that followed his position was very precarious. Threats and
attempts on his life were repeated, and at last, one night in July, two
hand-grenades were thrown into his room, wrecking the building but miraculously
sparing the man. Allying himself with no party, blamed by his fellow officers
for his “Bolshevik sympathies” and feared by the Bolsheviks as a spy and
counter-revolutionist, facing death constantly, he has placed his fine
executive ability at the disposal of his country without pay and without
thanks.
But to return to our meeting, now enter the Allied representatives. First, the senior Allied officer, Rear Admiral ------[Thomas Kemp], R. N., C. M. G., etc., retired before the war, but now
rejoicing to be back in active service. His kindly blue eyes, close-cropped
grizzled beard, his almost shabby uniform and half-concealed decorations (this
out of courtesy to the Russian officers who had lost all insignia of rank and uniform)—these you would note. His
slow, deliberate, almost labored Russian, as he makes clear his points, one by
one—this you would appreciate if you are a novice in the language, as am I. The
admiral’s secretary is there. Sometimes he supplies a Russian word of
finer-shaded meaning, but whether he spoke or not, the amount of gold on his
uniform would remind you of his presence. The French captain knows no Russian
but is accompanied by the consul, who is an accomplished linguist and popular
with everyone because of his engaging manners. In the corner, as far aspossible from the blasting heat of the stove, is the American representative, aY. M.C. A. man (selected for the very obvious reason that he is the onlyAmerican in the district), in a flannel shirt, which has powers to disabuse theRussian “tavarish” of the capitalistic tendencies of the American democracy.
Many things are discussed. Many questions are asked. “Will
the British send fishing gear for the Russians?” “Yes,” from the admiral. “Nets
and trawls?” “Yes.” “Will the Americans send flour?” “Yes.” “And sugar? And
shoes?” “When may these be expected?” “When will the American cruiser arrive?”
“Can America send some railway construction engineers?” and machinists?” “Will the Allies furnish food
for the Finnish contingent, who wish to enlist?” “What can be done to make the
food distribution more equitable?” “Could the American representative undertake
to market the season’s catch of fur?” “Does he know the prevailing price
for white fox?” “What is the likelihood of the Kola bridge withstanding the next
ice jam?” “How long will it take to replace it?” “How can we convince the
natives that the wireless men on the hill are not prospecting for gold?” . . .
One question after another, on and on; some trivial, some weighty with
international possibilities, but all answered to allay Russian suspicion of the
imperialistic ambitions of the Allies, to show our interest and gain their
friendship.
One scene more. Just as adjournment is proposed, Senkavitch
is called out, and soon returns, accompanied by half a dozen breathless men who
have come in by reindeer to report the aggression of the Finnish and German
forces on an important harbor some hundred miles to the west. What can they do?
The general and Senkavitch turn to the admiral: Will he send a cruiser? A moment’s
thought, a sharp, “Yes,” and his secretary is on his way down the hill to
signal off the orders. A brief but carefully worded agreement is drawn up and
signed. The Allies agree to help the Russians against the Germans and the Finns; they refuse to interfere in internal affairs or lend aid to any political party; they have no designs on Russian territory. Two hours later, H. M. S.“-------,” with full complement of marines and a hundred Red Guards, steams out of the harbor. “Intervention” in Russia has begun.
from "Russian Sideshow: America’s Undeclared War" by Robert L. Willett, 2003, Potomac Books
In an action which completely frustrated the Soviets in the capital, the Murmansk Soviet signed an accord with the Allies, British, French, and even American. This agreement pledged the Allies to defend Murmansk and recognize the Murmansk Regional Soviet as the acknowledged government of the area. Captain Bierer of the Olympia signed on behalf of the American government, even though he had no authority to do so. It is interesting to note that this document was executed several days before Wilson’s Aide Memoire, which authorized intervention in Russia. The Murmansk agreement was completely unauthorized by the U.S. government, yet it was finally approved in October 1918. While it was a stroke of luck for the Allies to have the tie-in with a Russian government, even an out-of-favor one, the Allies pledged to protect those individuals who had faced the wrath of their own people by separating themselves from the Central Soviet.
from "Russian Sideshow: America’s Undeclared War" by Robert L. Willett, 2003, Potomac Books
In an action which completely frustrated the Soviets in the capital, the Murmansk Soviet signed an accord with the Allies, British, French, and even American. This agreement pledged the Allies to defend Murmansk and recognize the Murmansk Regional Soviet as the acknowledged government of the area. Captain Bierer of the Olympia signed on behalf of the American government, even though he had no authority to do so. It is interesting to note that this document was executed several days before Wilson’s Aide Memoire, which authorized intervention in Russia. The Murmansk agreement was completely unauthorized by the U.S. government, yet it was finally approved in October 1918. While it was a stroke of luck for the Allies to have the tie-in with a Russian government, even an out-of-favor one, the Allies pledged to protect those individuals who had faced the wrath of their own people by separating themselves from the Central Soviet.
No comments:
Post a Comment