Cossacks trotting through the Nevsky in Petrograd.
A crowd of ordinary citizens were passing in front of the Singer Building on the Nevsky in Petrograd at noon February 25th, Russian time (March 10th), stopping occasionally to watch a company of Cossacks amiably roughing some students with a miscellaneous following who insisted on assembling across the street before the wide, sweeping colonnades of Kasan Cathedral. As the Cossacks trotted through, hands empty, rifles slung on shoulders, the crowds cheered, the Cossacks laughed.
A few trolley cars had stopped, though not stalled, and groups of curious on-lookers had crowded in for a grandstand view. The only people who did not seem interested in the spectacle were hundreds of women with shawls over their heads who had been standing in line for many hours before the bread-shops along the Catherine Canal.
Some Cossacks and infantry in side streets.
People charged by police.
People were going about their affairs up and down the Nevsky without being stopped, and sleighs were passing constantly. Cossacks and a few companies of infantrymen were beginning to appear on the side streets in considerable numbers, but, as a demonstration over the lack of bread in the Russian capital had been going on at intervals for two days with very little violence, people were beginning to get used to it. I arrived from the direction of theMoika Canal just as the cannon boomed midday and I felt sufficiently unhurried to correct my watch. Then I hailed a British general in uniform who had arrived, also unimpeded, from the opposite direction, and we had just stopped to comment on the unusual attitude of populace and Cossacks, when there was a sudden rush of people around the corner from the Catherine Canal and before we could even reach the doubtful protection of a doorway a company of mounted police charged around the corner and started up the Nevsky on the sidewalk. We were obviously harmless onlookers, fur-clad bourgeois, but the police plunged through at a hard trot, bare sabres flashing in the cold sunshine. The British general and I were knocked down together and escaped trampling only because the police were splendidly mounted, and a well-bred horse will not step on a man if he can help it.
Display of stupid physical force.
This was a display of that well-known stupid physical force which used to be the basis of strength of the Russian Empire. Its ruthlessness, its carelessness of life, however innocent, terrorized, and, we used to think, won respect. We know better now, especially those of us who were eye-witnesses of the Russian revolution, and saw how the police provoked a quarrel they could not handle.
Crowds begin to be dangerously large.
I watched the growth of the revolt with wonder. Knowing something of the dissatisfaction in the country, I marveled at the stupidity of the Government in permitting the police to handle its inception as they did. Any hundred New York or London policemen, or any hundred Petrograd policemen, could have prevented the demonstrations by the simple process of closing the streets. But they let people crowd in from the side streets to see what was going on even when the crowds were beginning to be dangerously large, and, having permittedthem to come, charged among them at random as if expressly making them angry.
Ease with which Czar was overthrown.
I look back now at the time before the Revolution. The life of Petrograd is much as it was to outward appearances except that the new republican soldiers are now policing the streets, occasional citizens are wearing brassarts showing they are deputies of some sort or members of law-and-order committees, and there is a certain joyous freedom in the walk of every one. Here, in one corner of this vast empire, a revolt lacking all signs of terrorism, growing out of nothing into a sudden burst of indignation, knocked over the most absolute of autocracies. Just to look, it is hard to believe it true. As a Socialist said to me to-day: "The empire was rotten ready. One kick of a soldier's boot, and the throne with all its panoplies disappeared, leaving nothing but dust."
I asked President Rodzianko of the Duma the other day:
Revolution inevitable after Duma was dissolved.
"From what date was the revolution inevitable?"
I expected him to name one of the days immediately before the revolt, but he replied:
"When the Duma was dissolved in December without being granted a responsible ministry."
"How late might the Emperor have saved his throne?"
"New Year's. If he had granted a responsible ministry then, it would not have been too late."
The Government brought Cossacks to Petrograd.
The Government was either blind or too arrogant to take precautions. It had fears of an uprising at the reconvening of the Duma and brought 13,000 Cossacks to Petrograd to put fear into the hearts of the people, but it permitted a shortage of flour which had been noticeable for several weeks to become really serious just at this moment. There were large districts of working people practically withoutbread from the time the Duma reconvened up to the moment of the revolution.
Situation needed a great ruler.
In the palace at Tsarskoe-Selo the seriousness of the situation was not ignored, but the preventive measures were lamentable. The Emperor, also, went to the front. If he had been a big enough man to be an emperor he would certainly never have done so. That left the neurasthenic Empress and the crafty, small-minded Protopopoff to handle a problem that needed a real man as great as Emperor Peter or Alexander III.
The author on the point of leaving Russia.
The appearance of Cossacks.
When the Duma reconvened without disorders it never occurred to me that the Government would be foolish enough to let the flour situation get worse. I was so used by this time to see the Duma keep a calm front in the face of imperial rebuffs that I thought Russia was going to continue to muddle on to the end of the war and, though I thought I was rather well-posted, I confess I was on the point of leaving Russia to return to the western front, where the spring campaign was about to begin with vigor. As late as the Wednesday before the revolution I was preparing to leave. That day I learned that several small strikes which had occurred in scattered factories could not be settled and that several other factories were forced to close because workmen, having no bread, refused to report. Still I remember I was not too preoccupied by these reports to discuss the possibility of a German offensive against Italy with our military attaché, Lieutenant Francis B. Riggs, as we strolled down the Nevsky in the middle of the afternoon. We had reached the Fontanka Canal when we passed three Cossacks riding abreast at a walk up the street. They were the first Cossacks to make a public appearance, and they brought to the mind of every Petrograd citizen the recollection of the barbarities of the revolutionof 1905. Their appearance was a challenge to the people of Petrograd. They seemed to say, "Yes, we are here." If any one had said to me that afternoon, "These Cossacks are going to start a revolution which will set Russia free within a week," I should have regarded him as a lunatic with an original twist.
Petrograd life normal.
The life of Petrograd was still normal as late as Thursday morning February 23d, Russian style (March 8th). The bread lines were very long, but Russians are patient and would have submitted to standing four or five hours in the cold if in the end they had always been rewarded, but shops were being closed with long lines still before them, and the disappointed were turning away with bitter remarks.
The historic spot for protests.
Cossacks merely keep the crowd on sidewalks.
The open ground before Kasan Cathedral is the historic spot for protests and, true to tradition, the first demonstration against the bread shortage began there Thursday morning toward noon. There were not more than a dozen men speaking to groups of passing citizens. Each gathered a constantly changing audience, like an orator in Union Square, New York. But the Nevsky is always a busy street and it does not take much to give the appearance of a crowd. Examining that crowd, I could see it had not more than a hundred or two intent listeners. A company of Cossacks appeared to disperse it, but they confined themselves to riding up and down the curbs keeping the people on the sidewalks. The wide street was, as usual, full of passing sleighs and automobiles. Even then, at the beginning, it must have occurred to the military commander, General Khabaloff, that the Cossacks were taking it easy, or perhaps the police acted on their own initiative; at any rate the scene did not become exciting until mounted police arrived, riding on the sidewalk and scattering the curious onlookers pell-mell. By one o'clock the Nevskywas calm again, and the street cars, which had been blocked for an hour, started once more.
Duma discusses food situation.
The first snarl of the mob.
That afternoon I went to the Duma, where the mismanagement of the food situation throughout Russia was being discussed. I had a glass of tea with a member of the liberal Cadet Party, and he seemed more concerned with the victualing of the country than with the particular situation in Petrograd. Toward evening I drove back along the Nevsky and my 'ishvoshik was blocked for a few minutes while a wave of working people, in unusual numbers for that part of town, passed. They were being urged on by Cossacks, but they were mostly smiling, women were hanging to their husbands' arms, and they were decidedly unhurried. It was not a crowd that could be in any sense called a mob, and was perfectly orderly, but it did not go fast enough to suit the police and a dozen of them came trotting up. Their appearance wiped the smile away, and when they began really roughing I heard the first murmurings of the snarl which only an infuriated mob can produce. I wondered what the police were up to. They were obviously provoking trouble. I felt then we might be in for serious difficulties—and the attitude of the police gave me the fear.
Watching for the Cossacks to act.
A red flag.
Friday morning only a few street cars were running, but the city was quiet enough until after ten in the morning. Then the agitators, their small following, and the onlookers, sure now of having a spectacle, began gathering in considerable numbers. I was still expecting the rough work to commence with the Cossacks, but after watching them from the colonnades of the cathedral for half an hour I walked out through the crowd and, shifted but slightly out of my route by the sway of the crowd as Cossacks trotted up and down the street, crossed the thick of it. Green student capswere conspicuous, and one of the students told me the universities had gone on strike in sympathy with the bread demonstration. As a company of Cossacks swung by, lances in rest, rifles slung on their shoulders, I scanned their faces without finding anything ferocious there. Some one waved a red flag, the first I had seen, before them, but they passed, unnoticing.
Crowd not yet dangerous.
This time the crowd did not break up but began to bunch here and there as far as the Fontanka Canal. All afternoon the Cossacks kept them stirring, and occasionally the police gave them a real roughing. Each time the police appeared, I heard that menacing murmur, but by Friday evening, when the day's crowd disappeared, the increase in discontent and anger had not developed sufficiently in twenty-four hours to be really dangerous. I felt the Government still had plenty of time to remove the discontent, and an announcement pasted up conspicuously everywhere saying there would be no lack of bread seemed like an assurance that the Government would somehow overnight provide all bakers with sufficient flour. That was the one obvious thing to do.
A tour of the Wiborg factory district.
During the afternoon I made a long tour through the Wiborg factory district, which was thickly policed by infantrymen. Occasional street cars were still running, but otherwise the district was ominously silent. The bread-lines were very long here, and on the corners were groups of workmen. Their silent gravity struck me as being something to reckon with. Still the lack of real trouble on the Nevsky as I came back in a measure reassured me.
Crowd friendly with Cossacks.
Saturday morning the crowd on the Nevsky gathered at the early Petrograd hour of ten, but they seemed to be there to encourage the Cossacks. Wherever the Cossacks passed, individualscalled out to them cheerfully and, even though they crowded in so close to the trotting horsemen as to be occasionally knocked about, they took it good-humoredly and went on cheering. I went away for an hour or so and when I returned the fraternizing of the crowd and the Cossacks was increasingly evident. By this time all sorts of ordinary citizens, catching the sense of events, were joining in the general acclamation. I was just beginning to get a glimmering of the meaning of all this when I was bowled over by the mounted police in front of the Singer Building.
Crowd beginning to challenge police.
Soldiers fire but wound few.
Police inviting quarrel.
The more timorous average citizens began to lose interest, but the workmen and students who were in the Nevsky now in considerable numbers, and arriving hourly, accepted the challenge of the police. They began throwing bottles, the police charged afresh, and by the early part of Saturday afternoon there was really a mob on the Nevsky. Liberally mixed through the whole, though, were the ordinary onlookers, many of them young girls. The Nevsky widens for a space before the Gastenidwor (the Russian adaptation of the oriental bazaar), and infantrymen were now detailed to hold the people back at the point of the bayonet. Meanwhile, all the side streets were wide open and the appearance of a large, angry mob was kept up by constant arrivals. The crowd becoming unwieldy, the soldiers fired into it several times, but they did not wound many, indicating that they were extracting many bullets before they fired. The shooting only augmented the crowd, as Russians do not frighten very easily, and though at a few points it was necessary to turn the corner, I found no difficulty in going back and forth all afternoon between Kasan Cathedral and the Nicola Station—the main stretch of the Nevsky. There was general roughing along this mileand a half of street which could have been stopped at any time in fifteen minutes by closing the streets. Instead, the police charged with increasing violence without doing anything to prevent the people coming from other parts of town. The idea was now unescapable that the police were inviting the people to a quarrel.
Rioting at the Nicola Station.
Evident Cossacks are with people.
The Cossacks were sometimes riding pretty fast themselves, but never with the violence of the police, and the cheering was continuous. At any point I could tell by the quality of the howl that went up from the mob whether it was being stirred by Cossacks or police. At the Nicola Station the rioting was the roughest, the police freely using their sabres. The crowd, though unarmed, stood its ground and howled back, and when possible caught an isolated mounted policeman and disarmed him. In one case the mob had already disarmed and was unseating a policeman, and other sections of the mob were rushing up to have a turn at manhandling him, when a single Cossack, with nothing in his hands, forced his way through and rescued the policeman, amid the cheers of the same people who were harassing him. It was quite evident that the people and the Cossacks were on the same side, and only the unbelievable stupid old Russian Government could have ignored it.
Machine guns installed.
At nightfall the crowd had had its fill of roughing, but Sunday was evidently to be the real day. There would have been, of course, nothing on the Nevsky, if properly policed, and I have been unable to understand how the old Government, unless overconfident of its autocratic power and disdainful of the people, could have let things go on. But though half the regiments in Petrograd were on the point of revolt and their sympathy with the people was evident even to a foreigner, Sunday was mismanagedlike the days before. It was even worse. The powers that were had, as early as Friday, been so silly as to send armored motor cars screeching up and down the Nevsky. Now they began installing machine guns where they could play on the crowd. Up to this time I had been a neutral, if disgusted, spectator, but now I hoped the police and the whole imperial régime would pay bitterly for their insolence and stupidity. The few corpses I encountered during the day on the Nevsky could not even add to the feeling. They were the mere casualties of a movement that was beginning to attain large proportions.
Many soldiers firing blanks.
At the French theatre.
The late afternoon and evening of Sunday were bloody. The Nevsky was finally closed except for cross traffic, and at the corner of the Sadovia and the Nevsky by the national library there was a machine gun going steadily. But it was in the hands of soldiers and they were firing blanks. The soldiers everywhere seemed to be firing blanks, but there was carnage enough. The way the crowds persisted showed their capacity for revolution. The talk was for the first time seriously revolutionary, and the red flags remained flying by the hour. That evening the air was for the first time electric with danger, but the possibilities of the next morning were not sufficiently evident to prevent me from going to the French theatre. There were a sufficient number of other people, of the same mind, including many officers, to fill half the seats.
Imperial box saluted for the last time.
As usual, between the acts, the officers stood up, facing the imperial box, which neither the Emperor nor any one else ever occupied. This act of empty homage, which always grated on my democratic nerves in a Russian theatre, was being performed by these officers—though they did not even seem to suspect it—for the last time.
Lively rifle fire Sunday night.
On my way home at midnight I picked up from wayfarers rumors of soldiers attacking the police, soldiers fighting among themselves and rioting in barracks. But outwardly there was calm until three in the morning, when I heard in my room on the Moika Canal side of the Hotel de France some very lively rifle fire from the direction of the Catherine Canal. This sounded more like the real thing than anything so far, so I dressed and tried to get near enough to learn what was going on. But for the first time the streets were really closed. The firing kept up steadily until four. Farther on in the great barracks along the Neva beyond the Litenie it kept up until the revolting soldiers had command.
Revolt spreads like a prairie fire.
I regret not having seen the revolt getting under way in that quarter. I regret missing the small incidents, the moments when the revolt hung in the balance, when it was the question of whether a certain company would join, for when I reached there it was still in its inception and the most interesting thing about it was to watch it spread like a prairie fire.
The Duma dissolved.
Still not realizing, like most people in Petrograd, that we were within a few hours of a sweeping revolt, I wasted some precious hours that morning trying to learn what could be done with the censor. But toward noon I heard the Duma had been dissolved, and, as there had not been since Sunday any street cars, 'ishvoshiks, or other means of conveyance, I started out afoot with Roger Lewis of the Associated Press to walk the three miles to the Duma.
A silence like that of Louvain.
The hush of impending events hung over the entire city. I remember nothing like that silence since the day the Germans entered Louvain. On every street were the bread lines longer than ever. All along the CatherineCanal, the snow was pounded by many feet and spotted with blood. But there were no soldiers and few police. We hurried along the Nevsky, gathering rumors of the fight that was actually going on down by the arsenal on the Litenie. But many shops were open and there was a semblance of business. All was so quiet we could not make out the meaning of a company of infantry drawn up in a hollow square commanding the four points at the junction of the Litenie and Nevsky, ordinarily one of the busiest corners in the world.
Cavalry commands arrive.
The barricade on the Litenie.
Haphazard rifle-fire.
But as soon as we turned down the Litenie we could hear shots farther down, and the pedestrians were mostly knotted in doorways. Scattered cavalry commands were arriving from the side streets, and the Litenie began looking a little too hot. So we chose a parallel street for several blocks until we were within three blocks of the Neva, where we had to cross the Litenie in front of a company drawn up across the street ready to fire toward the arsenal, where there was sporadic rifle fire. Here there were bigger knots of curious citizens projecting themselves farther and farther toward the middle of the street, hoping for a better view, until a nearer shot frightened them closer to the walls. The barricade on the Litenie by the arsenal, the one barricade the revolution produced, was just beginning to be built two hundred feet away as Lewis and I reached the shelter of the Fourshtatzkaya, on the same street as the American Embassy. By crossing the Litenie we had entered the zone of the revolutionists. We did not realize this, however, and were puzzled by the sight of a soldier carrying simply a bayonet, and another with a bare officer's sword. A fourteen-year-old boy stood in the middle of the street with a rifle in his hand, trifling with it. It exploded in his hand, and when he saw the ruin of thebreech block he unfixed the bayonet, threw down the gun, and ran around the corner. A student came up the street examining the mechanism of a revolver. There seemed to be rifle-fire in every direction, even in the same street, but haphazard.
An officer recruiting for the revolution.
If we had not been living in a troubled atmosphere these small indications would have impressed us deeply, but neither of us gathered immediately the significance of events. Before we reached the next corner we passed troops who evidently did not know yet whether or not they were still on the side of the Government. An automobile appeared full of soldiers, an officer standing on the seat. He waved toward him all the soldiers in sight and began haranguing them. There was no red flag in sight, and, until we caught his words, we thought he was urging them to remain loyal. He was really recruiting for the revolution.
Automobiles and motor trucks.
As we kept on toward the Duma we encountered other automobiles, many of them, and motor trucks, literally bristling with guns and sabres. Half the men were civilians and the number of young boys with revolvers who looked me over made me feel it was a very easy time in which to be killed. I was wearing an English trench coat and a fur cap, so to prevent any mistake of identity I stopped and presented a full view to each passing motor. Still I knew my continued existence depended on the sanity of any one of thirty or forty very excited men and boys on each truck, and when I reached the protection of the enormous crowd that was storming the entrance to the Duma I felt more comfortable.
The Duma waits, but finally takes command.
The Duma had just been dismissed by imperial decree, an ironical circumstance in view of the thousands of soldiers and civilians massed before its doors under the red flag. Their leaders were within, asking the Duma toform a provisional government. The Duma was not yet convinced, and the mental confusion within was more bewildering than the revolution without. This was early in the afternoon, and the Duma held off for hours. Even when it was known that the Preobarzhenski regiment, which began its career with Peter the Great, had turned revolutionary, the Duma insisted on waiting. But at nine o'clock in the evening, when every police station, every court, was on fire and the revolutionists completely controlled the city, President Rodzianko decided that the Duma must take command.
Automobiles dart boldly everywhere.
It is interesting to watch a revolution grow, and even at this time, early Monday afternoon, the revolutionists controlled only a corner of Petrograd. They were working up excitement, and, as often before in the war, the motor trucks played an important part. They thundered back and forth through doubtful streets, students, soldiers, and workmen standing tight and bristling with bayonets like porcupines. They carried conviction of force, and, as each foray met with less resistance, it was not long before they were dashing boldly everywhere. That accounts for the rapid control of the city. It could not have been done afoot.
The revolutionists take the arsenal.
All day, from the time the arsenal fell into their hands, the revolutionists felt their strength growing, and from noon on no attack was led against them. At first the soldiers simply gave up their guns and mixed in the crowd, but they grew bolder, too, when they saw the workmen forming into regiments and marching up the Fourshtatzkaya, still fumbling with the triggers of their rifles to see how they met the enemy at the next corner. The coolness of these revolutionists, their willingness to die for their cause, won the respect of a small group of us who were standing before theAmerican Embassy. The group was composed chiefly of Embassy attachés who wanted to go over to the old Austrian Embassy, used by us as the headquarters for the relief of German and Austrian prisoners in Russia; but though it was only a five minutes' walk, the hottest corner in the revolution lay between.
Soldiers ground arms and become revolutionists.
When we left the Embassy, Captain McCulley, the American Naval Attaché, said he knew a way to get out of the revolutionary quarter without passing a line of fire. So he edged us off toward the distant Nevsky along several blood-blotched streets in which there were occasional groups of soldiers who did not know which way to turn. Then, as the Bycenie, beyond, suddenly filled with revolutionists coming from some other quarter, we turned to cross the Litenie. Twenty minutes earlier Captain McCulley had passed there and the Government troops controlled for another quarter mile. Now we passed a machine-gun company commanding the street, which dared not fire because there was a line of soldiers between it and a vast crowd pouring through the street toward us. The crowd had already overwhelmed and made revolutionists out of hundreds of soldiers, and the situation for a moment wasdramaticallytense.
Down the bisecting Litenie another crowd was advancing, filling the wide street. Before it there was also a company of soldiers, and it did not know whether to face the Bycenie or the river. Three immense mobs were overwhelming it, though it knew of but two. Suddenly, just at the moment when we expected a shower of bullets, and flattened ourselves against a doorway, the company grounded arms and in three seconds was in the arms of the revolution.
Company after company joins.
As we retreated to the Nevsky ahead of the victorious crowd we could see company aftercompany turn, as if suddenly deciding not to shoot, and join.
Thunder of motor trucks.
I walked rapidly back to the Morskaya and down to the cable office, which I found closed, not encountering on the whole two miles a single soldier or policeman until I reached St. Isaac's Cathedral, where a regiment of marines turned up the Morskaya toward the Nevsky, swinging along behind a band. Five minutes later I followed them up the Morskaya, but before I reached the Gorokawaya, half the distance, I could hear the thunder of the revolutionary motor trucks and the glad howls of the revolutionists. They had run the length of the Nevsky, and the city, except this little corner, was theirs. The shooting began at once, and for the next three hours on both the Morskaya and the Moika there was steady firing. This was still going on when, at nine in the evening, I passed around the edge of the fight, crossed Winter Palace Square, deserted except for a company of Cossacks dimly outlined against the Winter Palace across the square. By passing under the arch into the head of Morskaya again I was once more with the revolutionists.
I have since asked Mr. Milukoff, now Minister of Foreign Affairs, at that moment a member of the Duma's Committee of Safety, how much of an organization there was behind the events of that day.
The organization a spontaneous growth.
"There was some incipient organization certainly," he replied, "though even now I could not be more definite. But for the most part it was spontaneous growth. The Duma was not revolutionary, and we held off until it became necessary for us to take hold. We were the only government left."
Duma is forced to adopt democratic programme.
The rapid work was done by the Socialists, who quickly formed the Council of Workmen and Soldiers' Deputies and formulated the programmewhich has come to be the Russian Declaration of Independence. They consented to support the Duma if it adopted their democratic programme. There was nothing else for the Duma to do, and the main issues of the new Government were worked out before Tuesday morning, within twenty-four hours of the beginning of the revolution. Since then I have been repeatedly impressed with the organizing ability of the men in control, and their ability to take matters rapidly in hand.
The crowd feels its power.
Not much terrorism.
Monday night the city was in the hands of the mob. Anybody could have a gun. Public safety lay in the released spirits of the Russian workmen who saw the vision of liberty before them. Tuesday was the most dangerous day, as the crowd was beginning to feel its power, and the amount of shooting going on everywhere must have been out of all proportion to the sniping on the part of cornered police. But the searching of apartments for arms was carried on with some semblance of order, and usually there was a student in command. The individual stories of officers who refused to surrender and fought to the end in their apartments are endless, but these individual fights were lost in the victorious sweep of the day. Tuesday evening the real business of burning police stations and prisons and destroying records went on throughout the city, but the actual burnings, while picturesque, lacked the terrorism one might expect. Still I felt that the large number of irresponsible civilians carrying arms might do what they pleased.
The same idea evidently occurred to the Committee of Safety, as it began at once disarming the irresponsible, and its work was so quick and effective that there were very few civilians not registered as responsible police who still had fire-arms on Wednesday morning.
Regiments sent to Petrograd join revolutionists.
As late as Wednesday there was a possibility of troops being sent against Petrograd, but all the regiments for miles around joined the revolution before they entered the city. There was obviously no one who wanted to uphold the old monarchy, and it fell without even dramatic incident to mark its end. To us in Petrograd the abdication of the Emperor had just one significance. It brought the army over at a stroke. The country, long saturated with democratic principles, accepted the new Government as naturally as if it had been chosen by a national vote.
Copyright, World's Work, July, 1917.
The credit of the first shot fired on the American side in the Great War fell to the crew of the American ship,Mongolia. A narrative of this dramatic event is given in the chapter following.
Gunners of theMongoliahit a submarine.
April 19 has long been celebrated in Massachusetts because of the battle of Lexington, but henceforth the Bay State can keep with added pride a day which has acquired national interest in this war, for on that date the S. S.Mongolia, bound from New York to London, under command of Captain Emery Rice, while proceeding up the English Channel, fired on an attacking submarine at 5.24 in the morning, smashing its periscope and causing the U-boat to disappear.
Officers from Massachusetts.
The gun crew who made this clean hit at 1,000 yards were under command of Lieutenant Bruce R. Ware, United States Navy, and the fact of special interest in Massachusetts is that both Rice and Ware were born in that State, the Captain receiving his training for the sea in the Massachusetts Nautical School and the Lieutenant being a graduate of Annapolis.
Dangerous voyages and cargoes.
TheMongolia, a merchantman of 13,638 tons, had been carrying munitions to Great Britain since January, 1916, when she reached New York Harbor from San Francisco, coming by way of Cape Horn, and she had already made nine voyages to England. In those voyages her officers and men had faced many of the greatest perils of the war. Her cargoes had consisted of TNT, of ammunition, of powder, of fuses, and of shells. At one time while carrying this dangerous freight Captain Rice saw, as he stood on the bridge during a storm, a lightning bolt strike the ship forward just wherea great quantity of powder was stored, and held his breath as he waited to see "whether he was going up or going down."
Warnings of U-boats.
Captain Rice has since died, and among his papers now in my possession are many of the warnings of the presence of U-boats sent to his ship by the British Admiralty during 1916, when every vessel approaching the British coast was in danger from those assassins of the sea.
Mongoliasails in spite of German edict.
After February 1, 1917, when the Huns made their "war zone" declaration, the question with us at home whether theMongoliawould continue to sail in defiance of that edict of ruthless warfare became a matter of acute anxiety. The ship completed her eighth voyage on February 7, when she reached New York and found the whole country discussing the burning question, "Would the United States allow the Imperial German Government to dictate how and where our ships should go?" There was never but one answer in the mind of Captain Rice. At home he simply said, "I shall sail on schedule, armed or unarmed. Does any one suppose I would let those damned Prussians drive me off the ocean?"
In the office of the International Mercantile Marine he expressed himself more politely, but with equal determination, to the President of the company, P. A. S. Franklin, to whom he said, "I am prepared, so are my officers, to sail with or without arms, but of course I would rather have arms."
Arms slow to get.
But the arms were slow to get, and theMongolia, loaded with her super-dangerous cargo, cleared from New York on February 20, the first one of our boats to reach England after the "war zone" declaration, I believe. Captain Rice arrived in London about the time when Captain Tucker of the S. S.Orleansreached Bordeaux, the latter being the firstAmerican to reach France in safety after the same declaration.
Spies try to learn sailing dates.
Early in February of 1917 we became aware that German spies were making a persistent attempt to get into our home to find out when theMongoliawas sailing, and if the ship was to be armed. The first spy came up the back stairs in the guise of an employe engaged in delivering household supplies. He accomplished nothing, and the incident was dismissed from our minds, but the second spy came up the front stairs and effected an entrance, and this event roused us to the dangers around Captain Rice even in his own country and showed the intense determination of the Germans to prevent, if they could, any more big cargoes of munitions reaching England on theMongolia. Our second visitor was a man who had been an officer in the German Army years before. After leaving Germany he came to the United States and became a citizen.
A German-American turns German spy.
In August, 1914, when the Huns invaded Belgium, he became all German again and returned to Europe to serve with the German Army on the French front, from which region he was ordered by the German Government back to the United States, where his command of English and knowledge of the country made him valuable to the propaganda and spy groups here. All this and much more I found out shortly after his visit, but the afternoon he called I (I was alone at the time) received him without suspicion, since he said he came to pay his respects to Captain Rice, whom he had known in China.
Deceiving the spy.
It was not until his apparently casual questions about the time of theMongolia'ssailing and whether she was to be armed became annoying that "I woke up," and looking attentively at this over-curious visitor, I encountered a look of such cold hostility that with a shockI realized I was dealing with a spy, one who was probably armed, and who appeared determined to get the information he sought. In a few seconds of swift thinking I decided the best thing to do was to make him believe that Captain Rice himself did not know whether his ship was going out again, and that no one could tell what course of action the ship owners would take. After forty minutes of probing for information he departed, convinced there was no information to be had from me.
How signals could be sent by German agents.
It was ascertained that his New York home was in an apartment house on the highest point of land in Manhattan. In this same house there lived another German, who received many young men, all Teutons, as visitors, some of whom spent much time with him on the roof. The possibility of their signaling out to sea from this elevation is too obvious to be dwelt on, and it is beyond doubt that some of the submarines' most effective work at this time and later was due to the activities of these German agents allowed at large by our too-trustful laws of citizenship. So exact and timely was much of the information these spies secured that theMongoliaon one of her voyages to England picked up a wireless message sent in theMongolia'sown secret code, saying that theMontanawas sinking, giving her position, and asking theMongoliato come to her rescue, but it had happened that when theMongolialeft New York Harbor at the beginning of this very voyage one of her officers had noticed theMontanalying in the harbor.
Mongoliais armed with three 6-inch guns.
When theMongoliareturned on March 30, 1917, from this unarmed voyage she was given three six-inch guns, two forward and one aft, and a gun crew from the U. S. S.Texas, under Lieutenant Bruce R. Ware, who had already made his mark in gunnery.
TheMongolialeft New York on her tenth voyage April 7 with the following officers:
The officers on the voyage.
Commander, Emery Rice; in command of armed guard, Lieutenant Bruce R. Ware; Chief officer, Thomas Blau; First Officer, W. E. Wollaston; Second Officer, Charles W. Krieg; Third Officer, Joseph C. Lutz; Fourth Officer, Carroll D. Riley; Cadets, Fred Earl Wilcox and Theodore Forsell; Doctor, Charles Rendell; Assistant Purser, J. T. Wylie; Chief Steward, W. T. Heath; Chief Engineer, James W. Condon; First Assistant Engineer, Clarence Irwin; Second Assistant Engineer, William Hodgkiss; Third Assistant Engineer, L. R. Tinto. Six junior engineers—William Hasenfus, E. Larkin, Perry McComb, Sidney Murray, J. R. Fletcher, Lawrence Paterson, Refrigerator Engineer, H. Johnson, Electrician, E. Powers; Dock Engineer, V. Hansen.
Entries from the ship's log.
The log of the ship for that voyage contains these entries:
Sailed from New York April 7, 1917.Arrived Falmouth, England, April 18, 1917.Left Falmouth, England, April 18, 1917, p. m.On April 19, 5.24 a. m., fired on submarine.Arrived Tilbury, London, April 21.Left Tilbury, London, May 2.Arrived New York, May 13.
The Captain's report to the London office of the International Mercantile Marine is dated April 21, 1917, and says:
"I beg to report that the S. S.Mongoliaunder my command, while proceeding up Channel on April 19 at 5.24 a. m. encountered a submarine, presumably German, in Latitude 50·30 degrees North, Longitude 32 degrees West; 9 miles South 37 degrees East true from the Overs Light vessel.
"The weather at the time: calm to light airs, sea smooth, hazy with visibility about 3 miles;speed of the ship fifteen knots, course North 74 degrees East true, to pass close to the Royal Sovereign Light vessel.