Rostov in the Russian Civil War, 1917-1920: The Key to Victory (Cass Military Studies)

ROSTOV IN THE RUSSIAN CIVIL WAR, 1917–1920 These documents were collected from the archives in Rostóv-on-Don, and this book makes them available for the first time in print. Since becoming freely accessible, Soviet archives have provided a rich source for understanding the hopes, fears and strivings of the Russians during the greatest crisis in their history. Both Reds and Whites realized Rostóv’s vital strategic importance, and the city changed hands six times between 1917 and 1920. These newly published personal stories fill out the social background to its complex mix of classes and nationalities. They convey the daily experience of life in the streets, and the perils faced by either side when changing fortunes forced them to escape across the River Don. Over the last century, the slogans of the Revolution have become stale for us. But if we seek to understand the spirit of those years we must remember that these beliefs gave fresh hope to many individuals, presenting a cause for which they were prepared to endure great suffering, and even to sacrifice their lives. Perhaps the passionate enthusiasm of these revolutionaries may give us some insight into the psychology of young men and women who are called ‘terrorists’ today. Brian Murphy was Professor of Modern Languages (Russian) at the University of Ulster 1967–1982. He has carried out research in archives in the National Archives (formerly the Public Record Office, London), Moscow, and Rostóv-on-Don.

CASS MILITARY STUDIES SERIES

INTELLIGENCE ACTIVITIES IN ANCIENT ROME Trust in the Gods, but verify Rose Mary Sheldon CLAUSEWITZ AND AFRICAN WAR Politics and strategy in Liberia and Somalia Isabelle Duyvesteyn STRATEGY AND POLITICS IN THE MIDDLE EAST, 1954–60 Defending the northern tier Michael Cohen THE CUBAN INTERVENTION IN ANGOLA, 1965–1991 From Che Guevara to Cuito Cuanavale Edward George MILITARY LEADERSHIP IN THE BRITISH CIVIL WARS, 1642–1651 ‘The Genius of this age’ Stanley Carpenter ISRAEL’S REPRISAL POLICY, 1953–1956 The dynamics of military retaliation Zeev Drory BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA IN THE SECOND WORLD WAR Enver Redzic LEADERS IN WAR West point remembers the 1991 Gulf War Frederick Kagan and Christian Kubik (eds) BOY SOLDIER The defence of Budapest 1944–45 Erwin Galantay

CONSCRIPTION IN NAPOLEONIC EUROPE, 1789–1815 A revolution in military affairs Donald Stoker and Harold Blanton (eds) THE ARMY OF KHEDIVE ISMAIL Neo-Mamluks John Dunn YUGOSLAV MILITARY INDUSTRY 1918–1991 Amadeo Watkins RAILWAYS AND THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR Harold Shukman and Felix Patrikeeff CORPORAL HITLER AND THE GREAT WAR 1914–1918 The list regiment John Williams BRITISH WAR PLANS, 1919–39 Steven Ross ROSTÓV IN THE RUSSIAN CIVIL WAR, 1917–1920 The key to victory Brian Murphy

ROSTOV IN THE RUSSIAN CIVIL WAR, 1917–1920 The key to victory

Brian Murphy

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published 2005 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX 14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge's collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2005 Brian Murphy All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Murphy, Brian, 1923– Rostov in the Russian Civil War, 1917–1920: the key to victory/Brian Murphy—1 st ed. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Soviet Union—History—Revolution, 1917–1921. 2. Rostóv-na-Donu (Russia)—History—20th century. I. Title. DK265.8.R68M87 2005 947′. 490841–dc22 2004016177 ISBN 0-203-33767-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-415-34977-X (Print Edition)

TO JOAN

CONTENTS List of illustrations

ix

Preface

xi

Acknowledgements

1 1917: the Tsar overthrown

xiii

1

2 1918: after the October Revolution

11

3 1917: party politics

22

4 1918: daily life

44

5 1918–1919: railways after the Whites have taken Rostóv

61

6 Terrorism for a better world

90

7 1920: Red victory

149

Summary of events

173

Glossary

174

Persons mentioned

177

Select bibliography

181

Index

183

ILLUSTRATIONS

Plates

1

River Don from Cathedral bell tower

34

2

Cathedral

35

3

Bridge with lifting span

36

4

Pontoon bridge and Taganrógski prospékt

36

5

Taganrógski prospékt from Pontoon bridge

37

6

Taganrógski prospékt

37

7

Taganrógski prospékt and covered market

38

8

Taganrógski prospékt crossing Pushkin Street

38

9

Taganrógski prospékt crossing Sadóvaya

39

10

Sadóvaya crossing Kazan’ Lane

39

11

Entrance to park

40

12

State Duma on Sadóvaya

40

13

Gille’s shop

41

14

Rotunda

41

15

Railway station

42

16

Armoured train

42

17

Steam yacht Kolkhída

43

Maps

1

South Russia

xvi

2

River Témernik and west Rostóv

xvii

PREFACE

Take Rostóv at all cost, for otherwise disaster threatens. (Lénin, 24 April 1919)

This book makes available for the first time in print a number of documents from the Communist Party archives in Rostóv-on-Don (Centre for Information on the Recent History of Rostóv Óblast’, TsDNIRO fond 12 ópis’ 3). Drawn from this source the passages naturally dwell on the misdeeds of the Whites. In the Civil War, Reds and Whites regarded each other as traitors. Neither had any regard for humane treatment of prisoners or civilians. Cruelties and atrocities abounded on all sides. Had I used more White sources some balance might have been established, with many accusations against the Reds. To a limited extent Rhoda Power, Aten, and Sergéy Mámontov provide glimpses of how the scene may have appeared to anti-Bolshevik observers (see Select bibliography). For the use of historians I have thought it important to preserve complete documents without cuts or amendments. Besides military and political history the book presents personal stories, which fill out the social background to Rostóv’s complex mix of classes and nationalities. The revolutions of February and October 1917 gave positions of power to fresh voices, who often had only the most rudimentary education. Hence, some of these texts are written or dictated with imperfect syntax and a certain amount of repetition. I have not striven to eliminate these features, hoping that clumsiness in the original text may allow us to feel the climate of those years, so crucial in the history of Russia and subsequently through the whole world. The slogans of the Revolution have become stale and slightly ridiculous to us by dint of frequent repetition over the last century, but if we are to understand the spirit of those times we must remember that for many, these words were symbols of fresh hope, and represented a cause for which men were prepared to endure great suffering and even death. In fact, the passionate enthusiasm of young men such as Spírin may give us some insight into the psychology of those who are called ‘terrorists’ today. In the first years after the Revolution, all authority was newly founded and sometimes assumed by individuals who had no proper claim to it. In Russia’s large fluid population newcomers to an area could often fabricate the most audacious lies. Therefore every man had to demonstrate that his right to command had been properly based. Both these factors account for the lists of personal names that occur so frequently in documents produced during and after the Civil War. Non-specialists who find these lists tedious may like to skip them in their reading. They are an intrinsic part of the documents from that period,

and I have deliberately retained them as such. Some readers find Russian surnames a stumbling block, since they are not sure how to pronounce them. To help with this problem I have generally used an acute accent to denote the syllable where the stress should fall. The old measure verstá was roughly equivalent to 1.06 km. I hope readers can make this slight adjustment for themselves, and I have retained the term versts, which was in common parlance for many years even after the Soviets changed to ‘kilometres’. I have given the exact reference to the document I am translating by marking d.(élo)1270 etc. to indicate its place in TsDNIRO, fond 12 ópis’ 3.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Robert Service suggested the theme for this book. The British Academy awarded me a grant, which enabled me to carry out my research in Rostóv. My research assistant, Stanisláva Parétskaya teased out difficult points in Russian, supplied background information on the history of South Russia and compiled the section on daily life in the area. Dmítri Andréyevich Venkóv pointed out ópis’ 3 in the Party archive, which has been such a rich source for documents on the Communist underground in Rostóv. From his deep knowledge of the period Professor Venkóv also gave me useful clarification of some points on which I was uncertain. I must pay tribute to the staff in the archives in Rostóv, who work to such a high professional standard and who were so helpful to me. Sarah Badcock helped with information on 1917 Russian elections. Many useful suggestions for improving the text were made by Christine Wood, my wife Joan, my son David, by Geoff and Diana Swain. Natalya Keys has helped to resolve a number of difficulties in the Russian documents. Vaughan James gave great assistance in suggesting improvements where there were ambiguities, misprints or clumsy wording. The map of South Russia was prepared by Sheila Atton of Nuthaven Partnership. Victor Larchenko gave valuable help with preliminary reading and correcting the map of the River Témernik and west Rostóv. Ken Chapman put his great skill with computers to good use for many points, especially in reproducing this town plan of Rostóv in 1914. John Simmons provided assistance in reading the proofs. Photographs were kindly supplied by Andrey Aparshin. My sincere thanks are due to all these individuals. Any errors that remain are entirely my own responsibility. Brian Murphy Ramsden 2005

Map. 1 South Russia.

Map 2 River Témernik and west Rostóv.

1 1917: THE TSAR OVERTHROWN

The Provisional Government struggles against Germany In 1914, Russia had a fast developing economy, but the country was still a weakling when compared to the industrial and military might of Germany. The old Russian Empire was primitive, corrupt and incompetent. The Tsar was completely incapable of dealing with the problems which the war brought to his country, and he had made a disastrous decision to take personal command of the Russian army. The immediate cause of his downfall was the lack of bread supplies in the capital, but by February 1917, the mass of the people were impatient to see an end to the Tsarist regime. Russia’s Social Democrat Party believed in overthrowing the capitalist system by violent revolution. In 1903, the Social Democrats split into two factions, whose differences proved to be irreconcilable. The majority at the London Congress took their name ‘Bolshevik’ from the lucky chance that they were in the majority on that particular occasion, pushing for revolution at the first possible opportunity. More Social Democrats may well have thought like the Ménsheviks that Russia’s economy should first be allowed to grow under capitalism until it was sufficiently advanced to provide an industrial base for the Socialist state they wanted to introduce. But it was a fatal mishap for them that they had not enough supporters in London in 1903, and hence found themselves saddled with the uninspiring name of ‘Minority Party’. As the dominant voice among the Bolsheviks, Lénin was quite determined that there should be no attempt to unite the Social Democrats by compromising with Ménsheviks. In 1917, active and educated Bolsheviks were a tiny number counted against the whole Russian population. But they played their hand very skilfully, by ensuring that they

Rostov in the Russian civil war, 1917–1920

2

took over in the two main centres Petrográd and Moscow (to avoid its German connotations St Petersburg was renamed Petrográd from 1914, and held this name for 10 years until it became Leningrád in 1924). The Bolsheviks could see they had little chance of consolidating their power through elections to the Dúma, and coined the slogan ‘All power to the Soviets’. Soviets (literally meaning ‘Councils’) were set up in the large industrial centres, and therefore contained a larger proportion of Social Democrat supporters. Over the next two years the Bolsheviks marginalized the other parties in the Soviets, then vilified and expelled them as traitors to the working class. Lénin knew that the Constituent Assembly would have a majority from the Socialist Revolutionary Party, and would thus promote the interests of the peasants rather than the industrial workers in the cities. To prevent this, the Bolsheviks used armed strength to close the Constituent Assembly after its first day’s meeting in January 1918. In Petrográd, February 1917 brought a popular revolution, when masses of people came out on the streets to free Russia from the autocracy of Nicholas II. The Tsarist regime was replaced by the Provisional Government, which struggled to continue the war against Germany. During their seven months of troubled existence the more moderate democrats were constantly under threat of a coup from left or right—the Soviets wishing to establish a workers’ state, whereas right wing nationalists were trying to bring back a more autocratic regime. In October 1917, Lénin’s Bolsheviks seized power in Petrográd. The whole history of the twentieth century was determined by Russia’s Civil War 1917–21. The victory of the Bolsheviks presented the world with its first Communist state. The Russians were still using Old Style dates that had been superseded in the rest of Europe by the Gregorian calendar. In the twentieth century, the old calendar was 13 days behind the normal Western dates. In Russia even the Bolsheviks continued to use the old calendar till February 1918, so that Soviet historians generally referred to the Bolshevik Revolution as ‘Red October’, (albeit New Style dating brought the official celebrations to 7 November). It was symptomatic of the Whites’ rejection of any reform that they clung to the Old Style dates throughout the Civil War.

1917: The tsar overthrown

3

Importance of Rostóv-on-Don Both Reds and Whites recognized the crucial strategic importance of the city. Bitterly contested, Rostóv changed hands no less than six times, falling to the Red Army in January 1920, before the Whites broke back in February to bring brief chaos and panic to Soviet administration in the city. The River Don was a major feature in the landscape where Russia’s future was determined in the decisive battles of 1919. All strategy had to include moving large bodies of men across its wide stream, which made a great arc to the east before swinging towards the Sea of Azóv. Rostóv is on the north bank of the river at the lowest crossing point before the Don opens into its delta, some 46 km above the open water. In winter, the Don is frozen hard with severe low temperatures down to −20°C, and thick ice also forms on the Sea of Azóv, since it contains a large proportion of fresh water brought down by the rivers. The River Témernik flows into the estuary from the north. Peter the Great made a dock there to build the ships, which he was sending against the Turkish fortress of Azóv, captured by the Russians in 1696. Rostóv was founded in 1761, and a shipyard was built in 1782 on the Témernik. Towards the end of the eighteenth century, Catherine the Great brought Armenians to make a settlement to the east along the north bank of the Don. This centre was named Nakhicheván’ after the Armenian town near the frontier with Iran. As Rostóv grew it became part of the RostóvNakhicheván’ conurbation, with the 1912 census showing a population of 199,200. Three railway companies had lines which intersected at Rostóv. The port expanded into a major trading centre, and in 1913 was handling over two million tons of cargo. On this scale, Rostóv ranked as the third largest port in European Russia. It was the nearest point for exporting grain from the fertile black earth steppes of the Don, so that wheat and other cereals formed the main part of its cargoes. Coal from the Donéts Basin was exported by one of the larger shipping lines, owned by a rich Cossack, Kóshkin. Financial misfortunes forced him to close the business in 1905, but in his more prosperous years his ships had ranged out into the Black Sea, and his firm opened branch offices as far afield as Sevastopol’, Odéssa and Batúmi.

Rostov in the Russian civil war, 1917–1920

4

A factory making nails dammed the Témernik to draw water from it, and other firms dumped their waste into the river. It became so befouled and stinking that in 1916 the local authority felt they must pour several barrels of carbolic acid into it to cut down the risk of infection. For many years, both Rostóv and Novocherkássk suffered from their inadequate water supply. This posed a grave risk to health, and brought outbreaks of cholera. Fire was always a threat in towns with so many wooden buildings. In the newspaper reports on ‘Daily life (May to July 1918)’ the Chief of Rostóv Fire Brigade warns the City Council of the danger, which was still serious, because it had been difficult to control two recent fires. The section on railway workers evokes the difficulties the Red Guards faced in May 1918 when they were driven out of Rostóv. In January 1920, as the Red Army recaptured the city the rail bridge across the Don became the lifeline along which the defeated garrison must escape. To close the book I have used the memoirs of Aten and Sergéy Mámontov, who write vividly of the disasters suffered by the Whites as they retreated south. Before quoting from documents produced in the heat of the Civil War I have thought it useful to open with an appraisal of Rostóv, written by a young Englishwoman. Early in 1917, Rhoda Power travelled there to teach English to a 16-year-old girl in one of the rich families in the city (for Rhoda Power, see the section ‘Persons mentioned’). First, I would like to give some explanation of two groups that Rhoda Power singles out for special mention. She writes:

Jews When I had been there for some weeks I realized that there were more Greeks, Armenians and Jews than Russians and Cossacks, and that society was divided into numberless cliques. The Jews, many of whom were said to have become rich since the outbreak of the European War, were admitted into society, but were considered ‘outsiders’, and invited to few of the big social functions. For an Englishwoman, accustomed to freedom of opinion and toleration regarding religious sects, the attitude of the Russian bourgeoisie and peasantry towards the Jews was amazing. The peasants quite frankly hated them and made no bones about it. If one mentioned a Jew by name they used to spit on the ground (Power, 1919:14). What Rhoda Power has noted was a major feature through the whole of southern Russia, and I have given it some prominence in the two pieces

1917: The tsar overthrown

5

on anti-Semitism, which follow the sections on ‘Daily life’. From 1881 Jews had been forbidden to reside in the main centres of European Russia. The Tsarist regime did little to protect them from massacres and the destruction of their shops, even at times encouraging anti-Jewish pogroms (see stories such as Isaak Babel’s The Story of my Dovecote and Shólokhov’s Quiet Flows the Don, part 8, chapter 16). The British committed few armed forces to Russia, but they sent large quantities of equipment, uniforms and other stores, most of which were pilfered by unscrupulous officials in the rear, so that little reached the White units at the front for whom they were intended. Along with military equipment, Britain also sent a few officers to advise the Russians on how to use their guns and tanks. One of these artillery officers was Brigadier H.N.H.Williamson, who became quite disillusioned by the slackness of Deníkin’s Volunteer Army. In contrast he singles out the Jews as an honourable exception. The only bright spot in all the apathy and inefficiency threw a very strong light on one of the most vexed questions regarding social conditions in Russia. That was the keenness, efficiency and persistence in demanding help and advice, displayed by the Jewish doctors, of which there were always one or two in each medical unit. This was the only capacity in which Jews were allowed to serve. It would be simpler to let the Jews run Russia. They seem to be the only people competent to run anything (Williamson, 1970:196–7).

Cossacks Rhoda Power’s memoirs are entitled Under Cossack and Bolshevik, and we should explain something of the history of the Cossacks. For references throughout this book, see the ‘Select bibliography’. Brief personal details on Rhoda Power are included in the section ‘Persons mentioned’. From the sixteenth century many courageous serfs had escaped from their masters and fiercely defended their independent Cossack societies. They were living round the frontiers of the Russian Empire, and were settled in 12 socalled ‘Hosts’ (voyská). The Don Vóysko was the largest, counting 1,427,000 Cossacks in 1912. When the Whites were in power, Rostóv came under the rule of the Don Cossacks with their capital in Novocherkássk. In the early centuries of their history the Cossacks formed a circle for meetings, where any man who wanted to express his views could step into the centre of the circle and speak his mind. As numbers grew they went over to a crude form of representative government, but the Cossack ‘parliament’

Rostov in the Russian civil war, 1917–1920

6

always retained the name of ‘Great Circle’ (Bol’shóy Krug). The Don Vóysko was divided into a number of local administrative centres (stanítsy). The smaller villages elected their own Atamán, and a more powerful Atamán was elected over the whole stanítsa. In general, Cossacks had only an outsider’s view of life in the big urban centres and they had difficulty understanding the rudiments of politics. Even after two years of Civil War many Cossacks thought that they should fight for ‘the Bolsheviks’ against ‘the Communists’ (fearing that Communists might collectivize their land). They had failed to grasp that, by 1919, the Bolsheviks held a monopoly of power in the Social Democrat Party, having suppressed the Ménsheviks, the Socialist Revolutionaries, the Constitutional Democrats and any other party. [Holquist (2002:130–202) gives a good account of political cross-currents in the Don Cossack territory. On the other hand, people living in Central Russia had no idea of how Cossack society functioned. Any Russian with liberal tendencies saw them as a military caste, who might almost be regarded as a sub-human species. Mutual misunderstanding was turned to fierce hostility when the Tsarist government used the Cossacks as a force to disperse popular demonstrations and connived at their pogroms against the Jews. Russians of all classes feared and distrusted them. Many well-minded people thought of them as no better than a race of cruel savages, opposed to any attempt to reform the Tsarist regime and determined to reverse everything achieved by the revolutions of 1917. On 30 June 1917, General Kalédin was elected as Atamán of the Don Vóysko. The Atamán was nominally elected by all adult Cossacks, but under the Tsars he had been appointed by the St Petersburg government. The point is often made that General Kalédin came to power as the first Atamán to be elected by a majority of Cossacks. However, it must be remembered that he was voted in only by the older generation of his people, by those men who had remained at home, being past the age for active service against the Germans. Cossacks fighting in the First World War felt strongly that they did not want to return to the old patriarchal society. When these younger men came back from the front they voted for more left-wing leaders and defiantly refused to work under Kalédin. Holquist (2002:122–32) gives a good account of the Cossacks’ ambivalent attitude to the Soviets.

1917: The tsar overthrown

7

The Cossacks liked to think of themselves as strong Russian patriots, but in practice they did not want to be too much under central control. After the armistice with Germany, as a price for giving further assistance, the British insisted on a single Supreme Commander for all the anti-Bolshevik forces in South Russia. It was only with the greatest reluctance that on 26 December 1918 Atamán Krasnóv finally agreed to place himself under Deníkin’s overall strategy. Even then the Don Cossacks insisted that their Vóysko must operate as a self-contained unit. Bolshevik policy towards the Cossacks fluctuated between trying to win them to the side of the Revolution, alternating with unsparing and brutal repression. In the White advance of 1919, most Cossacks were operating on the right flank of Deníkin’s Volunteer Army, but a minority sided with the Reds (mainly men from the poorer areas north of the Don). The Red Army’s most famous unit was the 1st Cavalry Army, commanded by Budyónny. The 1st Cavalry was created in 1919 in response to Trotsky’s call Proletarians to horse’, aiming to recruit enough mounted units to face up to White cavalry under commanders such as Shkuró and Konstantín Mámantov. In March 1920, when the Volunteer Army were forced to embark from Novorossísk most of the Cossacks left on shore joined Budyónny (cf. Grigóri Mélekhov in Shólokhov’s novel Quiet flows the Don). Before the Whites had to evacuate their men from Novorossísk, 1st Cavalry had contained only a small proportion (some 14 per cent) of Don Cossacks. In 1920, Vrángel’ also had to contend with the 2nd Cavalry Army under Colonel Mirónov. But, hardline Party members always feared that Cossacks might demand more autonomy, and this suspicion led to Mirónov’s imprisonment and death. Much Cossack support was given to the idea of a Southeast Federation, to be formed from the three largest voyská—on the Don, the Kubán’ and the Térek. In July 1918, Krasnóv had written to the Kaiser proposing a similar scheme, which the Germans might well have instituted if they had won the war. On the Allied side Churchill was sympathetic to some sort of Cossack state, which he saw as a counterbalance to a revitalized Russia. The Cossacks sent a mission to the Versailles Conference, but by 1919 their desire for independence was impractical in view of the Red Army’s overwhelming superiority.

Rostov in the Russian civil war, 1917–1920

8

Any idea of such an independent state ran directly against the aim of Deníkin’s Volunteer Army to reconstitute their country as a ‘single and indivisible Russia’. This ambition cost the Whites dear, for it deprived them of support from many potential allies, who might have aspired to some degree of local autonomy. Deníkin’s blind insistence on a centralized state led to bitter quarrels with many Cossacks, and ended in an open rupture with the powerful Vóysko in the Kubán’.

Rhoda Power’s memoirs The young English governess arrived in Rostóv shortly before the February Revolution. The Sabárovs’ house was on Bol’sháya Sadóvaya, still the city’s main street, which runs 4km east-west parallel to the Don. From the end of the nineteenth century, merchants and industrialists had begun to build their offices and factories there. The Sadóvaya was the richest street in Rostóv, the first to be paved and dignified by electric lights, and the main centre for the trams, which had started in 1901. Besides the private houses there were banks, insurance companies, shops, clubs, the town hall and three cinemas. Rhoda Power noticed the disparity in living standards, so much greater in Russia than in Britain.

The appearance of our town was curious, and gave one the same impressions as a picture by a cubist. It seemed to be all higgledy-piggledy, a jumble of vivid colours, domes and oddly shaped houses. Next to some large and ornate mansion with statues at the door and twisted iron gates there would be a tiny wooden hut, thatched with straw and built half underground, so that the windows were on a level with the road. The interior of these cottages was unspeakably dirty, and the smell of humanity and stale food overwhelming. Children, poultry and dogs crawled about the floor indiscriminately, and there was always very little light. The elite of Rostóv society lived in big houses off the main street, which was flanked on either side by fashionable shops. Their rooms always struck me as being intensely uncomfortable and formal in appearance. One missed the friendly open hearth of English houses. The stove, tiled and forming a portion of the wall, gave plenty of heat but was cheerless. Each room had its icon placed high up in the corner near the ceiling. The wedding icon, given to the owners of the house on their marriage, hung in their bedroom, and was usually exquisitely decorated with pearls. A little lamp burnt before it night and day, and was only extinguished for the purpose of replacing the wick. I was a foreigner, so there was no icon in my room, but the old nurse took my little Medici print of St Francis preaching to the birds and hung it at the head of my bed.

1917: The tsar overthrown

9

I was very sorry for the servants: they led such uncomfortable lives; and though they nearly all seemed to be thieves and liars I could not help liking them. Many of them had no bedrooms, but slept rolled up in shawls on the kitchen table or sometimes on the floor. They were not supplied with bedding, as it was generally supposed they would sell anything of which they had the use. They slept in their everyday clothes, and sometimes in the long felt boots that they wore in the streets. Natasha, my pupil, treated all the servants with the greatest contempt. ‘They are real pigs’, she used to say in her broken English; ‘what good to be polite with them when they steal all the time and are dirty’? Certainly she had no consideration for them, and they waited upon her hand and foot, rushing to answer her imperious peal of the bell, and arriving out of breath for fear of bringing upon their heads a tirade against slowness. Nearly all the young girls of the nouveau riche bourgeois class, so dominant in Rostóv, had the same attitude towards the servants. They were paid to work, and so they were given very little peace. They had to do the young lady’s hair, lace her boots, dress her and even bathe her. This bathing was almost like a sacred rite, and was undertaken with the greatest solemnity. As there was no central boiler, the water had to be specially heated, and this took a long time. Wood was scarce, and so the bath was only used once a week (Power, 1919:32). When the Red Guards gained control in Rostóv, many upper class men must have come to regret their contemptuous attitude towards the servants, since it often cost them their lives. We led a slack, luxurious life for the first month after my arrival. In our house white bread, milk and sugar were plentiful. We had cakes every day. How this was possible I do not know, seeing that we had coupons for a limited allowance of sugar and flour. There were, however, sacks of each hidden in an unused room. And while we ate cakes and chocolates at twenty roubles to the pound, caviar, and good fresh meat, peasants stood shivering hour after hour outside the bakery, their tickets clutched between blue fingers, waiting for a loaf of bread. If there were not enough to go round they went away empty handed (Power, 1919:40–1). Far south of Petrográd, people in Rostóv did not at first realize the fall of the autocracy. Rhoda Power noted the wretched state of the men who were being sent to fight the Germans, while Russia was still allied to Britain and France. We in the south could not realize what was happening. We felt rather than knew that something had changed, that the old life was passing away and that somewhere a struggle was taking place. News from Petrográd ceased suddenly. For days the newspapers did not arrive, and only local trains shunted into the station. When we were driving in the town we often met detachments of soldiers on their way to the station. Their boots gaped at the back and were stuffed with bits of old sacking. Sometimes there was one rifle between three men. The wildest rumours were current, and food riots were threatened. Just when it seemed as though the people could wait no longer a messenger came from the station, and in less than half an hour the whole town knew

Rostov in the Russian civil war, 1917–1920

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that the Tsar had abdicated, and that students and workmen were fighting against the police in the streets of Petrográd (Power, 1919:47). With its large population of industrial workers Rostóv had seen earlier strikes and demonstrations, but these had more or less been contained by the police and by Cossacks who used their whips freely to help the authorities keep control. Rhoda Power saw the first consequences of the revolution as comparatively mild. Riots were feared in Rostóv, and many of the rich people expected pogroms, but the town was wonderfully orderly. After a few days the excitement died down. Meetings, which had hitherto been considered criminal offences, were held in the town gardens, in the streets—in fact everywhere. There was much cheap oratory and the students spent their time in showing how the new democracy would affect the lives of the Russian people. It was curious to watch these young men, standing on broken chairs or on the railings, their eyes burning with enthusiasm, enumerating one by one the points in favour of the new regime, and gently trying to explain, as though they were teaching children, how the peasants would benefit (Power, 1919:53).

2 1918: AFTER THE OCTOBER REVOLUTION

January: Kalédin driven to suicide The Soviets had won dominance in Petrográd and Moscow largely by promising the people ‘peace, land and bread’. As the struggle for power intensified soldiers saw no reason to fight against Germany and Austria, so that the front disintegrated—with mass desertions and whole units streaming back to their homes. The crisis that brought the Bolsheviks to power in Petrográd was also felt a thousand miles to the south. On 26 October 1917, when two regiments in Novocherkássk refused to go to the front to fight the Germans, Kalédin introduced martial law. Imitating the revolutionaries in the two capitals local Communists persuaded the Rostóv Soviet to form its own Military Revolutionary Committee, with help from sailors of the former Black Sea Fleet. Ratings in the Imperial Navy were more technically qualified than the mass of peasants who had been drafted into the army in 1914. After the October Revolution, these sailors soon showed themselves to be the most effective armed force operating for the Soviets. From 26 November the Red Guards fought alongside sailors to get control of Rostóv. The Cossacks were not firm in their allegiance to Kalédin, and two days later they surrendered. For a brief interval, power passed into the hands of the Rostóv Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies, but the Atamán moved ‘Junkers’, officers and units still loyal to him to attack the Reds. On the White side Junkers was the German word for young men training to be officers. In these early weeks, the Red Guards were recruited from factory workers with no

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military training, and many of these would-be soldiers did not even know how to hold a rifle.

A peculiar sort of ‘working day’ was established in the front line. In the morning our comrades in the Red Guards would go out to the front in trams and come back to their free time when dusk set in (Proletárskaya 1922:2, p. 18). On 2 December 1917, Kalédin led his second attack and recaptured Rostóv. When he had been elected as Atamán of the Don Vóysko it was only the older Cossacks who had voted him in, and they remained loyal to him. The regiments returning from active service were not all active Communists, but by and large the younger generation of those who had fought the Germans had no desire to return to the old system. On 10 January, they held a congress in Kámenskaya and elected their own Military Revolutionary Committee to wrest control from Kalédin. More and more regiments refused to support the Atamán. The Whites felt the tide was running against them, and on 17 January the Volunteer Army moved further south to Rostóv. The Atamán realized that he could not hold the Cossack capital in Novocherkássk and on 29 January he shot himself through the heart. On 9 February 1918, Kornílov led the Whites out into the steppes. Leaving Rostóv the Volunteer Army amounted to 3,893 combatants with 8 artillery pieces. Various dependants brought their numbers up to more than four thousand (Vólkov, 2000:165). It has to be remembered that in South Russia all March is definitely a winter month with the temperature seldom rising above zero. With no secure base, Kornílov’s men faced many weeks of running battles in the Kubán’, trying to keep up their resistance against greatly superior enemy forces in what came to be known as the ‘Ice Campaign’. Rhoda Power describes the last Whites leaving the city: The death of Kalédin was a signal for great anxiety. The civilian population began to realize that only a section of the Cossacks could be trusted, and that they must pin their faith to the Junkers. The Sabárovs stole out of their house at dusk. They had kept their ultimate destination a secret for fear the servants might betray them. Neither the German governess nor I knew where they had gone. Later I went to a flat that had been placed under the protection of the consular seal and a notice stating that British subjects only were lodged there. We were obliged to walk, as all the cabmen had disappeared. It was dark. The cannon never ceased, and rifle shots seemed to be cracking all around us. We turned into the main street, the Sadóvaya, where the firing was louder. The machine-guns were unpleasantly near, but in spite of all this a queue of people stood before a brightly illuminated building, and I realized that the hour for the opening of the cinemas was at hand and the youth of Rostóv was waiting to be amused…

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For a while the snow blew in fierce blizzards. We stood watching it until supper was announced and the closed shutters hid the desolation outside… At eleven some inspiration drew us to the window. Suddenly a tank trundled down the Sadóvaya towards the station… Ten minutes later an armoured car appeared from the opposite direction. This heralded the retreat of the Volunteer Army. They came, these poor worn-out officers and soldiers, trudging wearily along the snow-covered road. They were too far off for us to see their faces, but their feet dragged, and some of them fell out of line to lean against the wall and rest for a few minutes. Many of them were suffering from minor wounds, for their arms were in slings and their heads roughly bandaged. Their overcoats were torn, and some, who had lost their fur caps, had tied puttees round their ears to prevent frostbite. Not a sound could be heard except the distant roar of the cannon, which showed that a few Junkers had remained behind to prevent the retreating army from being followed. Stretchers were few and far between, but sometimes a muffled burden was carried past, and occasionally a cart containing four or five recumbent figures glided over the snow. Before the stragglers arrived we counted about five hundred men. Were there only five hundred against that big army of Red Guards? (Power, 1919:171–5).

February: Red Guards take Rostóv Red Guards was the title adopted by armed detachments of workers who volunteered under the Provisional Government and were largely responsible for carrying out the Bolshevik coup in October 1917. The Red Army was formally brought into being by a decree of the Soviet government in January 1918. Throughout 1918 the Red Guard units continued to fight alongside the regular Red Army forces and we shall see in Chapter 5 how Avdéyev criticizes the loose discipline of the Red Guards who were to defend the railway against the Cossacks.

For two hours I slept restlessly, until I was awakened by the cannon and a voice at my door whispering: ‘Get up and put something on. They’re signalling over the hill’. It was one of the English girls who had been unable to sleep… On the hill some distance away flashes came and went. There was a sudden glare—a roar—then every light was extinguished and the place was left in darkness. At eight o’clock the next morning the town was very quiet. There were no patrols in the roads, and the shops were all closed. People timidly peeped from their doors, looked up and down, then ventured out. We were among them and a party of us strolled into the Sadóvaya. Everything was as normal as possible under the circumstances, and so we continued our walk in the direction of the station. A little crowd in the distance did not trouble us, and we went down towards it. Suddenly it dispersed, and people scattered to right and left, as two mounted sailors dashed full-tilt up the hill, waving revolvers and shooting in the air. There was general panic, and then the machine gun began. No one knew its target. People pushed and jostled one another, slipping on the ice in the gutters

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as they made for the nearest porches, and cursing those who hindered their progress. We took cover in the house of some Russian friends, whom we found sitting with the shutters drawn, as two bullets had crashed through the window. Later we went home by a side route, wandering up alleys and finally entering the bank under our flat by a back way and creeping up a spiral staircase till we reached our own kitchen. Two of the young British second lieutenants arrived simultaneously, and were greeted with shouts of laughter, for they had put old civilian topcoats over their uniform and Russian caps on their heads. Shortly afterwards, the others returned who had ventured out earlier in the morning. They had seen a section of the triumphant army enter the town, and were afraid they might be attacked, so they hurried home. They told us how the soldiers had marched in, singing and laughing, and how the men greeted them with cheers and shouts, clapping one another on the back and slapping their thighs (Power, 1919:176–83). The Bolsheviks recaptured Rostóv on 24 February. On 26 March, the Red Cossacks’ local Military Revolutionary Committee announced the formation of the Don Soviet Republic. After dinner, which we had according to the South Russian custom at three o’clock, we were startled by what seemed to be a bombardment at our very door. At first we thought that a salute was being fired in honour of the Bolsheviks, and rushed to the window. In the space of a few seconds we realized what was happening. The town was being bombarded from within. Machine guns were being fired, rifle shots rang out. Women and children, shrieking, were crowded together in doorways, crushing one another against the walls. The bodies of civilians lay bleeding in the road. We went down to the ground floor and sat on the stairs. The street fighting must have lasted for a couple of hours. The noise was deafening, and every now and then, when the guns paused, a human voice screamed. We none of us knew the reason for this sudden outburst. Our porter looked out. He told us that dead bodies were lying in pools of blood all along the road, and that many of the corpses were naked… ‘They are rounding up the Cadets and Junkers’, he said, ‘and shooting them as they find them’. All night we heard the revolver shots (Power, 1919:185–6). In 1918, soldiers were short of articles of clothing, and both sides used to strip the slain for anything they were wearing, their boots being especially prized. The Red Army command called for ruthless measures against possible opponents in the town. Anyone who might be linked to the Whites was to be shot on sight, without any trial to establish their guilt. It was customary at that time for boys in high school to wear a uniform cap. Red soldiers treated these teenage schoolboys as having connections with the Whites, and a number of them were shot in the street—for nothing worse than wearing the regulation headgear prescribed for them. These caps were worn by high school pupils throughout Russia and many Red Guards must have known they were not military uniform. No doubt in some cases the boys were shot out of malice, since working-class soldiers resented the comparative wealth and status of middle-class children.

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In February 1918, the Bolsheviks had no time to introduce the rigid censorship of the press which was imposed when Soviet power was firmly established. The newspaper Rostóvskaya rech’ continued to appear, and 13 women took advantage of this to publish an open letter calling for schoolboys to be spared. They pointed out that such wanton cruelty had never been practised even during the worst times of Tsarist rule, and pleaded that the Red Guards might take their lives as mothers but should spare young people of the next generation. At six o’clock the next morning our maid stole out of the house. She was going to the market to buy bread and hoped to escape notice, as the day was still young. At the corner of the street the naked body of a fair-haired boy lay stretched across the kerb in the snow. She crossed herself and covered it with her apron, but the soldiers, who stood beside it, laughed. They had sold the clothes and boots in the market and were counting the notes. Nástya hurried on. Near the church two more nude bodies lay face downwards. The blood still dripped into the gutter. A soldier, passing by, jerked his thumb over his shoulder and pointed at them. ‘Cadets’, he said and spat. At about eleven o’clock a peremptory summons at the door disturbed our peace, and we let in six soldiers. They found black bread in our larder where they expected to see cakes, and their astonishment was unbounded. ‘But you are the burzhúi’, they said; ‘where is your white flour?’ We had none, and said so, quickly opening our bins and cupboards. We wanted to get them out of the kitchen as soon as possible, as their sheepskins smelt so strong. Another noise at the door drew us unto the passage and we opened to a second search party. Its chief, this time, was a bright little fellow who could not have been a day more than sixteen. He stumped into the dining room, motioning to his men who grouped themselves behind him. ‘Your firearms’, he said politely. ‘We have none’, we answered. He looked at his revolver and waved it about in such a casual way that we each kept one eye on it all the time he was speaking. ‘We are British subjects.’ ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘we beg your pardon. We have no quarrel with you. Továrishchi, give back anything you have taken. Come on’. They clattered through the hall and we watched them from the stairs. The little leader hitched his gun on his shoulder, saluted with the charming smile of a happy-go-lucky schoolboy, and disappeared into the street (Power, 1919:187–8). Rhoda Power spells ‘burzhúi’ as the Russian pronunciation of the French word ‘bourgeois’, used by Marxists to denote the idle rich capitalists who were exploiting the working class. Továrishch ‘comrade’ was the normal form of address when members of the working class wanted to identify with ‘workers’ with whom they could make common cause. In a later document, Novokhátski has been arrested by the Whites and is anxious to prove to his captors that he is not aligned with the Bolsheviks. ‘My knees were shaking, although I thought that now I must summon up all my energy and show that I was not a Communist. But at the same time the word “comrade” kept creeping into my speech’ (p. 98).

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Later in the morning one of our officers returned. He and two others had been arrested at their house but liberated by the Bolsheviks at headquarters, and he had hurried round to see how we were. Unfortunately he had brought a revolver with him and put it on his dressing table. A few minutes later Nástya, who was cleaning the room, found it, and hearing voices in the passage, fled with it to the attic, where she hid it. As she came down the stairs there was a terrific noise outside and loud angry voices demanding an entrance. The továrishchi shouted at us, shaking their revolvers: ‘You are accused of shooting at the patrols from the top window. Give us your firearms or we’ll turn the machine guns on the house’. They went up the stairs to the attic and we looked at one another, horrorstricken. The discovery of that revolver would have meant certain death for the men of our party, but fortunately the soldiers were too drunk to search properly, and they came down empty-handed. For three days the Bolsheviks brought their machine guns onto the main street and at four o’clock fired at no special target for a couple of hours. They did little material damage beyond breaking windows and chipping plaster off the wall. Our house was in the Sadóvaya, and the position was dangerous, so we decided to evacuate and go to different friends. Shortly after this the British officers left Rostóv and we reluctantly bade them good-bye. They had been such a comfort to us, and we felt that no one else could have looked after us so well or treated us with such friendliness and courtesy (Power, 1919:188–94).

March: the Don Soviet Republic The Red Guard, searching systematically from house to house, arrested anyone in whose possession they found a military uniform, and killed any Junker who was hiding. Many of these boys pretended to be servants in their fathers’ houses, but were denounced by the real employees and shot before their own doors. Others fled to the cemetery and hid for days among the graves. One lady whose daughter was buried in the cemetery visited the grave and found the Junkers. She was so touched by their misery that she went home, disguised herself as a peasant, and returned with friends dressed as workmen. They brought food and clothes, buried the Junkers’ uniforms in the tomb, and wished the boys God-speed. Some of them escaped, but others were recognized and shot… ‘They are fine’, said one of the soldiers. ‘But they cannot fight’, said another. ‘They sent an armoured train down the other day. Twenty of them were in it. Twenty against all of us. That’s not fighting. They were all killed, but when we came up, three nurses, who were with them, stood with revolvers in each hand and blazed away without stopping. We threw hand grenades. Of course we did not want to, but… oh, well, that’s not fighting’… Poor little Red Cross nurses, standing alone with the dead Junkers lying round them and firing revolvers until they were bombed (Power, 1919:194–7). Rhoda Power described the scenes of looting and disorder that prevailed even after the Communists claimed to be in control. She understood readily the widespread hatred among the working classes for those who had been better off. In her memoirs she quoted entries from her diary:

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27 February The streets are full of továrishchi in old sheepskin coats and astrakhan caps. They go to the doors of houses and beat on them with the butt ends of their rifles till they are opened, when they surge up the stairs hunting the Junkers and ‘requisitioning’ (for purposes of the State, so they say) anything to which they happen to take a fancy. Some of them are wearing swords encased in exquisitely chiselled sheaths inlaid with Caucasian metalwork. 28 February I met a friend of the Sabárovs (Madame M) today in one of the side streets. She was dressed as a servant and she looked quickly at me, half afraid, as though she thought I might recognize her, but I passed on without a sign. 4 March Katya’s friend, who went into hiding with her brother, was arrested with him by the Red Guard. The two foolishly tried to go home and are now in prison until their father, on whose head there is a price, shall voluntarily give himself up and take their place. If the father does not appear within six days the girl and her brother are to be shot. 5 March M passed through Pushkin Street today. He was out before breakfast. On the other side of the road a student was walking. ‘Ha!’ cried a továrishch, ‘another of the intelligentsia. So you will educate yourself above the people, will you? There!’ And he shot him through the head. The boy fell with a little cry, and before he was quite dead his clothes were taken off and sold to a passing peasant. 7 March M was here again. He is trying to rescue a Junker girl who worked as a nurse in the hospital and has been imprisoned. I wish he would keep off the streets. He walks about, and if he is recognized he will be shot. He went the other day (sheer madness on his part) to the station, which he says was a perfect shambles! The officers were trying to escape by train. They disguise themselves as workmen, but a detachment of the Red Guard examines the hands of passengers, and anyone who has delicate fingers is killed. A lot of these youngsters are working in the factories simply to coarsen their hands. The telephone was working and I rang up the Sabárovs’ German governess. She begged me not to come near the house, as a guard had been placed round it and she was not allowed to go beyond the garden. Three search parties had been all over the house and the soldiers had stolen ornaments. The first set had been drunk and had kissed and flirted with her till she was speechless with fear. They went away without troubling her further, but later the next ones abused her, using the coarsest of epithets when they addressed her and beating her with their rifles because she trembled so much that she could not open the doors quickly enough. They roared with laughter when she showed signs of fear and forced her at the point of the bayonet to prepare them a meal, which they devoured, pocketing the forks and spoons when they had finished. The third party accused her of harbouring Kornílov, and sought for him all over the house, spitting on the floors and prodding the beds and chairs with their bayonets. The servants had stolen the wine and spent the night dancing and singing. Some of them came to her room and told her that she must join them as everyone was now equal and she was no longer a ‘young lady’ (Power, 1919:199–206). In July 1917 Kornílov had been promoted as Commander-in-Chief. In August he attempted to lead a coup against the Provisional Government. After his march on Petrográd failed he was arrested, but after the October Revolution he came south, where he joined Alekséyev and Deníkin to form the Volunteer Army. In February 1918, Kornílov was in command

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of this small force of 4,000 men and their dependants. They had no secure base and had to move from place to place in their desperate ‘Ice Campaign’. In March 1918, Kornílov was far south of Rostóv, and on 13 April he was killed by a shell while trying to attack Yekaterinodár. General Deníkin took command to lead the ‘Volunteers’ back to the area of Novocherkássk. Rhoda Power’s account of measures introduced in 1918 shows features which were to become the norm in districts where the Soviets took over the administration, for example the tax levied on any community which had resisted them or even villages and towns which they suspected of being reluctant to welcome their rule. The rate of tax demanded was often so high that people had real difficulty finding the funds to pay it. Some of the wealthier citizens would be taken as hostages and were executed if the tax was not paid by a given date. In the meantime the Bolsheviks had been drawing up their laws. Their first move was to take over all the banks and to confiscate the money for the State. They gave each banker’s client a maintenance allowance of a hundred and fifty roubles a week, irrespective of the number of people this man had to support. So a family of two received the same as one of seven, unless the latter contained two people banking in different places, in which case the amount would be doubled. The allowance was ridiculously inadequate, as prices were so high, and many families were on the verge of starvation. The Soviet taxed the bourgeoisie on the grounds that the town had resisted and must therefore pay a tribute. This tribute was twelve million roubles. Each rich inhabitant had to pay a sum proportionate to his wealth. He could not draw the money from the bank but must collect it from his friends or produce it somehow (Power, 1919:208–9).

April: Rhoda Power escapes In the spring of 1918, the Germans were advancing from Ukraine, anxious to send back to their homeland the rich supplies of grain produced by Russia’s fertile black earth belt. At this time, in most Russian units, discipline was almost non-existent and the well-ordered German army was indisputably the most effective force in Russia. Since the Soviets had no men capable of resisting them the Germans knew they could insist on hard line terms, and on 3 March the Soviet government was forced to sign the humiliating treaty of Brest-Litovsk. The Germans drove back many thousands of Russian soldiers, and the Red Guards’ unbridled excesses caused great hostility in the areas they were passing through. In Rostóv and other parts which were still under Soviet control, there was widespread revulsion at the cruelty of the Bolsheviks. In April 1918, the Volunteer Army had returned greatly

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strengthened from the Kubán’ and with German support they took Rostóv at the beginning of May. People by then welcomed any regime that restored some measure of law and order. Rhoda Power continues:

All this time I had been making inquiries at the Consulate regarding the approach of the Germans, and when I heard that their army was not far off, I was determined to leave Rostóv. The British Consulate was halfway along the Sadóvaya (near its intersection with Prospékt Chekhova). Baedeker (1914) placed it at 44 Nikoláyevski Lane. I used to visit the Sabárovs daily, taking care not to go into their house if there was anyone in the street because people knew that I was their ‘English girl’ and they did not wish their hiding-place discovered. Towards the beginning of April they became much more cheerful, as the Cossacks in Novocherkássk were arming against the Bolsheviks and the Germans were definitely known to be near Taganróg. ‘Only think’, said Natasha, ‘those Anarchists, pigs and gooses that they are, have taken our box in the theatre. When the Germans come all will be in order’ (Power, 1919:237–8). In the years leading up to 1917, anarchists had formed quite a significant part of the opposition to the Tsarist autocracy, and the Soviets named one of the districts of Moscow after their leader Prince Kropótkin (1842– 1921). Following the October Revolution it became obvious that it was impossible to reconcile their ideals with the programme of the Soviet government. Nevertheless the Bolsheviks felt that they posed less of a threat to dictatorship of the proletariat than other parties such as the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Ménsheviks. There were wide differences between anarchist ideals and the stern tyranny of Soviet rule, but none of them wanted a return to the old regime. Néstor Makhnó, the most famous anarchist leader, attracted so much support in southern Ukraine that his forces became a significant factor in bringing about the defeat of Deníkin in 1919. Young Natásha’s silliness may seem comic in its naïveté, but gives a good idea of how so many middle-class people failed to understand the enduring changes which the Revolution had brought. The war between Germany and the western Allies was to continue until November 1918, and Rhoda Power was quite correct in thinking that she would be interned if she stayed in Rostóv and fell into German hands. She explained to her pupil: ‘The Germans may keep me here for the duration of the war. I think I must go, Natasha. You shall visit me in England.’

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‘Then you must marry and have the ménage. And please, Little Spider, you are so thin that you must choose a fat husband, for otherwise will your children never be proportioned.’ I had two days in which to do everything and sufficient food for three weeks had to be bought. Coffee was thirty-six roubles a pound and sugar non-existent, but we managed to find some good cheese and smoked sausage, and we bought numberless eggs for hardboiling (Power, 1919:239–40). By 1918, railways throughout Russia were already short of fuel. Trains would go only when the engine driver could be induced to move by bribing him or threatening his life. Even for these irregular services there were interminably long delays, and all carriages were packed with people, as Rhoda Power describes this train from Rostóv. We had some difficulty in discovering the train as the station was so crowded and it was impossible to leave the luggage unguarded. Soldiers of the Red Guard stood outside the gates and laughed as they pointed out the foreign burzhuíkas running away. After wandering along the lines among numberless wagons and engines, we succeeded in finding the refugee train, which had such a fixed and stationary look that we thought we should never get off. It was surrounded by továrishchi smoking bad tobacco, and Armenian beggars sitting with babies in their arms on the dusty platforms. Old wizened women, clutching baskets and puffing at dirty clay pipes, crouched against the wall, staring at us. The refugee carriage had come from Mariúpol’ and contained about thirty people, English, Belgian, and French. The interminable waiting exhausted us before we had started, and only when we had discovered that the sausage that was to form our most staple means of subsistence was almost inedible, our carriage was attached to the Moscow train and the továrishchi began to climb onto the roofs and storm the other compartments. We were protected, as our carriage was labelled ‘English Mission’, but in spite of this we shut all the windows lest the soldiers should try to invade us. The train was both filled and covered with peasant women and soldiers sitting on the roofs, clinging to the ventilators. Workmen got astride the buffers. Though we expected to be at least three weeks on the way, we were very disappointed when after rolling for about half an hour, the train suddenly came to a standstill and remained stationary for four hours. Everything was covered with smuts and from the far corner of the upper berth two flat red insects crawled stealthily over the cushions. I went to the lavatory, where I made the depressing discovery that there was no water on the train. The French-women who shared the coupé with us were horrified. After a while the train moved on again, and we continued our journey until just outside Novocherkássk. Here we pulled up with a jerk, and the familiar sound of rifle shots greeted our ears. Blowing out the candles, we pressed against the windows, listening. For some minutes we thought the train had been held up by brigands, but we gradually distinguished through the gloom the forms of soldiers, Red Guards in flight before the Cossacks. They were ducking and stumbling through underbrush, wet with melting snow, throwing down their guns as they ran (Power, 1919:241–7).

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Rhoda Power had to leave the train in Novocherkássk and seek refuge in the house of a Cossack family. Three days later, the Reds broke back into Novocherkássk and their house was invaded by the Red Guards. One of the továrishchi sat at the desk, rummaging and tearing papers he could not read and cursing because he found no money. During this we received a telephone message that our train would leave the station within an hour. ‘Továrishch,’ I said to one of the soldiers, ‘I must go out and get a cab’. He had his head almost on my shoulder, and was trying to make love to me. ‘You can do what you like, little pigeon’, he replied affectionately, and I ran to the door. There were soldiers on the pavement and they surrounded me. They advanced upon me with their bayonets. ‘Now look here, little doves,’ I said as boldly as I could, ‘you can’t go killing British subjects like that. There will be a row with the British government if I do not arrive home safely’. ‘Let the young lady go’, said one, and so I escaped to find my cab. After a vain search I returned to the house, where a number of soldiers were standing round the door refusing to allow anyone to proceed to the station. Argument was useless, and if it had not been for a Danish doctor, who knew Russian sufficiently well to bluff, we should never have reached the train in safety (Power, 1919:252–3). The refugees travelled on to Moscow and eventually reached Múrmansk, where they embarked on a ship for England.

3 1917: PARTY POLITICS

Rhoda Power provides an outsider’s view of the start of the Civil War. The main part of my book consists of documents drawn from the archives in Rostóv-on-Don. They are listed roughly in chronological order and fall into four main groups: 1 The political struggle for South Russia. 2 The adventures of Reds escaping from Rostóv in the summer of 1918 after the Whites expelled the Don Soviet Republic and took control of the city. 3 The Communist underground in Rostóv and Nakhicheván’ during the 18 months of White rule. 4 The Red Army retake Rostóv. To close the book I have included extracts from memoirs of Aten and Sergéy Mámontov, who describe the retreat of the Whites until they were forced to evacuate from Novorossísk in March 1920. Readers who feel puzzled by any of the terms used may like to refer to the ‘Glossary’ at the end of the book. After the abortive protests of 1905 the Tsarist government allowed some degree of liberty to political parties. In very broad terms, three main groupings were working in the years up to 1914: Social Democrats, Socialist Revolutionaries and various types of liberals’, such as the Constitutional Democrats, whose title was generally abbreviated to Kadéts. The Social Democrats were very different from what we understand by the term today, since they believed in overthrowing the old regime by a forcible revolution. In 1903, they split into two factions, namely the Bolsheviks, who wanted an immediate end to capitalism, as opposed to the Ménsheviks, who thought Russia’s economy must be given time for further development before Socialism could be introduced. From March 1918, Bolsheviks styled themselves as the Russian Communist Party (Bolshevik) and were generally referred to by the abbreviated form of this title RKP(b). I have included the following two pieces as examples of the real efforts being made in 1917 to set up institutions which would be democratically elected. Over the whole vast area of Russia, voters and officials were working with newly established electoral laws. The elections can be criticized here and there for some deficiencies; nevertheless it is truly remarkable how they attracted such a large turnout of voters, often some 80 per cent of the newly enfranchised men and women. The national Duma had existed under severe restrictions during the final years of Tsarist Russia, but it was only in 1917 that elections to local Dumas acquired a genuine

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meaning. Local Duma elections meant that: ‘By October Russia’s political electorate was politically aware’ (Rosenberg, 1969:163). After the February Revolution it was planned to convene a Constituent Assembly to decide the future shape of Russia’s constitution. Elections were held in the autumn of 1917. In rural areas, the Socialist Revolutionaries received a large majority of the votes cast, and it was plain that these representatives of the peasants would be the largest party in the Constituent Assembly. This would not have suited the Social Democrats, since their strength lay mainly in the large industrial centres. Marxists saw the urban proletariat as the main force to advance a Socialist Revolution, and in the large cities industrial workers had found strong representation in the newly created Soviets. Lénin declared that they would provide a higher form of democracy, and the Bolsheviks adopted the slogan: ‘All power to the Soviets’. They condemned the Constituent Assembly, and it was closed by the Red Guards and Bolshevik sailors in January 1918. Over the whole territory of the Don Cossacks Atamán Kalédin received only 45 per cent of the total votes and the Socialist Revolutionaries did well. The western area of the Vóysko had coal mines, and was more industrialized than other areas of the Cossack territory, so that the Donéts District was exceptional in bringing the Bolsheviks up to second place in the number of votes they received. It was no doubt for that reason that left-wing Cossacks returning from the front chose Kámenskaya as the meeting place for the units who rejected the Atamán in January 1918. Rostóv had voted on 9 July with a total poll of 70,555. The largest vote went to the Socialist Bloc (excluding Bolsheviks): 51,586. The next highest total was for the Kadéts: 10,346. The Cossacks came third with 3,084, and the Bolsheviks could only muster 2,184 in fourth place (Rosenberg, 1969:152, quoting Rostóvskaya rech’ 11, 12, 13 July 1917). The election in Aleksandróvka to the east of Rostóv was held later than most, but it is interesting to see the procedures laid out with care and precision. In the 1917 elections the contesting parties were identified by a number, rather than using the name of the party concerned.

Divisional Electoral Commission: record of proceedings (compiled 15 November 1917 in Aleksandróvka, Rostóv District) Voting for members of the Electoral Commission on 12, 13, 14 November 1917 in the Aleksandróvka Constituency, comprising the villages of Khistichev, Noltavski, Tsyganka, and Pavlo-Ochakovski. Chairman: Konon Mashchenko; Secretary: Ivan Dubatov; members: Luke Cherevko, Semyón Sokolóv. Elections carried out on all three days from 8 a.m. On the table where members of the Electoral Commission were seated was a closed box for voting papers. Before voting started it was established by the Electoral Commission that these boxes were empty. To ensure that each elector could vote in secret, two rooms were set aside in the building where the Commission was sitting. The polling station was open on 12 and 13 November from 8 a.m. till 8 p.m., on 14 November from 8 a.m. till 2 p.m. A total of 4,646 electors were included in the electoral register.

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As each elector presented himself he showed his identification, was marked in the list, received an envelope, went into a room, which had been designated for voting. When he came back he gave his sealed envelope to the Chairman of the Electoral Commission, who placed it in the box in the presence of the person voting. The Chairman excluded the following persons from voting as being mentally deficient: Anna Alekséyeva, Maríya Peletskaya, Maríya Stepenchenkova, Yevdokím Chugún, Radion Chugun.

Total number of votes cast: 3,933 Each elector was noted as having cast his vote by a tick marked against his name in the electoral register. On 12 and 13 November at 8 p.m., on 14 November at 2 p.m., the Chairman announced that only those persons already in the polling station would be admitted to vote. Electors who were already in the building cast their votes. At 5 minutes past 2 on 14 November it was declared that polling had closed, and people in the polling station were told that they could witness the counting of the votes. The following persons were invited to assist the Electoral Commission in counting the envelopes and voting papers: Alekséy Berezhnoy, Aleksándr Chugunov, Zakhár Mashchenko, and Aleksándr Khoruzhenko. The envelopes were taken out of the voting box and counted while still unopened. They amounted to a total of 3,933. This figure was 20 papers more than the voters against whose names a mark had been placed. To explain this discrepancy it may be that some electors were mistakenly not ticked off as having cast their vote. After this the Chairman proceeded to open the envelopes, and he announced the number of the party for which that vote had been cast. The Secretary noted the number of votes cast for each party list and counted them out aloud. It was unanimously agreed that the number of valid votes cast amounted to a total of 3,878. Votes cast for each party were placed together in bundles, sealed and numbered, separated from the votes cast for other parties. Then the bundles were placed in seven packages. Each package was labelled with the name of the party whose (valid) votes it contained. It was unanimously agreed that 55 votes should be declared ‘null and void’. The Chairman signed a statement on each of these non-valid votes explaining why it was found not to be valid. All the voting papers were laid out and tied in the order in which party’s votes that package contained. They were then put together in one package. The total number of votes cast amounted to 3,933, of which 55 were not valid. The total figure for effective votes amounted to three thousand eight hundred and seventy eight (3,878). When the poll closed on the first two days the opening on the ballot box was sealed, and after everyone had left the polling station door was sealed at the entrance to the building. On the second and third day of the elections the seals were removed from the entrance door and then from the ballot boxes. It was noted that the seals were intact up to that moment.

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During the whole time the elections were in progress there were present not less than three members of the constituency Electoral Commission.

The Nakhicheván’ Duma The local Duma in Nakhicheván’ was elected in 1917, well before the October Revolution, but the account which follows was written when the Bolsheviks were firmly dictating what could and what could not be said. Hence this document pours ridicule on the democratically elected members of the Duma.

The Duma had 60 members: 34 Ménsheviks, 18 Socialist Revolutionaries, 6 Kadéts, and 2 Bolsheviks. The first session was opened by the former mayor, Popóv. Tense with emotion, he only made a short speech. His voice and his hands were trembling—at the end he left the platform and rushed away, without waiting a single second for the Duma to start. The SR Ratner was elected Chairman, and the Ménsheviks chose Minskin as their representative. It was decided that the Duma would be convened twice every month, with provision for other meetings if necessary. The Duma examined questions prepared by their office staff. When these had been approved by a Commission of the elected members they were placed on the Duma’s agenda, to be discussed and finally passed or rejected. At that time there were a great number of questions, all of which were to be implemented under this most democratic procedure. Many plans were drawn up to build better housing for the workers; they even considered making a city park for the bourgeoisie, for which they assigned a huge sum of 6,000 roubles. This was approved by the Duma, although the figure was slightly reduced. But such a sum of money was held neither by the Duma nor by its administrative staff- so what practical result could actually be achieved? What were the Duma and its staff doing? The Duma presented a sort of theatrical spectacle for a large audience of onlookers. Special seats were set aside for members of the public, although they did not have to pay for the show. At a session in the chamber they could hear fiery speeches from the Ménsheviks, Socialist Revolutionaries, and even the Kadéts. Only on the extreme left comrade Turno’s businesslike approach poured scorn on all this grandiloquent oratory. In the debates, the Ménsheviks, being in the majority, put forward proposals which accorded with their wishes and objectives. Discussions followed, party by party. Even the Kadéts went off at a gallop. Particularly eloquent was Derzhánov, who outran anything that had been approved by the other members of his party. They had to restrain him by pulling at the tails of his jacket. The Ménsheviks observed these comic antics of Derzhánov, and trusted their leader to respond. He demolished the Kadéts with such comic effect that the Duma presented a scene which excelled anything that could be imagined in a theatre. So, after prolonged applause from all the benches and even from the general public, that session of the Duma closed in uproarious merriment. All that was lacking was a final comic song.

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After the session the Secretary began to work out whether the Ménsheviks had outdone the Kadéts or vice versa. After much hesitation he could not decide, and consoled himself with the idea that Nakhicheván’ had outstripped Rostóv, the only trouble being that the Kadéts ran out in front and howled like dogs. In the end the Secretary had to resign himself to what had happened. Officialdom Morning has come and all are working at full steam. Heads of departments scribble out one scheme after another. The offices are crammed with petitioners, and the debating chamber is overflowing. People are queueing to hand in applications for soldiers’ wives to receive pensions; a second queue is waiting to have the money handed out, but no cash is forthcoming because the Duma has not approved the accounts. There are more and more queues: one to get coal, another for bread ration coupons… Wherever we go there are countless queues. Each official has a messenger standing in front of his door, who will not admit anyone until the previous applicant has come out. The Mayor has a notice on his door ‘No applicants today’. Probably he has been swamped with proposed schemes. Although this is the season when there is most to do in the fields, the official responsible for allocating land is receiving emissaries from nearby villages, who are petitioning for land to be rented out to them. In great agitation they are asking: ‘Will the land soon be available?’, but when they push in the official just tells them ‘The matter is under consideration’. They did not have to wait long before the Land Commission passed the question to the Duma. The Ménsheviks named the renting out of land as the most essential factor in the whole economy of Nakhicheván’, and instructed the Land Commission to arrange for auctions. These auctions went on for a full month. As though on an all night drinking bout the deputies sat arguing till 3 a.m. and even right through the night—but they could not reach a sensible solution. On one side the Ménsheviks insisted on getting a good price for the peasants who owned the land. The SRs were in the middle, some for increasing the price, others trying to get it reduced. In this way the auctions might have dragged on for ever, but the SRs grew tired of holding the balance and had the good idea of bringing in an Inter-departmental Commission of lawyers. The land sales took place, where the Ménsheviks had to give in, and the land went at 13 roubles per desyatína (roughly 1.06 hectares, or 2.7 acres) instead of the 40 roubles they had wanted. The SRs were given a thorough scolding, and so the work of the Duma continued until Kalédin came in. With one order he abolished the Duma, and officials who refused to submit were arrested. Then he dismissed the administration, and so the Duma came to an end. It passed away quietly.

Delegation to Kalédin: sailors capture Cossack general (Shmánov, d.1270) The document which follows deals with November 1917, when it was still uncertain whether Rostóv would be controlled by the Bolsheviks or by the Cossack Atamán Kalédin.

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1917 was a great, historical year which cast off the chains of capitalism from the workers, peasants and working class Cossacks—a splendid period which will always remain bright in my memory. During the February and October Revolutions I was at Taganróg in the 247th Infantry Regiment of the Tsarist army. The popular mass of soldiers in No. 4 Company elected me as their representative to the Soviet of Workers, Soldiers and Peasant Deputies. The Soviet was largely Ménshevik, betraying the interests of the working class, and the Chairman was a man called Herman. After the February Revolution soldiers’ committees had replaced the old officer corps. Their prime concern was to carry out the wishes of the rank and file who had elected them. Requirements of military discipline were ignored, and the committees made no effort to stop the growing tide of deserters who were streaming back to their homeland, leaving the front undefended against the Germans. At that time there were few people who spoke out openly as Bolsheviks at the meetings. I still remember the following comrades: Shabilyévski, Khilkov, the two Shtyb brothers and the woman Shtyb. It is true this group was small in numbers, but in quality they were strong. Battling constantly against the Ménsheviks and their like, they revealed the truth, calling on the workers to struggle against their enemies and to unite only under the red flag of Communism. At that time the Soviet appointed me to take charge of distributing all the newspapers that came in large bundles from Moscow. The papers tended to be Ménshevik in tone, like the Soviet itself. We only rarely received Pravda and Our Banner. This last paper was brought to us by the workers themselves, by whatever means they devised to get it through. On one occasion I had to receive Our Banner in the Rotunda building in the park. It was passed to me by comrade Vasíl’chenko, and had been forwarded on after it had almost caused a fight between the workers, since the small quantity of copies brought in was not enough to cover the demand. Besides that, most of the copies were given to the military units. The other papers were hardly read or even looked at by the workers. They were tied up in bundles and pushed down into the cellars under the building where the Soviet was meeting. Born in 1884, Semyón Filippóvich Vasíl’chenko was one of the senior Social Democrats in the area. From 1900, he had been employed in the workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway, but was expelled in 1901 for distributing revolutionary pamphlets. He continued his illegal activities in Tikhorétskaya and the Kubán’. In 1903, he participated in a workers’ demonstration which even reached the centre of Rostóv before being dispersed by Cossacks and soldiers. Vasíl’chenko was condemned to two terms of forced labour in Siberia, where he organized Bolshevik groups. Returning to Rostóv in 1917, he edited the paper Our Banner, was elected to the ill-fated Constituent Assembly, and began to prepare armed groups of Bolsheviks to fight for control of the city. He was a member of the Military Revolutionary Council of the Don Soviet Republic, and in Khár’kov he became Commissar of the Donéts Republic, where Lénin reproved him for seeking too much autonomy.

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I well remember the day when the factory workers read General Kalédin’s orders, pasted up on every fence, and how they cursed the whole pack of bourgeois dogs. These orders declared the whole of the industrial area to be put under martial law. Furthermore it was from this moment that the Government of the Don Cossack Vóysko assumed full power to rule the whole population of the Don Óblast’, but the workers realized only too well what all that meant. Soon afterwards General Nazárov came to Taganróg with Junkers and a Cossack battery of heavy artillery. Everyone knew why they had come: the local garrison could not be relied on. Apart from the Trans-Amúr Cavalry Regiment, the infantry all sided with the workers. When the Junkers came the workers were very restive and would not allow the Soviet to work without interference. Cossacks were grouped in 12 territories in border areas of the former Russian Empire, and in their regiments they served with other men from their local Vóysko. One of the smallest Voyská was on the Amur River, far away on the eastern border of the Empire. The largest Vóysko contained about one-and-a-half million Don Cossacks, ruled by Atamán Kalédin in their capital at Novocherkássk. After Kalédin’s suicide, Anatóli Nazárov became Atamán of the Don Cossacks, but on 18 February 1918 he was executed by the Bolsheviks. When the Reds were driven out again in May the Cossacks elected General Krasnóv, and he renamed their organization as the Almighty Vóysko of the Don. Krasnóv had quite friendly relations with the Germans, but this was an inconvenience when they surrendered to the Allies in November 1918, and from 6 February 1919 Afrikán Bogáyevski took over as Atamán. By this time the standing of the Bolsheviks had risen to a hundred per cent, so that the Ménshevik Soviet could feel how the mass of the people were getting more and more estranged from their compromising policy. In their usual way they passed a resolution to send a delegation to General Kalédin in Novocherkássk to clarify the questions that had arisen. If I remember rightly it was on that very day that the Black Sea Flotilla sailed into Taganróg, and representatives of the sailors also became members of the delegation. Coming out of the building where the Soviet had been held, our sailor comrades were enraged to see that Junkers had been placed to guard the Soviet. The Black Sea Flotilla consisted of small ships seized from officers of the Imperial Navy and now under the command of naval ratings with their extreme left-wing attitudes. In 1917, everyone in Russia was still using the old calendar, 13 days behind the rest of the world. The above-mentioned delegation consisted of six persons: one from the Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies, one from the infantry regiments, one from the sailors, two from the Trans-Amur Cavalry Regiment and one from the Cossack Battery. I also joined the delegation, as representative of the infantry units.

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On 24 November 1917 when we arrived at Novocherkássk railway station we saw: (1) There were absolutely no main newspapers except for Priazóvski kray and other counterrevolutionary ones. When we asked why there were no Moscow papers we were told that Kalédin had forbidden any newspapers from central Russia to come into the Don Óblast’. (2) In the station there were many officers with shoulder straps, like a great wolf pack thirsting for the blood of workers and working class Cossacks. (3) When we had gone through the station we saw a car waiting for Vasílyev, the Ménshevik from Rostóv, who had come with us in the train. Kalédin had sent the car specially for him, and he immediately went off in it. Shmánov is referring to Borís Stepánovich Vasílyev, who was Chairman of the Ménsheviks in Rostóv and a major political figure in South Russia. Brovkin (1994:247) gives a perceptive analysis of the difficulties confronting any party trying to hold a reasonable position in the middle ground: ‘For right Ménsheviks like Vasílyev the Bolsheviks’ record since October 1917 had already demonstrated that to expect democratic socialism from them was to engage in self-delusion.’ The Bolsheviks expelled B.S. Vasílyev from the Rostóv Soviet in April 1920. Reshetova summarizes Kalédin’s attitude towards other parties: The Atamán allowed on an equal basis meetings of Socialist Revolutionaries, Constitutional Democrats, and Monarchists and he closed them down with impartial firmness as soon as they tried to interfere with the Vóysko’s internal affairs’ (Reshetova, 1998:27). We plodded into the town, heading straight for General Kalédin’s palace. There we were met by a great tall officer, asking who we were and why we had come. When he found out who we were he took us to his own room, beside the staircase leading up to Kalédin’s quarters. Shortly afterwards the ADC left us to take a message to Kalédin. While he was away one of our delegation, a lieutenant in the Trans-Amur Regiment pointed to some officers’ caps lying on a table, and said to us: ‘Look at that. Kalédin is receiving a mission from France and England.’ We looked at each other wondering why they were there, but we had no answer to that question. The collapse of the Russian army had freed large numbers of German soldiers, who could be transferred to the Western Front to fight against Britain and France. Allied diplomacy was concerned with keeping some Russian forces in the field to make at least a token resistance to the Germans. The ADC came back and suggested we should go to another premises in town, where General Kalédin would also come in 15 minutes. We entered a big building (formerly intended for Town Council staff). They led us through into a large hall, evidently used for sittings of the Vóysko government. They sat us down by the wall, and now Kalédin appeared in the doorway, wearing a big silver medal round his neck. We all stood up, as behoves subordinates in the armed forces. The Atamán came up to us and asked: ‘Who are you, where have you come from, and why have you come?’ The comrade on the left

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of our line answered: ‘Sir, this is a delegation from Taganróg.’ Then Kalédin paused to face and greet each of us in turn. He went up to the Cossack delegate from the heavy artillery battery and said in a surprised tone: ‘Are you a Cossack?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How do you come to be here? After all, surely you know that we Cossacks have our own affairs to run and our own interests. We can always come to an understanding among ourselves in a separate room, so you can stay with us and go back later.’ In that way the Cossack actually did stay and did not return with the rest of us. However that may be, Bogáyevski, Kalédin’s main adviser, whispered in our ear: ‘You should sit down.’ At that point we all went over to a large table covered with a green cloth. We sat down along one side of the table, facing many officers sitting on the other side, even up to General Alekséyev. Now Kalédin started to ask us questions. But when he found out that we had a mandate to act on, he asked for the text to be read aloud. After our directive had been read it was passed across to him. When the Atamán came to the sailors he asked: ‘Why have you come as uninvited guests to our peacefully flowing Don?’ Without a moment’s hesitation the sailor said: ‘Working class Cossacks asked us to come to defend their interests from the generals and rich landowners.’ Sitting beside Kalédin, Bogáyevski shook with rage and declared: ‘Our Cossack sabres are still not too blunt to deal with anyone who tries to destroy our peaceful life as Don Cossacks. Indeed all of us are hard-working Cossacks.’ The sailor answered him: ‘If that’s the way it is then we still have plenty of shells.’ One of the officers who was sitting beside Bogáyevski put his arm round the sailor’s shoulder and said: ‘Not so much noise. Don’t get so excited!’ Bolshevik policy in the Cossack territories alternated between completely destroying all Cossack society as a hostile class, as against attempting to win over the poorer ‘working class’ Cossacks to make them stand out against the richer kulaks, who employed hired labour. This latter idea of encouraging poor peasants to take land from the kulaks who had exploited them was the policy the Party tried to implement in most other areas of Russia. In practice, the idea of a ‘working class Cossack’ was hard to grasp. All Cossacks were regarded as a privileged caste, with military service under their own special terms and more land for each household. In the Cossack villages there were more local schools, and most Cossacks could read and write, in contrast to the large proportion of illiterate peasants in other areas of the Russian Empire. If a Cossack was still illiterate when he was called for military service, his regiment would ensure he was taught to read and write to an acceptable standard. Cossacks despised peasants from other parts of Russia. The main reason they were wary of Communist doctrine was the fear that the Party would take their land from them and distribute it to the poorer peasants from non-Cossack areas.

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The delegation asked a number of questions, roughly as follows: 1 Will martial law be lifted, since there is no need for it? No change, the state of emergency will continue. 2 Will the workers be released from prison, including the Cossack Gurev? No reply. 3 Why are all these officers running down to Rostóv from every corner of Russia? They are coming in to seek refuge from the Bolsheviks. 4 Why have many infantry regiments been disbanded? We don’t need the infection of Bolshevism in our land. 5 For what reason and to what purpose are special officers’ regiments being organized in Novocherkássk? That is our military secret, not to be announced publicly. The Vóysko government promised to give written replies to many questions, but that was evidently a diplomatic ploy, and nothing was forthcoming. When we got back to Rostóv we went to the Mars Theatre, to a large meeting of workers and soldiers. The meeting had been arranged to celebrate the arrival of the Black Sea Flotilla, which had come in about midnight. As the meeting dispersed those who had participated were highly charged with revolutionary spirit. Our delegation had intended to stay for the night in the building where the Soviet had been held. But the sailors offered to take us on board the steam yacht Kolkhída, and we accepted their invitation. We had hardly started to deal with a number of questions that we considered of interest when as quick as lightning, comrade lieutenant Zhuk came flying in with a rifle in his hands, trembling and white as a sheet. When he had got his breath back, the lieutenant told us that there had just been an attack on the Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies, and there had been some casualties. That was on the night of 25–26 November. This news affected all of us, and was even frightening. But in the Mars Theatre comrade Syrtsóv did not lose his head. He went over to the telephone, called up General Potótski, commander of the forces in Rostóv, and the General asked: ‘Who is speaking?’ ‘Do you know who gave orders to attack and break up the Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies?’ Potótski: ‘Yes, I do. That was done under my orders.’ Potótski, Major-General Dmitri Nikoláyevich (1880–1949): 1917-went to Kiev; 1918—Chairman of Commission for prisoners of war; 1919— Representative of the Red Cross in Germany. Then comrade Syrtsóv threw down the telephone with such force that part of it broke off. It was clear that any further talks would be useless. They immediately worked out a plan for further action, and decided in the first place to arrest General Potótski and those with him. On the spot they organized a Commission of Five Members, under the chairmanship of comrade Drachúk. They issued a summons to the population of the Don, which began with the following words: ‘On the night of 26 November we sailors were disturbed by the news that the premises of the Soviet had been attacked, that one of our members, comrade Kundí was foully

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murdered, as also were Kazerbyúk, a member of the Red Guard headquarters, and two Red Army men. From this moment the Commission is taking the Rostóv Soviet under its own protection, and is going to stamp out this counter-revolution. Working class Cossacks are not guilty of what has been done, but we see the putsch as being an act of some Junkers, dressed up in Cossack uniform, together with their officers.’ By morning General Potótski and his companions had been arrested and brought aboard the steam yacht Kolkhída. The whole day went by in an exchange of fire between the revolutionary Flotilla and the Junkers. A lot of shells overshot the target, but finally one of our shots destroyed the Junkers’ position. By evening there was urgent news: ‘Kalédin is occupying Rostóv.’ Ménshevik propaganda had sapped the morale of our forces and it seemed the only thing we could do would be to retreat. Comrade Drachúk, in command of the Flotilla, gave orders for the Kolkhída to leave. But that ship drew so much that she could not pass over the shallows of the Don estuary, and we had to stop. Everyone had to be transferred to a trawler, and we ferried our prisoners over to her, including Potótski. But even with the trawler it was not all plain sailing, since the wind had lowered the level of the water. After making some headway she came to a stop. Throughout the night we went to work, pulling bags of sand ballast out of the hold. By morning the wind blew in from the sea, so that the water level rose and the trawler got under way. When we got down as far as Gnilóvskaya a boat came out quite close to us, with five Cossacks armed with rifles. Standing up in the boat one of the Cossacks shouted: ‘If you don’t halt the ships in five minutes the guns in front of you will open fire.’ The Don delta has winding shallow channels that are quite difficult for any ship to navigate. Although tide hardly exists in the Sea of Azóv, the direction and strength of the wind may reduce the depth of water, so that conditions vary from day to day. The Whites were occupying the northern shore of the estuary and were threatening to fire shells from there. The commissar of our Flotilla, comrade Drachúk replied: ‘If you don’t get out of our way in five minutes, then you will be shot on the spot, along with Potótski.’ General Potótski appeared on deck. The officer who was standing in the boat saluted him. Potótski said, speaking to the officer by name: ‘Don’t you worry about me, the sailors are treating me well and even giving me quite good food.’ After this conversation the boat went away. We steamed on down. The question of how to treat our prisoners had been decided. But suddenly we saw another boat in the distance. It was full of men, and heading straight towards us. This turned out to be a delegation from General Kalédin, who gave us an ultimatum to release all our prisoners, including General Potótski. If we did not, they would shoot the sailors they were holding under arrest—some 16 men in all. Our sailors had to face the question: should we go on and do what we had intended or should we exchange prisoners? It was resolved to carry out an exchange in the Don estuary. We got into the winding channels—no sign of a ship. Then one of our sailors climbed the mast and saw a steamer bringing the prisoners, and it came up quite close.

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We started on the process of exchanging our men. When Potótski was rowed across to his ship, he bade us a polite farewell and thanked us for our hospitality. Our sailors looked at him angrily. The sailors we had received in exchange for Potótski began to tell us how older Cossacks had lashed them with whips when they were being arrested. We sailed to Taganróg, said ‘Goodbye’ to our sailors, and went off, each about his own business. It was seven o’clock in the evening. I made my way to my regiment, where a general meeting of soldiers had been called. After a report on the general situation the meeting came to a decision. Since we had no rifles, machine guns, cartridges or other ammunition, we should disperse to join other revolutionary units. After that was decided we started to divide up all the stores between ourselves, and it was funny to see many men putting on several army jackets, shirts, overcoats etc. The Committee worked all night, giving anyone who wanted it a pass to go on leave, by order of General Kalédin. By morning the barracks and the stores were empty. General Nazárov and the Junkers deliberately refrained from making any difficulties, as it was in their interest to disperse regiments which were inclined to be rebellious. So it was that the infantry regiments all went out of service. One could see all those large numbers of men being transported along the railways. I went to Oblivskáya in the Don Óblast’, where the 2nd Infantry Regiment and 23rd Cavalry were stationed. In that area I had to work among them, alongside progressive, revolutionary active comrades. As energetic and steadfast comrades I must particularly mention comrades Morkovitski, Bordakov, Ivanov, Khoróshi and others. The superfluous phrase ‘and others’ was widely inserted during the Soviet period to make sure one had not given offence by omitting some significant names from a list. At the first meeting of the garrison, the indignant officers were calling on everyone to support General Kalédin and the Vóysko government, and to carry out the order under which they were all to go to put down the workers. The Cossacks flatly refused, and suggested that the officers should take off their shoulder straps. The Cossacks themselves tore shoulder straps off any officers who were unwilling to meet their demands. Shoulder straps (pogóny) were particularly hated by the rank and file, who saw them as a sign that officers claimed superior status. The resolution taken by this meeting was printed in due course in the newspaper Our Struggle, published in Tsarítsyn. In their deceitful way the officers prepared the machine gun detachment to act against the revolutionary-minded Cossacks, and early one morning they launched an attack on their quarters, wounding quite a few of the men. Later on the Cossacks arrested several officers and sent them off to Tsarítsyn. After that most men dispersed to their homes. This left the revolutionaries unable to sit it out without support, and they all had to take refuge in Tsarítsyn. A Cossack military section was organized there, with me as Chairman, and this gave good service to help revolution in the Don Óblast’. The year 1918 was beginning.

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A.Shmánov 30 April 1925

Plate 1 River Don from Cathedral bell tower.

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Plate 2 Cathedral.

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Plate 3 Bridge with lifting span.

Plate 4 Pontoon bridge and Taganrógski prospékt.

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Plate 5 Taganrógski prospékt from Pontoon bridge.

Plate 6 Taganrógski prospékt.

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Plate 7 Taganrógski prospékt and covered market.

Plate 8 Taganrógski prospékt crossing Pushkin Street.

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Plate 9 Taganrógski prospékt crossing Sadóvaya.

Plate 10 Sadóvaya crossing Kazan’ Lane.

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Plate 11 Entrance to park.

Plate 12 State Duma on Sadóvaya.

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Plate 13 Gille’s shop.

Plate 14 Rotunda.

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Plate 15 Railway station.

Plate 16 Armoured train.

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Plate 17 Steam yacht Kolkhída.

4 1918: DAILY LIFE

To avoid connotations with the former Tsarist police the term ‘militia’ was generally used. However, this is far from the normal meaning of ‘militia’ as we understand it, and in most cases I have translated militsiya as ‘police’. Shmánov remarked that Kalédin permitted Priazóvski kray and as he says ‘other counter-revolutionary’ newspapers, and it is from that paper that these varied items on daily life are drawn. Outside the dramatic changes of fortune as Rostóv changed hands many routine features continued as in any large town. For example, during the 18 months of White rule, horse races continued on a weekly basis at the hippodrome.

January: Kalédin’s brief control It has been announced that, due to the high price of fuel, materials, and labour, the Belgian company,’ South Russia’, has asked the Duma to give urgent consideration to raising the charge for electricity from 1 January to 1 rouble 50 per kilowatt (80 kópecks for government institutions). Workers at the electricity station are demanding a rise in their wages and that their dependants be allowed to consume gratis the electrical current for two lamps. The Central Arbitration Service has considered the demand for a rise in wages made by workers at the Aksáy factory. The Central Arbitration Service has authorized a rise of 1 rouble 50 for workers at present receiving 2 roubles a day, and for women and juveniles a rise of 1 rouble per day. Kopmykóv, Chief of Police, has presented a report to the City Administration, in which he notes that the Social Committee for the Police has introduced an eight-hour working day. Experience has shown that this measure is impracticable. He requests the Administration as a matter of urgency to review the resolution passed by the Social Committee for an eight-hour day, and to cancel it.

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Needy students Both men and women students have recently been feeling the pinch. That is because there is a shortage of part-time jobs: many hospitals have closed, food shops have greatly reduced their staff, and there is virtually no demand for teachers and tutors. Letters are delayed for two or three months before they reach Rostóv, and students from other areas are not receiving money from home. Some sample advertisements Kindergarten and preparatory classes to be managed by P.Kh. Tertel’yan, who accepts boys and girls from 4 to 10 years old. Student of Don University will teach and coach mathematics for 2 roubles per lesson. Reply to 210 Pushkin Street. Teacher (student specializing in history, geography and nature study), former officer, will give lessons for food or a room. Parisian lady, university graduate, offers lessons in literary theory and practice. Special attention paid to pronunciation. Desired: dinner per lesson. A student who is an experienced tutor will teach and coach the most lazy, dull-witted, and hopeless pupils. Wanted: a tutor, preferably French, for two children (6 and 8 years old). Needed: a nursery maid for two children. Dentist (five years experience) seeks post as assistant or stand-in for another dentist in a clinic. Has own dentist’s premises. Assistant required for wholesale grocery business. Soap manufacturer seeks a partner (with capital) for soap production. N.A.Belinski requests that he may be allowed to stage dramatic productions in the city theatre during Lent, Easter, and the week following. Health At a recent meeting of the authority for combating plague in our area it was resolved that the population should be told to inform the Disinfectant Team about any animal that dies, and health inspectors will be sent to that place. The opening of the bacteriological laboratory has been postponed since no one has handed in a single rat to the Disinfection Centre. Crime Speculation in sugar On 4 January Svetlíchny, the official responsible for District 1, was requested by Mrs Bundyúk, proprietor of the Empire Café, to allow her to purchase granulated sugar @ 4 roubles 50 a pound, and fine sugar @ 5 roubles 75. When making that request she declared she had 7 poods of granulated sugar. It was discovered that the sugar was owned by a certain Bifman. A search was carried out at 122 Staropochtovy Lane, which found 5 poods of granulated sugar.

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The pood was a pre-revolution measure of weight equivalent to 16.38 kg; ‘pound’ here is used to translate the old English measure approximately 453.6 gm, and a’pound’, as today, equalled 454 gm. Speculation in tobacco On 17 January three soldiers (Títkov, Velisko, and Zhbanov) were arrested for speculating in cigarettes. Sugar ration coupons stolen By order of the Supplies Administration a search was carried out at the premises of A.V.Nésterov. 100 sheets of sugar coupons were found which had been stolen from the Nakhicheván’ Administration. Burglary On the night of 4 January Kóriyev’s haberdashery shop at 61 Sadóvaya Street was robbed by thieves who broke through the wall from the next-door dairy. Goods were stolen to the value of 7,000 roubles. Thieves’ den A few days ago officers of the Criminal Investigation Police received information that there was a thieves’ lair at house 17, Line 21 in Nakhicheván’, run by Dár’ya Lyubichóva, a woman with a criminal record. The den was known to criminals as ‘Malína’. A search was carried out and many stolen goods were found, worth at least 25,000 roubles. Lyubichóva and her partner were arrested. ‘Malína’ (lit. ‘raspberry’) was a widespread term for criminals’ quarters. To this day streets running North-South in Nakhicheván’ are numbered as lines’. Misuse of treacle It has been shown that illegal distillers have contrived to make a kind of alcoholic drink from some lower grade treacle. The Óblast’ Supplies Administration will take molasses into store. Death sentences On 30 December 1917 a session of the Odessa District Military Court on circuit in Novocherkássk judged the case of three Rostóv robbers MuraMysakhlyanski, Masin and Zaslávski, charged with attacking a watchman Kalínin at his post on Bul’várnaya Street. They threatened Kalínin with their revolvers and wrenched his revolver from him by ripping it from his belt. They are all condemned to death by hanging. Strikes Batáysk At 4 a.m. on 17 January there ended the partial strike of railwaymen in Batáysk, which had arisen because of misunderstandings between railwaymen and Cossacks. They are restoring the track which had been torn up. Rostóv On 18 January there was a general meeting of station staff, skilled tradesmen and workers in the main workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway. More than 3,000 people were at the meeting which was very tumultuous. Bolshevik speakers enjoyed great success, their every word being greeted with roars of applause. The question of a strike was discussed. In order to guard the rail bridge a small detachment of Junkers with two machine guns had been posted in the station near Galinítsov yard. This served as a pretext for the Bolsheviks to call on the workers to strike. The majority of those present protested against the few workers who reminded the meeting about the great responsibility of each individual to their country and about the fatal consequences of a strike. The new Rostóv

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stationmaster spoke at the meeting and declared that the patrol was there only to protect the bridge. The Bolsheviks were insisting on a protest strike. Their motion was carried unanimously, with only one abstention. The resolution declared that staff and workers of the Vladikavkáz Railway were now ordering a sit-down strike and would proceed to a full strike if the following demands were not met: 1 All troops to be removed from the station. 2 Any persons arrested on political grounds to be freed. 3 Railwaymen’s organizations to be free from any government interference. 4 Clear all buildings of the Vladikavkáz Railway occupied by troops. The resolution stated: ‘None of us should side with Kalédin and the oppressive forces of the Tsarist regime, but we should be supporting the revolutionary people’. Finally the resolution orders that henceforth no locomotives or rolling stock should be placed at the disposal of the South Eastern Union, and any such that are with it now should be returned immediately. Military All goods addressed to Rostóv or elsewhere in the Don Óblast’ are being requisitioned by Bolsheviks who have occupied Chertkóvo station. Recently they took possession of a wagon with 8,000 pairs of galoshes belonging to the Rostóv firm, Treugól’nik. A lot of leather and manufactured items were also taken. 1,500 pairs of the requisitioned galoshes were given out to Bolshevik soldiers, and they went in for speculation, selling the galoshes @ 15 to 50 roubles a pair. The Bolsheviks have also requisitioned flour at the Tatárinov mill and meat from cold storage. Chertkóvo is near the northern border of Rostóv Óblast’ on the main line to Moscow.

May to July 1918 (under Krasnóv) The second collection of cuttings from the newspaper relates to the summer of 1918 after the Whites had reoccupied the city. Blokhín (‘From Rostóv to Tsarítsyn’) gives 2 May as the date on which the Reds evacuated their forces. The Whites were now in control until the Red Army broke back into Rostóv in January 1920. During these 18 months of White supremacy, a local Mayor and administration might deal with Rostóv’s day-to-day business, but important decisions were taken by the Atamán from the Don Cossack capital in Novocherkássk. General Krasnov was elected Atamán at the beginning of May 1918 (end of April by the Whites’ old calendar). The congress, which elected him, dispersed on 18 May. The

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following document makes arrangements for convening the next meeting of the Krug. Order of 4 June 1918 If any Cossack with the right to vote as a member of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don has Bolshevist sympathies he is helping to put off our convening a Bol’shóy Krug, since we are suffering from difficulties caused by military operations. We really should wait for peaceful conditions throughout the territory of the Vóysko. We also need to ensure that the maximum work of the Krug does not have to be undertaken at the busiest time for everyone’s work on the land. Taking this into consideration I decree that the Krug shall open on the Day of the Assumption of the Most Holy Virgin, 15 August (Old Style). (GARO, f.861, op.1, d.52) Since the German forces were so strong and well-disciplined, the German High Command held the ultimate power in South Russia until Germany surrendered to the Allies in November 1918. During this last year of the Great War, Germany was being blockaded by the Allies, supplies were running low, and the overriding priority for the Germans in South Russia was simply to take out large quantities of grain to feed their own people. The military campaigns of the Civil War have been well described by Evan Mawdsley and many other historians. Obviously news of the war came into the papers every day, and I have not repeated it here, concentrating rather on the conditions which affected all those who were living in Rostóv during these years. When I made a detailed study of this period I was surprised how much ‘normal’ life survived. Except at the times when there was fighting actually on the streets of Rostóv there would be theatres, cinemas and concerts, and horse races were held once a week in the summer months. One gets the impression that during these 18 months of White rule some attempt was being made to keep inflation in check. For example, in a later chapter Vasílyev says that 180 roubles was still an acceptable bribe in 1919. It was only when the Red Army returned in January 1920 that the rouble completely lost its value. We need to bear in mind Brovkin’s assessment of conditions after the 18 months of White rule: ‘When S.M. Budyónny’s cavalry took Rostóv, they were allowed to plunder “bourgeois” neighbourhoods for three days. As in Odessa, White officers who had stayed in the city were seized in the streets and in their homes and executed on the spot. Wounded officers were finished off in the hospital. Some “class” enemies were burned alive. Shops were looted. Red Army soldiers had not seen such well-stocked stores since before 1917. They discovered that workers in Rostóv were paid 50 percent higher wages than in the land of the victorious proletariat’ (Brovkin, 1994:232–3).

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Novocherkássk budget In the Novocherkássk Duma session of 17 May 1918 the staff presented a statement on the finances of Novocherkássk. At the present moment the financial affairs of our administration have reached their greatest crisis point. It is essential that we find money to meet the following calls on our resources, which cannot be delayed: 1 The salaries of those who serve the administration have not been paid in April and cannot be paid in May. To cover this we must assign a total of 165,000 roubles. 2 During the Civil War the town’s transport services, fire brigade, and agricultural support branch have lost 108 horses and a large quantity of stores, amounting to a total of 200,000 roubles. It is particularly urgent to restore the transport service in view of the foul state of our streets, especially in hot weather. We must set aside 150,000 roubles for cleaning services and agricultural work. 3 The water supply system needs urgent repairs; otherwise the town is threatened with a complete breakdown of the water supply. This will cost 10,000 roubles. 4 The shortage of coal makes it necessary to find 160,000 roubles this year to keep water supplies and electricity functioning. 5 Fire brigade: Procuring forage for the horses 80 roubles. 6 Military quarters: Responding to demands from the military authorities, repairs must be undertaken on 33 properties set aside for soldiers. Cost 110,000 roubles. 7 Bills: 113,000 roubles must be paid on accounts for which settlement cannot be delayed. 8 Debt: To settle debts and borrowings for immediate needs 70,000 roubles. TOTAL SUM for all immediately essential expenditure 857,000 roubles. To meet this demand the administration’s Treasury has available funds up to 10,000 roubles, precisely the amount required for daily current expenses. The Duma voted to open a special current account for 500,000 roubles to cover all the current needs of the town at a rate of interest not to exceed seven and a half per cent. The sum owing to be paid off periodically as funds become available for this purpose. This proposal was accepted by a large majority, with one vote against. The means to implement the resolution are to be raised by a loan from individual contributors, backed by a promissory note from the Council for up to 100,000 roubles, to be paid off under six months at not more than seven per cent. The account that follows, relates to the early days of White rule; the first warning about food must have come out while they were still establishing their control. To bring the date into line with the calendar in the rest of the world we have to remember that 1 May (Old Style) should be adjusted to 14 May (New Style). Gurvich wants to follow the Whites’ desire to favour market forces rather than regulating the economy by orders from the Communist Party.

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Supplies 1 May At a meeting of the Don Óblast’ Food Committee the question was raised as to whether the Óblast’ Food Administration should be wound up. The proposal was made by S.M. Gurvich, who spoke as a member of that body. ‘Today’s Priazóvski kray’, said Gurvich, ‘prints an official communication from German Headquarters. This marks the limit of their advance into Rostóv and the Don area. It shows that they propose to set a clear limit to the territory they will occupy. There is no truth in reports that the Germans are going to advance into the Kubán’ and Stávropol’ Province. As for tasks confronting the Óblast’ Administration it has just one task—to go out of business. Formerly it was charged with ensuring bread supplies for the population. But there would be no sense now in talking of any ‘monopoly’ controlling supplies of bread, since that could only be done if the Germans helped to introduce it. The Bolshevik Food Organization (which temporarily replaced ours) was an artificial creation. It was nothing more than a device for extracting money from people’s pockets for various experiments in Bolshevik rule. Yesterday I was in the Commandant’s office and we talked about cereals being transported by rail. Generally speaking Rostóv receives most of its cereals across the Don from Batáysk. But recent events have prevented our chance of getting any from there in the near future. Taganróg District can meet the needs of both Taganróg itself and the surrounding area. The Commandant told us that he is getting work done to enable Rostóv port facilities to receive cargoes of cereals from further up the Don. In my opinion the meeting has to resolve two main questions: firstly about the future activity of such organizations in general, in the second place what can the Food Organization do about the problem of cereals, bearing in mind that in addition to supplying their forces the Germans may export grain to Germany. A.M.Orgunov, Chairman of the Don-Kubán’-Térek Co-operative Society: ‘We must defend our right to exist. We should come to an agreement with the Cossack government in Novocherkássk, and we must persuade the Germans that our produce from the Don area should be shared out among the most needy of our local people.’ It was decided by a majority vote: (1) To clarify the attitude of the Germans to the food supply, and to local supply organizations, (2) To find out what the Cossacks in Novocherkássk are doing about establishing their rule on the Don, (3) to assess the resources of the Óblast’ Food Organization. A further meeting of the Committee will be convened. In a time of real food shortage it was still felt necessary to husband stocks. Any trader who tried to make excess profits could be accused of ‘speculation’. Bread 11 May At the present moment the last stocks of flour and cereal products are coming to an end. The Food Commission has sent its agents out to nearby areas round the town to buy up flour. There has been an emergency session of the Food Administration.

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It was decreed that private individuals are forbidden to purchase flour and grain for commercial purposes. Only co-operatives and community organizations are authorized to buy them. The shortage of flour has made bakeries cut down on their output, and it has been decided to pay off several groups of bakery workers. Livestock On 13 May the City Council are convening a general meeting of people in Rostóv who own cows. The meeting will discuss the idea of renting a common area of pasture on a co-operative basis. Profiteering Speculation in baked bread is constantly increasing in Rostóv markets. The speculators buy several loaves outside the city, in Nakhicheván’ and in local villages, then bring them to Rostóv markets, pretending they are imported bread, and sell them at a greatly increased price. July: supplies from the countryside As barley is lacking, the Food Commission is ceasing to issue ration cards for flour. The Food Commission has received information that in areas cleared from the Bolsheviks up to 75,000 poods of wheat have been preserved in store, particularly at Velikoknyázheskaya. The Commission is sending tractors to those parts to carry the wheat to the River Mánych, where we are setting up a collection point. Then the cereal will be shipped along the Mánych and the Don to Rostóv, and also to the mines to be exchanged for coal. Sunflower oil A meeting has been held to seek to avoid a shortage of oil and to ensure that it is not in short supply for the next two months. Colonel Gerásimov took the chair as Head of the Central Food Organization for the Óblast’. He established the fact that there are sunflower seeds in Rostóv, as also factories for crushing the seeds to extract the oil, yet there is still no oil available. There are good grounds for believing that Rostóv and Nakhicheván’ have up to 50 poods of sunflower seed, and also that the factories are holding enough oil to supply the population through the rest of this season (even though there is no written evidence for this). Colonel Gerásimov has asked the factory owners to inform him about all the contracts they have signed up to. It has become clear that at a rough count the cartel of factory owners holds 17,000 poods of sunflower seed and 1,000 poods of oil, so that the oil available could amount to a total of 5,000 poods, which could meet local demand for two to three weeks. If the Government helps to transport seed from the Mánych then the people will have enough oil for the rest of this season. A representative of the Óblast’ Supply Management Administration, A.G.Abramovich, pointed out that the supply of oil will have to cover four towns: Rostóv, Nakhicheván’, Novocherkássk and Taganróg. There is no oil in these towns. We shall need 46 goods wagons and at the worst count not fewer than 40. It is quite possible that the Óblast’ will find it has enough oil for its own needs. To ensure that people have enough oil the meeting considers it essential: 1 To issue a binding resolution, signed by Colonel Gerásimov and the Mayor, to compel all private individuals who hold oil or sunflower seed to give information about their stocks of these products within two weeks, under pain of severe penalty if they do not comply. 2 To request Colonel Gerásimov to come to a definite agreement with the German High Command which will regulate the amount of oil to be assigned for the needs of the German Command.

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3 To make a list of all the oil available, and issue it only by order of the responsible department of the Don Óblast’ Food Administration. 4 To set up a temporary Commission with two representatives of the factory owners, two representing the City Council and one from the Food Administration. This Commission will be charged with finding out exactly what amounts of oil and seed are currently in stock. Electricity Since there is no fuel oil, and little chance of getting any, as far as we can see, Nakhicheván’ Council has decreed that street lighting be switched on only from 8 p.m. to midnight. Private subscribers for electricity will not have current from now on. Petrol In stations of the Vladikavkáz Railway Company recently occupied by the Volunteer Army tanks containing petrol have been discovered. These form part of the 200 tanks which belonged to the Don Óblast’ Food Committee and were towed away by the Bolsheviks when they were leaving Rostóv. Travel Rail 22 May There are at present no direct lines through Zvérevo to Vorónezh or Kiev. At the moment the only line through Zvérevo is from Rostóv to Mariúpol’. On 25 April when the Bolsheviks were retreating from Rostóv two passenger carriages and thirty-two goods wagons caught fire, some of them containing horses and property. July The Head of Army Rail Services has ordered that payment should immediately be made to station staff, skilled tradesmen and workmen on the lines from Rostóv to Chertkóvo and Likhaya to Tatsínskaya. To pay wages to railway staff the Vóysko government has released one million roubles from the Novocherkássk Treasury when they were leaving Rostóv. The Transport Section of the Don Food Committee has sent lorries to Torgóvaya to bring back the petrol which was seized from Rostóv. The first 500 poods of petrol have arrived here. Shipping route In the near future it is proposed to open a steamship service from Rostóv to Taganróg. The Sea of Azóv is largely composed of fresh water brought down by the River Don. It freezes with a thick coating of ice throughout the winter and remains frozen hard through the whole of March. Taganróg is a major port on the northern coast of the Sea of Azóv. Politics Armenians In Nakhicheván’ on 20 May a general meeting was held of the Armenian People’s Party members in Nakhicheván’ and Rostóv. A.I.Saltyk’yan took the chair. The meeting was to discuss our campaign for elections to the Dumas in Nakhicheván’ and Rostóv. It was unanimously decided to take an active part in the elections and to pursue our own independent line.

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Social concerns Pensions At a meeting of the Social Affairs Committee it was resolved to request the Duma to organize assistance for the families of men called to the war. This help should be given for at least two to three months, until the question of pensions for these families is decided. It is under consideration whether rations should be issued to families in need, when their man has been killed in the war, taken prisoner, or reported missing. Helping wounded soldiers The Soldiers’ League, who organized ‘The day of the veteran’ wish to express their thanks to those who helped them in this project. Children s homes The Social Affairs Committee resolved to ask the management of the Asmólov factory to lend part of the funds from profits on tobacco to the Social Affairs Committee for their work to improve the diet in children’s homes, and to provide the children with winter footwear etc. It was also decided to ask the Council to help children by giving those in children’s homes and charitable institutions an increased bread ration of three quarters of a pound and to give them twice as much sugar. The plight of those under care in these ‘homes’ is truly pathetic. They are starving, trying to exist on quarter of a pound of bread and watery cabbage soup. Children s playgrounds The Rent Commission is in favour of handing over the playground in the City Park to the Don-Kubán’-Térek Co-operative Society on the understanding that the Society will make a playground in the City Rotunda. The playground is to be handed over on condition that Co-operative Society mem-¬ bers may allow their children to use it up to midday, while in the afternoon it shall be open for any children in the town. This will be the third playground to be opened this year. One playground is in Novosélenski Park and the other in Aleksándrovski Park. Kindergarten The Board of the Asmólov Tobacco Company is assigning 62,000 roubles to install a nursery for infants at the factory. With this there will also be a crèche and a children’s health centre. The arrangements for these facilities will be closely supervised by Professor Karnitski, who holds a chair at the University of the Don and is a specialist in children’s diseases. Staff leave The Nakhicheván’ Town Council staff ask to be allowed Saturdays off during July and August. Trams 10 July 1918 The Head of the Vóysko’s Department of Trade and Industry has given permission to the Belgian Tramway Company to raise fares to 10 kópecks for journeys along one line, 15 kópecks anywhere on the network. Students in secondary schools or higher education to pay a flat rate of 10 kópecks. This is an interim measure pending the report of the special commission appointed to consider the prime costs of passenger fares. In the nineteenth century public transport in Rostóv was horse-drawn. The Duma readily agreed to give the Belgian company the concession to electrify the line, and the Belgians built their own electricity station to supply the current. The electric trams had a maximum speed of 12km an hour, but were considered a great improvement on the horses. The first trams ran along the Bol’sháya Sadóvaya in December 1901, and in 1902

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the electric line was extended into Nakhicheván’. Selling tickets the conductors would ask ‘Are you going to the border or further on?’—hence the two-fare system. By 1914 the network extended over 35km, making a gross annual profit of 918, 712 roubles, of which the city retained 55,122 roubles (Shevtsov, 1982:137–8). Water supply In the Novocherkássk budget item 3 pointed to a serious health risk, and also a very real danger of fire in a town with so many wooden buildings. Rostóv experienced similar difficulties with water. The authorities were slow to eliminate this risk. Priazóvski kray of 1 July reminds the Rostóv Council of the need to act.

The Chief of the Fire Brigade must point out to Rostóv City Council the extremely unsatisfactory state of our water supply, as was shown in the fires which occurred on 15 June on Stepnaya Street and 16 June in the pastureland. The water mains supply no water to fire wells and hydrants in many parts of the town. Many wells have become completely unserviceable and some of the fire hydrants are shut off at night. As long as the water system is in such a state the city’s protection from fires cannot be guaranteed. Education University On 27 May a conference was held, under the Chairmanship of Professor I.A. Malinski to discuss setting up a People’s University. The meeting accepted the statutes and ordinances of the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ People’s University. Sport Jointly with the Don Organization for P.E. Instructors the section of physical instruction under the Rostóv Commission for Leisure Activities is opening courses to train those who supervise children’s active games and the physical development of young people. Health Cholera 11 May 1918… In Tsarítsyn 10 cholera cases have recently landed from ships. Since Tsarítsyn is quite close to us this may pose a public health threat to Rostóv. The Public Health Commission is taking the following measures: To inspect all passengers arriving in Rostóv from further upstream, to watch the filtration of the water supply, to supervise more carefully any drinks offered for sale, to organize anti-cholera vaccines, to be more insistent about the sewage system. As Rostóv grew in the nineteenth century the provision of clean drinking water became increasingly a matter of public concern. With its dense population, Rostóv suffered from many outbreaks of typhoid and typhus,

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and in 1910, 1,300 people died from an epidemic of cholera. During the Civil War, typhus was responsible for many deaths in Rostóv, particularly in 1919. On 29 May the Commission has sent a team to Batáysk to look at two patients suspected of cholera. 10 July Concerned at the possibility of a cholera epidemic Nakhicheván’ Town Council has an adequate supply of medicines. Approach road to the port… The way down to the harbour from Bol’shóy Prospékt is at present blocked by stones, clay and sand, which have slid down, from the sides of the cutting. In addition the roadway is in a most unhygienic state, since it has be fouled by a burst sewage pipe from Nizhne-Bul’varnaya Street. Furthermore people have dumped various bits of rubbish there and there are dead animals lying about. The Harbourmaster requests the City Council to clean up this way to the port. City hospital (1) A man died and his body was carried out into the corridor, and lay there all day. This made a terrible impression on the other patients. (2) A woman who was being discharged gave in her patient’s dress, but when she received her own dress it was covered in lice. Advertisements Woman student with sound knowledge of German seeks to give lessons. Former teacher at Don High School, who is remaining here all summer, has sound experience; will prepare pupils for secondary school examinations (specialities: mathematics and Russian language). Will coach pupils up to 5th grade. Seeking a post in an office or other suitable employment: young man understands accountancy, knows German, very hard working and prepared to accept a very modest salary. Student with many years practical experience gives lessons in all subjects at secondary school level. Medical student, experienced tutor, gives lessons in all subjects at secondary school level. Mining student gives lessons in mathematics, physics, chemistry, draughtsmanship and drawing. Experienced student, medallist of University of the Don: can apply cupping glasses, give injections, watch over patients, and other medical services. 700 roubles to whomsoever will find accommodation for a doctor in Rostóv or Nakhicheván’: 4–7 rooms with all conveniences and no obligation to buy. Teacher needs room with dinners per lesson. Preferably in a Russian family. Crime Pickpocket On 3 May a thief was arrested and brought into the police station in sector 4. He was caught red-handed, trying to steal a wallet from D.S.Ter-Akonov. Hoard of cloth On the night of 10 May a patrol of ‘Citizens for Public Order’, together with the police, carried out a search at the Orion Hotel in the furnished rooms occupied

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by S.Babiyev. In the porter’s room they found approximately 140 metres of cloth for military uniforms. In room 9, occupied by a certain Dymarski from Khár’kov, they found more than 12 pieces of woollen suit material. Caucasus Hotel On 9 May two bags of cigarettes were stolen to the value of more than 1,000 roubles. Those staying at the hotel were searched but nothing was found. Police raids During the night of 10 May police officers in sectors 2 and 4 carried out raids in the area of the Old and New Markets. They arrested 25 suspects who were found to be without documents. These people are being held in the police stations until their identity is established. Burglary On the night of 10 May in A.V.Val’tera’s apartment thieves broke the lock into the attic and stole linen. Forged currency On 28 May Ya.B.Shtumak told sector 4 police that a trader in the New Market had given him a false 20 rouble note. Co-operative robbed During the night of 28 May a gang of thieves broke into the store of the Don-Kubán’-Térek Co-operative Society. They got in by filing through the staple of a large padlock and forcing two inner locks. They took cloth and needles from the store, to a value yet to be established. Barge robbed On the night of 29 May four unknown men armed with revolvers made their way onto a barge belonging to Paramonov Bros, moored on the left bank of the Don. They stole 130 roubles and one piece of leather from the deck house. The watchman Shimagin was on duty on the barge, and the bandits struck him on the face with the butt of a revolver. Well-known robber While the well-known robber Minasov has been held under arrest, police from sector 7 threw a cordon round the Gorchopov brick factory, where Minasov lived with his parents. A careful search was carried out, but they did not find any suspicious persons or stolen goods. Because Minasov was known to have taken part in many crimes in Rostóv he is seen every day by some of his victims, and several of them recognize him as the person who committed these crimes. Bolshevik arrested On 28 June the police arrested an unknown man who calls himself Georgi Minsk. A search at his premises found a revolver and Bolshevik documents issued by the commissar at Tikhoretsk. Bodies found On 28 June three unknown corpses were found near the village of Kamenolomni. Police have established that there were firearms with the bodies. Guarding public buildings The City Council has requested the mayor to allow their officials to obtain 10 rifles and enough cartridges to post armed guards to protect the City Hospital and other public buildings.

New Year 1918–19 George Hill provides an amusing scene to close the entries for 1918. He was working for British Intelligence along with Sidney Reilly, who was famous as a ‘master spy’ and was eventually killed by the Russian Secret Police in November 1925. Hill recalls how Reilly and he celebrated New Year 1919 in Rostóv, at that same Palace Hotel which

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in the spring had been the seat of the Don Soviet Republic (see Chasing bandits (Blokhín)). After so many years of war economic scarcities were plainly making themselves felt, even among Russians who were comparatively well off:

When the band struck up, everyone stood rigidly to attention, as one national anthem after another was rendered in full. We were dining in a large ballroom which had a balcony round it divided into loggias. In the centre of the ballroom a beautiful fountain played. In its illuminated waters sturgeon and carp twisted, turned and greedily swam after bubbles of air caused by the fall of the silvery water. The tables were thronged by peculiarly assorted, oddly dressed men and women. Beautiful women wore threadbare blouses, down-at-heel shoes, yet on their fingers displayed rings or on their necks jewellery that would have made even a Carrier’s assistant’s mouth water. Others, with the air of duchesses, wore luxurious fur coats, which as a rule they took good care to keep fastened, for in most cases anything worn beneath was scanty and painfully shabby. One girl I especially remember was particularly well dressed, yet she wore hand-knitted socks and bark sandals… The men for the most part wore uniforms—in every state of wear and tear. Some were full-dress ones, which probably had been worn at an imperial ball or State function in St Petersburg in the winter or spring of 1914; but the majority of men were in khaki, and everyone who possessed decorations wore them. Reilly and I were in one of the loggias, some of which were occupied by officers in Allied uniforms. Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was New Year’s Eve, 1918. Rostóv-on-Don was humming with excitement. That very morning I had the honour of being enrolled as an honorary Don Cossack. Before a Cossack squadron of a hundred mounted men, in their picturesque tribal uniforms, I had ceremoniously been presented with a uniform, sword, rifle and whip, together with bread and salt. My strip of land, horse, saddle and bridle, which custom also bestowed, I would receive as soon as the Reds were turned out of the Don. A tall young officer of the Gordon Highlanders in his regimental kilt solemnly crossed to the fountain. Here he meditated for a moment, peering into the basin. His hand shot out. From the water he withdrew a large, kicking sturgeon and calmly carried it to the head waiter. ‘I should like this one cooked’, he said in English. The Russian smiled and bowed. ‘Certainly, Sir. With sauce Tartare or Hollandaise?’ (Hill, 1936:61–5)

Anti-Semitism As we have seen from Rhoda Power’s memoirs, prejudice against the Jews was persistent and widespread among all classes in South Russia. The Jews had good reason to fear pogroms. Under the Tsars, all over Russia the hatred of the population had been stirred up to many excesses, when

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Jewish shops had been looted and a number of Jews killed, while the police and the army made no serious attempt to protect them. During the Civil War hatred of the Jews remained inbred among both Red and White Cossacks, and in 1920 Budyónny’s Red cavalry broke loose in savage pogroms as they were passing through Ukraine (see Primary sources: 207–29). The following two pieces bear witness to the fact that the Jews felt at risk from these feelings in 1918–19. It is not surprising that they were particularly apprehensive about the rule of the Vóysko in Novocherkássk. When revolutionaries fell into the hands of the authorities Jews were often singled out for particularly severe treatment, including death sentences. The piece that follows was re-recorded in the proceedings of what was proclaimed as a secret session of the Don Cossack government. I have translated extracts from the original in the State Archive of Rostóv Óblast’ (GARO, f.865, op.1, d.221).

Opening the session the Director of the Department of Internal Affairs spoke to those present as follows: Recently a delegation from the Jewish community asked for measures to be put in hand to thwart the anti-Jewish pogrom which is being prepared in Rostóv. The representatives of the Jewish community reported that proclamations are being scattered round the town, calling on people ‘to beat the Yids’. I declare that this is a secret session. No information about it must be allowed to pass into the public domain, or to the press. From Reports made by members of the Secret Conference it was established: 1 Rumours are circulating in the town about an anti-Jewish pogrom being prepared, but there are no facts to show that this is true. 2 There were two occasions when officers of the Volunteer Army in a drunken state beat up two Jews for no apparent reason, one of the Jews being the dentist Kanevski. 3 Among the broad mass of the population, particularly in the markets, there is resentment at Jewish speculators. 4 There have been isolated cases when men from units who were passing through have taken food items from both Jewish and Russian stall holders and not paid for them. 5 Two cases have been noted when leaflets have been thrown about with the headlines ‘Save Russia’ and ‘Who is to blame?’ These leaflets contained no call for a pogrom against the Jews, but just mentioned Jews who had been responsible for the Civil War… Such pamphlets would be attacking not only Trotsky but also the many Jews like Frenkel’, who played such a prominent part for the Communists in the Don territory.

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In point 2 mentioned earlier it would be common for the Cossacks to blame any misbehaviour on the Volunteer Army. In February 1919, Krasnóv had been replaced as Atamán by Afrikán Bogáyevski, who Deníkin hoped might cooperate more readily with him. A Governor General was appointed to hold office alongside the Atamán. But the Cossacks continued to insist on their right to command their own forces, and White headquarters had to seek special permission from the Vóysko before they could move any Cossack unit. Theoretically the Krug remained the supreme body in Don Cossack territory. Between sessions of the Krug its authority was handled by the Council of Executive Heads, hence the statements made by the Director of the Department of Internal Affairs. Representatives of the Jews insisted that anti-Jewish articles should not appear and that the government should publish a document, showing that all nations are equal in its eyes, and that it defends on an equal basis the person and property of every citizen, whether he be Russian or Jew. Answering these points the Head of the Department stated that he saw no necessity for such a statement. The authorities will remember the words of the Atamán of the Don: ‘As long as I am in charge I will not allow any pogroms against the Jews.’ After that the delegation expressed their thanks, and asked to convey their deep gratitude to the Atamán of the Don for the exceptional measures that had been taken and for the statements made by the authorities. Letter from Jewish theologian Gel’fat to the newspaper Priazóvski kray, 11/24 May 1918 Largely because the Jews suffered great injustice under the Tsars many of them had become revolutionaries. Gel’fat is trying to make the point that the Whites must not tar all Jews with the same brush. When he wrote of ‘the rot, which is attacking our country’, he must have realized how so many people were alienated by the misrule and excesses of the Whites.

We have nothing in common with the Bolsheviks. I have read a leader in The Evening Times, and feel I must comment on some of its attitudes. I am availing myself of your declared policy that you are prepared to listen to counter-arguments. I must make it clear that I agree with much of what you have said, and I am only taking issue with some of your conclusions. I can understand only too well the sharp pain and burning sense of injustice, that must consume every Russian patriot when we see the rot which is attacking our beloved country. Although your list of commissars who have been caught contains only Russian names, this has not prevented you from declaring that all commissars are Jews. Reading your

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articles, so full of attacks on my race as a whole, I cannot bring myself to think that you should be counted among those who stir up pogroms—for first of all I do not condemn those who love their country, and I do not believe any thinking member of the intelligentsia can imagine that the salvation of Russia will be brought about by wrecking another hundred Jewish shops or by killing another thousand Jews. No one can see those pogroms as a contribution to righteous living. Furthermore it is unlikely to convince people like Trotsky and Nakhámkis. I am not going to condemn your wrath which has been directed only against such people as Rozen’feld and Bronshtéyn, while you have not thought fit to mention the famous Russian names, such as Murálov, Dybénko, Krylénko and Lunachárski, with Lénin at their head. I should not mention that at a time when a massive number of Russian workers are going over to the Bolsheviks the working class of the Jewish Bund has declared through its leader Kaplan: ‘We are not set on the same path as the Bolsheviks and they cannot count on our support, in spite of the fact that we have suffered from mistreatment a hundred times more than they have.’ Nakhámkis—pen name for Yu. M. Steklóv, editor of Izvestiya 1917–25. To play on anti-Semitic sentiment the Whites liked to emphasize that Trotsky really had the Jewish surname Bronshtéyn. The Yiddish term for union, also referred to as the Jewish Bund, formally adopted the name “General Jewish Workers Bund in Russia and Poland” at its founding congress in 1897… Under the leadership of Lénin the Social Democrat Party prevented the Bund from asserting any of its major demands… The Bundists split with the Russian Social Democrats, even as the Russians themselves split into Bolsheviks and Ménsheviks at the 1903 Congress’ (Shukman, 1994:96–7). Gel’fat is trying to persuade people opposed to Bolshevism that the Jewish Bund had no common purpose with the revolutionaries. Formal links had indeed been severed in 1903, but in spite of Gel’fat’s denial members of the Bund often felt close to the Social Democrats.

5 1918–1919: RAILWAYS AFTER THE WHITES HAVE TAKEN ROSTÓV

There are several good general histories of the Civil War, such as those by Mawdsley and Swain. There would be little point in my replicating their work. I have chosen rather to give some feeling of what life was like for the people of Rostóv during those troubled years and to focus attention on individuals who engaged in the struggle at a lower level. Most of their names are preserved only in this collection of memoirs, put together evidently at the request of the Communist Party. I have not been able to fill out further personal details about them. One feature that should be stressed is how young most of them were when they were prepared to face hardship, torture and death for the cause they believed in. In his section on the ‘death cells’ Chebatyryóv quotes the case of ‘Ánya’ who was raped and hanged by the Whites at the age of 15. Grigóri Spírin was only 18 at the time he was taken in for interrogation. To help us understand something of their motivation it may be helpful to quote a few lines from Shólokhov’s novel, spoken by a young girl who has volunteered to serve with the Red Guards, and who is eventually killed in a hopeless attempt to defend Rostóv against the Whites: ‘How petty now it would seem to aim at our little personal happiness, in comparison with the immense happiness which our Revolution is striving to bring about for all mankind. We must give ourselves wholeheartedly to the yearning for freedom. We must be at one with the whole movement and forget our existence as separate individuals… I feel life in the future as beautiful magic music… Won’t life be wonderful under socialism, when there will be no more wars, no poverty or injustice, no frontiers dividing one country from another?’ (Shólokhov, 1996).

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A century later these words may seem to us naïve or sententious but in this fictional example, Shólokhov shows his ability to present the impassioned sentiments which were so dear to youthful idealists at that time. The succeeding chapters take us out of Rostóv along the railways that were vital to both sides in the Civil War. Vladikavkáz means literally ‘Key to the Caucasus’ (cf. Russia’s port on the Pacific, Vladivostók, ‘Key to the East’). Vladikavkáz had been founded in 1860 largely to secure the military highway into Georgia. The Vladikavkáz Railway Company took its name from its first line laid in 1875 from Rostóv to Vladikavkáz. The adventures by Blokhín and Avdéyev took place along the line from Tikhorétskaya to Tsarítsyn, which was opened in 1900. The main works for the Company were in the western end of Rostóv and most of the workers lived in the industrial zone by the little river Témernik. Besides routine repair and maintenance they also built locomotives and rolling stock. For this work they had the largest skilled labour force in the area, many with Social Democrat sympathies, who were reluctant to serve under any White administration that might aspire to govern South Russia. Naturally the standard of maintenance suffered during the First World War. But in spite of all the difficulties the lines still carried a large amount of traffic, and it was astonishing that trains even ran across the battle lines to and from the areas held by the Soviets. The Putílov works were the largest industrial unit in Petrográd, employing 30,000 workers in July 1917. The work force were a well-known recruiting ground for Bolshevik supporters, some 4,000 of whom volunteered for service in the Red Army.

Rail workshop (Denisov, d.318) I came to Rostóv-on-Don after the October Revolution, that is to say on 12 November 1917 I arrived from the Putílov factory in Petrográd. In Rostóv I started work in the main workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway Company. I was soon elected a member of the Committee of Internal Affairs. A joint session of the Bolshevik Party for RostóvNakhicheván’ and the Left Socialist Internationalists for Témernik elected me Chairman of the underground organization of the area across the Témernik. Comrade Zyálkin was Secretary and comrade Orlóv a member of the committee. At the end of November I was appointed by the Bolshevik Committee to set about organizing underground military units in works and factories. I organized underground

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workers and military units in the following factories: main workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway Company, the Asmólov Tobacco Company, Aksáy Ltd, and others. When the organization was wound up I was appointed head of the military revolutionary reconnaissance staff, F.Zyálkin was to be my deputy, with members M.Slánov, S.Samóylov, Símonova, Dunayévski, Yákov Antónov, and comrade Orlóv as Secretary. By the end of December I had collected materials on the numbers of White units and where they were positioned, strengths of artillery and their supplies of ammunition, their supply organization, transport units, maps and plans of Rostóv and Nakhicheván’, with notes marked in where their headquarters were situated, where troops were billeted, the position of their guns and all the necessary reports. Then we sewed up white sheets as camouflage in the snow, and sent all the information we had collected across the lines with two comrades whose names I don’t remember—perhaps comrade Zyálkin will know. Stepánov went across the Don and the White Guard front to the headquarters of Antónov-Ovséyenko and Sívers in Batáysk. Soon after they had got across safely I had collected additional information. Since there was no one else to send it with I took it on myself to get across the front and deliver it to Antónov’s staff. From March to May 1918 Antónov-Ovséyenko was Supreme Commander of Soviet forces in South Russia. Sívers commanded Red Army units operating from Taganróg. The Civil War was fought over large areas of terrain and generally there were no continuous lines of trenches, as on the Western Front in the First World War. This made it possible for couriers to slip in and out of the territory held by the Red Army, although this was always a risky business, as Denisov says. The day the railway bridge was blown up between Batáysk and Zaréchnaya I got through the lines with one member of our staff. When we were going across we were spotted by a White Guard observation point, who aimed machine guns and rifles at us. A cavalry patrol cut off our escape route. Seeing that the position was hopeless, under heavy fire I rushed down to a channel of the river. I pushed my gun and our documents through a hole in the ice. Later on my comrade crawled over to me and we were both taken prisoner by the Whites, who tortured us. Then we were taken to the field headquarters, and from there handed over to Colonel Borísov’s counter-intelligence section, which was in railway carriages at Rostóv station. Borísov gave orders that we should be shot immediately, but workers from the railway workshops helped us to escape, and we went into hiding in a working class household in Témernik. Then I shaved my head, my moustache and eyebrows. I was moved over to Nakhicheván’ and went on working there. In January 1918, as the Red forces were approaching Rostóv, the Rostóv Committee ordered several comrades to spread propaganda among the Cossacks, persuading them not to go to Aksáyskaya from their own villages. Antónov and Zyálkin were sent there and Antónov was arrested as he was speaking to a meeting of the richer men. At that moment Zyálkin started speaking, and his speech caused confusion and a split among the Cossacks, thereby enabling Antónov to disappear, but Zyálkin himself was arrested and condemned to be shot. When Antónov came back I heard from him that Zyálkin had been

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arrested. I summoned an urgent meeting of the Témernik Committee, of which I was the Chairman, and at the meeting I made myself responsible for the task of freeing Zyálkin. That same night, under my direction, with the help of comrades Vínkler, Samókhin and Zyálkin’s wife, he was set free and saved from being shot, which was to have been carried out that night. As the Red forces came close to Rostóv, the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee entrusted Antónov, Zyálkin, Stepánov, and Samóylov and me with the task of organizing a ‘go slow’ in all works and factories. When I was a member of the works committee we decided in session to declare a strike in the main workshops, and then the Committee gave me the task of organizing a strike at the Asmólov factory. I arrived at the Asmólov tobacco factory, made my report to the factory committee, and they in their own session took the decision to support us in the railway workshops. Along with comrade Stepánov we carried out a general meeting at the factory, at which we resolved to declare a strike. That was how the strike movement spread to all the works and factories of Rostóv and Nakhicheván’. That same day the trade unions, headed by Smirnóv, Lokermán, Okhnyánski and others, took the initiative in calling an emergency meeting from Rostóv works committees and this took place in the trade union premises on Dmítriyevskaya Street. Before the meeting started a squad of military cadets arrested all the delegates and surrounded the building. They drove us all into one room and began to search us and to knock us about. When Smirnóv and Lokermán heard we had been arrested they went to General Nazárov and demanded that the cadets be withdrawn and the arrests should be called off. After Kalédin’s suicide on 29 January 1918, Anatóli Mikháylovich Nazárov had been elected Atamán of the Don Cossacks. On 18 February, he was executed by the Bolsheviks in Novocherkássk. Nazárov gave an order to have the cadets immediately withdrawn without any arrests being made. After the cadets had left, the meeting was transferred from the trade union premises to the Town Council building and a new session was opened there. The agenda included (1) declaring a complete strike throughout Rostóv and Nakhicheván’, (2) instructions how this was to be directed. The meeting was conducted under the chairmanship of Smirnóv with Lokermán and Okhnyánski as members of the presidium. Among the delegates there was an absolute majority of Ménsheviks. There were only three Bolsheviks—Antónov, Sedýkh and me. When we discussed calling a complete strike Smirnóv, Lokermán and Okhnyánski stood out for a partial strike. We insisted on a full strike. There was a struggle between the Ménsheviks and us and we broke up the meeting. Since the Ménsheviks were afraid, it was decided this question should be settled by a commission, which was specially created. The sitting was tense, with a mass of officers and cadets, and a risk of being killed by a bomb or a revolver. The commission was to meet on the next day and to include, Antónov, Zyálkin, V.Voropáyev, Sedýkh, and me, while the Ménshevik trade unions were represented by Smirnóv, Lokermán, Okhnyánski, and others. At the meeting the union leaders Smirnóv, Lokermán, Okhnyánski, and Co refused to direct the strike movement. Then we formed a strike committee: Chairman Zólin, Secretaries Voropáyev and me, and as members Zyálkin, Samóylov, Stepánov and Sedýkh. We declared a partial

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strike. Everything ceased to function—even the hospital had neither water nor electricity. One night shortly afterwards the strike committee put all locomotives out of action, both those that were in the sheds, and also the ones that were out anywhere on the track. As soon as a locomotive appeared from anywhere it was withdrawn from service. In the morning the White Guards carried out some arrests, and they shot some engine drivers and railway workers, using their bayonets to force men to get locomotives back into working order, but we had taken out essential working parts such as the injector. The Whites tried everything they could, but nothing was any help to them, and they were no longer able to move their troops, shells, ammunition or other supplies. The White Guards practised inhuman brutality, and this shook the workers’ determination. But then the strike committee published a series of appeals and challenges. These were printed in my apartment, the work being done by Zyálkin, Antónov, Stepánov, Samóylov and myself. We called an urgent meeting of all workers and station staff of the Vladikavkáz Railway Company with representatives of all the works committees of Rostóv and Nakhicheván’. The meeting was attended by more than four and a half thousand people. While the strike committee was consulting with union leaders of the other works and factories and discussing the day’s business shots rang out and shouts from the workers. Whites burst into the room where we were holding the meeting, shouting and firing. The workers broke the windows and began to jump out onto the street. Some of the strike committee started to jump out, along with delegates from the factories. It was impossible to get into the meeting hall because of the great crowd of workers who had swarmed in there. Out of the strike committee the only ones left were me, Voropáyev, and Símonov, who was a representative from the Asmólov factory. We gathered in the Railway Company’s canteen. When we went into the dining hall we saw many victims of the White Guards, who had shot them at point blank range or run them through with their bayonets. Many also had been injured and trampled underfoot by the crowd. The White Guards left after they had finished their bloody revenge on the workers. Símonov, Voropáyev and I took the doors off their hinges and began to carry out the killed and wounded to take them to hospital. As I came out of the dining hall I met comrade Zyálkin and I saw Okhnyánski. Zyálkin and I rushed at him. Pointing at the casualties, I shouted at Okhnyánski that these were the result of their half-hearted Ménshevik policy. Okhnyánski took fright and ran away. Soon afterwards a general meeting of railway workers elected me as their representative to the government of the Territory to arrange financial help for the families of those workers who had been killed and wounded. At a meeting of the local authority the question was put like this: if the railway workers acknowledged them as their government, their families would be given houses, money, and a pension—and their children would go to school. But if they acknowledged Lénin’s authority the government of the Territory would give them no subsidy—let Lénin’s government see to that. When our talks with local government were finished, a general meeting of railway workers and staff was convened. I told them about the talks with the government of the Territory and about the demands made by them. My report was followed by arguments, after which a resolution was passed by the general meeting to refuse to acknowledge Lénin’s government and not to rely on them for any help. This message was sent off with greetings to Moscow. We must remember the difficulties faced by the workers, since they

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had had no pay for about four months, while the local government promised to pay immediately—once its authority was acknowledged. From the morning of 7 February, together with Stepánov, Zyálkin, Samóylov and Símonova I was preparing military units of workers. When the Red forces were approaching Témernik and Gileád we got in touch with them to say that our detachment would attack the White Guards from the rear, and that they should make their advance at about 7 o’clock in the evening. Stepánov, Samóylov and I split up with three groups and we attacked the rear of the White Guards simultaneously from three directions. We pushed them back, then joined with Kalyúzhny’s men and together we attacked the retreating Whites, pressing on with our advance to the village of Aksáyskaya. Next morning Kalyúzhny appointed me to lead the punitive flying squad, which appointment I held until the central headquarters of the Red Guards was reorganized. The staff set me the task of creating a cavalry unit, which was named the First Socialist Flying Cavalry Detachment, and I was their commander. After Kalédin had overthrown the Rostóv Revolutionary Committee in November and after the Chairman of the Revkom had been assassinated in the Mars Theatre, Syrtsóv was arrested along with several other comrades. Soon afterwards Fadéyev-Kámenski was arrested and shot near the police station on Skóbelevskaya Street. Reports began to come in from the prison that the Whites were preparing to shoot the members of the Revolutionary Committee and other Party workers. The underground Revolutionary Military Headquarters opened up contact with the prisoners and planned to let them escape. The senior warder in the jail helped us by providing a map of the layout of the buildings. He came to our secret sessions and took an active part in working out a plan to free the prisoners as the Red Army came nearer to Rostóv. This plan was put into practice. I don’t remember the name of the warder. Probably comrades Zyálkin or Stepánov may remember… The Revolutionary Military Headquarters had the task of blowing up the railway bridges, and the main artillery stores and spreading terror among the White units. All the documents, both ours and the counter-revolutionary ones were lost when I was fighting against Yudénich on the Yámburg front. I was taken prisoner and lost the record of congresses, meetings, orders, calls to action, brochures, my diary and a number of other documents. My work in the underground organization can be attested by the above-mentioned comrades: Fadéyev, Syrtsóv, Zyálkin, Dunayévski, Antónov, Stepánov, Ravikóvich, Orlóv and Samóylov, also by several other comrades who were working in the underground. Advancing from Latvia, General Yudénich took Yámburg and Pskov on 25 May 1919, and all summer posed a real threat to attack Petrográd. On 9 July, Vatsétis, the Red Army’s Commander-in-Chief, was preparing to strip the Petrográd factories of their machine tools in case the Whites broke through to take them. In October, Trotsky proposed to defend the city with strong resistance, street by street (see Primary sources: 164–8). However, in November, Yudénich was driven back.

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Denisov completed this document on 5 November 1933 in Feodósiya. Syrtsóv was by then a prominent figure in the Soviet hierarchy, but was later executed for disagreeing with Stalin.

May 1918: Chasing bandits (Blokhín, d.101) On 23 March 1918, Red Cossacks declared the Don Soviet Republic (Donskóy Sovnarkóm) with the Palace Hotel as its headquarters (on the corner of Sadóvaya Street and Taganrógski prospékt, now renamed Budyónnovski prospékt). Podtyólkov (Chairman), Krivoshlýkov (Secretary) and several other important members were quartered there. Syrtsóv was Deputy Chairman. He had been educated in Rostóv Commercial College, and then as a student in Petersburg. From 1913 he had become a member of the Party and in 1917 he was sent back to Rostóv, where he organized an unsuccessful rebellion against Kalédin in November 1917. In January 1918 a large meeting was called in Kámenskaya by the younger Cossacks who had returned from the front against the Germans. Syrtsóv was one of the most persuasive speakers, urging the Cossacks to realize that their interests lay not with Kalédin but rather with workers and peasants throughout Russia. The Don Soviet Republic never established firm control over all the Don territory, but in theory they ruled from March 1918. In early May the Whites broke into Rostóv with the support of German forces (Primary sources: 2– 25). Podtyólkov left the city, hoping to rouse Bolshevik supporters in the northern areas of the Don, but his small expedition was surrounded by White Cossacks. Podtyólkov and Krivoshlýkov were hanged and the rest of their detachment were shot. Rostóv was under the rule of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don for 18 months, until the Red Army swept back in January 1920. The German army kept its discipline, in sharp contrast with most Russian units, who had killed their officers or driven them out. In 1918, the German military in South Russia could not be challenged by anyone. War against Britain and France continued until November, and Germany was being blockaded by the Allies. The Germans occupied Ukraine and the fertile steppe lands of South Russia, from where they started to export large quantities of grain to the German homeland. Their High Command had little natural sympathy with the Bolsheviks. The

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Germans’ main interest was to see a stable government that could ensure peaceful conditions. They helped the Whites to take back Rostóv, but saw no need to keep men there, since General Krasnóv soon established the Almighty Vóysko of the Don as the effective government. In the Russian Civil War, railways played a crucial part in the strategy of both sides. The poorly surfaced roads made slow and uncertain routes even for the movement of troops on foot. Moving men or supplies by horse and cart was unpopular with the local inhabitants, since it was their working farm horses that the commanders had to requisition. But in any case there was no possibility of rapid movement even with carts, since the roads were rutted, and gave very bumpy rides, especially difficult if wounded men had to jolt over them. Overland transport became virtually impossible in spring and autumn during the ‘breaking up of the roads’ (raspútitsa), those days when transport had to change from wheels to sledge runners or vice versa. In the years before 1914, Russia was considered to have the fastest growing economy in Europe. A major factor in this expansion was the rapid spread of railways in a country, which had previously seen poor communications as a great impediment to its industrial development. In 1875, the Vladikavkáz Railway opened its main line, 651 versts from Rostóv to Vladikavkáz in the North Caucasus. The Company’s most profitable branch was the one linking Yekaterinodár to Novorossísk (254 versts). Opened in 1888 this allowed a great increase in exporting wheat and other cereals from the Kubán’ and the Don, providing a rail link with one of Russia’s main ice-free ports. In 1899, Tikhorétskaya to Tsarítsyn (500 versts) created a rail route from Rostóv to the River Volga, and this railway was the scene of the adventures for Blokhín and Avdéyev, which follow. Tsarítsyn stood as the main bastion of the Reds in South Russia. The town took its name from the River Tsaritsa, which flows into the Volga from the west. Tsarítsyn was a major centre for manufacturing armaments. For the first 18 months of the Civil War the Red Army held it against repeated assaults. In June 1919, its capture by the Don Cossacks was a major setback for the Bolsheviks. Stalin had played a prominent part in its defence, and to recognize his growing importance Tsarítsyn was renamed Stálingrad in 1925 (Volgográd since 1961). There is no direct rail link to the east from Rostóv, hence the circuitous

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route which the Reds were forced to take, crossing the Don and going south to Tikhorétskaya before they could turn north-east towards Tsarítsyn. The following passage is interesting in the glimpses it gives of Sergó Ordzhonikídze, one of the most powerful figures during the Revolution, who later directed the Bolshevik takeover of the Caucasus. Blokhín also lets us see something of the chaotic lawlessness, widespread in much of Russia throughout the Civil War. In areas nominally under the Soviet government, this lack of control was often accentuated by the Cheká, when their local leaders exercised arbitrary powers of life and death. As the Red Army entered Rostóv in February they had instituted a ruthless policy of shooting on sight anyone they suspected of having connections with the Whites. The Bolsheviks’ reign of terror made people hate and fear them, which no doubt explains why Ordzhonikídze and his companions were fired on as they hastened to the railway station at the western end of the main street.

It was the second of May 1918. In the Palace Hotel there was a session of the Don Soviet of People’s Commissars. Among those present was Sergó Ordzhonikídze, Extraordinary Commissar of South Russia. The situation at the front was under discussion. Comrade Abrámenko, commander of the fortified area, was reporting on the military situation. He said that all our positions were well defended, that there were enough men at the front, that the front was strongly held, and that it would not be easy for the enemy to take Rostóv. He had not finished presenting his report when we heard gunfire from the direction of the station. After a few minutes it emerged that a unit of Shcherbakóv’s men had forced their way through and were bringing artillery fire to bear on the station. These Russian soldiers were moving ahead of the Germans, who followed them into the town. It became clear that Abrámenko had so lost touch with reality that he had mistaken what he saw as desirable for what was actually happening. All we had were separate units, dispersed here and there, and with no overall command to take charge of them. For the most part they were inclined towards anarchy, and in several cases had to settle scores between themselves. Clearly we could not hope to hold Rostóv with forces like that. It was decided to leave the town… we should all assemble at the station, and then we could see how to proceed further. It should be said that Rostóv had been preparing for evacuation for several days before that. A string of carts was proceeding along Sadóvaya Street with weapons, food and other essentials. Individual units were taking their own precautions to ensure stocks of food and arms. Considering the times we were facing, these precautions might seem laughable, since we would be making a journey fraught with uncertainty, either towards Tsarítsyn or into the Kubán’, as all other routes were occupied by the Germans. When we came out onto the street the guard had already gone, and the building of the Palace Hotel, seat of the Don Soviet of People’s Commissars, was

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protected only by a squad of dock labourers. (In general the dockers were active in the Civil War and gave men to many units of the Red Army). At the door onto the street we saw a group of eight men, at a loss for what to do. The street was bare, with no one about, no cabbies, everyone in hiding. We could hear ragged firing from the direction of the station. That group at the entrance to the hotel quickly melted away. Just four of us were left: Sergó Ordzhonikídze, Syrtsóv, Dóroshev and me (Blokhín). In January 1918, Dóroshev had been one of the organizers of the conference in Kámenskaya, which declared against Kalédin. He succeeded Podtyólkov as Chairman of the Don Soviet Republic and from September 1918 he was one of those responsible for organizing the Donburó, which transmitted Party policy to the underground in Rostóv. At that moment a cab appeared round the corner. We took it immediately and piled in, sitting as best we could, with someone hanging onto the outside, as we went off towards the station. When we came out onto the Sadóvaya shots were fired at us from some of the windows of the houses. The bullets smacked off the roadway, but we got through unharmed to the station, which was still held by our forces. The street running down to the station and the way into the station buildings were guarded by an international detachment, who would not allow any unauthorized people through. You could see they had kept their good order and discipline. Inside the station there was indescribable confusion. Uncontrolled firing was coming from all sides. On the roofs of the carriages machine guns had been set up and were shooting at the enemy. On the other side of the tracks men were lying behind the carriages and firing wildly. Trains were going off one after another in the direction of Batáysk and no one was regulating their time of departure. The railway staff had run away. Along the rails was striding the anarchist Cherédnik, with a Mauser in his hand, uttering a frightful stream of bad language. He was giving instructions, but no one was listening to him, and no one made any effort to do as he said. I should explain about this man, Cherédnik. His unit had come to Rostóv from Ukraine, completely out of hand. They would not go to the front, but spent their time ‘requisitioning’, making raids on stores and other ways of building up their own stocks. In the end it was decided to bring them to heel. The head of Cherédnik’s detachment was summoned to the Don Soviet government (Sovnarkóm), given a direct order: to stop misbehaving immediately and to leave for the front. He came to Sovnarkóm, but refused to submit to what was demanded. Then Syrtsóv came up to Cherédnik, took his revolver away, and gave orders for his arrest. Cherédnik was so shaken by this action that he completely submitted without offering any resistance. Indeed it must be said that it was extremely risky to arrest this man at the head of an anarchist unit which had about two hundred men, even if they were demoralized. Such an arrest might cause no little trouble for our revolutionary organization, because all those who were able to fight had been thrown into the many fronts we had to face, whereas in the town and on the road there were no less than ten such undisciplined units. But Cherédnik’s men reacted quite differently to the arrest of their leader. On that same day the detachment appeared in front of the Sovnarkóm building with its full strength of one

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hundred and fifty men fully prepared for action, and demanded that Cherédnik should be released. At that point he was not set free and the workers flying squad was moved in to confront the anarchists. Now we had to face this chief of the anarchist unit, who had refused to go to the front, posing as though he were in command of the station. Comrade Ordzhonikídze tried to restore order, even though this turned out to be hopeless, since he had no men under proper discipline he could call on to face the anarchists. Back in the nineteenth century, the Social Democrats often looked on anarchists as brothers in the struggle against autocracy. The Soviets even renamed an area of Moscow after the most famous anarchist, Prince Kropótkin. After October the Bolsheviks were preoccupied with taking power from the Ménsheviks, Kadéts and Socialist Revolutionaries, and saw less urgency about taming the anarchists. Their most important leader, Makhnó, does not enter into these documents because he was operating in southern Ukraine far to the west of the Don. In 1918 Makhnó controlled one of the few groups holding out against the Germans. His considerable forces were a significant factor in Deníkin’s defeat in 1919, and he helped the Soviets expel Vrángel’ from the Crimea. But the Bolsheviks were intent on monopolizing power and Makhnó fled to Romania in 1921. In May 1918, as Blokhín shows, the Bolsheviks could ill-afford an open breach with the anarchists. There were no railway workers who could see to sending trains off properly. On the contrary, hostile supporters of the White Guard worked secretly to divert trains into sidings with no way out. Thus for example Sovnarkóm’s train was sent into a dead end, even though it was well equipped and supplied with arms, military stores, ammunition and food. In this situation it became clear that it was impossible to do anything, and that the best we could hope for would be to get across the railway bridge, and to head for Batáysk, so as not to find ourselves cut off from our only line of retreat. Ordzhonikídze and I started to walk to Batáysk across the bridge over the Don. When we got across we saw the following astonishing sight. At the end of the bridge stood a sailor, waving his revolver and shouting: ‘In the name of the Revolution I will let nobody through.’ He was trying to halt the people who were running towards him, both those who were armed and those who were not. But he was standing quite alone in the face of so many people. They all ran on past him, and no one was paying any attention to his challenge. This picture of a man completely devoted to the Revolution moved Ordzhonikídze so much that he immediately kissed the sailor. When I got across the bridge I lost sight of Sergó, but we met up again at the station in Batáysk, and there I also met Dóroshev and Syrtsóv. Here we found Ordzhonikídze’s train in which we resolved to continue our retreat. This train had the following story. Comrade Ordzhonikídze had a large reserve of funds which had been delivered to him on the instructions of Lénin. He kept this money in his carriage, intending to supply revolutionary organizations in the south of Russia.

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The bosses of unruly units who had gone wild smelled out this information. They resolved to get hold of the money while there was such confusion at the station. However, when they pushed Ordzhonikídze’s train into a siding, his wife (who went everywhere with him and shared all the dangers he had to face) got out of their carriage and took with her the bag containing the money. As soon as they had sought out the train the leaders of the gangs rushed in to find the money. In Ordzhonikídze’s carriage they turned everything inside out, and slit up the seats… but found nothing. While they were doing this they were forced to get the train out of the siding and send it on its way to Batáysk. Things in Batáysk were no better than in Rostóv. Those separate units who had managed to get out of Rostóv never considered holding their ground and organizing a front line near Batáysk. There were a great many trains, filling up all the lines, but there were no men who would be able to fight. They were all in a hurry to get away from the scene of action. It was only when revolutionary Cossacks came up from the Kubán’ that a front could be formed against the Germans, and that line was held for several months. In Batáysk we, Ordzhonikídze, Syrtsóv, Dóroshev and I, decided to go to Tsarítsyn. Forces retreating from Ukraine and the Don were going there. It was the centre of our defence against the White armies and because of its strategic position it was invulnerable. On 3 May we managed with great difficulty to direct Ordzhonikídze’s train to Tikhorétskaya. Before we reached Sósyk station three strange men burst into our compartment. One of them introduced himself as being in charge of one of the units. Turning to Ordzhonikídze, he spoke more or less as follows: ‘I have saved your train and the valuables, which you are carrying. I am taking you under my protection and my men will guard your train’. It became apparent that we had fallen captive to bandits and furthermore that this was a broad hint that they were ‘taking under guard’ the money which Ordzhonikídze was transporting and which they counted on taking. This effrontery so enraged Ordzhonikídze that he straight away pulled out his revolver, threatened each of them in turn and drove them out of the compartment. Since they had not expected things to go like that, they made a quick retreat and we saw no more of them. At the next station they uncoupled their carriages and did not dare to attempt any violence against us. At Tikhorétskaya we got a military escort from Sorókin, supreme commander of the Red Army in the Kubán’. He attached two open wagons to our train, armed with two artillery pieces, machine guns, and 50 Red Army men. After we left Tikhorétskaya we were joined by a detachment of 75 cavalry, which had come from Rostóv. Thus we came to represent a formidable force. It must be said that this was a wise precaution, since the road to Tsarítsyn was full of trains with detachments out of control. Sorókin was a Kubán’ Cossack who occupied several high posts of command in the Red Army. In October 1918, he wanted to take power for himself and shot several members of the North Caucasus Republic. The Soviets declared him an outlaw, and he was killed in prison on 3 November 1918. As we passed through several stations after Tikhorétskaya we noticed that at stops along the railway there were a lot of silver coins in circulation, and furthermore that people

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quite willingly gave them over in exchange for paper notes. At one of the first stations we were informed about how bandits had robbed another train carrying valuables from Krasnodár, and in order to get rid of the silver, which would be suspect, the bandits were changing silver coins for paper money. It was necessary to save any treasures which had not yet lost their value. But there was no military unit in the vicinity to whom the task could be entrusted of catching up with the bandits and recovering the valuables. In any case there was no real need for that, as our train seemed sufficiently strong to hold back one of these wild units even if they were quite numerous. But we were not really a serious fighting force, and here we were faced with chasing after a train load of bandits, who were making off in the direction of Tsarítsyn. At the same time we suggested to Tsarítsyn to send trains out to meet them, to hold them back and not allow them to disperse and carry off their loot. The chase lasted three days and nights. We were moving only in daylight, because we were afraid that the track in front of us might be destroyed, whereas the bandits moved at night and in the daytime remained stationary. They had to share out the goods they had stolen. Finally after three days we saw the bandits’ convoy. There were three trains. They had to stop, since they were hemmed in from two sides, from Tsarítsyn in front, and with us on their tail. They were forced to stop before they reached Sarépta station, which was held by a squad from Tsarítsyn. Sarépta contained a dock in Tsarítsyn where goods could be offloaded from barges on the Volga. As soon as we got within rifle shot of the robbers’ train Ordzhonikídze sent them an ultimatum to surrender and hand over their commanders. He allowed them 40 minutes to think it over. As a first warning the guns from our train were trained round to bear on the carriages with the bandits. Although they had quite a lot of men we were superior by having two guns, while they had none. This would make it possible for us to bombard the bandits’ trains to matchwood. We posted men along all the tracks and escape routes from their trains. Thus preventing the robbers slipping away, we waited for them to reply. Our enemy was holding meetings, from which we could hear much bad language. In the end they were not able to give battle and had completely lost their grip. They accepted our terms about handing over everything of value and giving up their leaders. Five cavalry leaders came to our train and surrendered to Ordzhonikídze. They brought with them the commissar of the train they had robbed. They had not got around to shooting him, just because without his help they could not agree about dividing up the loot. We decided to put the leaders on trial and have them shot, while the other bandits were to be disarmed and set free to go wherever they wanted. There were two types of robbers—ones who had lost all sense and were deceived by their leaders, as against the really vicious bandits who were completely out of control. The first sort gave up the valuables, one might almost say willingly, while the others hid their gold in every possible way. It was quite simple to deal with the first category: they were drawn up in line and each one of them handed over a bag of silver coins worth a thousand roubles, plus a handful of gold money with about fifteen gold pieces for each one of them. We had to search a lot of men, finding gold coins in crannies in the skin, sewn into clothing, in the upholstery of the carriages, in manure under the horses’ hooves. Anyone who was not willing to give up his money voluntarily met a quick judgement:- he was

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shot. I must mention that not all the treasures were distributed among the robbers. Precious stones and various gold objects had still not been given out to individuals simply because they did not know how to divide them up, for example in the case of diamonds, where there were not enough to go round each man. This had delayed distributing them. You will understand that we did not manage to save everything. A few bandits managed to hide things, and one or two succeeded in slipping away, but in general the valuables were preserved and handed over to the proletarian State.

1918: to Tsarítsyn with 12 trains (Avdéyev, d.5) By the time Ordzhonikídze and Syrtsóv left Rostóv, the Don Soviet Republic really did not control much territory, although formally most Reds continued to acknowledge it as the legitimate authority in the Don Óblast’. Avdéyev’s rail journey started from Velikoknyázheskaya (later Proletárskaya), on the north bank of the River Mánych, which meandered westwards to flow into the Don some 20 km upstream from Rostóv. For the whole summer of 1918, the railway workers in this piece made an epic journey, battling against Cossacks up the line to Tsarítsyn, which remained a secure base for the Reds as they were driven out of southern Russia. Avdéyev writes with a definite sense of his own importance, but this journey was indeed a noteworthy achievement. Readers may find the map at the end of the book useful.

On 26 June 1918 dawn was just breathing its freshness and sweet scents. Spar-¬ rows were chirping on the branches, cattle were being driven through the town. A little later, when the morning had advanced, people appeared on the street, some walking, some riding, while the old men stood about, with their great grey beards, discussing how life was going to be: ‘I suppose you’ve heard—there’ll be no money, everything will be free. I don’t know whether we shall live well or not so well then. It’s something our heads couldn’t fathom.’ I moved away, and gradually lost the voices of the old men talking. By 7 a.m. I had arrived at the defence headquarters, which at that time was situated on the second floor of Velikoknyázheskaya railway station. I was hurrying to work, and entered the headquarters. There was a great deal of news. An armoured train had arrived from the direction of Torgóvaya, and brought much of interest from Stávropol’. Gololénko, commander of the armoured train, was a middle-aged man of medium height, who at first appeared rather gruff and surly—but we are often misled by appearances. Gololénko got out of the train and began to tell us about setting up Revolutionary Committees in Stávropol’ Province. He told us how they had put down a rebellion near the large village of Peschinka.

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The Soviet Encyclopedia of the Civil War gives some useful particulars: ‘An armoured train had a locomotive, which was heavily armoured and contained a protective cabin for the commander. The train had two firing platforms and the gun crews to serve them. When going into action the armoured locomotive was placed between the gun platforms, with its tender facing towards the enemy. The firing positions had armour along their sides, with 4 to 6 machine guns and a swivelling gun turret armed with two artillery pieces.’ All in all the armoured trains were quite a formidable fighting unit. One British officer thought that they had the same daunting effect on the enemy as tanks had produced during the First World War. ‘All the time’, said Gololénko, ‘we are gaining in strength. People will long remember how we dealt with the Whites.’ That was the sort of talk that lasted a good ten minutes in our Defence HQ. After that I hurried into the telegraph office, and settled down to my own work. There was a great deal to do. At that time the telegraph and the telephone were working like unsparing demons from hell, never silent for a minute: phone conversations about how things were going, communiques from the front line with operational assignments—in short real pressure of urgent items demanding attention. Working like that over the past twenty-four hours my head felt as heavy as lead, or as though I had a hangover from three days heavy drinking. But all the same it was fascinating, even if we didn’t feel like laughing. One would go back home, knowing that every ten to fifteen minutes the telegraph would be bringing in the latest, and then again the latest news, so that even after working one’s shift one might sit it out almost round the clock. We kept on listening to know if the Whites were close to us, how our government was faring in Moscow and Petrográd, what was going on abroad, etc., etc.… All the circumstances made us wonder at every stage what would happen next. About 10 o’clock the next morning I was relieved after my shift, went straight home from work and dropped off to sleep after my night on duty, to forget all my cares…—but still in sleep the thoughts came: ‘Our position has moved forward ten versts; in Platóvskaya there is a Revolutionary Committee; there are Soviets also in Gundoróvski village.’ Even when I was asleep I was plagued by emotions from talk I had heard during the day. Gundoróvski is about 15 km from Rostóv with Yél’mut on its eastern side. When the Bolsheviks were forced out of Velikoknyázheskaya their trains started travelling north-east to get to the Red Army stronghold at Tsarítsyn. They first went as far north as Dvoynáya and Orlóvski, but then were pushed back again to Yél’mut. After Defence Headquarters of Sal’sk District had come into being, they immediately organized the elected Committee of Staff, Technicians and Workers at Velikoknyázheskaya stanítsa. I don’t remember exactly, but I think the Committee was elected in April under the chairmanship of the technician Fyódor Lyolyakin, and they started to consolidate Soviet power and its laws.

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There were knots of people on the streets and political meetings with shouts of ‘Long live the Red Guard. Down with capitalists. Beat the bourgeois, no sparing them. Long live our leaders, Lénin and Trotsky’. Besides organizing Local Committees and Revolutionary Committees, railway-men under the direction of N.V.Tólotski, Chairman of the Defence Headquarters of Sal’sk District, immediately gave the order to set a guard over the bridge across the River Mánych, commanded by Senior Carriage Master Gershtéyn. The men on watch, about a company strong, carried out their special task to guard the bridge from attacks by gangs of Cossacks, and also saved the pumping apparatus, oil pumps, high steam systems, and other important machinery, carrying out their duties exactly as prescribed by Defence Headquarters. The Guard Company was made up of revolutionary minded men: metal workers, telegraph workers, tin smiths, blacksmiths, office workers—generally speaking people who had never seen a rifle, never heard the word ‘soldier’. But at the time we were living through then it was not a question of military experience but of solidarity and friendship in our ranks. So—‘Beware of our enemies’. That was the sort of thing that was being said. The guard squad had its staff, and we mustered specially for the night shift. Our headquarters were situated in the railwaymen’s college. In the evening that was the scene for fun and games, dances and so on. The main advantage was that we had a base to supply splendid meals. They gave out such lavish portions. Nicholas II had never fed any of his armies, as we were fed at that time. We each got a pound of first quality sausage, and as much fatty pork as anyone could desire. We could not eat all the white bread, and tea into the bargain and you could smoke cigarettes to your heart’s content. Our hatred cried out ‘We will smash the Kadéts’. That is how our company was so happy safeguarding the needs of our young free Soviet State. Just as we were well provided for, so we carried out our duties exactly as we were bound to. There were no special favours for anyone; no one would get away with the slightest breach of duty. The guard were all most vigilant. We knew only too well that the old regime had sent out a mass of spies, informers and other scoundrels to undermine and destroy Soviet power. God forbid that anyone should say a single word against the Bolsheviks, implying that their rule was no good. Anyone who spoke like that would be arrested forthwith and shot as an agent provocateur, or as we used to say in our own jargon ‘sent on a trip to the moon’. I remember how I was told by people who had seen what happened that the son of the priest at Velikoknyázheskaya was caught talking against Bolshevism and stirring up trouble. He was immediately arrested and shot. His father, the priest Vladimir, who weighed about twenty stone, came to the station and started to sing ‘God save the Tsar’. He too was executed in full public view. That was the way we watched everyone. Not a single spy or agent provocateur could get away with any attack on our Soviet regime. We swept all that lot out of the way. Avdéyev makes a different impression from an account in the newspaper Donskáya volná: The Bolsheviks who occupied Velikoknyázheskaya conducted themselves tolerably—they robbed and arrested a few people, but they did not engage in any executions or terror’ (Holquist, 2002:146).

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Obviously there was ill will against our building up Soviet power. The Cossacks greatly hampered our efforts. There were outbursts of violence, rebellions and plots. Gangs of Cossacks, commanded by Cossack officers swooped down on villages and towns to wreck the local Soviets. They destroyed the railways, tore up the track, hindering transport, cutting off the supply of goods to the people, and stopping any passengers from travelling. For example I can quote two obvious cases in Velikoknyázheskaya station when we were setting about organizing our own internal defence for the Soviets. In that place there was a detachment under Gólubev, a Cossack officer. I don’t remember his rank, but I think he was a lieutenant colonel. He recruited his men, fitted out a squadron of Cossacks with uniforms and arms and sent them against our forces to one of the bridges which had been built by the government. There they killed the gun crews of our artillery, and got hold of the guns. They sabred a unit of sleepy infantry in our line by Khár’kov. They crossed the river over into Stávropol’ Province. Gólubev himself took the whole garrison, got some artillery and made his way towards Rostóv to join the Whites. That shows you how much the Cossacks liked to see Soviet power being brought in and how they hunted the Soviets. On another occasion a local Cossack officer, second lieutenant Gaydúk, organized about 50 cavalrymen, pretending they were to defend Soviet power. He and his gang descended on the station Yél’Tmut at the double track 176 versts up towards Tsarítsyn. They smashed the telephones and the telegraph, took up the rails, and drove out the railwaymen. On his way he caused a rebellion in Gundoróvski village. He tricked the Cossacks by telling them that life and power had already gone from the Bolsheviks. Of course it is true that in those difficult days it was certainly very difficult to set up Soviet power among the Cossack population. However, not worrying about anything that stood in our way, we were putting into practice the plan which we had laid down. We took the quickest and most energetic measures to get rid of all traces of Tsarist power in the Velikoknyázheskaya District of the Don Óblast’. Defence Headquarters of Sal’sk District passed a resolution that all citizens should be disarmed. I do not remember the exact date, but about 25 May 1918, the order was given that all firearms and sabres etc. should be brought in. This operation was carried out according to the strictest military rules. After a series of such actions which affected the Cossacks we had to face the fact that in future we could expect no help or protection from them. Cossacks in the old Imperial Army had customarily brought their side arms back to their homes after each campaign, and the Reds’ order for them to surrender all weapons inevitably led to trouble. A year later, in 1919, harsh treatment of Cossack villages provoked a large-scale rebellion centred on Vyóshenskaya, which lay across the Red Army’s communications and caused them a great deal of difficulty. The armoured train under the command of comrade Gololénko, covered by the railway protection infantry company, proceeded to the 166 versts point near the new Alexander Nevsky cathedral and opened fire on Velikoknyázheskaya stanítsa, feeling that we had to admit that people had not obeyed the order. So they started shelling—but only for 25 minutes, until a delegation came out from the stanítsa with a document. All their arms

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would be given in during the next hour. Thus the operation to disarm the Cossacks was concluded by 4 o’clock on 25 May. After this had been done it must be remarked that not so many gangs were organized against establishing Soviet power, but it was noticeable that Cossacks had much less confidence in the representatives of our regime. There was more spying against us, more provocation, and other ways of undermining Soviet power. 24 June 1918 was a baking hot day, unbearably close. The trees had not a leaf stirring; even the sparrows had sought refuge from the heat under the leaves, only occasionally chirping their monotonous song. I was wending my way slowly to the Defence Headquarters to hear what had happened during the night and to talk things over with my friends. I did not feel in a good mood. People were calling into the office to get telegrams and to check their mail over the last twenty-four hours. For the military commander of the telegraph office it was essential to carry out our duties as the Revolution demanded, and this applied directly to me. Towards the end of that day there was a panic because of the news that General Alekséyev was moving up to take Velikoknyázheskaya, and that his main force was already in Torgóvaya. Military units began to muster, cars roared up, and we started preparing to meet our long awaited guest, General Alekséyev. Alekséyev (1857–1918): 1917—Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Army; Chief of Staff under Kérensky’s Provisional Government. After October 1917 Alekséyev organized opposition to the Bolsheviks in South Russia. He then became the first commander of the Volunteer Army. Defence Headquarters made decisive arrangements to smash the enemy, come what may. Panic was spreading day by day. The fire was fanned by spies of the old regime and spies of other parties, exaggerating the idea and spreading rumours that Soviet power had come to the end of its life and its fate was sealed. ‘After all’, they said, ‘seeing that General Alekséyev had broken through and taken the Caucasus, taking the Don Óblast’ would be no trouble at all for him.’ This kind of defeatist talk greatly upset the people, while even Red Army men were not sure where they should be going and who they should be following. In spite of all that, our units were holding their positions at Khár’kov Ford across the River Mánych and at the so-called Government Bridge. A large contingent held the crossing over the Mánych into Stávropol’ Province. Our forces at that time numbered up to two and a half thousand men in the southern group under the command of A.Vasílyev. He was a tall man, dark and stern, so that the mere sight of Vasílyev was enough to frighten anyone considering thoughts of counter-revolution. All this confusion, panic and frightened talk about the demise of Soviet power went on until the morning of 26 June, and that morning about 5 a.m. a definite decision was made to retreat, since the enemy’s forces outnumbered ours by almost six to one. We had to withdraw to preserve our own units. From early morning on that day we started hectic preparations for leaving, evacuating all revolutionary committees and other Soviet departments and sub-departments. Let me say a little about what I saw and what I did myself in the evacuation of office staff, technicians and workers from Velikoknyázheskaya stanítsa, taking away lathes and collecting up all our equipment, from a rusty nail up to a locomotive. On 26 June, about 10 in the morning, the station was in a great muddle with everyone dashing about, trying to catch up with each other, not understanding what the others were saying, nor what was

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going on. One person would say ‘Our men are advancing’. They would be contradicted by one of the others: ‘Our men are running away’, and yet another: ‘They’re waiting for reinforcements who are coming up now.’ Finally ‘Load up whatever you can. Alekséyev has taken the stanítsa’. The workers go in a group to find the Committee Chairman and ask him what is to be done: ‘Let’s have a meeting. We need to discuss the question. We can’t go on like this.’ Finally in the railway garden of Velikoknyázheskaya a meeting was held about 12 noon to discuss what we should do with the office staff, technicians and workers… ‘The troops will go, institutions will go, but as for us—what are we going to do?’ ‘Yes, come on, let’s discuss that question immediately.’ At that time the Chairman of the Velikoknyázheskaya Local Executive Committee was student engineer Chíkov. The Secretary was the telegraphist Petkévich. It must be said that these two men were strongly opposed to Soviet power, both being monarchists. They had got into the Local Committee as good speakers in favour of Soviet power, pretending they would strengthen it; but in reality they were just waiting for the right chance that the Bolsheviks would come to grief- ‘Then we will leave your committees.’ On 26 June at 12.15 the general meeting was opened with the first item on the agenda ‘What shall we do with our people working here, since by evening General Alekséyev will take the stanítsa and the station?’ Several of the workers spoke. They proposed that we should immediately find sixty carriages for the families of workers and office staff, who held Soviet power dear, and let them travel like that, while if anyone did not want to leave we would know they were in favour of the Whites. The next to speak was engineer Chíkov, the monarchist: ‘Comrades, why for years to come should we break up the nests we have warmed for ourselves. Let us all stand by our work stations, and if General Alekséyev comes in with his troops, then we shall meet him and continue to work for him as we worked for the Reds.’ There were loud shouts: ‘Kill Chíkov, the White Guard swine, let us put him in prison, not kill him immediately.’ But we did not feel like arguing any more when the first shell from the Whites burst in that very same garden. The meeting finished by loading in everyone who supported Soviet power and carrying away every single thing. We immediately scattered and there was a great rush, as we loaded up the trains. Shortly afterwards the Red Guards were fleeing in panic from the Whites. In Velikoknyázheskaya the staff of the Don Republic was waiting, with two trains of passenger carriages, the supply base for the armoured train, and a great collection of goods for trading. There were many empty carriages, amounting to a total of eight trains. We had plenty of locomotives both for the empty wagons and for the loads we had to carry. As I have already said, the first shell from the Whites burst about 1 o’clock, and by 2 p.m. there had been ten such shells, or even more. A frightful panic started. The headquarters of the Don Republic (now embarked in the trains) declared to the management of the railway: ‘Take us out of here, give us the locomotives we need or else you will be arrested’. The Railway Committee was also loading its own bits and pieces in panic and putting in what was essential for them. Military units were put into the trains, as were our soldiers from the local garrison, anyone who was ill, and the military hospitals, Revolutionary and other Committees, the financial services and other Soviet institutions. They were piled in haphazard, as long as they could get somewhere in the trains.

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Before diesel engines replaced steam, locomotives were normally fired by coal. Alongside the engine driver stood a fireman, whose job was to feed the furnace with coal to keep up a good head of steam. When the fireman’s arm was injured, as here, naturally he could no longer shovel coal in sufficient quantities. About 3 p.m. trains 1 and 2 left, carrying the large staff of the Don Republic, (which was no longer trying to run things—in fact its administrative role was over). Train 3 followed, containing all the Soviet institutions, besides the sick and wounded. Train 4 was sent off with the personnel from the railway workshops and their families. Two further trains were sent after them to take anything or anyone left over. Behind them all came the armoured train. As train 4 was leaving it ran into a bandit raid at the 168th verst. From our train we fired on a gang of Cossacks. I had managed to hang onto that train as it was passing over the points outside the station. My mate Rubán and I climbed up onto the engine. We were both armed with rifles and revolvers, and on the locomotive we saw many Red Army men, all well armed. When the Cossacks were shooting at us at the 168th verst, the fireman’s arm was badly injured, and his physical disability meant that he had to declare himself out of action. There was no denying the hard truth: either the engine would stop and block the escape route for all the trains behind us, or we had to keep going… I knew a little about steam locomotives, and more than once I had tried my hand at operating one under the supervision of engine drivers who were moving trains about in our area. I decided to stand in, either for the engine driver or for the fireman. It was obvious that the fireman had not smelt powder in action, and was frightened out of his wits by the shooting. Fearing that he might do something stupid I resolved to take on running the train to the next station, Yél’mut, under my own careful supervision. At least I was willing to try it. Little by little we increased our speed. Quite simply the engine cab where the driver managed the locomotive turned into a front line position. There were shouts, ordering: ‘Fire!’, ‘Change the range’, while on the roof of the engine and the carriage the machine guns were chattering constantly like sewing machines. With difficulties like these and a mass of incidents I brought the train through safely, and handed it over to the experienced driver. I transferred myself into a carriage to catch up with my staff. Thus the first positive steps to build up and strengthen Soviet power were nullified at 3 p.m. on 26 June 1918 by the attack of the White general, Alekséyev, in Sal’sk District of the Don Óblast’. We had finished evacuating everyone. Now our men were deployed to move along the railway. We occupied useful high points, and for eight days that was all we had to do. After that we had to yield to the pressure of enemy forces which outnumbered ours. We decided to leave our last positions near the stanítsa Dvoynáya, went back to Kuberlé station and held a line along the River Kuberlé. All this time I was with 37 HQ, acting as assistant to the commander in charge of troop movements. To be honest it is difficult to remember exactly what happened each day, but I shall note what I remarked on and wrote down as we went on fighting. In that period our troops were still called Red Guards. They carried out their military tasks under commanders and elected administrators. In all justice I must admit that we saw that the

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White forces were much better disciplined than ours. If there was a battle then a battle it was. But there were some cases when infantry would come back and go straight into headquarters: ‘Where have you come from?’ ‘From the front line.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Well, because our shift is finished. It’s such and such battalion’s turn now. And we’ve come in for a rest.’ ‘But who is holding the line?’ ‘There is no one there.’ You should have seen what a panic ensued. ‘The enemy has broken through.’ Everyone grabs their rifles. ‘There they are—the Whites, the Whites You could also see a situation when a regiment was moving into the line to take up its position. They went forward, on and on. Then they stopped. ‘What’s the matter?’ The commander suggests: ‘Let’s open a meeting. Perhaps we shan’t advance today.’ And now the meeting starts, with arguments and quite heated discussion. Finally they decide: ‘All right. Let’s go on.’ That is more or less how it was in our time when we elected our commanders during the war on the Don. At that time the units retreating from Velikoknyázheskaya were called ‘The Special Group of the Southern Column under the command of comrade Shevkoplyásov’. Besides the infantry, we had the cavalry units of Kolpakóv, Budyónny and Duménko. Along our front at Kuberlé our Red Guards were fighting desperately every day with the White death squads. Not a day passed without a battle. In spite of our small numbers, just a handful against the strength of our enemy, yet we held on and on, beating back the daily attacks of the Whites. We could not advance, but were just holding onto our defensive line. As we have seen, ‘partisans’ in the early stages of the Civil War would feel that their first loyalty lay with the commander who had recruited them and who often gave his name to the unit. In 1918, Duménko’s Don Cossack Cavalry Division was part of Shevkoplyásov’s partisan detachment of 10,000 men defending Tsarítsyn. From September 1919, Duménko was in charge of the Joint Cavalry Corps. In May 1920, this popular leader was executed, having been falsely accused of killing his Political Commissar. In 1918, Budyónny (1883–1973) was still junior to Duménko, but with Stalin’s backing he received rapid promotion. In 1920, his First Cavalry Army became famous in retaking Rostóv and subsequently in the campaigns against the Poles, and against Vrangél’ in the Crimea. (For a fuller picture of Budyónny see Primary sources: 182– 234). The River Kuberlé flows north from Zimovnikí. Gashún, which Avdéyev mentions as a supply point for the Reds, is up the line about 17 km north of Zimovnikí’. If his dating is correct, the Red Guards must have been there before they set up their headquarters in Velikoknyázheskaya. Their move towards Kotél’nikovo did not take them even halfway towards Tsarítsyn which was still 75 miles away. The forces Avdéyev was

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with faced three months of fighting up and down the railways to the northeast of Velikoknyázheskaya. When Alekséyev took Torgóvaya he cut Tsarítsyn off from the remnants of Red Army forces in the Caucasus. The tide did not turn till September, when Zhlóba’s cavalry came from the south to deal a decisive blow at the Whites. The whole of Avdéyev’s narrative illustrates well the disjointed manoeuvring in the summer of 1918, when both sides moved over large distances without stable front lines. Our men were exhausted, suffering particularly from a shortage of military supplies. There were times when our soldiers had only eight to ten cartridges left, which can be explained by the fact that we were cut off from Tsarítsyn. We had no base at Rostóv; there was no supply line and no reserve stocks. It was the same for the artillery—fire one shot, and see how many rounds are left… The enemy enjoyed good conditions, with plenty of ammunition. They fired at the little town of Kuberlé, whether they needed to or not. We could not return their fire, even when they were shooting directly at us. This chronic shortage lasted a long time, three months and more. I have forgotten to add to the picture the fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers of the Red Army men, retreating from the Whites alongside us, and in their own way defending Soviet power, with a son or a brother in the army. We were pushed out of Velikoknyázheskaya, forced to leave the village of Gundoróvski, the stanítsas of Platóvskaya, Bol’sháya and Málaya Orlovka etc. So the family of each Red Army man, who did not want to fall into the hands of the Whites, had to make up their mind to move on with the Red forces, knowing that if they stayed at home, then the Whites would take their cattle, their clothes, and quite likely put them in prison, drive them away into the mines etc., if they simply discovered that anyone from that family was serving in the Red Army. That was why along with our army we saw our families retreating, both the dependants of the railwaymen, and other families. Right through to the end of our journey they added up to thirty thousand people on carts, with their belongings in large chests, their cows and everything else. One must say in truth that they provided reinforcements for us, besides being our base for supplies and uniforms. A little later I shall be relating some facts about how we fought to defend the Revolution, facts which were sad for us at the time, but are still of keen interest. It is easy to realize that our forces were cut off from large towns, such as Tsarítsyn and other major centres. We might look on them as our centre, but we were isolated. There were no supplies, no clothing, absolutely no source for replenishing stocks of equipment, and no reinforcements. What could we do? Besides this, we lost soldiers in action or from illness etc. You can understand how we had to recruit men from those thirty thousand refugees to defend our position and supplies, for it was quite obvious: ‘I am the son in the army, while my family are among the refugees. The family know what regiment I am in. They know where my unit is stationed. There may be a battle going on—they’ll bring food to their brother or their husband, milk and bread, a change of underwear—and then they go back to the others.’ Those were roughly the circumstances which our Red Army had to endure, battling for our freedom, destroying more than one counter-revolution, inching forward as we tried to get to Tsarítsyn. Going along we suffered what not a single history

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can convey, such torments, both physical and mental. Although I was a fervent supporter and saw it all, even I cannot tell you everything that I saw with my own eyes and went through on our difficult journey. The facts I have set down here can be confirmed by my comrades, who shared all these perils: comrades I.F.Arkhípov, K.L.Kravtsóv, I.I.Rubán, L.Poplávski, and N.A.Guzíyev. These ones I have named are alive today, and are living in the stanítsa Proletárskaya (formerly Velikoknyázheskaya), the railwayman Guzíyev at Zimovnikí station, Poplávski at Grózny station on the Vladikavkáz Railway. A little later I shall set down what I remember about how we fell back from Gashún station. Inspired by the hope of victory we moved steadily, at a slow but sure pace, sometimes going forward and sometimes falling back. Under pressure from the enemy we left Kuberlé station and Zimovnikí, and fell back to Gashún station. Gashún was a key point for supplying our army, for bringing in reinforcements, taking away our wounded, and other military operations. In 1918 we first came to Gashún about 10–13 June. When we were near the front line it was quite a serious responsibility to be stationmaster on duty for that station, and responsible for appointing the other personnel to be in charge. One had to put in one’s own comrades, who would be loyal and reliable. Since I had been a telegraphist and a specialist in controlling train movements I was immediately appointed as station-master for Gashún. As duty manager for the station I myself appointed comrade Poplávski, and his assistant was to be Mikhaíl Bandúrko, telegraphist. Other posts were held by Kravtsóv, and Yevgéni Avdéyev The commandant of the station was to be N.A.Gúzhev. I.F.Arkhípov was to see to the water supply. In those days that duty was considered a very serious responsibility. If we put in someone from outside he might turn out to be a treacherous spy, who would poison the system, and then we could suffer great losses of both cattle and humans. But naturally we were extremely careful not to appoint anyone unsuitable. At the station we never ceased to work night and day, from 10 June till 5 September. Besides our routine duties as railwaymen we also had a military role. We would suddenly hear: ‘Come on boys, into the line. The Whites have broken through.’ Just the stationmaster and the commandant would stay, but everyone else would pick up their rifles and into the front line. There were quite a lot of scenes like that, sometimes even twice in one day, or more. At night as well it was not as though you were safely at home. You must keep your eyes and ears open like a watchful hare, otherwise you might doze and then the Whites could make mincemeat of you. There were not many people who would want to live like that, but that was situation we were in and we just had to see it through. I can’t remember the exact date, but I know that in September we were forced to come out of Gashún and move towards Tsarítsyn. The enemy’s forces were constantly growing stronger, while we were gradually getting weaker. There was no way we could get reinforcements. We left Gashún with great regret, but we had to go. Under a hailstorm of bullets and shells our troops moved off gradually towards Kotél’nikovo station. In September 1918 at Kotél’nikovo our forces were augmented by up to a thousand troops and railwaymen, also Shtéyger’s unit with a few more. In this way our numbers were increased by those same tired workmen who had been repairing rolling stock all day and manning the trenches at night, beating off that insatiable monster the White horde.

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Now we had reinforcements coming in. That meant reorganizing us, and our shift had not slept. In a flash we had decided: ‘Don’t let us leave those White swine a single carriage or locomotive or a single metal screw, let us take everything.’ That was what was done. There were feverish preparations for leaving. Covered wagons were provided for the men’s families. ‘Let anyone come aboard who wants to be with us’. Of course we could not take all their possessions: ‘Throw out the chests and bits and pieces’. Chairs, baskets and various pictures—all had to be thrown out. Load up the family and their clothes. The rest will have to go to Mr Antón Ivánovich Deníkin. ‘Let his highness deck his lords out with what we leave behind.’ In a short time we had put everyone in and got them ready. We had enough people to fill twelve trains, loaded up with this and that. A commandant was appointed for each train and I remember now: I.F.Arkhípov was in charge of the third train, while I had the second, Guzíyev the fourth. Comrade L.V.Simon was the senior commander, to whom all of us were subordinated. About 10 o’clock in the evening (I can’t remember what date) they fired off rockets. Hoping for the best, we all set off, one after another, to follow him, trusting the track would be in order. After all the others came two ‘armoured’ trains with thatched roofs, like eagles looking after their young. From Kotél’nikovo on our retreat was difficult, which I can bear witness to, as one who saw it all, though I cannot set it out in great literary style: such sufferings, such events the like of which history has never seen. I doubt if any writer could depict it, even in the plainest colours, but I’ll tell you further on all that happened. When we had got away from Kotél’nikovo with our twelve trains crammed with wives, children, and whatever working class people have to take with them, for ten versts the enemy shot at these trains with volleys of shells. The bombardment went on from early morning till the dark night, and even at night there was no rest. While the shells were falling there were such sights to be seen. We could watch a shell hitting one of the carriages, shattering everything in it, all flying up in the air. It killed children and wives, and finally the carriage caught fire. To get away from that fire and clear the line took superhuman efforts. There was no water. What were we to do? The workers got together, tied a rope to the carriage and pulled together—one, two, three— heave, and it rolled down the embankment on its four wheels. The next part of our track had been taken up by the enemy for three or four versts, with the rails bent up into a bow, while the sleepers had been stacked in heaps and burnt. Stretches of track were destroyed like that for more or less a hundred versts. We who were retreating along it had to put up with a lot of extra work and pain. We would go along for five versts at a snail’s pace, then stop. ‘What’s wrong? The rails have been smashed up for three versts or even further. Let’s get to work.’ Of course in our trains we had men skilled in every branch of railway engineering. That wasn’t the difficulty. The trouble was we had no materials, no tools, absolutely nothing to work with. But, in spite of all that our progress was not too seriously delayed. We had to repair the track night and day. The enemy artillery would fire on the place where we were working, trying to set fire to the twelve trains that were stationary, and on top of that several planes would come in to attack us. The scene was unimaginable: children crying, old people shouting, weeping all around, and cries for help, with some people now silent in the sleep of death. There was no one to give first aid. Every man still standing had a definite task: to lay the rails again and to carry water to the engines.

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I must mention specially one occasion when we had no straight rails, no sleepers, no spikes to set everything together again. If we had been faint-hearted we would have given it all up and run off to beg His Excellency Antón Ivánovich Deníkin ‘Forgive us and have mercy on us’ No! A thousand times ‘no’. Workers with revolutionary spirit would not behave like that. But Deníkin had failed to grasp: these rough Red deep voices, all this ragged mob, this uncultured rabble could outrival the minds of the generals, the upper class engineers and other voices of the bourgeoisie. On that day we began to set the track in order. There were no sleepers but there were telegraph poles along the way. ‘Let’s saw them up and lay them across to fix the rails to them’…and we were started… Although highly educated engineers had said: ‘Sleepers should not be more than 21 inches apart’, we laid them at three foot intervals. Each rail was bent up in a curve. ‘All right, boys: one, two, three together, and we’ll straighten it out…perhaps not so straight as it came from the factory, but at least the engine won’t run off the rails.’ When we were working like that the enemy did not forget us for a minute, but kept sending over one present after another. While the work was in progress it was clear what had to be done, so that the only people not working were little children under five. Old men, old women, anyone who felt fit—off to the trenches. Women and children were carrying water to our twelve engines from three versts away. They even collected water from puddles, so as to feed the locomotives. And it was these workers, with their ragged bare-bellied children who were being fired on by the guns of the ‘cultured’ public, the high and mighty Don Army with their gold shoulder straps. But things aren’t going to go your way, we proletarians are not frightened of overthrowing thrones or gold epaulettes. We don’t have such things… ‘Go on and on to victory’ is what was proclaimed by the brains of the proletariat. I have not the heart to describe those terrible scenes. That nightmare lasted three days from Kotél’nikovo to Zhútovo station along the whole of our front. When we got to Zhútovo we found that our way ahead had not improved but rather was ten times worse. We judged our position to be quite hopeless. There was even a plan to abandon the trains and to force our way across the steppes to Astrakhan’. But within three days our proletarian brains found a way out of our difficulties. The track across the bridge over the River Zhútovo was completely destroyed for about a hundred metres ahead. This problem was tackled by our engineers with every sort of specialized training. Anyone who could lift anything helped to bring forward the necessary parts. Even the children carried in some nuts and bolts, and everyone’s work was helping. While we were repairing the rails the enemy concentrated their artillery fire on those who were working on the bridge. Divisional commander Shevkoplyásov had the idea of bringing in several loads of straw. This was put down at a distance, three or four kilometres away from the bridge. The straw was doused with water and set alight. A dense cloud of thick smoke hid the men working on the bridge and the enemy’s fire almost completely stopped, thanks to which they were able to finish their work. The bridge rested on three piles of sleepers. On our third day, about ten in the evening, twelve trains and two armoured trains passed over the river and continued on their way towards the Red stronghold at Tsarítsyn. We had to cover about 135 versts from Zhútovo to Tsarítsyn. Each stage between stations had five or six versts of track destroyed and the rails curled up like ram’s horns. The journey towards Tsarítsyn was so difficult that

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anyone who is still alive, even those who were small children at the time, will remember how the ‘intelligentsia’, the aristocracy, with their shining epaulettes, the clever people in the Almighty Vóysko of the Don, were killing their fathers, brothers, daughters and mothers—and using every means to do so, not even hesitating to drop poison gas bombs on them. Speaking of our difficult struggle for the cause of the working class we must not forget the name of Glushánin, that master of the permanent way, who saw us through Zhutovo, Gremyáchaya, Kotél’nikovo, Abgonérovo, Gniloaksáyskaya, Tingutá, Tundútovo… Glushánin was an older man of 50 or 55. For a month I never saw him sleep, though sometimes from sheer exhaustion he fell to the ground and lost consciousness. Everything that I am saying can be confirmed by many political and professional colleagues who are still alive and working on the Rostóv-Vladikavkáz Railway. In September (I don’t remember the exact date) we got through to Tundútovo and faced a new difficulty, seeing that Sarépta station was occupied by the 7th Astrakhan’ Officers Regiment. We cannot move forward; we are being fired on from our rear and from the sides. We are sitting there like canaries in a cage, the only difference being that canaries get bits of sugar to peck, and they sing their songs—but we Bolsheviks are eating husks of lead. Suddenly there are new tidings, and it feels as though a hundred tons had rolled off our neck. Shevkoplyásov, commander of the 37th Division, declared that Zhlóba with 8,000 cavalry was in the rear of the Whites at Sarépta. And so it was: in the morning we could hear their cheers as they swept in to charge. Red flags, tears, and joy in everyone’s eyes. We met up with Zhlóba’s men and in the morning there was another triumph: his cavalry had cut the Astrakhan’ Regiment to pieces. Twenty officers had run away from the regiment and even they had been caught. Avdéyev and the Red Guards had now won through to their objective. Sarépta was virtually a part of Tsarítsyn, with a dock where grain could be loaded from railway wagons into barges on the Volga. Zhlóba (1887–1938) was a successful Cavalry Commander. Red Army units based on Astrakhan’ suffered from hunger, lack of clothing and ammunition. They were in quite a mutinous mood, but in that difficult period Zhlóba’s 1st Partisan Brigade was considered the best prepared part of Duménko’s force.

May 1918: Brékhov’s cool head saves his train (d.141) This hairbreadth escape was pushed through on the railway from Yekaterinosláv, about 100 miles north of the main line where Blokhín and Avdéyev had run their trains.

In early 1918 I was employed as an engine driver based in the workshops at Morózovsk. A class struggle was developing between Bolsheviks and Ménsheviks. We railway workers realized this immediately and quickly formed our ranks. Some of the people

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joined us at once, and we were proud to defend the Soviets and our good fortune from the Ménshevik counter-revolutionary bandits. As an engine driver I took no heed of fatigue, and I was ready to undertake reconnaissance with my locomotive. At the beginning of May 1918, when comrade Voroshílov approached, my duty was to go on with a train of 42 wagons loaded with the supplies we needed as we went towards Grach station. Voroshílov March-May 1918 fought against Germans near Khár’kov, July-August defended Tsarítsyn. Later was attached to Budyónny and spoke for him when 1st Cavalry Army was accused of gross indiscipline and perpetrating anti-Jewish pogroms. Krasnóv had recently been elected as Atamán of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don. Comrade Konotóp was in command of our train with a detachment of 27 men. At 15.00 hours I received an order to proceed from Morózovsk station, to follow the train which had gone 20 versts ahead. I was watching very carefully not to run into the rear of that train, and also watching that we did not fall into the hands of one of Krasnov’s gangs. There were no other specialist railway personnel travelling with us, so that I had to shoulder all the responsibility. At the mark for 161 versts out we went through a cutting, and when we emerged the train in front of us was no longer in sight. I increased the speed of our train to get over the stretch of 12 versts of track which was not protected from Krasnov’s bands. Suddenly I saw coming over the horizon a counter-revolutionary gang of some 150 horsemen about a kilometre away from us. They were galloping towards the track ahead, hell-bent on tearing it up. Keeping quite calm I assessed the danger we faced, and I calculated that with the kind of primitive tools they carried they would not have time to destroy the rails. But if I stopped our train I would fall into the hands of our enemies, and they would get everything we were carrying—guns, shells, cartridges, aeroplanes, bombs, explosives etc. We would pay dearly. Since there were no skilled railwaymen we could not stop the train and go into reverse. If we put on the brakes we would not escape. We could not go back—so were we just going to fall into the hands of the Cossacks? I sounded a prolonged whistle to alert the crew to the danger. I ordered my helper and the fireman to duck down into the trenches that we had previously prepared in the coal on the tender, and they hid themselves there. Then I increased to full speed. Without taking my hand off the regulator I was watching to see if there had been any damage to the track ahead. But my plan held good: at 45 kilometres an hour we hurtled through the part where we were under threat from the bandits rushing to attack us. They jumped back in fright from the rails and opened up heavy rifle fire. Their bullets rained against the locomotive and the carriages. I was not too frightened by the hail of bullets, though I was angry when I saw them firing straight at me. They did no harm except making some holes in the locomotive and its cab, but a minute later shells were bursting in front of us aimed to hit the track and derail the train. Once again my luck held, for not a single shot fell on the rails or the permanent way enough to do any damage. Some shells exploded at the edge of the track and showered the engine with earth and sand.

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When I escaped from the enemy forces I was glad to start slowing down the train because we were on a downward slope and were approaching a station. I looked hard to see how things were ahead, so as not to do any damage in the station, but I could see that they were ready to let me in without any delay. I brought the train in carefully. As soon as we stopped I jumped down from the engine with joy and delight. I rushed about with excitement that I had succeeded in bringing it all through. I went along to look at the situation over the whole length of the train. The carriages were all riddled with bullets. There was only one casualty, a Red Army man who had been grievously wounded. He died soon afterwards, and next day he was given a comrade’s grave at the station Oblivskáya. This is my account of an event in 1918 A.Brekhov, engine driver

March 1919: D’yachénko explains loss of armoured train (d.371) The Donéts Basin (Donbáss) was Russia’s main coal bearing area, and AleksándrovskGrushévski was renamed Shákhty (‘Mines’) in 1920. As in most industrial centres the Bolsheviks were strong here even before October, and it was no doubt for that reason that left-wing Cossacks chose Kámenskaya as the meeting point for their congress in January 1918. 1 In reply to your enquiry of 10 May 1927 I can report that the last armoured train fell into enemy hands because in the retreat of 1919, when they were approaching Morózovsk, it was already occupied by Whites. Pushed back by them our detachment had to retreat on foot to Tatsínskaya station, 102 versts out, and the armoured train was destroyed by our own men so that it would not fall into enemy hands. Our people went on foot to Skasyrskaya, and there they joined with the main forces of the Red Army. The armoured train’s base could not retreat, since Val’kóvo station was already cut off by the Whites. On 10 June (New Style) they gave battle at the section of double track at Morózovsk. It was there that more than three hundred of our men were killed (Red Army men and railway workers). 2 Building a bypass bridge across the River Býstraya at Zhirnovó station started at the end of February or early March 1919–1 don’t remember the exact date. At that time it was tremendously important for the Red Army, because their front line lay along the Donéts River and all transport was difficult, with winter giving way to spring. They had to supply the front with guns, shells and other military supplies. The Red Army would have found it very awkward to manage without them, since the swollen rivers were a great obstacle at that time. 3 Units of Red partisans appeared after Kérensky had gone—or, more correctly, after the Provisional Government had been overthrown, since it was then that the peasants found out who were their friends or enemies. This was the time when the Red Guard retreated to Tsarítsyn (now Stalingrad). White bands raided peasant farms, hoping to make use of their weapons and cartridges. But they were prevented from doing so, since our partisans followed the Whites closely and resisted them as necessary. As the Red Guard retreated we went with Shchadénko’s detachment to conquer in the name of the Revolution and to restore Soviet power. I served in various units till the final

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liquidation of the Whites, and finished my campaigns for the Revolution on the shores of the Black Sea. Shchadénko in 1917 had been Chairman of the Bolshevik Committee in Kámenskaya, and he formed Red Guard units who worked to overthrow Kalédin. From November 1918 to January 1919 he was active in the defence of Tsarítsyn. 4 Comrade Roskóshny was the first of our railwaymen to die. At that time he was a member of the Revolutionary Committee at Bol’sháya Kalítva station… As a soldier in the old army he had seen all the downside of the old regime. When the autocracy was overthrown he openly and boldly denounced the former government, and also the Cossacks, calling them pawns of the Tsar. When comrade Romanóvski’s unit retreated from Bol’sháya Kalítva he was taken by the Cossacks, since he had been on duty in the trackman’s hut at Grach station. Roskóshny was led away by Cossacks towards the village of Vérkhne-Pópova and executed. We have never been able to find his body. The other railwaymen—comrades Sennykh, Gusev, Kas’yánov, Shmayev, D’yachénko, Lysenko, Korotkov and Samsonov—retreated with the armoured train. When the Whites took Morózovsk and Val’kóvo they fought them at the Býstry double track section, and they sold their lives dearly, in defence of the Revolution. These are my additional remarks. I cannot give a full account for everything, since prison and the lashes inflicted by the Whites have taken much of my vitality and my memory. With communist greetings K.S.D’yachénko 26 May 1927

6 TERRORISM FOR A BETTER WORLD

Ósipov stops the trams (d.837) We began to organize military units and Red Guards. That was the way we started. I was doing important work at the Viri works, in the tram workshops and the workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway. After Potótski’s arrest Kalédin began to advance, completely shattering our resistance, since our main strength was not organized and we had very little military organization. Many of the workers did not know how to shoot and could not hold their rifles properly. There were even cases when they shot some of our own men from the rear, not intentionally but just because they were so clumsy. As if it were happening now, I remember how Kalédin’s officer cadets caught us quite unprepared. Along with several other comrades I had no idea that Kalédin was coming into Rostóv. We went on walking about the streets without any thought of concealing ourselves. I was going along when I met a friend who said ‘Get rid of your rifle’. I thought that this man was a good lad and would not be playing us false. I went to the City Hall but they told me that Kalédin had already put our people in prison. I thought of retreating to the Kolkhída, but I saw Cossacks already in Brátski Lane. My friend and I ran in behind one house and hid our rifles in the attic. We were helped by women we knew, and also by my mother who was with us in 1917. We came out of the house, and went to the end of Bol’shóy Prospékt. I looked and saw the cadets standing there and even younger boys from the cadet corps, besides proper regular soldiers. On Bol’shóy Prospékt some of the men were wearing pince-nez and singing Yérmak’s song ‘I remember everything that I have seen’. When the young officers came with the cadets all the ‘intelligentsia’ surrounded them, gave apples to their horses and were glad to see them take over. That was the greeting they had from anyone who was on Sadóvaya Street. By May 1918 most people in Rostóv had turned against the Bolsheviks, sickened by the rule of terror they had brought with them. Yermák was the Don Cossack Atamán, largely responsible for the conquest of Siberia in 1581. To this day a statue of him dominates the Main Square in Novocherkássk. Residents of Rostóv sang Yermák’s song to demonstrate

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their loyalty to Atamán Kalédin and to those Cossacks who supported the Whites’ cause. I was walking along with some friends. When we got to Mály Prospékt we saw walking towards us Syrtsóv, Mentsov and two other comrades. They looked at me and I looked at them, but we made no sign that we recognized each other. I am trying to show how in 1917 Rostóv changed hands several times. This was at the beginning of the Civil War when Kalédin came in and later on Atamán Krasnóv. It was at this time that our forces started to get their arms. After those changing fortunes, in May 1918 the Whites established their regime firmly over the whole Don area, with the help of the Germans. It may be that the Volunteer Army would not have been strong enough to beat us on their own, but the Germans gave them much support and we could not stand up to them. Our people retreated across the river to Batáysk. Sorokin’s detachment was in Batáysk with Marusya Nikíforova’s and a mass of partisans. I can’t list them all but they were helping Sorokin’s men. In the early months of the Civil War both sides used many units formed by their local commanders and chiefly responsible to these strong characters (see Avdéyev on the undisciplined attitude of some Red Guard units). Trotsky had to contend with this independent spirit when he was trying to bring the Red Army under proper centralized discipline, and much of his preaching was directed against the former ‘partisan loyalties’ (partizánshchina). After most Cossacks had turned against the Bolsheviks their ‘parliament’ (Krug) elected P.N.Krasnov as Atamán on 3 May 1918 and he entered readily into cooperating with the Germans. Our people left, and I stayed in the underground in Rostóv. I must tell you that at that time, our underground organization was still not strong, just some fifteen to eighteen individuals in the workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway, in the tram workshops, in the works at Aksáy and Viri and in the soap factory. We were just a handful of workers, with comrade Murlychóv as our leader, who was later killed. In 1917, after the Red Forces had left Rostóv, we started meeting to form an underground organization. We met in various places that seemed safe from the counterintelligence agents of the Volunteer Army. Each of us had the duty of organizing Party cells and military units wherever we could spread our influence, and of setting up a chain of communication, so that was what we did. At that time we were under Murlychóv. The Committee contained the informer Vasíli Abrósimov, who was later killed, and Yemel’yán Vasilénko, killed by Vasílyev (Shmidt). We got in touch with the Donburó, so that we were working officially and had a link with Soviet Russia. Through the Donburó we began to receive instructions from the Party in Soviet Russia. It may seem unnecessary for Ósipov to explain Party organization in such detail, but it was a strong factor helping towards Red victory that responsibilities and authority were precisely defined. The ‘Chairman’ of a committee was put in post theoretically by a ‘democratic’ vote, but once he had been ‘elected’ everyone had to obey him under strict military

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discipline and any failure to carry out his decisions could be punished even by a death sentence. For Vasíli Abrósimov and Vasilénko, see the document by Vasílyev (Shmidt), which gives a clearer picture of the Rostóv Bolsheviks in 1919. Andrey Vasílyev took his conspiratorial name from Lieutenant Pyotr Shmidt, executed in 1906 for organizing a mutiny in the Black Sea Fleet. Vasílyev is one of the commonest Russian surnames and I have included ‘Shmidt’ frequently with Andrey Vasílyev to ensure we do not confuse this leader of the underground with others, such as Borís Vasílyev, Chairman of the Ménsheviks in Rostóv. One striking feature of the underground was the tight discipline of Party organization. To preserve a semblance of democracy, in principle major decisions were taken in a Party Congress, although on the national stage Lénin was seldom seriously at risk of being overruled (apart from the strong resistance over the Brest-Litóvsk treaty). Many decisions originated in the Central Committee. (For a general view of Party-State Institutions see Shukman, 1994:173–8.) The Donburó was supposed to be in charge of areas on either side of the Southern Front, but for the difficulties it faced see V.Trífonov’s report of 10 June 1919 to the Orgburó of the Central Committee (RTsKhDNI, f.17, op.65, d. 34, 1.85, translated in Primary sources: 121–2). The Donburó controlled the Rostóv underground quite strictly, and supplied them with ample funds that they later put to good use. In Rostóv power originated theoretically in the Party Congress, which was convened at considerable risk of being discovered by White counter-intelligence. The Don Committee was ‘elected’ by the Congress and this Donkom was responsible for issuing instructions to individual members and to Party cells. It is true that in Rostóv some small groups of Communists were getting organized, but they had no communication with the main Party in Soviet Russia. We made them either stop their activity or else join up with us after we had checked them out. In 1918 we started to organize Communist Party cells. I was the organizer for the tram workshops, and represented them on the Don Committee. I set up active service groups and Communist cells. Our organization started to grow in 1918, and we had 120 men enrolled in our fighting groups. Seven activists committed themselves to any action they were ordered to carry out. There was a Party cell for the tramways and they had a link with the counter-intelligence service in the Cossack infantry regiment. When the regiment was preparing for battle the breech-blocks were taken off the field guns and they could not go into action. Our organization began to get bigger, and we were joined by underground workers from Soviet Russia: Anna, Yeléna, Ól’ga, Volmér, Pável and Sidorchúk. Most of these names recur in the tightly knit organization of the underground. When Ósipov refers to ‘Soviet Russia’ he means the large territory in the centre of European Russia which was held by the Soviet

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government. The Civil War was fought over wide areas of Russia, Ukraine and Siberia, so that there was no continuous line of trenches at the front. Many couriers made the hazardous journey across the lines to and from Rostóv, and the underground there was controlled by the Donburó, which moved its headquarters from place to place in territory held by the Red Army. Ósipov now jumps to May 1919, when the underground’s illegal printing press was betrayed by the informer Vasíli Abrósimov (see Spírin and Vasílyev). Our organization had been smashed in the New Settlement, house 53 Bogdánov Street. Twenty-five of our Party members were arrested in that disaster, though a few were saved simply by good luck. After the underground press had been put out of action the Committee began to be very cautious about meeting. We had strict security discipline, so that when a comrade made the slightest error, even if he did so unwittingly, there would be a Party resolution to get him out of our way, and the next day he was killed. That was the sort of discipline we had. The organization considered that perhaps the comrade’s action had been unintentional, but the whole network must not suffer through one individual. Otherwise we could not work and push our cause forward. After the crash we learnt that Abrósimov had also gone to jail along with the other comrades. When they started to watch him it became clear that Abrósimov was an informer, since he was on good terms with officers and policemen. He had been arrested only to cover his tracks. That was how we established that he was an informer, so that steps were taken to wipe out this traitor, and the task was laid down in the prison that he must be poisoned or got rid of in some other way. However, he did not fall for any of our ruses. When he started to give away some of our people and to go about openly with Kubán’ Cossacks we could see that we had to get rid of him even if it was risky for us. A special group was appointed to watch all his movements. Pivovárov and a few comrades attacked him in Nakhicheván’ but only wounded him slightly, and that made our position even more dangerous. It was decreed that Abrósimov must be killed at all costs. As far as I remember it was Rogov who drew this duty. On orders from the Party Rogov had more than once carried out terrorist acts, but in this case he refused to comply. Sidorchúk had joined us from Soviet Russia and without any further drawing of lots it was he who said ‘I’ll kill him’. He said it quite calmly just like that. We could not believe that he had volunteered without taking thought. It was to my apartment that he came, and filed down a bullet. Then he went out, and came back an hour later to tell us that he had killed Abrósimov. How had he managed? We had bought a white horse specially for the use of our Party. The driver Oleynikov helped us when we needed him, and we used to pay him accordingly. The rest of the time he worked as a cabby, picking up fares. We had been watching Abrósimov’s movements. His mother-in-law sold vegetables in the market, and that was where he went on that very day. Sidorchúk rode the horse into the market, got his revolver out, and killed Abrósimov. In the great confusion which ensued he loosed off another round, shouted ‘Hands up’—everyone had panicked.

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Sidorchúk mounted the horse again quite calmly and rode away, went past two or three blocks, got off the horse, came in to us and reported that he had killed Abrósimov. Our organization was growing and becoming stronger. At that time all the strength of Deníkin’s White Guards was concentrated on the Don. They were following everything closely and there were mass searches. Our organization feared every step, for the counterintelligence services had spread their nets everywhere. Now no ordinary person, even if they were pro-Soviet, could imagine that we would be able to beat such a counterrevolutionary force, because Cossack troops were gathering on the Don, along with the Volunteer Army, who had come back much stronger from the coast of the Black Sea and the Kubán’. Deníkin’s people were now suppressing everyone. There were wholesale arrests and executions. They took in our Party members and hanged them. Even people who had nothing to do with us were shot simply on the suspicion that they might belong to our Party. For years before the Revolution the First of May had been a token date for popular demonstrations in many countries. In Russia the authorities found it difficult to contend with this apparently innocent way of showing workers’ strength. Trams had been organized in Rostóv from 1901. In 1919, I was made responsible for starting a strike on the First of May. The trams were very important then, because if they were running that meant everything was normal in the town, whereas if they stopped, not only all the workers, but also the general public knew that something was going on. Our Party organization was the basis of our success, for in spite of strong pressure from counter-revolutionaries we were able to stop the trams running on 1 May. I was a member of the Trade Union for the trams. Apart from that I was also working in the underground, something the administration knew nothing about. We stopped the trams running. A punishment squad of Chechens under some man called Ikayev came into the tramway workshops and began to ask who had been responsible for having the trams stopped. They did not find anyone, since all the leaders had hidden themselves away in Balabánovski Wood and did not come out until they were sent for by Fayn, the Director of the Tramway Company. The Director did help our organization up to a certain point, in that he did not give us away. In 1920, when Soviet forces took over on the Don, this man Fayn was left unharmed, but he had covered his tracks—perhaps he did help our organization, but for each one he saved he ruined a hundred. He was also very useful to the Volunteer Army. In the spring of 1919 he sent for us. No one went. Then he said: ‘Don’t be afraid, come into work.’ We sent in a delegate, made an agreement and the men started work. Nobody touched us because Fayn had his links with the Volunteer Army and Ikayev’s punitive detachment. The trams were playing a very important part then. Officers arrested many of our people, beat them with whips, but found nothing—after all what can a man say if he is not guilty? Reactionary forces were powerful, and it was very difficult for our underground organization to function. On several occasions we wanted to come out on the streets, but the Donburó and the Soviet authorities would not allow us to, since we would only be making a futile sacrifice and achieving nothing positive.

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We did a great deal, and took the breech-blocks off the guns in the Cossack infantry regiment. The dock hands were very important. They took ball bearings from ships’ engines, so that the ships could not move. Near Sulin several trains were derailed down the embankments. We had communications with other towns too. Rostóv was controlled by our District Committee. After the printing press had been discovered Vasílyev (Shmidt) and some other comrades had to leave Rostóv. I had to take on the responsibility of seeing to finance, controlling our secret meeting places and the Committee’s communications. There were three members of our Committee left: Vinogradov (code name ‘Caucasus’), Kunítsa and me; Pivovárov and Vasílyev also had to hide for a while. After a little Pivovárov became a member of the Committee, and began work. Vasílyev (Shmidt) was Chairman and Pivovárov was organizer of the military staff. We had a line of communication with the District Committee, of which I was a member. We had communications with Sulin, Míllerovo, Novocherkássk, Krasnodár and a number of other towns. Murlychóv had been arrested in September 1918 and was executed in February 1919. Vasílyev (Shmidt) succeeded him as Chairman, which meant in effect he could exercise absolute power over the whole RostóvNakhicheván’ underground, including its western part in Témernik. In 1920, Yekaterinodár was one of the first centres to shed its Tsarist name for the more politically correct Krasnodár. Yekaterinodár meant that Catherine the Great had made a ‘gift’ of the town to the Cossacks she had settled on the eastern shore of the Black Sea. Yekaterinodár was on the main river in that country, the Kubán’. Hence all that area to the west of the Caucasus took its name from the river, and its inhabitants formed the second largest Vóysko, that is, the Kubán’ Cossacks. As far as I remember there were four Communists in the works at Shákhty but no organization. I kept on going over the whole organization to see who they could link up with. They could have tried Sulin, Novocherkássk, Azóv or Batáysk. Locally we had area branches in Témernik, Rostóv, and Nakhicheván’. The Aksáy factory came under Nakhicheván’. Gamtsiyev headed the Témernik branch. Bizmenov was in charge in Nakhicheván’, and I was representative for the Rostóv Committee. We came under the District Committee. I was in this, and established all the cells in Rostóv and all the safe houses. The Party Committee entrusted me with the task of setting up a new printing press which we had to install between Krepostny Lane and Bogotyanóvski Lane. I have used the term ‘safe house’ to designate any premises that members of the underground agreed on as a conspiratorial meeting place, not known to White counter-intelligence. Most of the so-called ‘safe houses’ were flats or apartments belonging to trustworthy comrades, such as Anna Burtylyóva. Here is how our Party was organized: the Óblast’ Committee ranked as our District Committee for controlling the cells, representing all sorts of cells in the various enterprises, which came under the committees for Nakhicheván’, Rostóv and Témernik.

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This included the Aksáy works, the soap factory etc. And we were in touch with other towns that I have already named. The question arose—in May 1919 why did counter-intelligence seal off a whole area to get at the press if Abrósimov had given it away? Let us imagine I was an informer. I would declare that on such and such a street there is a printing press and the following Bolsheviks are living there. Counter-intelligence would appear in the evening, and catch all the Bolsheviks. When the press came to grief, why did they need to encircle a whole number of buildings and why make searches through the whole area? Was there not some other reason for that? Comrade Petróv said: ‘Anyone who knows underground work will know that you cannot pick up each person separately, and if an agent came to arrest one of the suspects then he would not have the right. There may be a series of comrades in the underground—they start following them and they are being observed by counterintelligence, but until they’ve got facts to go on they won’t take them, and even a Bolshevik may find out that he is dealing with a detective. But when they catch the “criminals” [red-handed then they can take them all in].’ The typescript of ‘Tram workshops’ is incomplete, and I have tried to guess the words, which might follow ‘criminals’.

Experienced printer Novokhátski (d.817) Extract from memoirs of underground members, recorded in Azerbaijan 16 November 1934. With the harsh oppression of the 1930s we might suspect that this account has been checked through to make sure nothing in it can give offence to Stalin or to anyone holding high office under his rule. However, on the last page of the typescript there is a note, dated 31 July 1924, when individuals felt less constraint in expressing their views.

Comrade Novokhátski, Vasíli Andréyevich, conspiratorial name ‘Morin’. Comrades, I was taking part in the underground organization in Nakhicheván’on-Don acting with comrade Murlychóv. I came from Bakú and my professional work was as a printer. My service in the army brought me here, and I stayed here during the February Revolution. I first met Murlychóv and Vasilénko in the 7th Militia Sector, where I went when they were changing the local police. My work started after that. I was elected deputy for the soldiers. The workers got organized later to elect their representatives for that Militia Sector. Along with workers from Aksáyskaya who had been appointed to work with us we looked after guard duties in Nakhicheván’. In April 1917, I was sent to the 7th Militia Sector in Nakhicheván’. A few months later comrade Vasilénko came to work with us, and comrade Murlychóv would come in to see him. They had known each other for a long time in the army. It came out that he

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and I knew each other, as we had both worked at the factory here. Thanks to intensive persuasion by Murlychóv and Vasilénko after one of the meetings I was invited to a meeting in the Rotunda. In ‘Delegation to Kalédin’ we have already seen Shmánov receiving newspapers at the Rotunda in the park. It seems to have been a centre for left-wing activity. I said that I did not belong to any political party, though they had thought that I was a Social Democrat. That was in the summer. I worked for some time with comrade Vasilénko, who had been promoted Deputy Chief of Police. Our work went on quite well and I was carrying out work for the Party. I don’t remember when White Guards advanced towards the Aksáy factory. Together with the workers’ militia and the soldiers we beat off that attack. I cannot give you details about that because it did not imprint itself on my memory. The Aksáy factory stood above the western edge of the Kiziterínovskaya bálka, which is a deep valley running down to the north bank of the Don between Nakhicheván’ and Aleksandróvka. There is still a factory there today. The Whites had advanced from the main Cossack base in Novocherkássk. I shall pass on to 1918 when Vasilénko and Murlychóv went away to Khár’kov. The Germans occupied Rostóv in May 1918, and a month later Vasilénko and Murlychóv went to Khár’kov, apparently to get instructions for working in the underground in Rostóv and Nakhicheván’. They brought back gold from Khár’kov, and to get across the lines they pretended to be speculators hoping make a profit from some dud watches. After that we received instructions to start our underground work, as time was pressing. I had been left in Rostóv for underground work after the Germans came in, and I was entrusted with buying a ribbon for a duplicating machine, because we had no printing press. Since I had been a printer they suggested I could use it. But I couldn’t make it work, and then Murlychóv decided to send me to comrades Dóroshev and Frénkel’ in Kursk to stock up with literature. They gave me identity papers to pass myself off. Dóroshev and Frénkel’ were both influential figures in the Reds’ administration of South Russia. Dóroshev was Secretary of the Donburó, and Frénkel’ one of its most active members. Being appointed to attend the All-Russian Party Congress was a sign that he stood high in Party circles. Ványa Dunáyev is in Nakhicheván’ today. In 1918, he was working in the office for wounded soldiers. He gave me false papers as a disabled soldier and equipped with these I set off. I passed across the lines without trouble, arrived in Khár’kov, and on to Dóroshev in Kursk. Frénkel’ was not there, he had gone to the 7th Party Congress. Dóroshev gave me publicity material. I got back safely and came to Bélgorod. I saw one

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of the Whites’ convoys of wagons and I was afraid to take my load across the lines. To my great shame I had to dump my sack and make off. I got back all right but without my literature. I was ashamed that I had not carried out my task, and felt particularly bad, because in Bakú in 1914 I had been elected to a responsible post and I should have proved now that I was capable of doing my work. When I arrived in Khár’kov I met Murlychóv. He asked ‘Where have you come from?’ I told him I had come back through the lines but with sad results, since I had failed to bring my sack with me. He said ‘Never mind, we’ll go back there again’. So we went back to Kursk. Comrade Dóroshev asked ‘How did you get on with your passport and contacts?’ Murlychóv said: ‘We need to have just one passport, so that we can change the details around and send our own workers across.’ Then I gave up my passport, which had been issued by the 7th Militia Sector, and we left it in for them to remove the signatures from it. They took a basket of pamphlets and went to the foundry to choose the typeface. They selected it and put a medium-sized fount into two little suitcases. As for the display types they decided we would get them in Rostóv. The ‘display types’ would be for larger letters to make headlines in their newspaper. For us to get back they recommended us to travel via Bélgorod. We could not get through that way; we could go by Kursk. We set out with the idea that certain cavalry units had crossed the border, so relations had been soured and it would be better to go through Bélgorod. We were waiting with our typeface and we stayed with one completely neutral young carter. We had left the suitcases in the corridor. Someone looked at them: what sort of bag traders were these? They didn’t understand, they picked up the little case, which was heavy—what could be inside it? If it was something valuable why hadn’t we taken it into the room with us? When we came out in the morning the bolt on my case had been drawn back. We left without trouble on our cart and came into the town of Súmy. When we were going into the town we went to an inn—someone was following us. We moved to another inn. He was on our tracks again. We were afraid of him. He was afraid of us. We called into one inn and Murlychóv said ‘Let’s get out of here’. We left the case and the baskets in the cart and went out. This inn had a restaurant and we sat for a while, had a bite to eat and some tea. Murlychóv was like that: he would sit and think, then suddenly jump up and say ‘Let’s go now. We’ll take a cab and go to the station.’ We got a cab, called in to the inn, picked up the case and the basket. We arrived at the station, which was planned: with a central part for taking in luggage, first and second class to the right, third class on the left. When we went in Murlychóv decided to deposit the basket in the luggage room and that was what I did. We had been sitting for a minute when Murlychóv says: ‘You watch these things while I go round first, second and third class and see what’s there.’ When Murlychóv went off into the third class some Ukrainian nationalists came in, but not in uniform. They posted one of them on each door and the others went into the third class. I saw Murlychóv come out of there and he said: ‘They’re starting a search,

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you take the suitcase and go.’ I told him I couldn’t do that because they’d catch me immediately, they had the exit guarded. I have translated as ‘Ukrainian nationalists’ the Russian term gaydamáki, originally the name for Ukrainians fighting against Polish domination in the seventeenth century. In 1918, the term was adopted by supporters of the Ukrainian ‘parliament’ (Ráda) trying to secure independence from Soviet Russia. The town of Súmy was in Ukraine, to the west of Bélgorod, which was in Russia. Page 5 of this document is missing, hence the jump to the railway station. I came to the station and said: ‘May I sit here for a bit?’ ‘Please do.’ The telegraphist was sitting by his machine and dozing. I thought: ‘It’s a pity I don’t know Morse code, I could read what the keys are hammering out.’ Next morning I got on a train and arrived at the station Maly Kurgan. When I got there an old Cossack offered me a lift. ‘Let’s go’, he says ‘you have breakfast, while I harness up my horse.’ I pretended to be a senior officer and drank some milk without gulping it down. He brought round his cart. I got into it and off we went. We kept meeting Cossacks as we went along. They saluted me and I acknowledged their salute in an offhand way. I got to the village, went to the tailor Buré and handed over the proclamations. That evening I changed into peasant clothes because there was a village meeting. Our underground movement was trying to assess whether the people there had a stock of military supplies and what they felt about politics. The peasants were not in a good mood, and were very dissatisfied because their pieces of land had been taken from them. Next day I came back from the village and as I was returning a Cossack appeared on the street. I crossed to another street and so did the Cossack. We got to the station and I settled into a first-class compartment. I saw there were Germans sitting there. I went and bought some food for breakfast and offered some to a disabled soldier, but he didn’t want to take it. Then a German sergeant came in and started abusing the soldier, saying that he was a Bolshevik, since he would not look for the wagon loaded with bread. In the end my German went off and I bought ten cigars from him. I lit a cigar and went over to the window. On the other side of the track appeared my officer, with a bushy beard round his face. He gave some orders to the Cossacks and they went off. I could see Cossacks coming along and herding everyone into the open goods wagon. Shortly afterwards a colonel came to the station with a small girl, had a look, and went back again. They rang the bell for the train. I went up to the ticket office and bought a ticket. When I bought a chicken the woman selling it had given me five German roubles. I told her they would not be valid, but she assured me the office would accept them for a ticket, or else she would take them back again. The ticket office would not take them. I had to go back and get another chicken. As soon as I had stowed it in my case I saw an officer, who came up to me and asked: ‘Are you an officer?’ I replied ‘No’. Then he asked to look at my papers. I said that I had them, but what documents did he want to see? ‘Passport’, he says.

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‘I haven’t got a passport.’ He says: ‘Come with me. You are under arrest.’ I ask who he is and he says: ‘I am a captain in the counter-intelligence service of the Baltic Factory.’ I came to the station and he said: ‘Give me your documents.’ I had an upto-date identity certificate from the police, but there were no signatures on it. I explained that when the Germans came in everyone had run away and therefore there was no stamp on my papers. He asked: ‘What does “Bakú Commissariat” mean?’ I told him: ‘It’s the Ministry of Internal Affairs, can’t you see what is printed there? The printing house in Bakú gave me that to show I had worked three years as a printer.’ He had a look, and there seemed no reason to doubt what I had said. Then he asked ‘How did you come here?’ I said that I wanted to go to Khár’kov. I explained that at the border station they’d gone off with my things and my passport and that is why I was going back again. He wanted to know why I had gone into Málaya Kirsánovka village. I said I had a brother there, and I wanted to let him know what had happened. Then he asked where was I living and I told him. Only one thing worried me, that a Cossack had come up to him, he gave an order and the man went off to do as he was told. My knees were shaking, although I thought that now I must summon up all my energy and show that I was not a Communist. But at the same time the word ‘comrade’ kept creeping into my speech. In the end he began to repeat all the same questions. I said to him: ‘You keep on asking the same things. I am not willing to repeat all the same things again and again.’ He asked me ‘Why?’ I said to him: ‘I have worked in the police. I know the regulations for interrogation. You do not have the right to repeat one and the same thing.’ He said: ‘Let’s just see whether you’ll answer or not.’ I replied that I had no intention of repeating my words endlessly. He said: ‘Follow me, you are under arrest.’ I asked him: ‘Perhaps you will allow me to hand my ticket back to the office.’ He said: ‘You are going to travel on this train.’ We got into the goods wagon, sat down and the train began to move. He asked had I been to Soviet Russia, and I replied ‘No’. He started asking questions again. At the next stop he put a Cossack in to guard me, though my guard simply stretched out with his rifle on the floor beside me. I began to realize that things were bad for me. The captain came back shortly afterwards. I pointed out the sleeping soldier and he drove him out. I gave him a cigar and my penknife, which he said he didn’t need. He was examining the cigar carefully to see if there was no sticker showing that the cigar had come from Soviet Russia. I got to Taganróg without trouble as evening was settling in. When we arrived there I looked out—the men under arrest were leaving the train, but I was left. I told them I too was under arrest. Otherwise if I moved to get out they might think I was running away. One of them asked me: ‘Are you under arrest?’ and they wanted my passport. I told them I hadn’t a passport but ‘here are my papers’. The man who kept standing facing me was the spy who had been watching me all the time. Máslov appeared and took me away to the police station. A policeman came in and stood by the police building. Máslov asked who was on duty. The other man replied that it was the senior sergeant, gendarme so-andso. Máslov said: ‘What a disgraceful thing, why is there not an officer on duty? Take this man who is under arrest and get his identity established.’ The sergeant asked who Máslov was and he gave his name. Then I was taken into the room. The policeman said I had

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been passed to them by a captain in the counter-intelligence service. Máslov had been quite indignant that it was only a sergeant on duty rather than an officer. The sergeant swore and said that it was not their business to establish the identity of any man who had been arrested. ‘We’ll send him on to the Third Police Sector.’ When I was in the Third Police Sector one of the Cossacks recognized me, since we had worked together in the police, and he said ‘Hullo’. He asked them: ‘Do you know who you’ve brought in?’ and explained that I used to work in the police, that all the ruffians were afraid of me, as a brave boy from the Caucasus. The man on duty asked him ‘Do you know this man?’ and he said ‘Yes’. Then he turned to me and said: ‘Seeing you were arrested by the cavalry captain you’d better stay overnight, and we’ll see tomorrow how things stand.’ I asked him to put me into a separate cell, because in the general lock-up some rough types might attack me. They put me into a single cell. I stayed there in suspense. I couldn’t speak of any particular nonsense, but I was worried that I had said I was in the village of Málaya Kirsánovka. During the night I slept and in the morning they sent me out to sweep the street. Along came the Cossack who knew me and he says to them: ‘Why are you making him sweep up round here, he used to be feared by all the gang.’ When the cleaning was done they did not let me back into my own cell, but put me into the communal room. There was only one man there and he was lying down. When I came in he greeted me: ‘Hullo comrade.’ I replied: ‘It’s the wolves who are comrades to you’—for I had realized straight away that he had just been put in there to trap me. After a short while we started to chat, then he said: ‘Comrade, could you give me a smoke.’ I put him to shame: ‘You can’t start insulting people by calling them “comrade” straight away like that.’ He took offence. He says ‘I’m looking through the window but no one’s bringing me any food.’ I could see he was talking into the window and they were not bringing in anyone to take over from him. Next thing he came in and said: ‘Novokhátski, come on out.’ Then I knew I had passed the test. One of the comrades who knew me said: ‘You’re surely going to stand us a drink’, and I said ‘Yes’. We went off and bought several half bottles. We had a drink and it had no effect on me, probably because I was so relieved. The Cossacks got drunk and made their way to the station where they went up to the bar—evidently they knew the girl there. Then I got clear of them. I bought a ticket and came straight to Rostóv. When I got there our people were preparing identity documents for me. At first I was upset that my comrades did not pay much attention to me. When I said that to Murlychóv he replied ‘You need money’. My spirits rose. He said: ‘You must not behave like that. You’ve got to think what’s happening.’ In Rostóv I used to buy paper for printing, and I would cut it up at home. I was coming in one morning when I met the senior secretary of Police Station 7. He was walking along one side of the street with me on the other side, and then he called me over. He asked where I had been, and I told him how Máslov had arrested me. He explained that he had met Máslov, who had said that I was trustworthy. I told Murlychóv all that, and he said the policeman was a swine and I should beware of him. I ought to show myself less often in the town.

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I got the paper ready and they suggested I should print it. While I was on my way there Ványa Selivánov and another comrade had been setting up the printing press. It turned out our newspaper to the same standard as Priazóvski kray. I came in and asked whether I should bring them paper or not. They told me that the type was all set up for printing. The printing press was at the back of Abrósimov’s apartment. Now I found there were complications: they informed me that Murlychóv had got hold of the type. It was just at that time Krasnov was printing his appeal: ‘Shall I allow my horse to drink from the Quiet Don?’ We set up the printing blocks like that and Murlychóv managed to carry them away safely through the next door yard. But there was another snag now: Murlychóv had bought the house from its owner after he came back to Rostóv, but he still had not handed over the money. The woman thought that he had got her property too cheaply and she was very dissatisfied, even more so because her son had been called up for active service. When she saw Murlychóv she called in the local policeman, and he was taken into custody. They searched Vasilénko at the police station and found the keys on him. They asked where they were from and he said from the lock on a big chest. In the police station someone said that he was a Bolshevik. They made a search and found the printing blocks, but there was no printing press at Murlychóv’s place. They put Murlychóv in prison. We started to bring out our newspaper shortly afterwards. On 17 September I went off to Kursk. I came back in October, and we started work on setting up our printing press. By February we had transferred the press to Spírin’s house. After Vasilénko had been caught it was moved to the Rývkins and finally back to Spírin again. Up to then his apartment had been a safe house where we could meet. That was the kind of work that I was engaged in. There were complications after my operation and I didn’t work for a couple of weeks. Deníkin declared general mobilization. Abrósimov said to me: ‘You go and sign up, you are not fit. They won’t take you on and keep you in the army. But it would be better for you to go, because we need to have someone in the White forces. Take this bit of paper. You show it to them. They’ll give you a discharge and you’ll bring it back again.’ I took the document and looked at it; there was some sort of Ukrainian name written on it, though everyone knew that I was Novokhátski. I got to the call up point and handed in my own papers, since I was known by many people there. They herded us all into a yard and that very day sent us off to the front without any examination. The boys started making a row, they let us go for an hour and said: ‘You must come straight back to the railway station or else you’ll be shot as deserters.’ I went to Abrósimov and told him what was happening. He replied: ‘All right, you go on.’ They gave me 100 roubles, and I set off. We arrived in Novocherkássk. The train stopped. They did not give us any food, nor any daily subsistence allowance. One of the junior officers who had been promoted from the ranks spoke up and told us: ‘You’re not going the right way about it, you’ve got to make firm demands.’ I said to him: ‘Don’t you start teaching me. I know quite well where and when to make demands. I’ve been at the front myself as an under-officer.’ I came to one little village and walked with my legs all crooked. When they asked me about it I said that after an operation I had a tumour, so that was the only way I could walk. They wanted to know how could I serve in the infantry, and I told them that I was not fit for front-line service. They asked where I had served, and I said in a signals unit on the Austrian and German fronts.

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They transferred me to a signals section. A week later the telephone rang. I said: ‘What a way to behave, who could talk in such a way?’ It was a test they put on to try me out, but they did not catch me. Shortly afterwards they put me into the first-line reinforcements and sent me off to the front. We were travelling in a peasant’s cart, I think by the bank of the River Mánych. When we went further, on the other side of the border where there were Red forces, we were warned not to make a noise and not to talk. As if by accident I loosed off a shot. The commander asked why had I done that. I said I hadn’t meant to. All the same for two hours he had a man cover me with a rifle. We came into one place. I don’t remember what it was called; there was a large Cossack stanítsa there. We were there for two days and then they sent us into the attack. The 3rd platoon went into the attack, while the 4th platoon stayed in reserve. We had a rough time, some of the lads managed to get themselves captured and we had very few men left. The battalion commander rode up to us, got us together and said: ‘You are a disgrace to the Don. You fight so badly. You are traitors to your country.’ At this point some of the men asked how they were meant to fire when they had English cartridges for a Russian rifle. We started to retreat. I fell ill with typhus and was never in action. I came back to Kámenskaya and since I was weak I lay down by a fence. A large wagon came by and carried me off to hospital. Three weeks later I went through a medical board, who wanted to put me in a convalescent home. I asked to be sent home and that was where I went. When I got to Rostóv the underground organization had been betrayed. I had no money and they told me that there was no Spírin. I had been working with him in the printing press for five months from December to May, and I came back in June or July, after the press was destroyed. In Rostóv I was walking along Taganrógski prospékt when I met Selivánov. He said ‘go on ahead’. I walked forward, drew level with him and he said: ‘Hang back a few steps.’ When I was behind he says: ‘When you get to the corner turn in to the left there, you’ll see a hotel.’ I went in, he met me and says ‘You can’t do anything at present. Just recently they’ve organized another press, and we’re not revealing it to anyone. I just wanted to see you.’ I told him how things were and he cursed Abrósimov, and said there had not been any order to send me to the army. He gave me some money and told me to wait for him the next evening on that same corner. The next day I came, but he wasn’t there. The day after I came again and he was waiting for me. He told me to write out a receipt for 500 roubles. Then comrade Mótov took me to the port of Petróvsk on the Caspian Sea. Going there I found a messenger when I wanted to get my pass to go on. I showed my pass as an injured soldier. They gave me a pass and I went back to Azerbaijan. I stayed there till Azerbaijan came under the Soviets, and returned to Rostóv in April 1920. In 1920 I worked in Batáysk as Secretary of our Party’s District Committee and after that as Secretary of the Don Soviet for the National Economy. I was released from my duties in Batáysk and I went to Azerbaijan. I asked to be sent to study but that didn’t work, and I only got there 13 years later.

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Spírin sees it through (d.1061) Pages from reminiscences about the underground movement on the Don in 1918–19 The Bolsheviks took great care to construct proper lines of authority. A ‘cell’ (yachéyka), which Spírin refers to, until 1934 was the smallest unit of Party organization, and would come under the Central Committee for the area, in this case the Don Committee (Donkom). Theoretically all major decisions ought to derive from the Central Committee for Russia as a whole, although often actions were taken by powerful individuals such as Lénin and Trotsky. Spírin establishes the commanding position of the Donburó by showing that it was instituted ‘by a decree of the Central Committee’. The Donburó was always based in areas held by the Soviets, and controlled Party organizations on both sides of the lines in the Don area. The Don Committee in Rostóv naturally worked under the Donburó’s instructions. The various groups were well served by ‘couriers’, who carried messages between them, and even across the battle lines for the underground resistance organizations to maintain contact with the Donburó. Many of these resourceful individuals were women, who sometimes lost their lives in such hazardous service. Grigóri Spírin was aged 18 when the underground’s printing press was discovered in May 1919. He was living with his mother and a younger sister when he was taken in to be interrogated.

After the Red Army had retreated from Rostóv beyond the boundaries of the Don Óblast’ we saw a wild outburst of lawless behaviour by the gangs of Whites who had come down to the south from all parts of the former Russian Empire. The effects of their heavy drinking bouts, their unbridled profiteering and their determination to settle scores with us could be felt in every work place, every firm, and one might almost say in every working-class family. The masses felt a steady build-up of hatred and resentment against the outrageous behaviour of the Whites forces and against the rule of the Atamáns being restored. This was felt in every enterprise and throughout the whole city. All this inspired fresh enthusiasm for the fight against the Whites, and against the Ménsheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries who clung to their coat tails. This hatred was widespread among the working masses and particularly strongly felt by those among them who had earlier taken part in the revolutionary struggle. In a whole series of

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enterprises they began to set up Party cells under the guidance of Bolsheviks and supporters of the October Revolution. These cells worked mostly at propaganda and at the political education of those workers who favoured the Bolshevik cause. Later, prompted by active workers, they left in place an organizational centre for underground work—a centre which united all the separate forces and directed all the work of the Party cells. The active organizer of the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ pro-Bolshevik Party was Yúra Murlychóv who was a worker in the Lelí works (now called the Chentsóv works) and was elected as the first Chairman of this Committee. The Committee set to work quite systematically to establish links with various enterprises. They took on the task of organizing a printed publication, which would improve and speed up the flow of information to Party cells to keep them abreast of current developments. Through them the whole working class community was kept informed about what was happening and about the directives issued by our Party. Comrade Murlychóv decided on his own initiative to travel illegally to Moscow to establish firm contact with the higher echelons of our Party, and to get printing types. He returned to Rostóv after carrying out this responsible mission. From representatives of various cells he set up the committee of a Bolshevik underground organization. As far as I remember it had the following membership: Vasílyev (Shmidt), Petróv (conspiratorial name ‘Bad company’) and others, presided over by Murlychóv. Soon the RostóvNakhicheván’ Committee established very close contact with the Donburó, which had been instituted by a decree of the Central Committee. It operated from the Red Army side of the lines, and took charge of underground work in the Don country. From their area they sent experienced comrades: Anna Gordon, Yeléna Gorbáchik, Ól’ga Mínskaya, Maríya Malinóvskaya, Zhénya Listopád, and later on Volmér, i.e. Ovsyánnikov. This influx of new Party members stimulated the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee to organize propaganda work on a large scale in the Rostóv firms. The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee methodically strengthened the existing committees. They organized basic Party sections in Rostóv itself, and also in other industrial centres (Taganróg, Súlin, Shákhty and Novocherkássk). In Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ they organized cells in the tram company, the tobacco factory, Rostóv harbour station, the cargo port, and the following factories: Red Aksáy, Kartozhýnski, Lelí, the automobile workshops, and the garage for the food management section, the Gúshner works, the Barbúl’ furniture factory and other enterprises. Since it was all long ago and conspiratorial names were used, I have difficulty in remembering every member in the cells I have mentioned. Among others there were: comrades Nazárov, Zhigúlin, Kólin in the port; Petróv; Matyúta, Vólkov, Rozhkóv in the tram company; Románov, Kavrígin, and Tir in the workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway; comrade Ósipov in the Lelí factory, comrade Vernidúb in the Kartozhínski works, comrades Kartáshev and Abrámenko in the general tobacco company and the Asmólov tobacco firm; in the automobile workshops comrade G.Rak, Yúri. Zolotaryóv, Íl’ya Dúrov; in the Gúshner works Rýbkin, in the Barbúl’ furniture factory P.Vorob’yóv, I.Bogdánov, Nósov, Derevyánchenko. In addition to this list the underground organization had dozens of other comrades whose names I don’t remember. As for organizations in the outlying areas: in Novocherkássk we had comrades Yúrchenko,

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Semyón Abrósimov, Borkó and others; in Persiánovka comrade Pímenov; in Taganróg comrades Napiváyko, Ivánikov, Fálin, Párin and a whole series of others. Relying on this active part of their organization, in spite of losing comrade Murlychóv (who was arrested and shot by White counter-intelligence), the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee put in a great deal of work to create District Committees and to convene a Congress for the whole Óblast’. This elected the Don Committee, comprising comrades Vasílyev (Shmidt), Yemel’yán Vasilénko, Vasíli Abrósimov, Nikoláy Spírin, Pivovárov (‘Robert’), Volmér, Románov, and Górin-Kalitá. Comrades Anna and Yeléna served as representatives of the Donburó. In the early days after the underground cells had come into being, in order to draw workers into the underground organization and prepare them to fight against the White Greens, as well as stirring them by word of mouth, a few cells had also used the printed word. However, duplicating this material was done on quite a primitive level in the Aksáy works, in the tramway company and even in the workshops for Lelí and Co. Thus a few comrades, either on their own personal initiative or acting on the instructions of their cell, would use pencil and carbon paper, or sometimes with a duplicating machine they could produce 10–20 copies of appeals, which they scattered round the workshops or pasted onto walls and pillars at the entrances to the works. Under Vasílyev (Shmidt) we shall see that the Greens were prepared to fight against either Reds or Whites in order to maintain some independence. G.R.Swain gives useful information on them in his book Russia’s Civil War. The so-called ‘Greens’ were bodies of men, acknowledging neither Reds nor Whites, but the Soviets were willing to support them in any area where they caused trouble for the Whites. Once the Bolsheviks had disposed of Deníkin’s Volunteer Army they turned the full force of their repression against any whatever Greens that still survived (see Murphy, 2001). After Murlychóv brought the types from Moscow the idea of organizing a printing press began to make some headway. Murlychóv himself constructed a primitive press and issued the first publications in print. It then became essential to enlarge the output of printed material, so as to help satisfy the ever-growing requirements of our Party cells. To deal with this the Committee decided to involve a number of comrades in working the press: such as comrades Novokhátski, Selivánov (‘Chernóv’), Murávich (‘Bródsky’), Antón Abólin, and at a later stage myself (i.e. Grigóri Spírin), Yákry, Rýbkin, Aleksándr Abrósimov and Il’yá Abrósimov. When we tried to increase the output of the printing press we could not be content with the stock of type that we had at our disposal or which we managed to ‘acquire’ illegally from other printers. Therefore it was decided to get more types and RostóvNakhicheván’ Committee resolved to send comrade Mítya Vernidúb across the lines to the town of Kursk. Vernidúb faced great difficulties but he managed to bring back essential equipment for the press, which could now work on a larger scale. We printed in larger quantities our appeals to all workers, peasants and Cossacks of the Don. The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee was even able to print its newspaper Donskáya bednotá (‘The Poor of the Don’) and a number of other documents, such as certificates exempting

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from military service individuals who were serving in militarized enterprises. They could be exempted for three months, or for six, or even indefinitely. All these documents could not in any way be distinguished from real ones, as issued by military commanders, or by separate military units or from those issued in some enterprises and factories. But we realized that in order to make valid documents without using the printing press we must keep a whole array of chemicals including various acids for expunging the existing signatures and for taking copies. We also needed people who were expert in preparing different official stamps and seals. When we started work, a chemistry laboratory on these lines was set up in the Rýbkins’ apartment at 25 Zagoródnaya Street. At first the official stamps were prepared in Novocherkássk, but later they opened a special office for producing stamps in the watchmaker’s premises at Yákov Bogdánov’s house on the corner of Brátski and Street 6 in the New Settlement. All the work of preparing official stamps was carried out there by a Novocherkássk workman, comrade Yelizári Bábchenko. The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee had a Remington typewriter. Another serious difficulty was to get supplies of paper for the printing press, both what they needed for printing attestation certificates (ivory paper or royal paper) as also newsprint quality, like the paper for wrapping up parcels. They bought these materials wherever they could lay hands on them. Later they got paper in all sorts of colours through the grocery shop in Nakhicheván’, Line 27, on the corner of Nikólski Street. It was quite risky for our organization to show fabricated documents when registering passports with the military commander and the police or to obtain a stamp for a residence permit, and to get registered in the books. In all this we received great help at the beginning from Vasilénko, Novokhátski, Lóvchikov and later from Gúnkin and Voynók, workers at Aksáy. There were many ‘safe’ houses in Rostóv, Nakhicheván’, Témernik and the New Settlement, as far as I can remember with all the comrades I have mentioned. But, behaving with great conspiratorial caution, we had to change our place of residence very frequently, particularly after comrade Murlychóv had been arrested with his primitive duplicating machine. Stung to rage the agents of White counter-intelligence hunted through almost every block, seeking traces of our organization. The Committee consequently decided that Vasíli Abrósimov was to change the hiding place of the printing press as often as possible. To throw the Whites off the scent the press was transferred from Rýbkin’s address at No. 6 Line 14 to Gúnkin and Vóylok’s home at No. 6 Nikólski Street. The press worked there for about a month and then came to my flat at 44 Donskáya Street, on the corner of Line 35 at the passage through to the Aksáy works. It is hardly surprising that, as we moved, counter-intelligence and the police were hot on our tracks… Murlychóv was arrested in September 1918 and executed in February 1919. Most people in Rostóv were living in flats, generally in large blocks grouped round a courtyard (dvor). A register of the residents was held by the man or woman responsible for the block, the so-called dvórnik. I have used the term ‘safe house’ for any residence known to the conspirators as an agreed meeting place, and it was vital for their security that these addresses should not be disclosed to counter-intelligence. This was one of

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the main threats to the underground from informers such as Vasíli Abrósimov. Working to turn out and distribute leaflets and our underground newspaper, the RostóvNakhicheván’ Committee of the Bolshevik Party increased the print-run with each issue, to cover not only Rostóv but also the outlying areas round Azóv and the Black Sea. This enraged the White authorities. At a later stage our printing press was equipped with the last word in secret technology. Every few days the Committee was turning out the newspaper, as well as pamphlets with a circulation often to twelve thousand or even more. Copies of these publications came out on paper of various colours, pretending to emanate from diverse organizations of the Bolshevik Party, such as ‘the Novocherkássk (or Taganróg) edition’, or ‘published by the District Committees and the Don Óblast’ Committee of the Bolshevik Party’. The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee used its output of the newspaper and its appeals to satisfy the needs of the rest of the population, then pasted copies of the paper up on telegraph poles and factory walls. Trying to expand the audience for their proclamations, they even contrived to paste some on the doors of the City Administration and on the gate of the police section of No. 7 District at the corner of Line 32 and Sobórnaya Street. We must also mention pasting dozens of leaflets onto people’s front doors, and releasing doves into the air at assembly points of the army command and other muster points for military units of the White Army. The Whites bitterly hated our underground. I remember two occasions: I think it was in March 1919 Priazóvski kray published a remark by one of the journalists who was evidently working for counter-intelligence. It read more or less as follows: ‘On a street in Rostóv I chanced to find under my feet a dirty, wretched yellow bit of paper published by our local Bolsheviks, calling on us not to believe what was written there.’ Shortly afterwards in that same newspaper Priazóvski kray there appeared a notice from Grékov, the man in charge of the city at that time. It read as follows: ‘Come on now, you Bolsheviks, why do you get together in gangs like bandits, and from your hiding place you spread trouble and confusion among the people? Would it not be better if you came out in an organized way onto Taganrógski prospékt to have a chat with me and explain yourselves.’ The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee of the Bolshevik Party responded soon in its newspaper The Poor of the Don with an appropriate clarification of its display panel aimed at Grékov and his journalist. Moreover for Grékov they printed a few copies of The Poor of the Don on thick glossy paper and sprinkled gold dust onto it, to prevent him calling our publication ‘a dirty, wretched yellow bit of paper’. On these copies of our paper they added the following note: ‘To your challenge to face you we reply: better for you and all your pack of dogs to get out of the Don country as soon as possible.’ Such was the reply sent by the Don Bolshevik Party organization. To keep us in touch with cells in Rostóv, with our ‘safe’ houses and District Committees, there was a special staff of couriers, comprising comrades Beryózkina, Anfísa Rýbkina, Nyúsya Serpóva, my mother Spírina, and Borkó (who was later shot when she looked out of the window of her cell in the prison). As part of their task these comrades were charged with distributing printed publications, documents and supplies of

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cash to cover essential expenditure. These were to be delivered round the districts and to secret rendezvous points in the city. I ought to add a few words about our financial resources. During this period it was not usual for us to collect fees for Communist Party membership, except for a few cases when some cells acted on their own initiative to generate their own finance. Mostly, however, we received the necessary funds from the Donburó across the lines, and made no attempt to levy funds locally. This was another factor which puzzled and infuriated the White authorities, for it was quite obvious that we were spending more than anyone might expect. I remember one case when, acting under the Don Committee’s orders, comrade Aleksándr Abrósimov, who was so expert at crossing over the lines, managed to get from the Donburó and deliver to the underground a whole sackful of various currencies: (1) Imperial, (2) from the time of Kérensky, and (3) issued by the Don Vóysko. At the time the couriers ran great risks to get hold of this money, which was in trains and stations and guarded by officers. When we had enough finance and enough trained printers, in December 1918 there was a meeting of the administrators of our Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee in my apartment. They had a good look round the premises and noted where they were situated. They resolved to place the main printing press here, and made us responsible for getting the place ready. We printing workers kept our night work going, turning out the newspaper and appeals. In the daytime we set about preparing a separate workshop. Over the course of three days in the shed beside our cellar we dug a large pit, seven feet square and seven feet deep, so that several men could stand upright and work. In that pit we also could store all the materials we needed, carefully walling it all up, so that people on the outside could not hear the work going on, nor our conversation. We made ventilation holes and set up a sound alarm. Up to 7 May 1919 the following individuals had worked in the printing house: I myself (G. Spírin), Yeléna Spírina, Murávich, Abólin, Selivánov, Rýbkin, Il’yá and Aleksándr Abrósimov, with some help from Novokhátski. Later on Iván Poddúbin was invited to join us. After we had turned out the proclamations for the First of May the Don Committee gave our printing press the task of replacing our paper The Poor of the Don (Donskáya bednotá). Instead of it we were to publish a new broad sheet paper with four pages. It was to be called The Red Banner (Krásnoye známya), i.e. we were to revive the newspaper which comrade Semyón Vasíl’chenko had edited on the Don in the earliest days of the Revolution. Carrying out our orders, from the second of May we set up the print for this. On the fifth of May we had set all four pages, and were proceeding to proof reading— when suddenly we heard voices and dogs barking in the yard. At that time the only people working in the printing-press were: myself, Murávich, Abólin, Il’yá and Aleksándr Abrósimov, my mother, Yeléna Spírina, Yákov Rýbkin, my younger brother, Iván (aged eleven), and my sister Klávdiya, who was only 10. We sensed something was wrong and quickly stowed everything away underground, closing off the way in from the cellar with a shutter specially fitted into the wall. In the stove we burnt the proofs of The Red Banner, which we had been editing. We scattered the ashes and sat down to play cards, putting some coins on the table. When there was knocking at our door we were confused for a moment, then, calming ourselves, we suggested to my mother that she should open the door, since there was no other way to react.

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Mother opened up, and some fifteen Cossacks burst noisily into our apartment, led by an officer from counter-intelligence (we found out later that his name was Sokolóvski). Their first demand was for us to surrender, to point out where the printing presses were concealed and to hand them over. When the only reply they got from us was that there were no such things, the Cossacks, on the orders of the officer, began to hack and stab the floor with their sabres. They started to make a thorough search, with one of them in the room while the others were already working out in the yard, more of them in the attic, and a fourth lot were in the shed and the cellar. But they found nothing. They looked through our documents and assured themselves that we really had sat down together to play cards. They were about to leave, taking Murávich and Abólin to check their identity, since Murávich was a Jew and Abólin a Latvian. They had not yet got them out into the yard—when suddenly again we heard a great din. That was the old bloodhound arriving, Lieutenant Tatárinov, bringing reinforcements. With foul-mouthed cursing, like thunder and lightning he burst into our apartment under the pretext that they were making a second search—though there was no need for that, because informers had already told them that there was a printing-press in our house. They took us all, even the children, out into the yard and lined us up against the wall of the house next door. Lieutenant Tatárinov searched for 15–20 minutes, but he too could find nothing. Then he came out onto the street, where evidently the informer Vas’ka Abrósimov was waiting for him, since he alone knew the exact location. After just five minutes Tatárinov came back and went straight down into the cellar. Two to three minutes later Tatárinov’s shot rang out from there. That was the signal that the press had been found. In the yard everyone sprang into activity, shouting: ‘Shoot them all, burn the house down’—and the Cossacks were already lined up with their rifles at the ready. But, more clever than anyone, Tatárinov knew that he would always have time to kill us, and he stopped them carrying out the order to shoot us. In order to establish which of us was the owner of the property he came up to me and put the question: ‘Come on now, which of you composed the text and who did the printing?’ I saw that as the householder I could not evade the issue. Then, taking everything onto myself, I declared that I myself did the printing and I was the one who set it up, whereas ‘these comrades are simply friends of mine who called in to have a game of cards’. When they were questioned they affirmed that they did not know about the existence of the printing press. Working this way I had it in mind that as the owner of the property I could not avoid responsibility. It would be better for me to die on my own and make life easier for the others. But of course the counter-intelligence agents did not believe me and Tatárinov gave me two hefty blows—one for composing the text and the other for printing it. He dealt the same punishment out to Murávich and Abólin, and lashed my mother with his whip several times. Then he gave an order that we should all be tied together with the one rope which was hanging there in the yard to be used as a clothes line. They bound us together in pairs, hand in hand, only I don’t know why he did not dare to arrest and tie up my brother of 11, nor my 10-year old sister, but simply left them to take their chance as night was coming on. When we were tied together they took us to a three-ton lorry from the Aksáy factory, which had been prepared for us, and was waiting near the street alongside the house. By now the whole of our block was ringed by cavalry and cars. They sat us all in the Thorneycroft lorry and we waited for them to load up everything to do with the printing

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press. In the meantime they dragged all our belongings out of the apartment. There was an extraordinary moment when at Tatárinov’s wish they tried to bring out the complete ready to print type-forme from which we could have run off copies of our paper The Red Banner. It was very heavy. Several Cossacks were carrying the forme but before they reached the lorry they scattered the types on the roadway of the factory. Because it was dark it was impossible to put it together. I can just imagine how those going to work in the morning would react to what had happened during the night. Before we were sent off to counter-intelligence headquarters they put about twenty Cossacks with bared sabres and pistols in their hands to sit guarding us. Into my one free hand they pushed a red flag which they had found in the print shop, and we set off on our way with sneers from the Cossacks: ‘Hold onto your red flag.’ ‘Here’s freedom for you.’ At midnight on 7 May 1919 they delivered us to the Volunteer Army’s counterintelligence section. They put us into one little cell and set a guard to watch us. He stood among us with an automatic in his hands. They forbade any sort of conversation. This went on for about an hour. Evidently counter-intelligence were having an urgent meeting. I believe this because officers and generals came into our cell to look at us, as if we were wild animals. They came sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs. Moreover we could hear the clink of glasses. Evidently they were splashing out on a feast to celebrate our downfall. As the owner of the house I was the first to be called for interrogation. Going into one of the rooms I saw Lieutenant Tatárinov sitting at the table, and two Kubán’ Cossacks standing at the ready. The room looked very depressing: hanging on the walls were a lot of different weapons and instruments, many of them designed for torture and executions. The interrogation started with an interesting approach. Tatárinov said to me: ‘You’re only a young lad. You’re just a skilled worker from a poor family. Just tell me complete details about who is working in your organization and where they are. For all that information we will give you training at public expense. You will become an engineer, and if you don’t feel comfortable in Rostóv we’ll take you on to another town. We’ll see that you have enough money…and when all’s said and done, why have you taken up with Jews and all that?’ As Rhoda Power noted, anti-Semitism was widespread in South Russia, particularly among Cossacks. White Cossacks taunted the Bolsheviks that their commander-in-chief was a Jew, Bronshteyn (Trotsky). The description of Spírin’s torture, which follows, could be parallelled in countless instances of brutality practised by both Reds and Whites. During the Civil War each side regarded their opponents as traitors, who deserved no mercy. After the élan of the Revolution the Soviet Union became choked with bureaucracy, beaten down by the cruelty of Stalin’s regime, and in its later years widespread cynicism ate away all sense of progress. When we read earlier documents, fresh from the Revolution, we are forcibly reminded how at the beginning so many dedicated Communists were prepared to suffer and die for their ideals.

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He offered me tea and cigarettes, but when he heard me say repeatedly: ‘I don’t know anything’, he ordered the Cossacks to strip me of my clothes. When they had undressed me they laid me down on the floor completely naked. The Cossacks knelt down, one on each side of me, took up rifle cleaning rods and when they heard from me for the last time ‘I do not know’, the rods whistled down onto my back; then they turned me over and began to beat me on my stomach -1 could see for myself blood gushing from the wounds opened up by the rods. Not satisfied with this, he ordered them to beat me on the soles of my feet. I was already feeling that I was losing consciousness. Saying once more ‘I don’t know’ led Tatárinov to join in the torture himself. Presenting the point of a bayonet to my chest he said: ‘You are young and obviously you’re still green’. Then with the half-closed curved blade of a gardener’s knife he started to cut into my toes with a sawing movement as though he was using a file, and then to cut out my toenails, during which I fainted with the pain. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I came to in the morning of the eighth of May… I was lying on a block of ice in the cellar. My head was swimming—I could not think rationally. Nonetheless I noticed a broken bottle about five yards away from me. Immediately the thought came to me to cut one of my veins with that glass, to let me die on the spot from loss of blood. But for all my efforts to crawl over to the bottle I could not get there. I lost consciousness again. After a little time I came to. I saw two Cossacks who took me under the arms and carried me into a cell, where I found all the comrades who had been arrested. They too had been beaten, some were sitting on the floor, some lying down, while I could neither stand, nor lie down, since my heels and toes were mangled and twisted, while my sides and my back had been beaten with the rifle rods. For that reason I spent long hours lying somehow on my side, propping myself up on a torn sofa, then turning over onto the other side I stayed sitting it out day after day. On 8 May at 10 o’clock in the morning they began to bring in other members of the underground who had just been arrested, including comrade Ósipov from the Lelí factory, our experts at making stamps and seals, comrades Bábchenko, Vasilénko with no arms, and Vasíli Abrósimov. But after about an hour they took them out of our cell off to their own little dens, where they were able to spend their time drinking champagne. White counter-intelligence seem to have handled their informer very clumsily. Once Vasíli Abrósimov was taken out of the Communists’ cell the conspirators knew for certain that he must have been the member who gave away their secret base for the press. He could no longer be any use for the Whites to glean further information. With the Bolsheviks’ tough and efficient organization it could only be a question of time before they killed off Vasíli Abrósimov, as they did the other four individuals who had played them false. Next day towards evening our room was filled up with about ten more comrades from the Novocherkássk organization: comrades Gun’kó, Mironénko, Listóv, Yúrchenko and so on; also from our Taganróg organization comrade Napiváyko and others. Thus they had built up a total of 24 Communists, the most savage treatment being handed out to us political prisoners. Tatárinov and the head of counter-intelligence, sergeant Mankóvski,

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conceived a desire to read our newspaper The Red Banner. In order to do that they would have to take an impression from the forme, but since the letters were broken up and scattered they got hold of Murávich and suggested that he should reproduce The Red Banner, as it had been set. When Murávich refused point blank they smashed the gold crowns of his teeth. They called in Aleksándr Abrósimov for questioning and threatened to fire a pistol into his eyes. Going a stage further beyond this mockery the interrogators descended to petty robbery. They cleaned out everyone’s pockets. They took the trousers off comrade Rýbkin, giving him rags in exchange and taking his watch from him. They took a leather jacket from Il’yá Abrósimov. They stole our boots from me and from Aleksándr Abrósimov, giving us worn out shoes in exchange. They took the fine shirt off comrade Dístov, leaving him in his nightshirt. That was the sort of barbaric gloating and mockery to which we were subjected by White counter-intelligence. During the evening of 12 May, 24 of us who had worked in the underground were taken under a strong escort to Rostóv Prison, where they put us into cells which were normally intended for prisoners under quarantine. They put three of us into each cell generally used for one prisoner. Although we were very crowded together, when we found we were all former members of the underground, we were able through the help of comrades Vólkov and Petróv from the tram company to link up with several of the warders, such as comrades Záytsev and Ledenyóv, and through them we made contact with our relatives and with comrades from the Party organization who were still at large. The Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Committee kept us regularly up to date with what was happening. They sent us in the newspapers we wanted, and also gave us a regular supply of foodstuffs and things we needed, all of which greatly helped to keep our morale up. Apart from the warders I have named, a lot of the work to keep separate prison cells in touch was done by comrade G.A. Chebotaryóv, who at that time, as a political prisoner, was employed in the prison administration and the library. Once, for lack of anything to do, in room 36 of the right-hand wing, in a joint request with Abólin, Bábchenko and Murávich, we asked for a book to read from the library. Of course there was no question of choosing, they gave us some sort of religious nonsense. Leafing through the book I came on a note made in pencil. In the margins of the book was written: ‘Dear comrades, today I am dying for the ideal of Bolshevism. The only thing that I ask you is: “Continue the good work I started,” signed: February 1919 Murlychóv.’ And really it was true that in February 1919 their sabres hacked to pieces Yúri Murlychóv, who was loved by all. Nevertheless this inscription of a sincere Bolshevik will never fade from my memory, nor from those who knew him well and worked with him. Since the investigation into the case against our organization was just for show, it was very quickly brought to a conclusion. White justice spent only ten minutes to half an hour questioning those who were accused—and that was just trying to pretend they were going through the proper legal steps. This was simply an empty show, since all the material for the prosecution had been laid out in full by the Rostóv informers Abrósimov, Yemel’yán Vasilénko, Zlivkó, and Poddúbny, and, for Novocherkássk, Aleksándr Chebotaryóv and in part Pazarkévich.

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The month of October was approaching. Red Army success at the front made life more difficult for us. The Whites, sensing that their power would soon fall, became even more repressive towards all the working class, not forgetting to apply this to the prison. Safeguarding the prisons and establishing the conditions under which we were to be held was taken on by units of Ikáyev’s punishment squad, he being well known as a hangman, with his gallows in Rostóv, Azóv and other places in our region. This notorious commander had brought up his squad in such a way that he turned the members of the detachment into regular hunters, who were out to hunt, not game and wild animals, but people. Patrolling the prison inside and out the guards kept their rifles always at the ready. They never took their eyes off the prison windows and not a day passed without us hearing fifteen to twenty deafening shots. This was done so that none of those under arrest would dare to look into the open out of their window, and indeed could not even come close to the window. Ikáyev gave his men a financial incentive—for each prisoner shot a guard would get two weeks off duty and 25 roubles in cash. So, as we might expect, their shooting hit many victims. One of the sentries shot at the window of the women’s block, which at that time held only those charged with political offences (my mother Yeléna Spírina, Pogorólova, Tyukhryáyeva, Borkó and others). One fatal shot killed outright the courier for our underground, young Borkó, beloved by us all, and that same shot whined noisily round the cell to hit my mother also. But that was not the only service performed by Ikáyev’s men; they claimed another victim in comrade Vyázemtsev, who had been a Bolshevik from the earliest days. They hanged him in a wood, and hanged also the young telegraph worker, 16 year-old Pólya. I don’t remember her surname, but before they hanged her they went through the preliminaries of each one raping her one after another. These brief pictures from my memories can sum up the terrible settling of scores exacted by the counter-intelligence service of the White forces. In his piece on ‘Death cells’ Chebatyryóv says the girl who was raped was called Ánya. At the end of October they set up a military tribunal on Stáro-Pochtóvaya Street in one of the hotels opposite where the New Market used to be. The court was presided over by lieutenant Krásov, who had lost both his ears. Twenty-four of us came to trial and the hearing lasted three days. The charges against us were formulated as follows: Il’yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr Abrósimov, Yákov Rýbkin, Abólin, Murávich and I were charged with ‘working a printing press for the underground movement, with the aim of overthrowing the present order of government’, my mother and sister Yeléna with ‘concealing the printing press and the organization’, comrades Gun’kó, Mironénko, Yúrchenko and Pímenov with ‘the explosion at the Novocherkássk railway bridge’, the remaining comrades with ‘aiding and abetting the movement’ by distributing its literature, ‘keeping illegal documents, hiding and helping those working in the underground’, and so on… On 31 October the court pronounced sentence against eight of the accused: me (Spírin), Il’yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr Abrósimov, Yákov Rýbkin, Abólin, Murávich, Gun’kó and Mironénko to be shot. My mother and comrade Navitáyko were sentenced to ten years hard labour. Those who had worked in Novocherkássk (Vysechkó, Beryózkin, Uspénski and Zhitkóv) were sentenced to six

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years hard labour; the others were acquitted for lack of evidence, and they released my sister Yeléna Spírina because she was too young. When we got back to the prison, we eight who had been condemned to death were put into cells 13 and 14 which had been prepared as death cells. Waiting every minute to be called out to face a firing squad we sat on the floor of these gloomy cells for a full 25 days. We who had been condemned to death got a so-called mitigation of our sentence. This was obtained through the lawyer Vólova by spending up to a hundred thousand roubles to buy up everyone who had served in the court, bribing the lawyers and Atamán Bogáyevski. On the morning of 27 November 1919 they informed us that at the wishes of the Atamán the death penalty had been commuted, so that each of us was to do twenty years hard labour. On that same day they sent us all off to Novocherkássk and put us into cell 9 of the old prison for hard labour. In her memoirs Burtylyóva does not give Vólova’s name but rather says that the underground members at large paid bribes through Sórin. We were locked in behind three sets of bars, never seeing the light of day, sitting on a bare concrete floor, which was foul, and with water pouring off the walls, as there was no heating in the cells. These conditions soon told on the health of us all and everyone in the prison found themselves affected by an epidemic of typhus and typhoid. The prison became like a real seventeenth century cemetery. Every day, every night, they were carrying out five or six who had died in the various cells—but it was quite typical that they carried the bodies out not for burial but to pile them up in a heap in the guardroom, where they lay and decayed. The air was heavy with the smell of the corpses, so that none of us went out for exercise any more, since we preferred to breathe the smell from our commode. At one stage these conditions spurred us to attempt a breakout. We tried to dig a tunnel, but the prison apparently had been built to prevent any thought of escape. When we had got down about a foot we came on another concrete floor. We had no tools to get through this, and decided to give up our idea. However, the thought of escaping remained with us, and it was realized by a few individuals who had worked in the underground. Comrades Murávich, Abólin, Mironénko and some others seized their chance, overpowered a warder, tied him up with a towel, and escaped from the jail. December was drawing to a close—even in the prison we could hear the sounds of gunfire from the front line. The Whites were retreating, pushed back by Red forces and by our Red Army of partisans. The Whites evacuated Novocherkássk at lightning speed. General Popóv, in charge of the evacuation, besides household effects, equipment, weapons, and troops, firmly intended to take as hostages several dozen political prisoners from the jail in New Novocherkássk, which held those sentenced to hard labour. But when he came to the prison and discovered that an epidemic had infected all the inmates, he just said: ‘I’m not taking a single one of them. Let them die in their own dirt like dogs.’ But you were wrong, General, we endured all the horrors of torture, all the nightmare scenario, we lost our good health, but we remained full of Bolshevik determination to carry on the revolutionary struggle to which we had set our hand. On 25 December the Red Army pushed out the Whites and took Novocherkássk. Our Red Cavalry restored us to life. The first man to come into the jail was the train driver,

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comrade Semyón Abrósimov, one time Chairman of the Novocherkássk underground. He smashed down the door to carry us out of our cell and take us one by one to his quarters, where those of us who were ill got the care and treatment that we needed. That is how it was in those unforgettable days of hard work for our Party in its secret organization, while the Don was oppressed by White misrule. G.Spírin

Vasílyev heads the underground Memoir of Vasílyev Shmidt, 1889–1937 (d.177) Printing leaflets Andrey Yefrémovich Vasílyev was born into a peasant family near Vítebsk. His father came to work in Taganróg, and started training working there in a metal-working factory. He soon became involved in political activity, hiding and distributing illegal revolutionary pamphlets. He continued this work after his family moved to Rostóv. He was ten years older than Spírin. As one of the more senior members of the Bolshevik Party he feels he should give a detailed account of their work from 1918 through to the Red Army’s return in January 1920. Wishing to include every detail Vasílyev does not present each happening in chronological order. In a few cases I have rearranged the sequence of events as listed in his dossier. For Party work he often went under the name ‘Shmidt’ as a conspiratorial alias. He describes the first attempts to start Party work in 1918. In the following paragraph he reminds us that type formes weighed quite heavily, 2 poods being the equivalent of about 33 kg.

We had about 5,000 roubles, which was still worth a considerable amount, and therefore decided that we should immediately set up a printing press to raise the morale of the working class in Rostóv and the Don area. That was what began the first steps of underground work. We had a second task: however difficult, we must establish regular links with the Donburó, for without them we could not exist. Shortly afterwards we had to find ways of spreading abroad the contents of the literature they were sending us. Somehow or other we got a printing press together and bought two poods of types through the compositor Selivánov, whom we knew as an old Party member. It is true that he may not have been ‘one of us’ in the narrowest sense, because he came from the Ménshevik side. However, at that time he said he was only too glad to help us in setting up the press.

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With Selivánov’s help we got our press working and concealed it in house 42 on the 14th Line, where comrade Murlychóv’s old father lived. We hid the printing apparatus in the Russian stove, and every night we printed off 100–150 copies of appeals to workers in the Don area. Before that we had managed to recruit one man who had experience of printing, and had already become a Communist, comrade Murovich. Through him we took in Poltorátski, who considered himself to be an anarchist. We expanded our output and were now printing in two places, turning out our literature also at No. 20, Line 42, in a shoemaker’s premises. Comrade Murlychóv and I were still printing in the stove. When our pamphlets started to go round among the working class we felt that we were not alone, but had found a voice for masses of people in Rostóv. We were printing weekly calls to action, only 300–500 copies, although eventually we even got out more than a thousand every night. We were greatly helped by a watchman, Pavorichki, who distributed our pamphlets and also acted as our courier. We wrote to the workers that the Red Army was an unshakeable force and that soon the red flag would be waving again over the Don—‘Don’t go against the Bolsheviks, who are working class like you.’ When our leaflets came into the hands of the workers we managed to make contact with some of them, for example in the Leli factory, in the tramway workshops, at the factory in Nakhicheván’ which made nails, the dockers in the port, the water supply system, staff from the Vladikavkáz Railway etc. In the early days of October 1918 representatives from the various groups attended two general meetings, which noted the plan for our future activity. It was decided to send comrade Vasilénko with our report to the Donburó. The rest of us who remained in Rostóv, managed to make contact with the Asmólov factory. This link was established by comrade Frénkel’, who had come to us from the Donburó and offered his apartment as a venue for meetings. Back in March 1918, during the brief rule of the Don Soviet Republic Frénkel’ (1894–1939) had served as a member of its Political Education Section. In May, he accompanied the ill-fated expedition which led to the capture and execution of Podtyólkov and his men. Under the pen name D” Aktil Frénkel’ wrote Eagles of the Revolution, the best known account of that tragedy. He was a member of the Donburó from August 1918 to July 1919, always an opponent of Syrtsov’s harsh repression of the Cossacks. Vasílyev at this point explains how they made contact with revolutionaries in Taganróg and Novocherkássk: You will understand that this sort of work demanded a certain expenditure, and we had hardly any funds, so we were looking forward to seeing Vasilénko back from the Donburó. At last he arrived, and gave us a full report in the Nakhicheván’ cemetery behind the Aksáy factory. The meeting was attended by twelve comrades, representing the factory. The Donburó had sent us 25,000 roubles. Murlychóv was at the meeting, as also were representatives of the various workshops. After Vasilénko’s statement it was resolved to convene a wider meeting to elect our Don Committee. The list of those we wished to choose was sent to the Donburó for their approval. After it came back from them the list was acknowledged and confirmed. Finally comrades Anna and Yeléna came

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to us from the Donburó and they were brought into the Don Committee, which then had a total of eleven Party members. The Bolsheviks were taking quite considerable risks in holding large meetings, such as the one they brought together to elect the Donkom. Vasílyev describes the unusual venue. ‘In February 1919 our Bolshevik Congress took place in Nakhicheván’, Line 25, on the south side of the Don, to the left of the wooden bridge, in a house standing on stilts above the river. There was a fisherman living in the house, whose name I don’t remember. We ran a telephone cable 250 yards from his house, so that we would get warning of anyone approaching. The Congress elected a new Don Committee: with me as Chairman, Anna as Secretary, Yemel’yán Vasilénko Treasurer, Vasíli Abrósimov to take charge of the printing press, with Selivánov as his assistant. The other members of the Don Committee were: Ól’ga Mínskaya, Yeléna, Marúsya, and Maríya Malínskaya.’ Members of the Committee had privileged knowledge of the main secrets of the underground. In spite of all the precautions about ‘electing’ the right people, the Committee contained two informers, Yemel’yán Vasilénko and Vasíli Abrósimov, who posed a grave threat to the whole underground. Under the military conditions in which the Committee was working the Chairman would have complete and unquestioned authority. During the first years after the revolution everyone in office felt they must show a clear basis for their authority. For the members of the Don Committee to give orders it was essential they could show they had been properly ‘elected’, even though the election was really determined by those in control of the Party. The Don Committee established regular contact with workers in industrial enterprises in Rostóv and also with nearby towns: Batáysk, Azóv, Aksáyskaya etc. These other centres often provided our most reliable supporters because the people there were peasants and non-Cossacks. In this way the Don Committee developed its recruitment so widely that we could soon count on more than a hundred Party cells in the Don Óblast’. To keep in regular contact with the Donburó we had to develop cells in places where it was not too difficult for our couriers to pass across the front lines, for example near Mariúpol’ andNikítovka-yáma. Some of our couriers were men who had been conscripted and wounded when they were serving with the Whites, such as Vasilénko, who had lost both his arms and Vernidúb, who had only one leg. We received a special order from the Donburó and the Red Army command on the Southern Front. They wanted people who could undertake specialized military reconnaissance. Comrades Ippolít Dóroshev, Frénkel’ and Blokhín were working with the Donburó at that time. From men like these the Red Army could get the exact position of every unit on the White side of the lines. My responsibility was to coordinate all this reconnaissance work, reporting both on active service units and on those on garrison duty.

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Vasílyev (Shmidt) attacks Ménsheviks Feuds between former allies were often more bitter than hatred against those designated by all Social Democrats as ‘class enemies’. By 1919, the Ménsheviks had been discarded as no longer serving the revolutionary cause. The first six pages of Vasílyev’s memoirs are largely devoted to fulminating against them, since he now considers them traitors to the working class:

Since these people were highly educated, they saw their task as ‘achieving Socialism by peaceful means’. Thus they were all too willing to join the White Guards’ staff, acting as so-called ‘interpreters’, as they said, to make life easier for prisoners under arrest. It worked out that they were useful as follows: because they knew the Don country well and also the strategic points where the Red forces had taken up their positions they helped both the Whites and the Germans to place their guns to good advantage for shelling the Reds. Another useful service they performed was to help Atamán Krasnóv to implement the plan to get rid of Trade Unions and Works Committees, so that all their functions were handed over to the factory owners—as they said ‘so that there would be less trouble, for it wasn’t the time to be worrying about that sort of thing.’ And they even went so far as to become speakers on Deníkin’s propaganda train. I shall quote one well known Ménshevik, Petrénko, addressing ‘working class’ Cossacks at the station in Rostóv: ‘I myself was a Bolshevik and I have just managed to escape from that area, where everything is going to rack and ruin. There is no order, no government, and the main thing…there is no one in charge. I have been a Commissar myself and I have been through it all. That is why we must press forward. For a single indivisible Russia— forward to Moscow!’ In fact Lénin was more firmly in control of policy than any of the White leaders. Most Cossacks wanted some degree of independence. They were uneasy allies for the Volunteer Army, whose slogan Indivisible Russia’ they did not accept, and in 1919 Deníkin’s insistence on centralized authority led to a bitter feud with the Kubán’. Rail workers restive under Cossack rule In 1872, a concession was given to the Vladikavkáz Railway Company to build a rail network to the town of that name and to other points in the Caucasus. At this time railways were being built all over Russia. The Vladikavkáz Railway Company grew rapidly and by 1913 was carrying half a million passengers over 4,260 km of track (Sidorov, 1995, 3:209–16). Rostóv held the main

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workshops for building and servicing engines and other rolling stock. A large work force of more than 3,000 was concentrated there, most of them trained as skilled artificers. It was from educated workers such as these that the Communists drew much of their support. Although not all may have been zealous Bolsheviks they certainly would not relish remaining under Cossack rule. Vasílyev gives a Bolshevik’s view of their mood in January 1919.

At the beginning of 1919 the main workshops of the Vladikavkáz Railway were visited by General Krasnóv, the Cossack Atamán, and an English general, whose support he was trying to enlist. A French lieutenant, speaking Russian, called on the workers to support Krasnóv, and declared that France would help ‘united indivisible Russia’ in its struggle against the Bolsheviks. One just had to look at the faces of the workers, who were listening ironically to his speech. When he shouted: ‘Long live General Krasnóv’ there were only one or two cries of ‘Hurrah!’, probably shouted by members of the administrative staff. Hundreds of workers were as silent as the grave. At that time Krasnóv allowed a tax of 250 roubles to be imposed on every citizen in Rostóv. There was no grading of the tax according to one’s means. Rich or poor— everyone paid the same amount, and it was the working-class districts who really felt the full weight of what was demanded. Colonel Grékov, in his order to bring in the tax, said that anyone who did not pay would receive a visit from a punishment squad—and then let them give everything they possessed. The day after the meeting in the railway sheds there was a news item in the paper Priazóvski kray that General Krasnóv and the English and French officers were greeted with ‘great applause’ by the workers. When the workers read this they said: ‘What barefaced lies they tell, and how ashamed we are if our comrades in Soviet Russia will think so badly of us railway workers when they read these words.’ A few days later General Krasnóv issued an order to the railway workshops saying that the workers were too sloppy about turning up for work, and that they would be held to account for any negligence. March 1919: Vasílyev to prepare military units Vasílyev works to set up Bolshevik underground cells.

In March 1919, I was informed that by a resolution of the Party Committee I had been singled out to serve on the military staff as a full member. I was to give up work completely in the railway workshops, and go over to working directly in setting up military units. At that time fortunes at the front were changing and Soviet troops were approaching the Don Óblast’. When I set about organizing military units I had firstly to count up how many arms were already held by our workers, for in every large firm in Rostóv they had

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rifles, cartridges and bombs. We held meetings in the various enterprises. Almost a hundred workers attended one meeting in the tram depot. We called on them to enrol in our military detachments, and I must say the tram workers played an active part. Workers at the Aksáy factory were also well to the fore. We all felt that we were on the edge of critical developments for which we would bear responsibility. The 10th Red Army was only ten versts from Batáysk. The Whites were rushing from one front to another. We had Party cells in Batáysk and nearby villages. Small detachments of peasants had been organized everywhere. However, since General Pokróvski controlled all the bridges and river crossings, for the time being we were cut off from these units in the country. In the village of Samárski we found out that the Red Army had gone back across the River Mánych and were retreating rapidly. This news made us warn the Party cells that they should be cautious about exposing themselves and were not to start a rebellion unless they received orders from the Don Committee. We ourselves went back to Rostóv to report what had happened. The underground prepare to print a full size newspaper After our first failure (i.e. when they caught comrade Murlychóv with his printing press) we started work to improve our facilities, aiming to produce a larger paper (Red Banner), since the sheet we were bringing out (under the title Poor of the Don) was too small for the material that our main committee wanted to publish. It had not enough space to cover the military campaign, or to say anything about the international situation. We were well supplied with this sort of material because we had one of our comrades working in the radio station of the Don Cossack government. He kept us informed about revolutionary developments in other countries, and also in those parts of Russia which were governed by the Soviets. Burtylyóv was the radio operator, whom the Whites so foolishly employed in their radio station in Novocherkássk. In our later section on ‘Radio workers’ Burlychóv explains that through the White radio he was receiving reports from various fronts of the Civil War, also from the Eiffel Tower and other distant sources, which gave details of international politics. Vastly ev’s adventures For underground activity it was considered essential to preserve the central organization in each area. Vasílyev was a senior member of the Don Committee, and would not expect normally to be exposed to discovery in any subsidiary operation. Under strict Party discipline if the members of one cell were arrested there would still be senior staff who could direct further activities. White police and counter-intelligence agents were always patrolling the streets, and could suddenly call on anyone they met to show proof of his identity. If this person failed

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to produce some valid document he would be arrested and held in jail until he could clear his name. Skilled men in the underground used their knowledge to produce fake passes which looked sufficiently realistic to pass police scrutiny.

We had other work too. Besides preparing our Red Banner we had to organize Party cells and then to go round them to teach the whole organization what had to be done. But that presented great difficulties, since we did not have enough comrades for this work. So we would have to go out ourselves, and for going about like that we needed to have identity documents. Either we did not have them, or if we did, then they were our own homemade attempts. On one occasion when I myself had to go out as circumstances demanded, I took up five hundred copies of our pamphlets, and tied them around myself. I set off for Rostóv station early in the morning, but I had to put on military uniform. Naturally by all the rules of the garrison I had to be accompanied by one of our agents, comrade Kolern. We travelled to Novocherkássk on the ‘Lightning’ train. It was specially for the use of officers, but we were dressed as White partisans and they gave us seats because of that. So we got out in Novocherkássk and set off for our secret meeting point. I had barely realized what was happening when my guide came running up and said: ‘Go away. The Cossacks are taking people in.’ I came out with a woman who pretended she was seeing me off to the front against the Bolsheviks. We made our way back to the station, and returned safely to Rostóv by that same ‘Lightning’ train. I made other trips which were not so free of trouble. Once I was given an agreed amount of literature to be delivered to Party members on the Vladikavkáz Railway. I walked to the rendezvous near a little hut, hidden behind goods wagons in the sidings. I was met there by one of our comrades from the Communist Party cell. I handed over all the pamphlets that I had been told to give him. About 10 a.m, as I was coming back to the tram stop outside the station, suddenly an unknown man came up to me and said: ‘What were you going to the station for? Who were you meeting?’ I replied that I was waiting for the tram. ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Boyarski’, I said, because I was carrying false papers made out for a tramway worker with that name. He invited me to go with him all the same, and took me to their interrogation centre, where they started a detailed investigation. ‘Why were you at the station? Where were you coming from?’ I answered that I was expecting to meet my sister who was supposed to be arriving, and that I myself worked on the trams. Nonetheless they put me in prison. That night a senior policeman came in who knew me personally and had some idea of politics. He saw that I had been beaten about the head and was covered in blood. He asked me a few questions, looked at me and took pity. He told me to wash myself, and then ordered a Cossack to take me to the police station nearest my home. At that point I felt fresh courage. The Cossack took me out on the street—and I thought: ‘Where is he going to take me, to which police station? I don’t have a fixed address and I’m not signed on for work anywhere. I’m just the Chairman of an illegal organization.’

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I decided to get out of the difficulty by saying to my escort: ‘Listen. I’m a deserter. I’ve come back from the front line. I’ll spend a few days at home and then I’ll go back there. Please let me go.’ He wouldn’t agree. I offered him money, since I had 180 roubles on me—in those days that was still worth something. He hesitated and asked: ‘Will you really go back to the front?’ I replied that firstly I would go back home, do whatever needed to be done and then return to active service. In the end I managed to persuade him. I went with him into one block at 243 Pushkin Street, signed up in the book: ‘Received by the duty officer of Sector 3.’ I don’t remember his name now, because I was feeling pretty bad, and besides it was raining. It was eight o’clock in the morning. I went back to my sure refuge in a dark, damp cellar under the outpatients department of the former City Hospital on Pushkin Street. No one knew about this hideout, since I had told nobody about it, except the most essential comrades: my secretary Anna, Románov, and comrade Pivovárov (Kalitá), and so it was never given away. It is true it might have been tracked down, but it would have been difficult to follow the trail. Now I had to stay there until I completely recovered from the damage to my head. Our work was almost completely organized and also our communications with the Donburó. At last the Red Army made a breakthrough on the Mánych front. The Whites were retreating, and panic began in Rostóv with all sorts of counter-intelligence rats sniffing out plots, since shells were now bursting at Mókry Batáysk, only 18 kilometres away. This was a favourable opportunity for our organization and we went into action, intensifying our propaganda through the Party cells, telling the workers that they did not have to obey the call up for the Volunteer Army, and urging them to desert whenever they had a chance. Of course, at this stage we could not call on them to come out in open rebellion, since the Whites had concentrated large forces in the Rostóv area. They had introduced martial law, and the punishment squads were starting their foul work. There were widespread arrests, from which very few people came out alive. Suddenly the Red Army began to retreat, which we simply couldn’t explain. During January and February 1919, the Red Army had swept south through the Don territory, but from March to June they had to contend with the widescale rebellion of some 30,000 Cossacks which broke out in their rear, centred in Vyóshenskaya on the middle reaches of the Don (see Murphy, 1993). Lénin saw clearly the strategic importance of Rostóv and wrote to the Red Army commanders in the south that the city must be taken. The full quote on the frontispiece of this book reads: 24 April To: Rakóvski, Antónov, Podvóyski, L.B.Kámenev: ‘It is essential to help us defeat the Cossacks and take Rostóv at all costs, even if we have to slacken off in the west of Ukraine, for otherwise disaster threatens.’ On 8th May Lénin again showed his fixation about the importance of Rostóv: ‘You must understand that if we do not take Rostóv quickly the Revolution is faced with inevitable disaster.’ (Meijer, 1962–64, 1:380).

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In Vasílyev’s account which follows we need to remember that 7 May was the date according to the old calendar, which the Whites clung to. The rest of the world would date the discovery of the Red Banner to 20 May. On the night of 7 May the Volunteer Army’s counter-intelligence descended on our printing press in Nakhicheván’, Line 35. A large number of arrests followed, and the whole of our Party organization was in such a perilous state that not only were we stopped from working, but we could not even go out on the street. There was a long gap in our activity, because two of those who had been arrested turned out to be informers, and they had to be wiped out. Besides that we were concerned to find some way of helping those of our members who were in prison by easing some of its worst effects. Chebotaryóv, in his memoir of the ‘Death cell’ pays tribute to the help that those in prison received from the underground Party organization in Rostóv. Also we had to keep in touch with our cells, communicate with our people in jail and with those members who held posts in White counter-intelligence. At this moment there was another shock: there were informers working with the arms hidden in the Southeastern Depot of our organization. Thus we had to get rid of those traitors. But there was no one available to see to that, so we members of the Don Committee had to deal with it ourselves. Nevertheless we somehow managed to achieve something. We saved eight of our comrades who had been condemned to death, and we wiped out the informers. Abrósimov was killed in Rostóv in the old market, Vasilénko was killed on the other side of the Don, Chudakóv at the cemetery, while Deníkin was inspecting troops there. They killed Afanás’eva on the approach road to the port. I must add that when the Whites closed down our printing press they also broke up the Party cell in the south-east of Rostóv. Thanks to a happy chance, comrade Didlóvski managed to hide. Some of our people were arrested in Taganróg and Novocherkássk, even in Yekaterinodár. All this made us think that our organization was being betrayed from within. Almost all members of the Don Committee went away to Soviet Russia, so that Petróv, Románov, Kunítsa and I had to take on all the work of the Committee. The other Vasílyev, Anna and some others went to Taganróg District to be ferried across the Sea of Azóv to Soviet Russia. They brought Yemel’yán along with them, hoping that the Donburó would be able to establish whether he had anything to do with the Cossacks raiding the printing press. After a short time we had news of these comrades, that they were still in Taganróg District, not being able to get across into Soviet Russia, and asking us to send them money. But a few days later Vasílyev and Anna came back to tell us that there also they had run into trouble. We could get no news about the others who had set off. It was only when the Red Army came back to Rostóv in January that Didlóvski told us how he and one other comrade had got through to the Soviet troops and had been with them ever since. Keeping a watch on the informer Abrósimov we managed to find out that he had gone off with White counter-intelligence agents to Velikoknyázheskaya. As for Yemel’yán, we

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got fresh news that he had come back to Rostóv from Taganróg. Since we were not sure about him we had him followed to see if he had any connection with Abrósimov. That turned out to be correct: for some reason or other Abrósimov was put in prison by the Whites among our other friends who were being held there. From the prison Abrósimov was corresponding with Yemel’yán. The Don Committee discussed the question of Yemel’yán at one of its meetings, which was attended by Shabilyévski’s wife from the Donburó. It was confirmed that Yemel’yán as treasurer had not given us a proper account of his stewardship of our finances. The Don Committee ordered me to arrest Yemel’yán. I was to find a safe house, where he could be held under arrest, to make him give a definite account and to present proper figures for the money spent. He was to explain how it was that he and Abrósimov, two of the most active members of the underground, had been released, while all the other members had been kept in prison. Along with comrades Kolin and Alekséy I set off for the suburb where Yemel’yán lived. We arrested him, and I took him off to the apartment we had prepared in advance in the house of one of the dock workers. We gave him the relevant documents there for him to make a proper financial balance, and he was told to get on with preparing this statement. I reported his arrest to the Don Committee, who decided to let Yemel’yán present the figures and give a detailed account of how the printing press had been betrayed. Only after that would the Committee announce what it had decided. But two days later I was informed that the apartment, in which Yemel’yán was held, had been discovered. However, Alekséy and Kolin, who were guarding him, did not lose their heads. They snatched up all the documents, brought Yemel’yán out, and took him in a cab to another safe house. When Yemel’yán had been a few days in the new apartment he tried to pass a message to the police through the son of the family. But as the boy got the message he gave it to his mother. After it was proved that Yemel’yán had definitely tried to inform the police, the Don Committee passed a resolution: in the interests of our security to do away with the informer. We still had to deal with the agent provocateur Abrósimov. At that moment Abrósimov came out of prison and wrote a letter to the Donkom, threatening us in the coarsest tones that as sure as his name was Abrósimov he would scorch us all out with a hot iron. But soon Abrósimov was put out of our way. Greens Because White counter-intelligence was still hot on our tracks we had to reorganize a little. Some of the Party members who could no longer go about in Rostóv were sent to Soviet Russia, and fourteen went to the Green Army, since our Don Committee was always in contact with their staff. But even in the Caucasus we could not escape betrayal: seven of our members were arrested and executed. Work in the Don Committee meant that three of us had to go back to Rostóv, where we remained until the Soviet regime was restored in January 1920. In September 1919, Soviet agents in Novorossísk tried to ‘define’ the Greens: ‘After the retreat of the Caucasus Army a group of Red Army men found themselves a refuge in the mountains, and from 1918 they

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have been carrying out raids on houses in the country and on trains going along the main line to Vladikavkáz. As they had at their disposal both light artillery and several machine guns, their raids spread panic in those parts, besides which they added to their large stock of weapons. Peasants persecuted by the Volunteer Army began to come over to them, and they could thus field an impressive figure of up to 60,000 Greens, who were able to wreak havoc in the enemy’s rear.’ (Figures for numbers of men in the Civil War are notoriously unreliable, and 60,000 Greens may be an exaggeration. But there is no doubt that in certain areas the Greens were a large and effective force.) The Green Army is divided into three groups: the first group is operating in the area of Tuapse and Sochi and poses a threat to Tuapse. The second group is at Novorossísk itself, and consists of three regiments under the command of the well-known leader of the Novorossísk Ménsheviks, Vasílyev. There is a third small group towards the right hand coast of Novorossísk, but it contains many of our loyal Communists.’ (Primary sources: 99). I have referred only to those Greens who were centred in the North Caucasus and who came to dominate Novorossísk in 1920. But many other groups in Russia found both Red and White rule distasteful, and were simply trying to retain some measure of autonomy. As long as the Bolsheviks saw the Volunteer Army as their main enemy they were quite willing to cooperate with any independent forces. But in 1920, once Deníkin was pushed out of the Kubán’, the Parry turned on all the Greens and crushed them ruthlessly. (For the Greens in general see Swain, 2000.) At that time the Party Committee through one of our agents, comrade Ványa, managed to get through to our people in Novorossísk. There was not yet any proper Party structure there, only propaganda pushed forward by several individual comrades among the working class. Our Donkom sent me to make contact with the Novorossísk comrades to see if they could link up with the Green Army. After I had been there for a week I had gathered some preliminary information about the Greens and about working-class organizations in Novorossísk. I went back to report to the Donkom in Rostóv, who decided at all costs to organize a Party Committee in Novorossísk and to establish contact with the Green Army. To put this into effect they sent down there comrade Novitski, a student. In November 1919, the group of Greens who had been up to Rostóv were arrested. From Rostóv we sent a courier down to Novorossísk with an urgent warning that their friends had been discovered and that they should take precautions, but the courier, comrade Várya, could not get on the express train and went down with the mail train. She arrived too late and found that the Whites had arrested and shot Greens in Novorossísk that same day, along with two comrades from Ukraine. The next day in Gelendzhík they rounded up comrade Sidorchúk and a Ukrainian worker, Marusya. In the interrogation they were brutally beaten with rifle cleaning rods.

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Sidorchúk had escaped from his daring exploit when he shot Abrósimov in Rostóv market, but now White counter-intelligence executed him in Novorossísk. The Donkom ordered me to stay in Rostóv, because they had to find out who had betrayed our people in Novorossísk. As the Red Army drew near to Rostóv the last days of White rule gave our Party organization a hard time. We had the feeling that spies were following close behind us all. Comrade Volmér and I were hiding in the tram depot, and many workers there realized how we were suffering from the winter frosts as we were keeping out of sight in the empty sheds. But now the end of the bad days was approaching. Along the streets one could see the corpses of men who had been hanged. The Donkom organized a Military Committee and issued proclamations. A number of military detachments were formed and our commanders kept in touch with organizations outside Rostóv. When at last Budyónny’s cavalry burst into the prison square they called a meeting of all those who had worked in the underground. In the tram depot we joined the Red Army men singing The Internationale, and we felt that a weight had rolled off our shoulders.

Pivovárov escorts Yemel’yán through hostile city (d.875, extract) Yemel’yán Vasilénko had been appointed Treasurer of the Don Committee. Once he had been revealed as an informer he posed a particular threat to the whole underground, since as a member of the Committee he knew the identity of many members and the addresses of some or all of the ‘safe houses’.

Along with two other comrades Kolin and Alekséy (the latter has since been killed by the White Guards) I set off to the apartment where Yemel’yán was to be found. Kolin and Alekséy stayed by the door, while I went in to Yemel’yán, proceeding with great caution, since I knew he had a revolver. As soon as Yemel’yán saw me he went as white as a sheet, and asked in a quavering voice what did I want. I explained that the Party Committee had ordered that he should put our accounts in order. I said that he must obey the Party’s decision and go out with me. At first he refused, but after I explained to him that the Committee had instructed me to bring him in dead or alive he tried to prove to me that he was not guilty of betraying our printing press and had nothing to do with Abrósimov’s treachery. I demanded that he should come with me, and pulled out my revolver. He realized that we were serious about taking him in, and decided to go with me. To protect himself he asked me to promise that I would bring him to the Committee alive and unharmed, and that Anna and Yeléna would be present when the Committee considered his case. We warned Yemel’yán’s wife that if she allowed herself to make a disturbance on the street then Yemel’yán would suffer the sad fate of being liquidated. I set out with him to an apartment we had got ready in advance. As we were walking through Balabánovski

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Wood, he evidently thought that we had decided to finish him off, and began to beg me with tears in his eyes to spare his life. However, when he realized that not only were we going to let him pass through the wood without killing him but were even going to take him along some of the busiest streets, he calmed down again. The apartment was at 7th Street in the New Settlement where one of the dock labourers was living. When we arrived Yemel’yán was left with Kolin, who had been entrusted with looking after him. We provided him with all the documents he needed to get our accounts in order and I reported to the Committee accordingly. They decided to allow him to finish sorting the accounts and that he should give a full statement of why the press had been discovered. The Committee would decide about him after all that was done. But two days later I was told that the apartment had been discovered where Yemel’yán was held. Nevertheless comrades Kolin and Alekséy had kept a cool head, snatched up all the papers, and got him into a cab to drive him to another ‘safe house’, since they did not know how else to manage him. When I went off to that address I was informed that, while under our guard Yemel’yán had asked Kolin to let him go to the lavatory, which was outside in the yard. Close to the lavatory there was a woman from those flats, and he managed to pass a note to her through the wall, saying that he was being held by some evil-minded people who wanted to kill him and asking her to tell the police. The woman raised a great hue and cry in the yard. Our comrades remained calm and got away safely. The worker in whose house he had been quartered had a few days under arrest, and then they let him go. When we had all this information it was decided to take Yemel’yán across to the other side of the Don by the bridge from Nakhicheván’, and to put him in with one of the workers living on that side of the river whose family were known to comrade Kolin. I should explain when we took him there that all this marching our prisoner through the streets was done with our revolvers trained on him from under our coats, and that was how we stopped him shouting out to everyone. Pivovárov then follows with the story which Vasílyev has told of Yemel’yán trying to alert the police by giving a note to the young lad in the family. But, as we have seen, he did not escape on that occasion either, because the boy just passed the message to his mother. When all these facts were put together and it was established that Yemel’yán was really trying to squeal to the police the Party Committee decided to do away with him in the interests of preserving our Party work. The decision of our Committee was put into effect. When Yemel’yán was asked were there any other informers besides him and Abrósimov, his last words were ‘No one else’, and he asked to be spared, saying he would never behave like that again. Those were his last words. When Yemel’yán had been killed the Party Committee felt that we could not work effectively as long as Abrósimov was at large. I must explain that we were now carrying on preliminary discussions through a certain lawyer about buying the judges off to make life easier for our people who had been arrested. Hoping to come to some agreement for easing their conditions the lawyer said there would be more chance of doing that if Abrósimov did not have to appear in court. It

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was just at this time that he came out of prison, and wrote another letter to the Party in which he threatened and abused the Committee in the sharpest terms. At 10 o’clock one morning Sidorchúk set off to where Abrósimov was drinking tea in the market, and killed him with a single shot from a Colt. Comrade Sidorchúk had agreed with the coachman to have at hand the horse which belonged to our Committee and it swiftly carried him away from the scene, although White Guards were rushing in on him from every side. Pivovárov spent some time with the Green rebels in the hills above Novorossísk and then: By a decree from the Party Committee I was hurriedly recalled to Rostóv to pick up money and identity papers. Coming to the house where I had been told to report I asked whether everything was all right, and set off for comrade Vasílyev’s apartment. It was just at this time that the Donburó sent three women to work with us: Zhénya, Lyúba and Stásya. Having heard that Ól’ga Mínskaya was going back into Soviet Russia, I went off towards my own apartment. As I was walking along Sénnaya Street a woman who worked at the Asmólov tobacco factory jumped out of a tram that was going by. With tears in her eyes she began to tell me that Maksímovich had betrayed comrade Vasya, who worked with him at the Asmólov factory, and that Maksímovich was taking one of the counter-intelligence agents round the apartments where our Party members were living. This news shook me up badly. The trouble was that Maksímovich knew where comrade Volmér was living, and also knew where the printing press was hidden. I rushed off to Volmér, who was close at hand, and told him all this. Quickly we put together all his papers and money, and set off to comrade Vasílyev, to tell him the news. He immediately saw to it that our friends in the printing press knew what had happened, and that all our other comrades were warned. We rushed round all the secret addresses telling people there to take precautions, since we felt that disaster was once more hanging over us. This all happened in November 1919, although it turned out later that Maksímovich had not betrayed anyone. However, the whole group that had come to Rostóv from the Greens Army had been arrested. Pivovárov clearly had in mind the Greens’ lack of effective security. In and around Novorossísk many gangs were mainly interested in robbery— for which they would kill if necessary. Williams informs us of the large number of ‘bandits’ who might set upon any peaceful citizens that ventured out after dark. In his concluding remarks Pivovárov tells how difficult life became for the underground workers in Rostóv. With the approach of the Red Army the Whites saw their hold on the city was threatened and they embarked on an orgy of executing anyone they suspected of being a potential enemy. Comrade Volmér and I took refuge in the tram depot. Many of the workers knew how we had to hide in the empty sheds when the winter temperature was several degrees below zero. I must pay tribute to the tramway workers who tried to take care of us.

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As our day of liberation came nearer we could see the corpses of men who had been executed hanging from the lamp-posts.

Posts and telegraphs The Social Democrat Party was the natural home for workers who had acquired specialized skills and qualifications, so that most of Rostóv’s thousands of railway engineers or tramway workers were left-wing supporters. The White administration in Rostóv had considerable difficulty finding reliable men for any job that required a certain level of education. There were some Communist sympathizers even among prison warders and the men employed to escort prisoners from jail to court or to another prison. It was a sign of the difficulties facing the Whites that they employed someone like Burtylyóv in such a sensitive post in their radio station (see paragraph 2 below).

Dear comrade Fyódor Ivánovich [Omel’chenko], I confirm that basically you have correctly depicted the events of that time. In your reminiscences Communications staff in the struggle to establish Soviet power on the Don, though a few sections lack some details, so that I think it is essential for me to add my comments and additional notes: 1 Ivan Fedáy came onto the trade union committee, and he was also in our underground group, which at that time was closely connected with the man in charge of the Bolshevik Party, comrade Sergéy Syrtsóv. From 1918 Syrtsóv was a powerful figure on the Don and largely responsible for the harsh repression of the Cossacks which led to the Don Rebellion in March 1919. 2 It must be added that when comrade Ignáti Nikítovich Burtylyóv was working as a wireless operator in the radio station in Novocherkássk he regularly supplied the underground committee with military information as it came into the station. Moreover, his apartment (181, 6th Street) was the main secret rendezvous for comrades who had come down from Soviet Russia (Maríya Malínskaya, Sidorchúk and others). Comrade Avdéyev and I also visited that apartment. Burtylyóv’s wife, Anna Lavrént’yevna, was very good at secret work. Nowadays she is living at 2 Krasnodárskaya Street. There was also a group of about ten ‘underground’ workers in the telephone exchange (comrades Fyódor Yermólov, Rózin etc.). They used to listen to telephone conversations from White headquarters and pass them on to the underground committee.

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Comrade Avdéyev and I had direct contact with members of the committee: Murlychóv, Vasílyev (Shmidt), Volmér, Pivovárov (‘Robert’), Románov, Anna, and the others. From June to October 19191 got the underground committee to send me as a telegraphist to the headquarters of the Don Army in Míllerovo. From there I regularly passed over military communiques, and also the operational plan for the Mámontov Raid. The Mámontov Raid caused disruption in the Red Army’s rear areas. On 10 August 1919, Konstantín Mámontov led a force of 6,000 cavalry and 3,000 infantry which broke through the lines near Novokhopyórsk. They moved rapidly to take Tambóv and Kozlóv. On 11 September, they were in Vorónezh for one day, and finally forced their way back to the Volunteer Army on 19 September. Avdéyev was commenting on a piece written by Fyódor Ivánovich. Therefore the points he was making were not set out in chronological order. Avdéyev’s point 3 relates to November 1917 and point 4 to February-May 1918. He fails to show that these conspirators were not executed in spite of being condemned to death. Hence, Spírin survived to write his own account of the affair. So many conspirators had been caught by counter-intelligence in May that the Donburó must have judged Vasílyev and Dyúzhev too much at risk to be left in Rostóv, and hence they were detached as emissaries to the Greens in Novorossísk. Sometimes I took my own reports to Rostóv and sometimes messengers came to me. My friends, the communication workers who lived in the same flat with me in Míllerovo, told me later: ‘Now we understand who were the “sisters” who came to you.’ By that time I was working as Óblast’ Commissar of Communications (in January 1920). 3 At the time of preparing elections to the Constituent Assembly the Ménsheviks, Socialist Revolutionaries, Kadéts and Monarchists used every means available to heap hatred and slander on the Bolsheviks. In spite of this, the main body of workers in Rostóv voted for No. 5, the Bolshevik list, including of course the communications workers. There was little encouragement from Mayor Zeller’s speech at the meeting of Posts and Telegraphs. He had to leave the meeting covered in shame, and next day in the Kadét newspaper he wrote that the Post and Telegraph workers had fallen under the influence of the Bolshevik Party, and ‘our hopes have been ruined’. Syrtsóv, Chentsóv, Avdéyev and Fedáy were among the speakers at that meeting. 4 At the beginning of February 1918, the Red Army, commanded by Sívers, was approaching from the direction of Taganróg. Ponomaryóv, head of the District at that time, attempted to put Rostóv’s main switchboard out of action, but we members of the Posts and Telegraph Union prevented him destroying the telephone system. Rostóv was taken by Sívers on 10 February 1918, and the Soviet of People’s Commissars of the Don Republic was established, with Podtyólkov as Chairman and Krivoshlýkov as Secretary. Comrade Aleksándrov was appointed Commissar for Posts and Telegraphs and headed our staff until May 1918. 5 The years 1918 and 1919 were a severe testing time for the whole Don underground organization and especially for Post and Telegraph workers. During those years our underground printing press was destroyed on two occasions.

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(a) The press was first discovered on 25 November 1918. Comrade Yégor Murlychóv was betrayed by his landlady. In prison they tortured Murlychóv in the most terrible way, but he stood up to them manfully and called on all those working in the underground to continue their fight against the White Guards and persecutors of the working class. In February 1919, Yégor Murlychóv was executed and his body was buried in the Sofíysky cemetery. Spírin gave Yúra as Murlychóv’s first name. (b) The secret printing press came to grief again on 20 May 1919, betrayed by the informers Vasíli Abrósimov and Yemel’yán Vasilénko. The comrades working in the press were arrested: A.A.Abólin, Murávich, Il’yá Abrósimov, Grigóri Spírin, his mother Yeléna Nikoláyevna, his sister Klávdiya, Aleksándr Abrósimov and the radio operator Burtylyóv. In prison the torturers mocked and tormented them. Their trial took place on 31 October 1919. The sentences were severe and were printed in the newspaper Priazóvski kray, No. 296, 1919. In spite of all these setbacks the underground workers stiffened their ranks and stepped up their subversive work behind the White front. After the press had been discovered comrade Dyúzhev’s premises were searched. Then the underground committee gave him forged papers and sent him to Novorossísk, where he worked as a clerk in the Whites’ artillery magazine. From there he sent information to Avdéyev to an agreed address. In addition he had a link with the Green Red Army, which was in the mountains not far from Novorossísk. I went to Don Army headquarters in Míllerovo, thus leaving Rostóv. In the secret presses they were printing leaflets, calls for action, and the underground newspaper The Poor of the Don. In the paper they wrote that they had arranged for a regular supply of information and operational reports directly from the telegraph office of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don. The Whites’ Military Information Service even arranged a special conference at Deníkin’s headquarters to find out how The Poor of the Don was getting its information and operational reports about the positions of White Guard forces. All of this delighted our communication workers and we worked even harder to achieve this. At the time we were preparing for the workers’ holiday of the First of May Mayor Grékov issued an order in the newspaper Priazóvski kray: ‘You underground rats, if you want to celebrate then come out in an organized way onto Taganrógski prospékt, and we’ll see who is stronger. If any of you likes your beloved Sovdépiya, we’ll send you off there at top speed.’ But that did not come to pass. Quite the opposite—they themselves had to flee at the end of December. The Underground Committee issued instructions that our Party should not organize demonstrations, but should change to a ‘go slow’ in enterprises and institutions. Sovdépiya was the contemptuous name which the Whites coined for the area under the Soviet government.

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On the other side, the White garrison took its own precautions. Patrols were stepped up on the main thoroughfares, and with them went counter-intelligence agents. An armoured car and a company of White Guards were positioned near the station, at the crossing to the River Témernik. From May 1918 the Almighty Vóysko of the Don found itself completely dependent on the German Kaiser. In November 1918, the Germans left Rostóv because there had been a rebellion back in Germany. The Don Government’s finances were in a bad way, and to put them right they decided to rob the capitalists’ safes from the bank in Nikoláyevski Street. They broke in by digging a tunnel from Moskóvskaya Street and cleaned out every safe. They tried to blame all this on the Bolshevik Party. They wrote about it more than once in the newspapers. Those traitors, the Ménsheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries, fell in with their line and pretended to be indignant in order to win favour with the Don Government and White Guard organizations. Red Army pressure forced the Cossacks and Deníkin’s Volunteer Army to make a hurried retreat. As they left they destroyed various objects of economic value, and at the same time forced workers from some enterprises to go with them, including the workers in posts and telegraphs. They were hoping to leave everything destroyed behind them but they did not manage to achieve that. People on their side went with them, including Aleksándrov, Head of Communications in the District, Ponomaryóv, Aleshkin, Vanag, Noslevich and others. We who had worked for the underground tried to preserve the important objects, including the telegraph, the postal service and other parts of posts and telegraphs. Avdéyev repeats the glorification of 1st Cavalry which the Soviet government had found it convenient to create. In reality the 8th Army entered Rostóv with them and Budyónny’s men clashed with these other Red Army men (see Primary sources: 192–4). Hence the delay before the Reds were firmly in control. On 8 January 1920, Rostóv was taken by Red Army forces under the command of comrades Budyónny and Voroshílov. Acting as proposed by the underground committee of the Don Revolutionary Committee I (V.E.Mochálov) was appointed Commissar of the Óblast’ Directorate of Communications and comrade S.S.Avdéyev Commissar of the General Post Office. Comrade V.V.Alekséyev was appointed Commissar of the Telegraph Service, but did not work for long in that post. At his own request he was replaced and comrade Samylin appointed in his place, while comrade Fyódor Ivánovich Omel’chenko was appointed Director of the Telegraph. We wanted to restore communications quickly. At my request comrade Shchadénko, Commandant of Rostóv-on-Don, issued an order over his signature and mine, which obliged communication workers to present themselves for work within three days. Most of them came in to work before this, and that made it possible for us to set up telegraphic communication with Moscow and other large centres such as Khár’kov and Vorónezh. Comrade Khapenski, Director of Communications for the North Caucasus Army Group, ordered communication workers who had run off to report back to their previous place of employment. All military and civil institutions were to assist in returning them to

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work. The men who came back were carefully checked, and only those we could trust were taken back to work. The District Directors who had fled (Aleksándrov, Aleshekinski, Vanag et al.) had snatched away with them all financial resources. Therefore we had to make good the loss for money orders…

1919: Burtylyóv fools the Whites (twice!) (Radio worker I.N.Burtylyóv and his wife Anna Lavrént’yevna) The Social Democrats were the natural home for workers who had acquired specialized skills and qualifications, so that most of Rostóv’s thousands of railway engineers or tramway workers were Communist supporters. Similarly, ratings in the Imperial Navy were more technically qualified than the mass of peasants who had been drafted into the army in 1914. After the October Revolution sailors soon showed themselves to be the most effective armed force fighting for the Soviets. In early 1918, when Rostóv was still under Kalédin, Burtylyóv had been caught communicating with the Red Army who were approaching the city, and the Bolshevik radio operator had been imprisoned for this. Later in 1918, White counter-intelligence must have been very remiss to employ Burtylyóv again in such a sensitive post in their radio station. Holquist (p. 225) notes that ‘the multitude of agencies hindered the common cause’ and quotes one official: ‘now in Rostóv there is not one person who has not set up his own counter-intelligence agency’. The White administration in Rostóv had considerable difficulty finding reliable men for any job that required a certain level of education. There were some Communist sympathizers even among prison warders and the men employed to escort prisoners from jail to court or to another prison.

1918 and 1919:I.N.Burtylyóv—underground work in Rostóv (d.157) I was born into a peasant family in 1886, and went through Belynicheski People’s College… In 1904,1 went to Rostóv and entered the postal service. In 1904,1 was called up to serve in the navy, where I did a specialized course of radio-telegraphy and passed the examination for four classes of secondary school. In 1917,1 came back to Rostóv from military service and entered the ranks of the Bolshevik Party. I helped the staff of comrade Ravikóvich, who were evacuating Red Guards to Moscow.

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I worked in the radio station in Novocherkássk, keeping contact with Titov’s regiment, the Commander-in-Chief Antónov-Ovséyenko and his secretary, comrade Lárin. In 1918, I was arrested for this by the Volunteer Army’s counter-intelligence, imprisoned in the Novocherkássk Jail and held in the condemned cell for 39 days. When I was released I started work in the RostóvNakhicheván’ Bolshevik underground organization, remaining in the radio station in Novocherkássk, in the headquarters of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don. The first people I got to know were Pável and Mikhaíl, who were beginning to work for the underground but had nowhere to live. We brought them into the apartment where my wife Anna Burtylyóva was living at 138/140 in the New Settlement. Anna Burtylyóva was in the New Settlement in the north-western area of Rostóv. Working in the Whites’ radio station Burtylyóv himself would have to spend most of his time in Novocherkássk. In that same year in 1918, through the Donburó, Moscow sent Ól’ga Gorbáchik and Maríya Karagódskaya to help us. They were entered in the residents’ register as students. R.Gordon, Anna, Yeléna Vol’f and others used to stay overnight. Soon Maríya Malínskaya came from Moscow and was put into the register as ‘the student Vera Smirnóva’. They brought propaganda literature with them and our work started at full speed. We needed ‘safe’ houses and more people to help us, but it was difficult to find suitable apartments. Messengers from our district, and from the Soviet area were coming to my wife’s apartment, and sometimes there were five or more comrades staying there, not only those who had come from afar, but also ones who were working in Rostóv and Nakhicheván’. It was in her flat that they began to print leaflets for distribution. Then they set up a printing press in the Spírins’ house in Nakhicheván’ and began to print the newspaper The Poor, as well as leaflets, that they brought in a rough state to my wife’s apartment and collected from her for distribution. My work in the radio station at the Whites’ headquarters allowed our secret organization to know about the advances and retreats of White and Soviet forces, and also what was going on elsewhere. I received reports and information from radio staff, and from telegrams I got all the reports from the Whites’ fronts and Soviet fronts, besides foreign reports, German and French, transmissions from the Eiffel Tower, AustroHungary etc. Each night I carried up to twenty sheets to Rostóv and handed them over to Ól’ga, Anna and Maríya. The foreign news bulletins were translated by Anna, Maríya, ‘Mechanic’ and Uspénski. The information received was quite sufficient for our underground newspaper The Poor, and also for our leaflets, to deliver round the factories and the front lines, so as to declare the truth and not to believe the White Guard ‘information’ service. The radio station was brought under strict control by officers and I had to be particularly careful not to appear there when I was not on duty, so as not to reveal that we had brought in another radio-telegraphist, A.Datchenko, whom I had introduced to Maríya Malínskaya (under her code name of ‘Novocherkásskaya’, as he knew her). It was to her that he gave his reports and information.

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Transmission of secret reports by radio Through the Atamán’s headquarters the radio station was supplied by radio-telegrams and by special messengers from the front lines. The bulletins were scrutinized by the censor. Passages that were not to be broadcast were marked with a red pencil, but I passed on the full text, which meant that we knew material that was classified as secret. I will quote one such piece of information. The Commander-in-Chief of the Volunteer Army enquired from the Japanese Commander-in-Chief why Japanese forces had not penetrated further into Russia, and he received the reply: ‘We are not going to advance further. The land as far as Irkutsk is ours, and the rest is yours.’ The censor crossed out these words, but I broadcast both the Whites’ question and the reply they had received from the Japanese. I also passed on many similar reports, too numerous to mention. I am grateful to Jonathan Smele for comment on the Japanese General’s message, which he thinks could not be later than January 1919. He notes that Very few Japanese made it as far west as Irkutsk; they stayed in Manchuria and Primorskaya.’ It was remarkable how Burtylyóv’s skill as a radio operator gave him access to so much material that must have been regarded as ‘top secret’ at the time. In March 1919, Syrstov’s harsh treatment of the Cossacks led to a large rebellion which gravely hindered the Red Army’ supply lines to their units on the Donéts River. The main headquarters of the Whites in Novocherkássk wanted to establish wireless communication with the Cossack rebels. On page 117 of his memoirs Burtylyóv relates how he sabotaged the Whites’ radio equipment to prevent any link being set up. In the following letter I have no information on Fyódor Ivánovich, but he was plainly some sort of Party official who had been entrusted with the task of editing the contributions, and individuals were no doubt keen to give an account of their own role confirming their work for the Revolution. The Party archive ópis’ 3 contains over 1,600 personal memoirs of individuals who had contributed to the Red cause during the Civil War. Discovery of the printing press and the arrest of six comrades In May 1919, the press was given away in the Spírins’ house in Nakhicheván’, where they arrested comrades Grigóri Spírin, his mother Maríya Spírin, and his sister Yeléna. Also arrested were Murávich-Brodski, Rybkin, Abólin and the Abrósimovs. After the press was discovered they began to arrest other comrades. I was in Novocherkássk at that time, and was informed about the disaster by messages from Yeléna Borkó and my wife Anna. After consulting with my colleagues I left my work there and went to Rostóv, where I heard all the details from Maríya Malínskaya. It was decided that I would get identity documents to go across the lines to Soviet Russia or to the Green Army. That same night the arrests of Maríya Malínskaya and Yeléna Borkó were brought about by

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the informer Báyev. He had been given the address of the safe house and told about the collapse of the printing press. Early in the morning Maríya Malínskaya escaped from counter-intelligence in the following way: Yeléna Borkó asked the man on duty to conduct her to the lavatory. He took her there and did not lock the cell door. Maríya seized that moment and ran away. When she had been arrested the counter-intelligence people had taken her passport which showed her registered as living in the apartment of my wife, Anna Burtylyóva. Naturally the agents, headed by a colonel in counterintelligence, came to conduct a search there, but of course they could find nothing, since everything had been cleared out. They took away a case containing clothing and some postcard size photographs, which were lying on the table to throw them off the scent. They arrested me and put me into the apartment, hoping to catch anyone else who came in. However, it had been agreed with our comrades that if there was any danger a notice would be shown in the window ‘Room to let’. Because of that no one came near and no one went in. So it turned out that nothing came of the plan for Maríya to provide me with documents and for me to go away to the Green Army. Not having any papers I was left to face counter-intelligence and to go to prison. After my arrest the Volunteer Army’s counter-intelligence found nothing on me. They started to take my photograph from left and right profiles. Sitting across the table I saw one of those arrested was the treasurer of our underground Committee, Yemel’yán Vasilénko. He pointed towards the window. At that moment V.Abrósimov, another member of the Committee, was walking along the corridor without any guard and said to me ‘We do not know you.’ The way they were given such freedom to move about seemed suspicious to me. It became clear later that they were both informers. I was put into a dark cell that contained other underground workers and we realized who the informers were in both Rostóv and Novocherkássk. White counter-intelligence seem to have been very short-sighted in the way they exposed the men who had given them such valuable help in tracking down other members of the underground. The Whites’ failure to conceal their agents’ identity led eventually to their death, as the underground hunted down the informers and ruthlessly eliminated them. Or did the Whites simply feel that these agents would be no further use to them and did not need to be hidden or protected? I was taken three times for interrogation, but they found out nothing, since I denied any link with the underground organization. They brought in their informer Chebotaryóv, who denounced me and showed that before he came I had taken a radio to the ‘safe’ house. I refused to acknowledge his evidence too, whereupon one of the counterintelligence officers seized me by the throat, saying: ‘Confess or I’ll strangle you’. I panted for breath but kept repeating ‘I don’t know anything’. After that they made out a charge sheet using Chebotaryóv’s words. They compelled me to sign it by force but I wrote in a reservation: ‘This statement has been compiled with the words of Chebotaryóv whom I do not know.’ Chebotaryóv’s signature was confirmed by two of the agents and the colonel. Thus the investigation by counter-intelligence came to an end and I was taken to Rostóv jail together with M.Gun’kó, Uspénski and some others. The worst was over, since the underground went on with its work. From the centre we were reinforced

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by comrade Volmér. Vasílyev (Shmidt), Pivovárov, Ól’ga Gorbáchik (Mínskaya) and others. I wrote to them about the informers and about how things were going. The underground committee formally appointed certain comrades to liquidate the informers, and they carried out the task that the Committee had given them. Then there was an end to the investigation carried out by the Commission appointed by the military tribunal. At the time of my arrest there was no evidence against me, but only what the informers had asserted and which I refused to accept. The underground committee was taking steps to obtain our release from prison. This work was entrusted to two members of the committee, Ól’ga Gorbáchik and V.Petróv. With the help of my wife they approached the lawyers Sénchenko, Sórin and Volóvaya. They persuaded the judge in charge of my case that I should be released on bail for 70,000 roubles. The committee put up the agreed sum and I was set free. Before I came out of prison I had discussed matters with my comrades who were still detained. They instructed me to go on working for their release and for their conditions to be improved. I did this, being helped by the committee, so that besides me, comrades Pímenov, Vaséchko, Ósipov and Spírin were released before our cases came to court. Bail money was paid for some of us and not for others. Through the lawyers I have mentioned, the accusations of the informers were taken out of our case notes and everything possible was done to stop any death sentences. The ones who had been condemned to death were those who had set up the printing press—Spírin, MurávichBrodski, Abólin, Rybkin and A.Abrósimov. For many days the death cell also held those who had blown up the bridge, comrades Gun’kó and Mironénko. The Atamán commuted the death sentences to hard labour. I told the underground Don Committee about all this, and they released funds to cover all necessary charges. I conveyed this information to the comrades in prison. Not a single death sentence was carried out on any of the 24 comrades concerned. All sources name the informer as Vasíli, so that A. Abrósimov must be regarded as not culpable in this respect. The whole of this passage by Burtylyóv has almost no punctuation, and in places I have had to guess at the meaning. His other pieces do not show the same disjointed syntax. Possibly this passage was dictated to a secretary who was only semiliterate? Below the last line there is a clear signature written in a fine rounded hand ‘Burtylyóv’ and in brackets his conspiratorial name (Ignátyev-Radio Operator). Burtylyóv’s signature is followed by a handwritten note: ‘Remark by comrade Vasílyev: The information about Abrósimov is not correct. Use [this piece] concerning the radio and the prison.’ Perhaps Communist Party officials relied on Vasílyev (Shmidt) as leader of he underground to verify contributions made by its members? All these memoirs were then filed in the Party archive under ópis’ 3, which contains some 1,600 contributions.

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Burtylyóv: who betrayed Maríya Malínskaya and Yeléna Borkó? (d.158) When the Rostóv Party organization came to grief in May 1919, a warning was given to the student Báyev, who belonged to the Novocherkássk underground. He was also given the address of one of our safe houses, where Yeléna Borkó lived, namely 74 Vorontsóvskaya Street, Rostóv. But when Báyev was arrested in Novocherkássk he gave Borkó’s address to White counter-intelligence. What is more, he himself came to Rostóv with their agents and led them to the apartment, at about 9 or 10 in the evening. There they arrested our courier Yeléna Borkó, along with Maríya Malínskaya, who had been sent by the Donburó as a responsible organizer to strengthen our work. She had come to spend the night at Borkó’s place, although she was registered as living under the name of Vera Smirnóva at 138/140 6th Street in the New Settlement, where Anna Burtylyóva had a safe house. Anna Gordon, Secretary of the District Committee, had just gone out by a different door to spend the night in another apartment, thanks to which she escaped arrest. That night when Malínskaya was with counter-intelligence she claimed to be exhausted, with a headache. She refused every attempt of their boss to conduct an interrogation, pleading ‘Let me have a bit of sleep and I’ll make a statement in the morning.’ At 5 o’clock in the early morning Yeléna Borkó asked the guard to take her to relieve herself, and he left the cell unlocked. Maríya took advantage of this to go out through the front door past another guard. We can just imagine how the head of counter-intelligence must have felt. The first thing he did was to replace all the guards. Then, working from the details in passports, they rushed to Anna Burtylyóva’s apartment, where they arrested the radio worker Burtylyóv, but they learnt nothing from him. In spite of all our plots and plans our beloved Maríya was trapped—how can I explain that? After interrogating me they put me, Burtylyóv, into a dark cell, containing six or seven of us, and immediately they threw in a sailor who had been arrested. He began to ask why I had been arrested, where I lived, where I worked, who had been left in my apartment etc. Later on they let him out and now it became clear to us that this was the counterintelligence spy Tatárinov. We found out from his sister who had been arrested at the front. This same sister told us about some student who had run away, and said that while she was in the room being interrogated certain underground workers were being questioned about blowing up the bridge—and so on. Gun’kó and I were wary of that sister, but eventually we saw that what she said was correct, as we heard from Yeléna Borkó herself the details of how Maríya escaped and how Báyev had arrested them. Borkó had been taken to prison but then was brought back to for interrogation because she had given one of the guards a note for him to tell those at home—but he passed it to the head of counter-intelligence. That letter brought Borkó torture and much unpleasantness. It was due to the traitor Báyev that Yeléna and Maríya were arrested, and my arrest came about because of Maríya being taken in. Thanks to Maríya’s escape I, Burtylyóv, managed to get out on a bail deposit of 70,000 roubles. I was able to clear my name in court by giving a bribe to the Military Tribunal. The following persons played an active

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part in bribing the court: Petróv (Evil Squad), Ól’ga Gorbáchik, Anna Burtylyóva and I myself. We worked through the lawyers N.K.Sórin, A.I.Sénchenko and I.N.Volkovaya. Furthermore Ól’ga Gorbáchik and I stipulated with the lawyers that we would give 200,000 roubles, but they must release Burtylyóv, Ósipov and the Spírins, including Grigóri, and also Maríya and Yeléna. They agreed to all this except for Grigóri Spírin, but they gave us a guarantee that no one would be executed. The question of releasing the others was based on the claim that Mrs Spírin and Maríya knew nothing, that Yeléna Spírina was under age and Grigóri was so young—only 18 years old. There was little evidence against Ósipov and the charge against Burtylyóv could not be proved, so that in the end everyone got off. I.N.Burtylyóv (under the conspiratorial name Ignátyev—Radio Operator)

Burtylyóv’s wife Anna Lavrént’yevna (d.159) The next piece by Burtylyóv’s wife shows something of the complications that the Red conspirators faced from day to day. Each block of apartments held a register of all the persons living there, and this list was naturally one of the first sources White counter-intelligence would examine when checking on suspects.

In October 1918, the following people used to meet in my apartment: Maríya from Moscow, Ól’ga Mínskaya and Maríya Karagódskaya. Ól’ga Gorbáchik was entered in the register under her surname. Then my husband came. He was working in the radio station at White headquarters and brought back to us radio-telegrams from the front lines of the Red Army, the White Guards, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and from the Eiffel Tower in Paris. These telegrams were translated by Anna and Maríya. Shortly afterwards Pável Marinéts came to me. He had been living with some comrade Mikhaíl, who had been arrested, so Pável stayed with me for a couple of days. Várya Litvinénko came across the front lines from Soviet Russia, bringing literature and also caricatures depicting Tsar’ Nicholas drunk and holding a bottle. They took out these caricatures and distributed them round our area. Then in December 1918 or January 1919, Nikoláy Zúbov hid for ten days in my house. He had disabled the engines on one of the steamers. Then I had to make several visits to Novocherkássk. In January, Ól’ga went to Míllerovo, Maríya Karagódskaya to Taganróg, and Maríya Malínskaya to Novocherkássk. Maríya Malínskaya used to stay with me now and then. At those times a messenger used to come. On one occasion Pímenov brought a small basket from Persiánovka which contained explosives. At the beginning they used a print roller to produce leaflets. That was when they hadn’t yet set up the printing press. After that they used to bring leaflets in for me to hold. When Murlychóv was arrested Várya Litvinénko used to visit him as his fiancée, under the name of Ivanova. We couldn’t keep her name on the register any more because our apartment was already known.

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When the press was discovered at the Spírins’ house (about 10/11 May by the old calendar) a meeting had been called at Bogdánov’s house, No. 153, 6th Street. Anna Gordon came to my house, but I wasn’t at home. She asked the children where I was, and they said I had gone away. She waited for me to come back. By the time we had got ready for bed it was 2 o’clock in the morning. She wanted me to wake her at 8 or 9 a.m. for her to get to the meeting in 6th Street. I overslept. In the morning when I woke Anna she took her shawl and went off to the meeting… She came back and said thanks to my sleeping in she had escaped when they were all arrested, just because we had not got up in time. She told me that Maríya and other comrades were to come to my place before setting out for the meeting. On no account was I to let them go there, since there had been this misfortune. Maríya Malínskaya came in with a bit of drink taken. She told me that when she was leaving Novocherkássk there was no way to get on the train because they were checking everyone’s papers with special thoroughness, and she had to get to Rostóv come what may. She looked around and saw officers standing nearby, who took a fancy to her and suggested taking her on a boat trip to Rostóv. She went off arm in arm with them, travelling in the cabin, where they made her drink, and since she was not used to alcohol, she soon felt the effect. When she arrived in Rostóv she had to get away from those officers, but it was just impossible to get clear of them. She had the idea of going to the Ladies, climbed out through the window and caught a cab. Then she transferred to a tram, found another cab and got to my house. I warned her not to go to the meeting. After a couple of hours Anna came to tell us the meeting had been raided and it was essential to take Maríya Malínskaya off the list (where she was registered under the name of Vera Smirnóva). Next day I set out with my son Fedya for Novocherkássk to tell my husband to bring the radio report. When I got to Novocherkássk I told him about the printing press being discovered on 6th Street. Burtylyóv told me that he had a very big packet of radio bulletins. The radio station was not far from Krasnokutskaya Wood, and I went there together with the boy. We found a suitable place and began to destroy the radio reports, leaving my son to keep a lookout. When I was starting to burn the last of the bulletins some sort of strange man approached. I had already burnt the papers but had not had time to get rid of the ashes. I covered them up with my scarf. The stranger came up to me, asked for a light and went away again. When he had gone I threw the ashes into a ditch and started to go out of the wood. As we were coming out we saw two suspicious types staring us in the face. We got to the radio station where Aleksándr Datchenko told us that people had come to ask who was visiting Burtylyóv. When they heard it was his wife and child they seemed to calm down. My husband and I decided that he should go to Rostóv, but he did not leave Novocherkássk till the following day. Two hours later Maríya Malínskaya came to us from Rostóv, talked to us, and went back into the city. Then she returned to tell me that she would come to give me a meeting point with the Green Army or inside Soviet Russia. The ‘yard’ (dvor) refers to the area behind a house. In an urban setting, as here, most people would be living in blocks of flats, and the dvor would be a large communal area behind the block. Many of the apartments would have their entrance not directly off the street but from inside the

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yard. The man or woman (dvórnik/dvorníchikha) responsible for cleaning the yard would know who was living in each apartment, and it would naturally be to the dvórnik that the authorities would look to identify the residents or any regular visitors to the flats. In the morning I went to the market. I came home, had a look and saw the gate was locked. When I knocked some man came out wearing a Circassian cap, and the woman in charge of the yard says: ‘That’s her’. He asked me, ‘Are you Burtylyóva? Did Vera Smirnóva live in your house?’ I said ‘Yes’. ‘Why did you not report that she had left?’ I told him to ask the woman who looked after the yard. She replied that she didn’t have time the first day and the next day was Saturday, when she didn’t get around to it either. Then he asked me what belongings of hers were still in the flat. I said there was a suitcase, a skirt and an overcoat. He asks ‘Where has Smirnóva gone?’ ‘To her brother, who’s an officer.’ ‘We’ll take her suitcase’, he said. I said ‘Take it if you must. But don’t forget it’s me that will have to answer for it’. They took the case and gave me a receipt for it. During this time Burtylyóv was sitting in another room. When they went away they left a sentry with a rifle in the kitchen and told him that he should not allow me to approach my husband or talk to him. About two hours went by, perhaps longer, then an officer came in by the back entrance and asked if Burtylyóv lived there. I replied that he did, and my husband announced himself. The officer went in and spent a few minutes there. As he left the room he very kindly said to me: ‘Do not worry, Madam, I’ll take your husband with me to go through a few formalities.’ Then he came back and said: ‘Be so kind as to tell me… you had students living here, Maríya Malínskaya and Ól’ga Mínskaya’. I replied: ‘Yes, they were registered as students.’ He kept on insisting that a Jewish woman had been visiting me. Evidently he meant Anna. Then he said: ‘There’s a student often comes to see you’. I replied: ‘I don’t know who that is.’ When he had gone the sentry remained until the evening bell, and then he said ‘I’m going off but I may come back.’ I told him: ‘I’ve got three children and my husband’s not here. I’m not going to let you in late at night.’ He went away. I heard a knock on the door and I asked: ‘Who’s there?’ Burtylyóv answered, ‘It’s me’. My nerves gave way and I burst into tears. He says: ‘Don’t cry, it’s not the time for that. Catch the first train to Novocherkássk if you can and warn the comrades there. Apparently Vera Smirnóva (Malínskaya) had been arrested and had run away. When she ran off it seems they had come to our place looking for her. We didn’t sleep at all that night. In the morning my husband and I got a tram, went as far as Sadóvaya Street and made for the Post Office. The entrance was off Nikólskaya Street, with a sentry standing there. We went into the corridor. I changed my clothes and gave in what I had been wearing. I came out by Kazánskaya Street and my husband went along Nikólskaya Street. I got to the tram stop, caught a tram and went off to the station. It was difficult to buy tickets. I appealed to the man on the door and he got me a ticket. It was apparently quite a common custom for passengers to tip one of the station staff to buy a rail ticket for them.

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I arrived in Novocherkássk and went straight to Dr Popóv’s house where my husband was staying. I warned him, and he told me that one of his sons had been arrested. I should explain that he had two sons, one serving with the Whites, while the other was in the Red underground. It turned out they had made a mistake and arrested, not the son in the underground, but the other one who had come back from the front. From Popóv’s I went to Vadim Uspénski, a professor’s son, and to Datchenko, who was working as a radio operator. I went on to the railway station and asked the porter to get me a ticket. He told me it was a fast train and I couldn’t travel in it. I paid three times more than usual and managed to get a ticket. I was sitting in a first-class compartment. Várya Moskvina came along and went on to the toilet, where I followed her. I asked her where she was coming from and she said from Soviet Russia with Várya Litvinénko, whom I knew. Várya Litvinénko came to me and asked what was my news. I told her my husband had been arrested and then released. We agreed that as we were going along, usually the train would stop at a red light, at which we would get out on opposite sides of the track. We got out separately, went down the embankment and then met up together. I asked her how things had gone with Vera Smirnóva when she ran away. Then we came onto Kuznétskaya Street and we met Kóstya Kovalyóv who had been drinking, because it was a holiday or a Sunday (there were two holidays). I said to him: ‘You walk along behind me.’ I told him that Burtylyóv had been arrested and that Malínskaya had been arrested and had run away. We got to house No. 111 Dolomanski Street. I told them: ‘You know it’s quite dangerous to come here.’ I got back to my own house, No. 138–140. When I got there I went in by the back door and the children told me their father had been taken. I did not see him again. Two or three days later Anna Gordon came to see me. I was astonished that she came to me even after my husband’s arrest. She started to tell me: ‘Don’t you worry. You will get money from our Committee. By the way, Yemel’yán Bezruki has been arrested and they are torturing him, sticking needles in under his finger nails.’ Next day I took some things to my husband. I just went in. They had brought food for the prisoners. There was a guard standing there. I looked around. Suddenly Vasilénko came out with his hands in his pockets, wearing a black suit and bareheaded. He smiled as he passed me. I was amazed. Two days ago Anna had said that he was arrested. I began to think… Anna Gordon came in unexpectedly and I said to her: ‘You told me that they were torturing Vasilénko. How can they be torturing him when I saw him in the corridor?’ Three days later she came in and said: ‘You were quite right. It’s turned out that Vasilénko and Vasíli Abrósimov are informers. So I won’t come to you any more and you should go to Mótya Popóva.’ Then I applied to the Finance Department where Sotnikova was working. They gave me a message to go to Novocherkássk. Apparently the authorities had promised to let Zhora Vaséchko out on bail for 5,000 roubles. I went to the Finance Department and told them the money was needed. Mótya Popóva brought me the money and I gave it to Zhora’s father, so Zhora was let out on bail. Then I had to get 10,000 roubles for Fíminov. I got receipts for these funds, which I passed over to Mótya.

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It seems quite incongruous that White bank could issue receipts for money received from the Don Committee which was an illegal organization. When they were out on bail I turned to Sórin because I felt he had the right contacts. The man who was responsible for dealing with the case of the 24 underground workers was the investigator Svirin who was Sórin’s best friend. Sórin tried from this or that line of questioning, passing on the results to Svirin, but he did not say that my husband was in the organization. Later on, he told me that since the investigation was coming to an end and there was no evidence against my husband, except that Professor Uspénski’s son had shown he knew him as a radio operator, although he later had taken back these words, there was some hope that he might be released, but apparently for 100,000 roubles. The printing press had been betrayed at the beginning of May 1919. It seems curious that after two months Mínskaya still did not know what had happened, though of course the impetus to spread information speedily had to be balanced against the need for secrecy and security, particularly since it was known that two of the informers (Vasíli Abrósimov and Yemel’yán Vasilénko) both had been working inside the underground organization. Indeed, according to Spírin, both were even members of the Don Committee and must have had access to many of the Reds’ innermost secrets. Ól’ga Mínskaya came in July. As soon as she arrived she came to me. I looked to make sure it was she. She looked at me and asked: ‘What’s all this about? What has happened?’ I told her about the disasters we had faced. She said who she would like to meet. I told her she could look at the materials of the section where Vasílyev and Mótya Popóva were working. When Maríya Mínskaya escaped from the counter-intelligence people she ran to Mótya on Nikólskaya Street, near Nakhicheván’ Lane. She asked whether she could use the whole of my apartment. We knew that that the Kagántsevs were living above us, and I told her it might be risky. ‘You must realize that if anything goes wrong then it’s not my fault.’ One day it was raining. There was a knock on the door. I opened up and she came in. ‘What’s the matter?’ ‘You see, I’ve nowhere to spend the night. I wanted to put up in the New Settlement, but I had to leave there because of the rain. I’ll stay at your place.’ After that she made use of my apartment more than once. It was just at that time that I was in contact with the lawyer Sórin, and anything I learnt from him I passed on to Maríya. She said that if they were asking 100,000 roubles for Burtylyóv we could not get that kind of money. I said that we must talk with Sórin, so that he could negotiate with Svirin. She asked: ‘Where will you get the money?’ I said I would sell some gold, and my mother would give me part of the money. When I had talked with Sórin I went to Svirin, the investigator for the District Court, and we started to plead with him. He said that Burtylyóv could not be released for less than 70,000 roubles. In a few days Ól’ga brought the money. The next day we took the money to the bank, got a receipt and showed it to Ól’ga. Then we had to take the receipt to the investigator. He promised to let out Burtylyóv.

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Spírin (p. 107) has mentioned the abundant supply of currency sent across the lines from the Donburó to the Rostóv underground. We must wonder whether some of this money was used to bribe the lawyers and secure the release of several prisoners besides saving others from sentence of death. It was just at this time that they let out Vasíli Abrósimov. Aleksándr Abrósimov’s wife was called Marusya. She told me that Abrósimov wanted to see me. I asked Ól’ga about this, and she told me to go. So I went. He says: ‘Listen, you’ll come to the market where his mother and mother-in-law were selling vegetables.’ I went there and it was there Morózov said to me: ‘Tell me… can you see anyone from the committee?’ I said ‘No’. Then he asked ‘Are you receiving money?’ ‘No.’ He said: ‘It’s a pity that Ól’ga isn’t here. If she was here then you would have been receiving the money, because Ól’ga and Maríya Malínskaya are great girls, but Anna is a bitch.’ Ól’ga came along and began to read me a letter from Abrósimov, which threatened us: ‘You have so blackened my name among our comrades, and I demand that you clear my name. I insist that you give the enclosed money to all the families, and if you are going to hide away then come out into the open. I have enough ammunition to deal with you.’ Evidently some of our comrades knew that letter. Burtylyóv came out on bail, but before he was released Sórin said: ‘It turns out that they may let out someone else among the comrades.’ After the fire in his flat Sórin moved in with his brother-in-law, A.Sénchenko, whose apartment was in Turgénev Street, and he went to live alongside the Magistrates’ Court. They asked him why. He replied that Máslov, a member of the court was in the apartment of Bochkóva, the first woman lawyer, and she was studying under Vychevski. So apparently the comrade had got things mixed up. There was a chance of releasing some more of us. I said all this to Ól’ga. When Burtylyóv was out of jail he went to Sénchenko. I went with him to Sórin’s. Then Burtylyóv turned to comrade Rot, and gave him 200,000 roubles. Zhora Sénchenko was free. I used to go to him with messages. Once I took a message to Zhora. Maríya invited me in. She was working in the Finance Department. I came to her, came in on one side of the machine, rolled my stocking down and took out a banknote. Suddenly I heard a voice: ‘That’s not Bolshevik style.’ At first I didn’t recognize Anna, she was looking terrible after typhus. I gave her the message. Zhora was a chemist, and said that he had got hold of a substance for dyeing one’s hair ‘If she needs it I’ll give her the formula’. I said this to Anna, but she said: ‘I don’t need it because my hair’s been shaved off. If I need it I’ll tell you.’ To get to Maríya Vasílyeva, where Anna used to come and perhaps Vasílyev Shmidt, I arranged with Maríya that if was all right for me to come she would say the password ‘marla-vata’. When the Whites were still in Rostóv I used to ring her from a public phone at the corner of 6th Street and Dolomanski Street. To make it easier to get through to her I used to phone the Finance Department and ask them to call Maríya. Since I was not sure it was her I would ask ‘Maríya?’ and she would reply ‘Marla-vata’. If she said ‘It is’ that meant I should go there immediately. If she said ‘In due course’ I was to go a little later, but if she said ‘No’, then I should not go at all.

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There were times when I didn’t find Maríya in, and I went on to Mótya on the corner of Nikólskaya Street and Nakhicheván’ Lane. Once I came somehow to Maríya’s apartment where Vasílyev-Shmidt was hiding. That was what my work consisted of. Perhaps I may have forgotten something?… I’ve just remembered… when Ól’ga was with me at that time (I think in early July) if she received a letter from Ósipov with poetry in cipher she would come to me. I would give her the key and I could decode it for her. These letters were not only with Ósipov but Burtylyóv also had them. I got them from the prison, from Ledenyov or from the warder Mishustin occasionally, but for the most part from Zaytsev. Sometimes when our friends didn’t see this or that warder they passed their note to the grocery store on the corner of Sénnaya Street and Bogotyanóvski Lane. There was a Turk running the shop, and he quite often passed things on. Then I had to meet Vólkov and get some letters or other from him… It is interesting to compare Anna’s account with the memoir of A.I.Abólin (d.1), which also deals with the fate of the prisoners. Abólin (d.1) In October our case was brought before the Field Court Martial of the Don Army. The trial went on for three days, and then the hearing was suspended because the main witness for the prosecution had not appeared, namely the informer Vasíli Chebotaryóv, who had been in the Novocherkássk underground. On 31 October, the Field Court Martial pronounced sentence. According to the evidence against us the following were found guilty, and condemned to be executed by firing squad: Il’yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr, Grigóri Spírin, Rybkin, Murávich, Mironénko, Gun’kóv and me. Comrades Nalivayko and Maríya Spírina were condemned to ten years hard labour, comrades Uspénski, Vaséchko, Zhitkov and Berezkina to six years hard labour. For lack of evidence the court released comrades Bábchenko, Yeléna Spírina, Zakutni, Ósipov, Bérnov, Yúrchenko, Burtylyóv, Pímenov and Larin. The judgement added: ‘The court must take into account how young are most of those on trial, what good reports there have been of them by figures who have occupied eminent positions. They report that most of those on trial have very changeable views, and have been influenced by criminal Bolshevik propaganda. They have been carried away by enthusiasm, but before they had come under that influence they showed themselves willing to help to save some enemies of the Bolsheviks, namely officers, members of Kalédin’s government and their families from the atrocities practised by the Bolsheviks when they were in power on the Don. Besides that we must take into account that neither the court nor the prosecution have established that any single person among the accused took part in the Bolsheviks’ brutalities when they were in power. We must also take account of the open-hearted repentance of some of the accused. Basing ourselves on article 12 of the Vóysko’s order 639 the court have come to a unanimous decision to seek complete pardon for some of the accused, i.e. for the women: Mrs Spírina and Berezkina, for Uspénski, Zhitkov and Vaséchko. Some mitigation of the sentence against the accused Gun’kó, Mironénko, Il’yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr, Grigóri Spírin, Abólin, Rybkin, Brodski, Murávich and Nalivayko.

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We were taken back to the prison under a strong guard from the Student Battalion, since they did not trust the ordinary Escort Squad. Furthermore part of the guard were on horseback. Because we had such a ‘light’ sentence we were not handcuffed, as was customary with the Whites. We had discussed making a run for it on our way back to the jail, but our comrades asked us not to worry about our fate, not to spoil what they already had set up to save us—so we agreed. When they got us to the prison they put us into condemned cells Nos. 13 and 14, which they had already prepared for us. We stayed in the prison till 27 November, when our sentence was commuted by Atamán Bogáyevski to twenty years hard labour instead of the death sentence. The same evening they sent us over to the penal servitude prison in Novocherkássk to serve out our punishment. They settled us in the old prison for hard labour, but our health was affected by our sufferings and the damp in the underground cells. We were only mortal, and five of our comrades were again laid up with typhus (Il’yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr, Rybkin, Spírin and Gun’kóv). We three remaining Murávich, Mironénko and I began to make urgent preparations to escape, for by now the White forces were in retreat along the whole front. From 13 October, Red Army victories near Vorónezh had threatened the Whites’ communications to their advanced units at Oryól. Deníkin had to withdraw in a long retreat, which became uncontrolled and would eventually force the Whites back to Novorossísk. 1st Cavalry took Novocherkássk on 7 January, the day before they entered Rostóv. We thought of attacking the warders and the guard on the prison gates. But even that wasn’t necessary, since the whole staff of the jail feared their prisoners would take revenge on them—and they ran away in good time. We took advantage of the lack of guards, so that Murávich, Mironénko and I were well away from the prison when General Popóv came there with the idea of taking out as hostages some of the more important political prisoners. We set off into the centre of Novocherkássk, trying to find somewhere to spend the night, since it was now about six o’clock in the evening and no one was allowed on the streets after that time because the town was ‘under siege’. I was rearrested in the town but I managed to get away. We could not find anywhere to hide in Novocherkássk. As we were afraid of getting caught again we started off out of town, making towards Rostóv. At first we went along with no trouble, but then we began to come across mounted patrols and had to turn off the road. We soon found we were quite lost, until we came across the railway line, which we started following. A man caught up with us, who we thought must be a linesman from the railway, and we thought to strangle him, but he was a deserter and turned out to be a good travelling companion. He left us three boots, a blanket and a towel, because he got separated from us, and we took the bags, which we had been helping him to carry. We walked on all night skirting round the stations and afraid to sit down in case we never got up again. We reached Rostóv in the morning. I hid with comrade Nazárov, while Murávich stayed with his parents. From the walking our legs were covered in sores, and even the next day we couldn’t put a foot to the ground. After four days Rostóv was occupied by Soviet troops and our sufferings came to an end, although our feet went on hurting for a long time.

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But we did not all survive to see the dawn of the new era. Spírin, II’ yá Abrósimov, Aleksándr, Gun’kóv and Rybkin got no help from our friends. Sick and hungry as they were, they had to make their own way to Rostóv on foot. With no footwear or warm clothing, and seriously ill, they managed somehow to drag along to Rostóv and took to their beds again there. Most of them recovered slowly but Il’yá Abrósimov never rose again. The prisoners had walked some 30km in what Berlov, p. 150 says was bitter cold, with freezing temperatures—a severe ordeal for men who had only just forced themselves to rise from their sick beds.

7 1920: RED VICTORY

How Rostóv was taken (Berlov) With forces manoeuvring over great distances Russia’s Civil War was the last time that mounted horsemen played a decisive role. Budyónny’s 1st Cavalry Army forced a turning point in 1919 by threatening the Whites’ communications to their advanced units at Oryól. This forced the Whites into a retreat, which turned into an uncontrollable rout. The 1 st Cavalry became the most famous unit in the Red Army. After they had entered Rostóv, Budyónny’s Cossacks started fighting with the 8th Red Army. In February, the Whites crossed back to the north bank of the Don. The 1 st Cavalry had commandeered trains which were not allocated to them, and allowed two armoured trains to be captured by the Whites: ‘So it was that the armoured trains had been turned into scandalous harems of female employees. When fighting began in the area of the station all this dissolute horde rushed to rescue their concubines, and did not think about saving the armoured trains’ (Primary sources: 196–201). We should bear in mind Brovkin’s picture of January 1920: ‘When S.M.Budyónny’s cavalry took Rostóv, it was allowed to plunder “bourgeois” neighbourhoods for three days. As in Odessa, White officers who had stayed in the city were seized in the streets and in their homes and executed on the spot. Wounded officers were finished off in the hospital. Some “class” enemies were burned alive. Shops were looted. Red Army soldiers had not seen such well-stocked stores since before 1917. They discovered that workers in Rostóv were paid 50 per cent higher wages than in the land of the victorious proletariat’ (Brovkin, 1994:232–3).

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In contrast to Budyónny’s vainglorious account Sidorov notes: Budyónny’s men lost their discipline when they came into Rostóv. Behaving quite out of control they went in for looting and pogroms. Taking advantage of this, the Whites counter-attacked and drove the Soviet forces out of the city for more than a day. It was only in the evening of 10 January that Rostóv was occupied by the Red Army. This outbreak of violence in Rostóv was so serious that even in August 1920 Red Army high command on the Polish front decided that they could not risk letting 1st Cavalry loose on the streets of L’vov. They feared an even bigger outbreak of anti-Semitism by Budyónny’s men. Crossing Ukraine in October 19201 st Cavalry were again completely out of hand, passing through with pogroms and looting, as though they had conquered a hostile country (see Primary sources: ch. 5). Naturally Berlov mentions only the more creditable features of how Rostóv was liberated’.

Rostóv was occupied by our Red Cavalry on 8 January 1920. It was a cold winter and a difficult campaign, since temperatures went down to—16 Celsius and the country was covered in snow, in places more than 2 feet deep. The First Cavalry Corps, commanded by S.M.Budyónny, had smashed eleven regiments of White cavalry near Vorónezh and was reformed as the 1 st Cavalry Army by Kastornóye station. When it made its famous breakthrough it went on to operate far behind the enemy’s lines, capturing headquarters and bodies of troops, and taking many trophies. It has to be said that we did not encounter much resistance from the White Guards until we came to the important bridge at Rodiónov, forty-five versts from Rostóv. The 9th Army’s infantry moved up behind our cavalry. On 5 and 6 January, in the area of Rodiónov-Novosvyatáysk, our 15th and 16th Divisions suffered a great defeat by White cavalry. It was in this sector that for the first time we came up against large forces of White cavalry, which outnumbered our units several times over, and we were also faced by the best Cossack infantry units. As far as I remember, we were pushing forward to the south west with units of the 6th Cavalry Division in the sector of Rodiónov Bridge. At about 13.00 hrs on 7 January the leading units of our 2nd Brigade were engaged in action to their front. The Whites brought up their reserves, armed with tanks. At this point our reserve units of 1st and 3rd Cavalry Divisions came up to join us. Battle began with the Whites bringing up a great number of cavalry to join them. I must explain that by this time our 6th Division was now the strongest unit in the Cavalry Army, with up to 7,000 men. Our cavalry were the first to attack, and the Whites met us with a stubborn defence and periodic counter-attacks. The Whites’ right flank wavered and began to fall back, whereas on the contrary their left flank pushed forward in a turning movement with a large column of cavalry looking as though they were encircling us. At this point our 1st

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Cavalry Brigade was thrown in against this column. The Whites came in to counterattack and we were in action along the whole front. Both sides were fighting with desperate intensity. Divisional Commander V.I.Kniga gave the order to bring his batteries up closer and they were pushed forward almost within rifle range. The guns were quickly unlimbered and opened fire with grapeshot. In spite of suffering many casualties from this heavy artillery fire the White cavalry charged furiously into the attack. Our 1 st Brigade could not resist, and lost two of its guns to the enemy. Comrade Gavron, Military Commissar of the 1st Battery, died in that battle. His horse was killed under him, and not wanting to be taken alive he killed himself with a shot from his revolver. It seemed that the Whites had won the day. The 6th Cavalry Division regrouped and made a general advance in the late afternoon. After a stubborn fight the Whites could not withstand the pressure and retired to fortified positions, losing many prisoners and trophies. On our side we too lost many men, both killed and wounded. The Bolsheviks originally were sympathetic to the idea of Red Guards under their own semi-independent leaders. Avdéyev has shown the ridiculous situations that could arise from such ill-disciplined detachments. Trotsky realized that the main obstacle to creating an effective army was the lack of professional officers. To overcome this he pushed through his idea of bringing in officers from the old Imperial Army. There were some instances when ex-Tsarist officers deserted to the Whites, sometimes taking their men over with them. However, the Bolsheviks checked this tendency by holding wives and families as hostages, to be punished if their husband defected to the Volunteer Army. In addition, Communist Party members were appointed to each unit as Political Commissars to watch that the commander was carrying out the strategy decided by headquarters. Each large Red Army unit worked under the direction of a Revolutionary Military Council. Responsible for the Army’s overall strategy, Trotsky was Chairman of the Revolutionary Military Council of the Republic. His policy proved remarkably successful, and it has been estimated that by 1920 there may have been some 40,000 exofficers in command of Red Army units. The expansion of the Red Army was also largely due to Trotsky, who introduced conscription on 29 May 1918. By 1920, numbers had reached the astonishing total of five million men. They were often clad in rags and half-starved, and there was a high rate of desertions. But the Red Army eventually outnumbered the Whites by some six to one. On the evening of 7 January the Revolutionary Military Council of 1 st Cavalry Army summoned the commanders and commissars of 6th and 4th Divisions. After exchanging opinions about the previous day’s battles and the strength of the enemy, the Army command at this meeting came to a unanimous decision that the White forces facing us must be defeated at all costs and Rostóv must be taken. The order given to our Division read: ‘I command the 6th Division to break through in the sector of Rodiónov Bridge, to smash the forces to their front, to pursue them

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relentlessly, and to take the city of Rostóv on the heels of the enemy’. All that night, as always before any major engagement, the meaning of this historic advance had to be explained to the commanders and commissars, as well as to the soldiers, our battle objectives must be defined, and we had to convince them how it was absolutely essential for us to take Rostóv. Judging by the mood of the soldiers we could rest assured that Rostóv would be taken and the order would be fulfilled. It was not only the commanders and commissars who were so confident; this assurance of victory was felt also by all the rank and file. No one felt tired after our sleepless night—quite the opposite…our great feeling of enthusiasm gave us all courage and faith that we would finally break the White Guards. The soldiers and some of the commanders were itching to move forward and were pressing for us to attack by night. It was difficult for us to restrain them. We assured the more impatient men that with the dawn we would already be counting how many enemy we had taken prisoner and the trophies we had taken from those engagements. By the first sign of dawn the 6th Cavalry Division were already in the saddle. The 3rd Brigade was in the van. It had the smallest number of men but the Division considered its discipline and courage to be among the best. Deployed into extended line by squadrons they went into the attack at the trot. They were advancing against trenches and ditches fortified with barbed wire, holes with stakes and all the latest devices. The trenches were manned by infantry of the 3rd Division from Tver’. These were Deníkin’s most reliable troops. They had been entrusted with the defence of Rostóv and had been moved up from the rear specially for that purpose. Heavy fire from rifles, machine guns and artillery could not hold back our cavalry’s headlong charge. The 3rd Brigade in the lead went over to a gallop and rushed at the trenches with a cheer. The 2nd Brigade rushed after them, then the reserve 1st Brigade in regimental columns. A whirlwind of snow dust arose from the cavalry advancing at the gallop. Artillery, machine gun and rifle fire made a constant roar. Suddenly everything went quiet and from the trenches Cossack fur caps were thrown up in the air. That was the signal that the Cossacks were surrendering. Victory was ours. All this took no longer than three quarters of an hour. The Cossacks came out of the trenches and surrendered as prisoners of war. Only a small proportion of officers and Cossacks started to retreat, still resisting desperately. But soon that group also had been dealt with. Our Division had suffered heavy casualties. Those killed included comrade Saráyev, commander of the 24th Cavalry Regiment, who was a peasant from Elistinski District of Astrakhan’ Province, Dzhurak from the town of Remóntnoye, and many other brave soldiers. At the same time on our left flank, in the Rodiónov sector, the 4th Cavalry Division was brilliantly successful. They shattered the White forces opposing them and by hot pursuit cut off their line of retreat to Novocherkássk. The White cavalry were forced to fall back towards Rostóv, but their flight in that direction was checked by our 6th Division, which had by now completed operations in its own sector. Hemmed in on two sides the Whites were forced to retire in disorder to Ól’ginskaya stanítsa, which lay between Rostóv and Novocherkássk. In this operation we took a huge number of prisoners and many trophies.

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Operations continued until 5 p.m., and we had to order the 6th Division to seek quarters in villages 25 kilometres from Rostóv, since we supposed that their exhausted men and horses could not complete their mission on that day. We calculated that at first light on 9 January we would be able to take Rostóv with fresh forces. We were soon joined by comrade Budyónny, commander of the Cavalry Army, and K.Ye.Voroshílov, who was a member of our Army’s Revolutionary Military Council. They absolutely insisted that we should press on without pause and at all costs take Rostóv on that same day. Together with them we set off in the direction of Rostóv. We met no one as we moved forward and by 7.30 we were already close to Rostóv itself. We blew up the railway line to Batáysk to stop any trains of Whites leaving the city. Right close to Rostóv we came across a squadron of Uhlans, whose commander had been sent out to make contact with other White forces in the field. We immediately disarmed the squadron. From interrogating their commander we learned that in Rostóv no one had any idea of the position at the front, and they would in no way be expecting us. We entered Rostóv from the south east along Taganrógski prospékt. As we went along the streets we came across single officers, watchmen, policemen and other figures of ‘authority’. All those we came on at first were completely astonished at falling into the hands of Red Army men. The town was absolutely wrapped in quiet assurance and was quite unaware of our coming. Those gentlemen the officers went on drinking, streets were lively and full of people, trams were still running and cabmen went on picking up fares—no one realized that the town had already been occupied by Red forces. Berlov’s 6th Division had evidently worked round to the east of Rostóv; hence they were able to blow up the railway leading across the Don to Batáysk. The Whites would not expect Red Army forces to be entering the city along Taganrógski prospékt (now renamed Budyónnovski prospékt), leading from the Sadóvaya towards the River Don. The route to the south continued over the ice in winter, in summer it crossed the Don by a pontoon bridge. Similarly in December 1917 Ósipov says the Reds were not aware that the Whites were already in the city (see ‘Tram workshops’): ‘As if it were happening now, I remember how Kalédin’s officer cadets caught us quite unprepared. Along with several other comrades I had no idea that Kalédin was coming into Rostóv. We went on walking about the streets without any thought of concealing ourselves…’ At this time comrades Voroshílov and Budyónny were with the 4th Division which was taking over Nakhicheván’. They came into Rostóv the day after. During the first night we were occupying Rostóv I made contact with our underground Party organization. Our first Party meeting was held in the tram depot. That first night together with the Rostóv Party workers we set up a governing ‘troyka’. It is noteworthy that the troops on Deníkin’s left flank had absolutely no idea that the town had been occupied by the Reds, and so the enemy’s Taganróg group, as they retreated from their positions, came into Rostóv at 5 o’clock in the morning and were moving along Taganrógski prospékt. An interesting dialogue took place. Timoshénko, Red Army Divisional Commander, asked: ‘What units are these?’ The officer

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commanding the Whites replied: ‘Our own men’. We knew quite well this meant the Whites were retiring. We had our duty squadrons and machine guns completely ready along all the main streets. The officer led his group to within about a hundred yards of us. He asked in his turn: ‘And who are you?’ I hastened to answer him: ‘Our own men. Come on through.’ Apparently my loud direct answer seemed suspicious to him, and he gave orders to halt his column, intending to come closer himself to find out who was meeting him. At this moment comrade Timoshénko gave the order to open fire immediately, and several machine guns crackled out along the wide Taganrógski prospékt. An indescribable panic started in the column of White Guards. Straight away our duty squadrons plunged into the column and began to take prisoners, disarming them and sending them off to the barracks where our men were guarding them. These poor ‘Defenders of the Fatherland’ knew nothing about the ‘strange guests’ who had visited them. According to their ‘Gentlemen officers’ half of these ‘guests’ were Chinese, and German instructors. The Chinese with the Red Army were recruited from factory workers who had been attracted into Russia before the war and who naturally sided with the urban proletariat. Separate Chinese units fought for the Bolsheviks in Ukraine, Transcaucasia and Siberia. But their numbers did not amount to a significant fraction of the Red Army. Berlov shows all the prejudices of a Communist with limited intelligence, although we may give some credence to his story that the White officers kept asking about German ‘instructors’. It was difficult for some upperclass Russians to realize that Budyónny, as a coarse product of the common people, could beat General Deníkin, who had been trained by the General Staff Academy. Monarchists blindly refused to recognize that 1917 had changed people’s perceptions for ever, and they would not go back to the old class system of the Tsarist regime with all its injustice. One of the main causes of their defeat was made clear by Mackinder, whom the British had sent to coordinate anti-Bolshevik forces: The Whites had failed to install any acceptable system of administration in the territories they conquered. Their incoming troops had been followed by former landowners who wanted to take the land back from the peasants, with the assistance of policemen, who were only too ready to hang anyone suspected of liberal tendencies.’ In his last days Deníkin had to agree with the British High Commissioner: ‘Although the Volunteer Army had originally been welcomed with flowers, they were now hated by almost the whole population.’ (Murphy, 2001:49). Remembering the cruelties both sides practised on prisoners of war the Whites captured in Rostóv must have had good reason to feel ‘terrified’. In our divisional headquarters, where the Whites had been taken, they were quite nonplussed. How had they been taken prisoner by Bolsheviks and by what strange chance had these Bolsheviks come to be in their ‘capital’?

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The White staff, so high and mighty, seemed a pathetic crew that night. The officers babbled their muddled falsehoods to our intelligence officers. Many of them were so terrified that they could hardly speak, and they asked for time to collect their wits. It was typical that they all kept asking: ‘Where are the German instructors?’ Most of them were completely at a loss when we explained to them that we never had Germans teaching us, not just in 1st Cavalry but anywhere else in the whole worker-peasant Red Army. Rifle fire kept us all in a high state of tension throughout the day, and it was only towards evening that everything became quiet. The Whites were dispirited, particularly their infantry. The peasants in their ranks no longer wanted to fight us, especially after we had taken Rostóv. In villages in the rear the White Terror just served to hasten the inevitable fate of the Volunteer Army. The peasants not only had lost any desire to fight us, but by now they could no longer endure the outrages of the White Guard bandits, and they broke out in rebellion, setting up groups of partisans, which was a great help to our final victory over the White Guards. VI. Berlov A musician named Pokráss provides an inconsequential sequel to Budyónny’s entry into Rostóv. Mention of his ‘fee’ shows that inflation was now completely out of hand. D”Aktil was the pen name used by Frénkel’. When 1st Cavalry Army liberated Rostóv I composed a song, and went to see my comrade, the poet Anatóli D”Aktil. His wife was ailing, and I came into his apartment when he was preparing breakfast. We settled in to our happy work and we produced the words, which have become so well known: ‘We are the Red cavalrymen…’ Thus Budyónny’s march came into being. The actress Orskaya showed our song to Orlóvski, who was Secretary of the Revolutionary Military Council of 1st Cavalry, and next day D”Aktil and I were invited into Budyónny’s headquarters, which was then in the Palace Hotel on Taganrógski prospékt. We came into a huge hall with a piano in the middle of the floor. It must have been a long time since that piano was last tuned… But now through the wide open door in came Budyónny, Voroshílov, Parkhómenko, Shchadénko and Morózov. Semyón Mikháylovich turned to me: ‘Come on now, comrade composer, what are you going to play to us?’ Seated at the piano I started to sing, and then I gave them ‘We are the Red cavalrymen…’ ‘A good song’, said Budyónny, ‘my men ought to enjoy it’, and Voroshílov also found it to his liking. The soldiers started to sing our song. And I got my fee, sixteen million roubles… But what could you buy then for that kind of money? A box of 20 matches. D”Aktil and I decided to celebrate… by evening it was as though we had never seen the money.

Death cells under the Whites: the Cheká execute the worst butchers, Grigóri Chebotaryóv (d.1200) Spírin mentions Aleksándr Chebotaryóv as an informer in Novocherkássk. Presumably it was just a coincidence that

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Grigóri and Aleksándr had the same surname. Grigóri Chebotaryóv was imprisoned for revolutionary activities, but survived to write his reminiscences, from which I have translated the following extracts. Lists of hostages and prisoners designated for execution Following the destruction of the Communist underground press, White counterintelligence brought into prison a whole series of comrades who had been arrested on 7 May 1919. Shortly afterwards Vasíli Abrósimov turned up in the prison, accused supposedly of being a member of the underground organization. Even now the comrades who had been arrested still did not know who had betrayed them, although they already suspected him. Two days later counter-intelligence took him out, as they said ‘for interrogation’, and he did not show up again in the jail. It became clear that he was the one who had given away all the members of the underground who were arrested in the apartment of Nikoláy and Grigóri Spírin, along with the secret printing press. By order of the Don underground organization Vasíli Abrósimov was killed at the Old Market, in his mother-in-law’s shop. His execution was so neatly carried out that no one had to suffer for doing away with that scoundrel. In jail, besides the traitors I have mentioned we met quite important figures from the enemy camp. Colonel Smirnóv was serving a term for forgery and for stealing money. This strange character told me more than once how he had done away with Bolsheviks. According to him more than 300 Bolsheviks had been shot along the Vladikavkáz Railway. In February 1920, comrade Fedyákin happened to run across Smirnóv in Taganrógski prospékt and denounced him to the Cheká, who gave him his just deserts. Captain Borís Sandutsi was serving a prison sentence for stealing money from officers in the train. He came from a famous noble family in Romania. He had been in charge of the punishment squad in Kavkázskaya and Tikhorétskaya, and by his own account he had dealt with Bolsheviks in the most merciless way. Sandutsi had been transferred to the jail in Novocherkássk. In 1920, comrade Fedyákin recognized him in the Polytechnic Institute, where he was arrested and shot. Captain Vitáli Zarzhevski from General Drozdovski’s unit was in prison for stealing money and embezzlement. They put Zarzhevski into our cell and asked him to supervise the accounts of the footwear workshop. Grigóri Chebotaryóv is obviously using dates by the old calendar which the Whites clung to. This discrepancy in dates saved him and all the lives of the 28 who were to be condemned. By the calendar used in the rest of the world 25 December (Old Style) would be 7 January (New Style). Before the Whites left in December 1919 Zarzhevski was trusted to an unusual extent by the counter-intelligence service, and they asked him to ‘sort out’ the political prisoners in the jail. He made up lists, according to which 28 people were to be shot, and 75 were marked down as hostages to be taken south to Krasnodár (Yekaterinodár). Among the 28 were listed: Fedyákin, Anufriyev, G.Sidenko, N.Sidenko, Nevoytrens, Chebotaryóv, and

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other more prominent political figures. The list was passed on to counter-intelligence on 23 December 1919. They were expecting the Reds to come in the first days of January (Old Style), and so they were in no hurry to carry out what had been planned. They intended to put their plan into action after they had celebrated the Christmas holiday, but were prevented from doing so by the ‘premature’ arrival of the Reds, on 26 December (Old Style). Zarzhevski was soon arrested and shot. Budyónny confirms that 1st Cavalry broke into the town on 8 January 1920 New Style (=26 December Old Style), and he also says the Whites were still celebrating Christmas (see Primary sources: 191–2). Lieutenant Reshetnyák, formerly a counter-intelligence officer, had been sentenced for bribery and stealing government funds. At that time, when the Whites felt assured of success, the officers in prison were not afraid of boasting how they had dealt with Bolsheviks, counting this as ‘a great service we have performed for our unhappy country’. However, when the Reds came, he managed to disappear, thus escaping retribution for all the shootings of Bolsheviks which he had been boasting about in prison. Among the staff I must mention the Prison Governor, Stepalkóvski, a harsh, cruel jailer who hated political prisoners with every fibre of his being. His second in command, Símonov, had played an active part in counter-intelligence and slipping informers among us into the prison. The second Assistant Governor, Dzýgalo, played a double role, making up to the political prisoners while still working for counter-intelligence. In 1920, we brought all these men to the notice of the Don Cheká, and they received appropriate punishments: Stepalkóvski was shot, Símonov condemned by the court to be shot, but this was commuted to ten years hard labour, and Dzýgalo sentenced to five years solitary confinement. The escape tunnel In December 1919, Lúrikh was confined with me in single cell No. 8. They took him out every day to work in the carpenters’ shop, which had another seven or eight criminals working there too. One day Lúrikh told me that for a month now they had been digging a tunnel, and the criminals were demanding that he should take an active part in this. The tunnel was being directed by a murderous bandit called Mít’ka the Boa constrictor. Lúrikh could not make up his mind to take part and Mít’ka was threatening to settle scores with him. The criminals wanted to increase their security by drawing Lúrikh into their scheme. He asked me what he should do. ‘Have you ever wrestled with him?’ ‘Yes, plenty of times.’ ‘In that case try and fix it for him to go off to his forefathers. After all you are a world champion. It should be no trouble for you. But the tunnel should be stopped. What good will it do for the prison? A few people may escape…and there’s no saying whether they will. But what will the results be for all of us, and what kind of conditions will they bring in, especially for us political prisoners? ‘All right, that’s what I’ll do,’ Lúrikh replied.

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The next day Lúrikh did indeed wrestle with Boa Constrictor, after which the latter had to be taken off to hospital with his insides twisted up, and he died that same day. A few days later the tunnel was discovered. It had already passed below the foundations of the perimeter fence. The warders hushed up the whole business, because they were evidently afraid of being held responsible for their carelessness. Mít’ka’s tunnel must have been a completely separate enterprise from the one that Spírin mentions at the end of his memoir. At one stage these conditions spurred us to attempt a break out. We tried to dig a tunnel ourselves, but the prison apparently had been built to prevent any thought of escape. When we had got down about a foot we came on another concrete floor. We had no tools to get through this, and decided to give up our idea. How we were fed The prison library served us as a meeting place. On Mondays the prisoners gathered there to write requests and other letters, and on Fridays for getting books. Three of us worked in the library: comrades Fedyákin, Ivanóv and me. The warders gave us ‘special trust’ and therefore there was no strict control. Apart from writing letters and issuing books the library also served for dividing out food for the prisoners when parcels could be brought in. In the library we shared out what the underground had produced. There were conspiratorial meetings with individual comrades and we saved up illegal literature, newspapers, letters and such like. This was the source for getting all the news and we obtained proclamations and papers from our warders. We have seen how the Whites were foolish enough to employ Burtylyóv as a radio-operator in a post, which required the highest security. Some of the prison warders perhaps foresaw the victory of the Red Army and wanted to ingratiate themselves with the Bolsheviks. Vasílyev (Shmidt) has already described how much effort the underground put into maintaining contact with their comrades who were imprisoned in the jail. When I look back on those times I am amazed to think how thoroughly our comrades worked. Over the year they managed to keep up with what we needed, and never once failed to help us. And it was really none too easy. At 5 a.m. prisoners under arrest went to work in the town, and they were assigned various jobs to do. In the evening they would come back, carrying newspapers, notes etc. and they contrived to hide them, so that no one found these papers even when they were searched. Death cell No. 13 On the ground floor of the left-hand wing was cell 13. This was the small cell for solitary confinement where those condemned to be hanged or shot spent the last hours and minutes of their life. It was the most terrible torture chamber of the prison in which all their accounts with life were settled.

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In 1918–19 under the Whites’ reactionary regime and the cruel revenge they exacted against the Bolsheviks, cell 13 was the last stop for martyrs of the Revolution. Anyone arrested as a political offender could count himself lucky if he didn’t finish up in that cell. ‘May they give me ten years, twenty years hard labour—only let me be spared from cell 13’, those were the thoughts of anyone who came under Deníkin’s system of justice Deníkin’s ‘justice’ indeed left much to be desired, but Rostóv was in the territory of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don and therefore came under the jurisdiction of the Atamán of the Don Cossacks (as we have already seen Bogáyevski commuting the sentences of Spírin et al.). Originally the Soviets could have some claim to be elected by popular vote, and at first they contained several political parties. As the Civil War intensified the Bolsheviks pushed the other parties out. It was widely accepted that the Soviets had originally contained many individuals who were quite moderate in their views. But when the Whites took over an area they all too frequently arrested these people indiscriminately. Once they were brought in there was every chance that they would be executed. Justice under the Whites was a very hit or miss affair. Chebotaryóv’s view is vividly supported by Voronóvich. (Murphy, 2001:55–6; Voronóvich, 1922:97). In that cell there were people of every shade of politics, not only Bolsheviks but also members of various other parties who were accused of Bolshevism. There were people who had taken part in the Civil War and people who had just been falsely denounced. There were serious criminals and cut-throats, completely outside the law. Rarely was cell 13 without some inmate, fated to die. When two or three were condemned for the same day then single cells 12 and 11 were temporarily set aside for them. During my time in the jail I, the author of this memoir, was in the condemned cell alone with a victim more than 200 times. Was that not a strange time to be visiting them? Yes, it was at that moment when the man condemned to death clutched at his last hope: to write at least a protest against the injustice and severity of the judgement, to make an appeal for mercy and for the death penalty to be commuted to a sentence of forced labour. Usually it was done as follows: as soon as they brought the condemned man from the court, then he would demand for me to be called to write his petition, and the staff did not stand in the way. Generally, before or after the evening roll-call, a warder would come to collect me, saying: ‘Get some paper and ink. Let’s go to No. 13.’ We approach the cell. The great padlock clicks open, the bolt is drawn back, and the creaking door of the death cell opens. They bring in a little table and a stool for me to sit on. I go in, the warder closes the door, the heavy bolt slams across…another click of the padlock and silence descends…Only from time to time a duty warder looks through the spy hole to make sure everything is in order… Without wasting any time I begin to find out about the case and to set about composing the petition. For the condemned man this petition represents his last hope. He is now unusually open and sincere, able to recall the smallest details which may give some hope of saving him. Under the shadow of death he can all too quickly lay out what he has to say, and I

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have to go through his story to catch the essentials of the case and any possible grounds for altering the judgement. At these times I could meet a brave hero going to the scaffold, or a coward whose character was shattered before death. Some were men who could confront their end calmly, or others were weaklings, breaking down in tears. On rare occasions I met convivial spirits who could still make jokes. There were a few men who went mad in my presence, laughing, weeping, singing songs and raving deliriously. I found it hard to watch the suffering of any man who was so terrified. When I got back to my own cell I could not sleep all night from emotion at what I had seen. I usually spent several hours with the condemned man. The petition was addressed to the Atamán or the commanding officer of the troops, and the warders took it off straight away to the prison office. While there was still time it was to be transmitted to the commander of the garrison or the President of the Court, who would have to be responsible for stopping the sentence being carried out. From the office the petition was handed to the prisoner’s relatives or close friends, who hurried out to pass it on to those in authority. Out of all the petitions I wrote about three per cent had some chance of success. Eight or nine people were saved from death, with their sentence commuted to various terms of hard labour. Writing about this I must pick out one peculiarity: none of the condemned could write his petition himself. Even those with some skill in the law and the ability to express themselves—even they could not put their plea forward unless someone was called in to write it for them. It may be that at such a moment a man’s thought becomes confused and he cannot think logically. In December 1919,1 was seriously ill and lost the list I had kept of those who were shot in the prison. But I must mention a few names which stand out—of comrades who died a hero’s death within those walls, as for example Murlychóv, Vyázemtsev, Borkó, Shóstak, Kliménko and Lomtalídze. I would like to add a few words about them: (1) Comrade Lomtalídze was a lawyer, who came to Rostóv from the jail in Stávropol’, where the Whites’ military tribunal had sentenced him to six years forced labour. The Governor of Rostóv could not uphold such a ‘weak’ sentence, and a retrial was ordered at Baron Vrángel’s headquarters. Before the case started Lomtalídze’s father came to Rostóv, a stocky old man, whose black beard was streaked with grey. He had been an Inspector of Schools. He wore the uniform of a civil servant in the Education Department, and he had awards from the Tsarist government for forty years service. Putting on his full-dress uniform he wanted to beseech Vrángel’ to spare the life of his only son, but this was not granted to him. He then got a pass from the headquarters and appeared in the jail when his son was already in the condemned cell. With great emotion and tears in his eyes the father began to speak: ‘My dear son, when I put on this uniform and all my decorations I thought they would help me to persuade them to spare your life. But in my old age they refused me this. You must go to your execution with a good conscience. You are dying for the sacred cause of the people. And I swear by what life I have left I shall wreak a bitter revenge on those scoundrels…’. They would not let him say more and took his son away to the condemned cell.

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At night when the military squad came to take Lomtalídze out to be shot we were watching and listening behind the iron grilles. In the prison yard Lomtalídze turned to the leader of the escort: ‘May I ask you to give this little cross and chain to my father, for him to hand on to my little Kólya in memory of me. Can I ask you to do that?’ ‘All right. That can be done’…and the officer took the little cross. ‘One more request now: tell my father that I am going to my death calmly and knowing firmly that he will carry out the promise he made when we saw each other for the last time… But now lead on and carry out the sentence of the court.’ The iron gates clanged shut. Tightly closed round Lomtalídze the escort led him out, with his hands bound behind his back, towards the barracks of the Taganróg Regiment (the lane between the tramway depot and the barracks on Tkachévski Lane). The moon was shining on a quiet autumn night, and all we could hear from the town was the sound of a late cab going home or a distant single shot… They brought the condemned man to the spot for execution. They began to get ready and suddenly close at hand they heard a heart-rending voice: ‘Soldiers! Comrades! Don’t shoot your own brother. He is no criminal. He has been fighting for you, fighting for the people. You must refuse to shoot an innocent man. As his father, I beg and implore you ‘Seize him and arrest him’, shouted the officer, and loosed off a shot into the shadows where the man was standing under the wall of the barracks. They arrested the old man. In the ranks of the firing squad there was some confusion, which lasted about 10 minutes. Everything went quiet. Then we heard the metallic voice of command: ‘Squad, attention!… Fire’. The volley echoed in the distance and all went silent again. (2) Comrade Ánya, a girl of 15, was a telephonist in a Red Army regiment. When she appeared in court she refused to answer questions put to her by the presiding judge, and began to shout: ‘You butchers and murderers. Shoot me if you want, but after me you beasts will also be shot.’ One of the officers ran over to her and lashed her several times with his whip. The soldiers escorting her were ordered to take her away. The Atamán of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don had decreed that women and juveniles under age were not liable to capital punishment. In spite of this the Military Tribunal sentenced Ánya to be executed by hanging. When I came into the death cell to write a plea for mercy Ánya hung on my neck and began to jump up and down quite merrily. Then she started to sing the revolutionary song ‘Comrades, march forward together!’ With a cigarette in her mouth she danced about the room and finally burst out into loud weeping. As she sobbed she began to utter some disjointed words. The poor girl had obviously gone out of her mind. Nonetheless I wrote a petition for her, and she laughed as she signed it. Next day one of the warders, comrade Ledenyóv, told us that early in the morning they had seen Ánya’s body hanging on a tree, with her skirt all covered in blood, which showed that she had been raped before she was put to death. (3) Death cell 13 once held an old man of about 80, who had been employed to sweep the yard. He could not read or write. I came in to write a petition for him and found him squatting down on his haunches, smoking coarse tobacco. I asked him: ‘Why have they condemned an old man like you to death? Are you really a Bolshevik?’

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‘They must have done it so I would not be eating their bread for nothing’, he replied grumpily. ‘Tell me now… what is going on, so I can write a petition for you to be spared.’ ‘What’s that? What sort of petition?’ ‘Well…to save you from being shot.’ ‘Don’t bother. Let them shoot me. Otherwise I’ll be eating at public expense. Khonguróv will be upset again ‘What Khonguróv? Talk sense.’ ‘Well, you see, I was a yardman, working for that rich merchant Khakhládzhev. I swept up the street in front of his house, and for five roubles a month I swept the street by Khonguróv’s house. Tobacco got more expensive and so did bread. So I said to Khonguróv: ‘I’m not going to do your bit of street for five roubles. Give me another five.’ He refused and I stopped sweeping there. So, you see, a few days ago I was sweeping Khakhládzhev’s bit of road and there was Khonguróv, standing on his porch. Two soldiers come by and they asked: ‘You wouldn’t have a bit of tobacco, Grandpa?’— Well, why not? ‘I have’, said I. I gave them some strong tobacco and they lit up. ‘Where have you come from?’ I asked. ‘We’ve brought in some wounded’ they said. ‘When is it all going to end?’ I asked. ‘Brother goes to kill brother, and all what for? It’s not as though we were fighting the Turks. They ought to put a stop to it.’ And Khonguróv is standing there listening. The soldiers went on their way. Three days later people came and arrested me, to try me for Bolshevik propaganda. Khonguróv appeared as a witness and said that I had been stirring up the soldiers to shoot their officers and then go over to the Bolsheviks. That’s all there was to it… Just because I hadn’t been sweeping his bit of the street.’ ‘But after all, Grandpa, you didn’t say that to the soldiers. Why didn’t you tell the court? When all’s said and done, you’re not a Bolshevik.’ ‘Of course I told the court, but they believed Khonguróv, and didn’t believe an old man like me.’ I wrote a petition for him but it did not get through to the proper people. That same night the old man was shot. (4) Everyone in the jail knew that they must not go near the windows, since the sentries would shoot. Yeléna Borkó had been active in the underground, and she was kept in cell 23 with windows onto the yard, right opposite the sentry box. On 11 August 1919, the prisoners sat down to supper after the evening roll-call. Yeléna was sitting opposite the open window. The electric light in the cell picked her out as she sat at table. Suddenly there was a rifle shot and comrade Borkó fell, cut down by the sentry’s bullet. She cried out in her death agony. A tide of grief swept through the prison and from every cell we could hear curses against the savage jailers… Comrade Borkó’s body was taken out of the prison by her relatives and buried in the Jewish cemetery. (5) There were times when to further officers’ personal careers a case might be wildly exaggerated, and people were sentenced to death without any idea why they had been accused. Here is one example: In May 1919 they brought to Rostóv jail three men aged 25 to 30 who had been arrested at one of the stations between Rostóv and Khár’kov All three were put into

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solitary confinement in the right hand wing of the prison. According to what we heard these were robbers with repeated criminal convictions, going ‘on tour’ to Rostóv. They had been arrested by officers of Vrángel’s army, simply as suspicious characters who they had found carrying firearms. For a full month they were detained without any case being brought against them. They protested to the Public Prosecutor, insisting they should be released from prison. But how amazed everyone was when there followed an order from the Investigator of Important Cases that these men should be instantly put in irons and isolated from one another by placing them in solitary confinement in separate cells. The case against them was declared to be ‘terrorist attempts on the lives of Baron Vrángel’, General Krasnóv and General Bogáyevski, under orders from the Bolshevik Party.’ False evidence was quickly added to the report of the officer who had arrested them. The investigation was brought to a speedy conclusion and they appointed a special Military Tribunal. There was a strong escort to bring the arrested men to the court and the jail was guarded inside and out by an extra force. All three were sentenced to death by hanging and the papers gave the case great prominence. Then there was a whole mass of orders, promotions and rewards for people, both in the Atamán’s suite and on Vrángel’s staff, listing the names of a number of ‘officers who had saved the lives of Vrángel’, Krasnóv’ and Bogáyevski’. It would all have gone off quite nicely covered up if they had not overlooked one officer who did not get an award. Soon after the men had been executed he showed in the most detailed way the machinations of the careerists, all their lies and false evidence about an attempt on the lives of Vrángel’, Krasnóv and Bogáyevski. There was an enormous scandal which they could not put an end to. After all, the men had been executed and the officers had received their awards… I had written pleas for all three of them to have their lives spared, and they had all told me quite frankly how they were indeed well known to the Criminal Investigation Department as having long criminal records. They said they had been travelling from Khár’kov to Rostóv to continue their activities there. They never had anything to do with the Bolsheviks and had taken no part in the Revolution. That is how filthy tales were concocted against the Bolsheviks under a joint plot hatched by a whole gang of unscrupulous White officers. After all if their dirty dealing had not been shown up there would have been even more harsh measures of suppression. But all their trickery had to be shown up in print.

1920: last train over Rostóv Bridge (Aten) In January 1920, the White forces were reeling back after their headlong retreat, and Rostóv was just upstream from the point on the River Don where Deníkin had to bring his men over to the south bank. The estuary remained frozen while they were getting across. Then the ice melted and prevented the Soviet forces from pursuing them. But Red Army men set up their machine guns to cover the only bridge and killed virtually all the refugees who tried to

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cross on foot—until a thick mist came down, which allowed some women and children to scramble over to safety. Aten was an American pilot who had served with the Royal Air Force against the Germans. The end of the First World War meant that his skill as a pilot was no longer in demand for hunting German planes. Rather at a loss for what to do he went to join an RAF squadron supporting the Volunteer Army and White Cossacks on the Southern Front. Nina was a young Russian serving as a nurse with the White forces. She was wounded in the shoulder and died from tetanus, while her hospital train was still on the north side of the Don. Aten may seem quite a brash young man. He regarded strafing Red forces almost as one might shoot pheasants or other game, although he was deeply affected by the loss of his beloved Nina and the scenes of horror he witnessed during the rout of the Whites.

At the mouth of the ice-bound Don the ice as though whipped from below by a giant eggbeater, was frozen into hillocks and ridges, some of them 2 feet high. ‘Upstream by the bridge it’s flatter and smoother,’ Kink said. ‘Just here we are nearer the point where the river runs into the sea’ (Aten and Ormost, 1962:221). 31 December Early that morning we came into the Rostóv yards a quarter of a mile from the bridge on the flat north bank of the river. Bordering the bank rose an unbroken line of snow-covered bluffs. From our place on the siding we could see across the river to the low south bank, where the Don had overflowed and spread out onto the steppe in a vast, shallow, frozen lake. The bridge itself was arch-supported, about 300 yards long and 70 feet wide. It had a double track, a footpath, and a crossing for vehicles. Now and for the next five days we were in Rostóv, it was crowded, night and day, with refugees and the military—in trains, in carts, on horse and on foot. Nina looked at me in shocked surprise. ‘Do you mean they are trusting the Reds to spare the sick and wounded? That is a fatal stupidity. They will murder them all.’ ‘There are five thousand wounded and sick at Rostóv hospital; they wouldn’t kill that many people’ (Aten and Ormost, 1962:226). Aten was told that later, when the Red Army occupied Rostóv, they burnt down the hospital with everyone inside it. Rostóv was as deserted as a poor man’s funeral. The shops were shuttered and the houses dark, except for an occasional glimmer of light through blinds, behind which one was conscious people were peering apprehensively. The streets were empty save for a battery of field guns clattering through from the north and an exhausted troop of Don Cossacks

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drooping in their saddles. As we passed them one raised his sabre ironically and shouted ‘Happy New Year’ (S nóvym gódom! S nóvym schást’em!’). ‘Happy New Year to you,’ muttered Eddie. We drove by seventeen lamp-posts from which seventeen men hung motionless in the windless air, the snowflakes gathering in the folds of their clothes. One victim, barechested, had been hanged by a noose made from his shirt. Eddie was one of the pilots in Kinkhead’s squadron with an openly cynical view of the defeat of the Whites, who seem to have indulged in an orgy of executions before they were forced out of Rostóv. General Kutépov was noted as particularly unsparing. We may remember Vasílyev’s words: ‘As the Red Army drew near to Rostóv the last days of White rule gave our Party organization a hard time. We had the feeling that spies were following close behind us all. Comrade Volmér and I were hiding in the tram depot and many workers there realized how we were suffering from the winter frosts as we were waiting out of sight in the empty sheds. But now the end of the bad days was approaching. Along the streets one could see the corpses of men who had been hanged.’ Chebotaryóv remarked how many prisoners were to be executed before the Whites were forced out of Rostóv and were saved only by a lucky mistake in the date for Christmas. The hospital seemed infected by the same silent, unprotesting paralysis that gripped the town. The call bells rang ceaselessly, but one felt that a private understanding existed between caller and called that no serious attention would be paid to them (Aten and Ormost, 1962:227). ‘We’ll try the Hotel Rostóv,’ Kink told us. If it’s closed we’ll know there’s no sense in trying anywhere else.’ Though the Hotel Rostóv’s rococo lobby blazed with lights, there was no doorman on duty at the entrance. We stamped the snow off our boots and walked over Persian carpets to the ornate desk. In one of the delicate chairs sat a beefy porter with his dirty boots up on a table top. Before him was a bottle of sparkling wine and a brimming glass. He was smoking a long black cigar. ‘The revolution comes to Rostóv,’ Eddie laughed. I took a walk past the packed station and down to the entrance. It was jammed with stalled traffic, and the river to either side was black with crossing fugitives moving slowly across the slippery ice. Some had linked arms to minimize the spills and falls, but it was rough going; many of the aged lay groaning with broken hips and sprained ankles, waiting for a good Samaritan to come along and drag them to the opposite bank. Few people had time for pity; they had their own families and relatives to think of. Most kept looking over their shoulders for signs of the Reds on the bluffs above the yards (Aten and Ormost, 1962:232, 1 January 1920). Hoskins and half a dozen men were still at the Lewis gun on the platform, shooting at the bluffs. The Reds had moved up more machine-guns and the air above us hummed

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with lead; much of it was hitting the refugees on the tracks beyond us who were leaving the trains for the ice and the bridge in a panicked flood. Their cries and screams were drowned by the noise of the firing. In the growing daylight we could see the hordes of refugees crossing the river over the ice and the bridge and, beyond them, to the wide ice-covered flats on the other side where what units were left of the Volunteer Army were forming in some sort of order for a stand. The infantry in the foreground wheeled into position; the artillery massed for action in the rear. On the flanks the supporting cavalry swung into protective reserve. From the bluffs Red shrapnel burst over and among them, killing men and horses, staining the yellow ice with red. When a man fell, the space filled; it was like a demented game of chess. The Bolshies were moving up more and more guns to shell the deploying Whites; evidently they considered machine-gun bullets good enough for those of us on the north flats who had not yet gained the bridge (Aten and Ormost, 1962:240). From beneath the wheels of the stalled coach on the next siding crawled a wounded Russian officer. Shot in both legs, he could raise only the upper part of his body, like a dog whose hindquarters had been crushed on the road by a passing car. Fascinated we watched him beg us hysterically to take him with us. ‘Not able,’ Eddie said loudly, in the way we shout at someone who does not understand our language. ‘No stretchers. Doubtful if we can get away ourselves. Understand? Sorry.’ The Russian may not have understood Eddie’s words, but he comprehended the negative shake of his head. Quickly he shifted his weight to one arm, drew his revolver, and shot himself through the temple (Aten and Ormost, 1962:241). We marched forward another 40 yards. Then ‘Flight, halt,’ Kink ordered. ‘Fall out, the officers.’ We knew what the trouble was; between the last car of the train ahead of us and the tender of our own train was a gap about two freight cars in length. It was scattered with refugee dead. A nest of Red machine-guns, half concealed on the brow of the bluff, swept across that open space ceaselessly. Nothing that was alive could cross it. The Reds had no intention of shelling the bridge or its crawling traffic; they needed it as a means of coming into direct contact with the Volunteers (Aten and Ormost, 1962:242). Panicking, some of the refugees hurled themselves past us and into the open space. With an infant in her arms, a young mother wearing a shawl tried to run across the gap and almost reached safety before the gunners cut her down. As she pitched forward the baby rolled out of her arms to lie inches beyond the reach of her outstretched hands. It lay there kicking. The young woman made a feeble effort to rise and then was still. The child was squealing… As we watched, as though pushed and prodded by an invisible hand, it slid backwards on the ice, leaving a widening bloodstain beneath it. It was no longer making a sound (Aten and Ormost, 1962:243). The mist had turned to fog. The formidable bluff walls looming greyly over us were gradually disappearing. As though a single order had been given and instantly obeyed, the Red machine-guns fell silent… We quick-marched past the open space and down to the station. The place was in an uproar. Refugees fought for a place on train roofs and buffers, even on the engines. As we marched round a turn in the tracks we saw, half a mile up the river, the smoke of the approaching ice breaker.

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The White officers hoped they could stop the Red Army pursuing them by opening up the wide channel of the estuary. Mámontov writes with feeling on the two-edged use of the ice breaker. We slogged on through the masses of refugees down to the bridge entrance. Waiting for us was the Mission train. We scrambled aboard, packing ourselves into the three coaches, and the train got under way (Aten and Ormost, 1962:244). When Aten writes of the ‘Mission train’ he has in mind a train designated for the British Mission in Novorossísk, who were trying to supply antiBolshevik forces with artillery and other military stores. The Mission also brought in a few instructors to show the Whites how to handle the guns and tanks they had acquired (cf. Williamson as mentioned in the Introduction). But the British public turned against sending any combatant units and Kinkhead’s volunteer airmen were a rare exception. The train stopped fifteen yards from the other side, and we poked our heads out of the window. Ahead, on the embankment, was a long line of stalled and empty trains, abandoned by refugees when the shelling had begun. The fog was too dense to see the ice breaker, but now we could hear its horn. Kink snapped a command, and we left the train for the footpath that led to the cart track. As I shouldered my kit I glanced behind me. A few refugees were still emerging from the fog, but the bridge tracks were clear of rolling stock. We had been on the last train to cross Rostóv bridge. In a few minutes the Volunteers would demolish it. We walked another half-mile before Kink ordered the column to halt and fall out. As we unshouldered rifles and kits and sat down at the side of the road, we heard a series of hollow detonations from the direction of the bridge. ‘They’ve blown it up,’ Tommy said. ‘And that, gentlemen, ends the Battle of Rostóv on the Don’ (Aten and Ormost, 1962:245). The bridge had been built in 1914, carrying the line to Vladikavkáz across the Don. It had a central span which could be raised 40m to allow ships to pass underneath.

Guns across the ice (Mámontov) The pages which follow are taken from the jottings of a young officer who served with the Whites through the period of their early successes in 1918 and 1919, and then continued with them, as their retreat from Oryól turned into a complete rout and they were evacuated from Novorossísk in March 1920. Sergéy was born in 1898. He makes it clear that he was not related to General Konstantín Mámantov, who led the

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famous cavalry raid behind the Red lines in AugustSeptember 1919. Young Mámontov enrolled as a student in the cavalry school on 21 February 1917 (Old Style). On 28 February, the first revolution broke out in Petrográd, but the 19-year-old Sergéy was repelled by the disorder and looting. As a child of his class he never had the slightest interest in politics, but took it for granted that society ought to be restored more or less as it had existed under the Tsars. The title of his book shows how he assumed naturally that right was on his side—We shall not be judged…. Like every objective observer he found widespread corruption, cowardice and chaos in the rear of Deníkin’s armies, where so many able-bodied men ensconced themselves in safe jobs, stealing stores and living in comparative comfort at the expense of those who were risking their lives at the front. It may seem natural that the Reds looted rich manor houses, but the Whites also plunged into this mindless destruction of property. Often Sergéy turned a blind eye to the cruel excesses which so marred the image of the Whites, but we should remember that in August 1919 he was sickened by the cold-blooded massacre of large numbers of Red Army men who had surrendered. The subtitle of his memoirs reveals something of his happy-go-lucky attitude. Campaigns and horses means that his book is a day by day account of his mili tary service, which took him to so many parts of southern Russia and Ukraine. Mámontov was proud of his ability to ride horses and to control the temperamental ones. He had a deep affection for Dúra, the mare he trained as his personal mount during the many months of incessant warfare. For anyone in the artillery it was a point of honour for a battery never to lose its guns. Sergéy was one of only three officers surviving in his battery of horse artillery, which had managed to bring its four guns south through the desperate retreat. They had arrived at Sinyávka (now Sinyávskoye) on the northern side of the delta at the point where the Don opens into the Sea of Azóv. This was much further west than Aten, and Mámontov only saw Rostóv from afar. Unfortunately his memoirs do not always give the dates of the various events in which he was involved, but we know that the Red Army entered Rostóv on 8 January 1920 and by 10 January had cleared the Whites out of the town.

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After our enormous and difficult retreat from Sevsk to the south our exhausted regiments and batteries took up their position north of the Don estuary. We brought our guns to their park in the rear, unharnessed them, and went off to our billets with a sigh of relief. The evening grew milder and it started to rain. Two officers came out to us from Rostóv. They were highly optimistic: Rostóv and Novocherkássk would be held come what may, fresh units were on their way to relieve us (why had they not come by now?), an ice breaker had pushed down the Don to stop the Reds getting across, we would get everything we needed from the store wagons… They talked in a fine military style, but their conduct fell far short of this. There were three officers left in our battery, whereas there should be five. We had been hoping for the last two days that we would be brought up to strength. But when we mentioned this the staff officers began to shuffle uneasily, and straight away skipped off back to Rostóv. This cautious behaviour quite ruined their big military talk. I need hardly add that all the fine promises of the two officers who visited us remained as pure fantasy—except for the damned ice breaker, which gave us quite a lot of trouble when we had to get across the Don in a hurry. The next morning I was walking past the place where we had left our guns. It had rained the night before and then frozen during the night, so the wheels of the guns were seized up with ice. If we had to get them out quickly we would not be able to move them. I told Skornyakóv about this. ‘Let the men have their rest. We’ll chip the ice off to-morrow.’ But I could not help worrying about the ice. I got the grumbling soldiers together, and they chipped it off. We had done this just in time, because twenty minutes later there were shots and we hurried to harness up the battery. Our division moved quickly out of Sinyávka. Beyond the stanítsa there was a bit of a slope on which there was black ice. The horses were slipping and falling. Skornyakóv left me with the men to pull our gun carriages up the hill. When we got the last one up we all went over to our horses. There was no sign of Dúra. I did not take in the whole situation: instead of sitting on the last gun carriage or jumping up to ride behind one of the soldiers, I told them to bring Dúra over to me. I started to walk up without hurrying. The soldiers trotted away ahead. I was left on my own. When I got up to the road my blood ran cold. On my left the hilltops overlooking Sinyávka were occupied by a line of Red Army infantry, while down below me, about 400 yards away a division of their cavalry were trotting out into line abreast. There was no sign of our men. I ran all out along the road to the right. Luckily I was overtaken by one soldier from our battery who had got left behind. As he went by I jumped to catch the tail of his horse and it dragged me along behind it. But I soon felt that I was getting weaker and was going to fall at any minute. ‘Stop!’ I shouted to the soldier. ‘Let me have a stirrup to pull myself up behind you.’ But the soldier was looking back in fear at the Reds, and he went on lashing his horse. I pulled out my revolver and shouted: ‘If you don’t stop I’ll shoot you.’ This was effective. He stopped and gave me a stirrup. Without losing a second I flew up onto the horse’s crupper. The soldier was squealing: ‘There they are, there they are. We’re done for.’ ‘Get on as fast as you can.’

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We went off at full gallop. I was afraid to look behind in case I lost my balance, but I could hear hooves drumming close behind. Gradually the sound began to grow fainter, and died right away. ‘Slow down a bit,’ I said to the soldier. ‘Keep some strength in the horse in case we need it again.’ Polovinkin was galloping to meet us with Dúra on a rein beside him. The Red Army men were backing off, and a verst in front our division was deploying for action. I moved over to mount Dúra, but said nothing to Polovinkin about having taken my horse away. What joy to be sitting on the saddle of my own horse without having to run along the road to get away from the Reds. I think that was the moment of the greatest danger I had faced right through the Civil War. Thank God! Even if I didn’t see them I could feel them right close, right behind me. It was just a matter of seconds. We were galloping over black ice to save our lives, but the Red Army men were afraid of slipping. They reined their horses in a little, then saw our division deploying in front of them and gave up the chase. We trotted over to join our battery again. There was a sharp frost. I went to our supply train and changed my riding boots for felt boots. We went along all night. It was very cold. People were cursing the frost, thinking it would freeze over the channel made by the ice breaker. As things turned out it was exactly that frost that saved us, since next day it allowed us to get across the Don. But we didn’t know that yet and we were cursing it. With the morning light we could see houses in the outskirts of Rostóv. We were sure that our infantry were holding the town, which after all had the only bridge over the Don. We even sent Kazítski and three soldiers to find us somewhere to live. Our division came to a halt and suddenly we heard a lot of shooting in the town, so we realized that Rostóv had fallen to the Red Army, which alarmed us greatly. In artillery units a ‘division’ was part of a battery, most frequently two guns. But soon we were under attack by the Red cavalry which had been following us. At this point most of our men were seized by panic. Some units jammed together and a whole mass of men rushed down to the left towards the Don. We were on a high bank with a steep slope plunging down some 500 yards. From that position we couldn’t see the Don. We were all thinking about that damned ice breaker which had ploughed down the river two days ago. Would last night’s frost have had time to freeze over the channel it had made? The fighting was disorganized. No one was giving any orders, or perhaps they didn’t reach us. Different units acted as they thought best, some putting up resistance, others running away. Our battery was firing, and broke up the Red Army charge in front of us. We saw them grabbing two guns that had been abandoned by Battery 7. Luckily the Reds got hold of the division’s supply train and turned their attention to plundering it, which gave us time to cross the Don. The main difficulty was to bring the guns down the steep icy slope towards the river, and once we were had brought them down trying to take them across the ice, that was still quite thin.

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No one knew what to do. As we hadn’t received any orders we went over to the edge of the slope and set the guns up at that point. Then Colonel Kuz’mín appeared with his First Officers Cavalry Battalion: ‘What are you doing here? Get on your way and look smart about it. We are the last of our people. After us the Reds are coming. And you’ve still got to get down from this steep place.’ But all the same he did halt his regiment and deployed it into a battle line. To our right on the railway in Gnilóvskaya there was an ammunition train burning with its load of shells, which were flying about and exploding in all directions. This meant that our flank had some protection. Gnilóvskaya on the north side of the estuary was the village from where in 1917 the Whites had threatened to fire on the sailors’ steam yacht Kolkhída. It was not likely that the Reds would show their noses from that side. From our high point up above, the river was not in sight, but we could see a column of foot soldiers and men on horseback making towards Koysút on the southern shore. Thank goodness the ice was strong enough to support the weight of a man and a horse. But would it stand the weight of a gun? I had already thought out a way to save myself if the ice was too thin: I would get a plank, lie down on it, and use it to crawl across the thin ice. Like that I would be saved, but the battery and Dúra would be finished. There was a zigzag path down, very steep and icy. We undid the traces from the first two guns, put the brakes on the wheels. Yúdin crossed himself and began to bring my gun down, just relying on his wonderful lead horse. We clung onto the gun, trying to hold it back, but it was sliding down with ever increasing speed. The shaft was poking up to the sky; the horses were straining, back almost onto their rumps. They were going faster and faster, and Yúdin made them trot, to avoid them being crushed, then went into a gallop to keep clear of the gun. We were watching him anxiously: would he be able to take the turn? Was he going to be swept down over a cliff? At the turn Yúdin was at full gallop. He disappeared from view, then we saw him further on down. The horses were going flat out. Now he was hidden by another turn and reappeared right at the bottom. He was gradually reining in the horses and then he stopped. We gave a sigh of relief: well done Yúdin! I gathered up all the harnesses and ran down with them to pull the guns across the river. And Yúdin with his marvellous pair of horses brought the whole four guns down the steep hillside. It would have been unthinkable to entrust this perilous operation to any other horseman or any other two horses. We saw the 2nd Guards Battery going down and leaving one box tipped out onto the slope. Skornyakóv and the loading numbers stayed up at the top to get the gun carriages down, while I was down by the river with the riders. The ice had a white cover of snow; in midstream there was an ugly-looking transparent strip of thin ice along the channel the ice breaker had made. I chose a spot where there were many pieces of the old ice. I harnessed up only the leading pair of horses to spread the weight and to save horses if the gun went through the ice. I put a board under the trail-spade to stop it cutting the ice. I placed myself on one of the pieces of the old ice to cut the traces if things went wrong. ‘All right, Temerchenko, may God be with us. Lead on.’

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172

Smiling, Temerchenko led his black horse out first. The ice started to move under my feet. It was such an uneasy feeling that like a coward I rushed to cross to the other side. But the gun came across all right. They began to move the other guns over. Suddenly Colonel Dmítriyev, commander of the 2nd Guards Battery, came down on me: ‘I gave orders that only the leading horse should be harnessed, but you have harnessed the leading pair.’ ‘Sir, this is General Drozdóvski’s 2nd Horse battery.’ ‘Oh, forgive me. I thought you were one of mine.’ ‘A fine commander,’ I thought, ‘who doesn’t know his own horses, or recognize his own officers and men.’ We hitched up the guns. Without waiting for Skornyakóv and the loading numbers who were busy getting the gun carriages down, I brought the battery at the trot about a verst away from the hill and stopped there to wait for the others. When the Reds appeared on top of the ridge we were already out of range. We can imagine the havoc the Reds could have brought about if they had not stopped to plunder the baggage train, if they had put a field gun or a machine gun on the crest of the hill, while the area below was still filled with our men. But God spared us and we got away with it. It became much warmer that same evening and it started to rain. We had crossed the Don just in time; the next day it would have been impossible. The rain meant no one could come across and we had several days respite from attacks by the Red Army. We put those days to good use by getting our units into order. Mámontov devotes a further 30 pages to describe the retreat and constant defeats, as the Whites were forced back over the River Kubán’ and eventually to the ships which were to take them from Novorossísk to the Crimea. There was no room on board for anyone but the soldiers themselves, and the battery had the bitter experience of pushing their guns into the harbour. Mámontov had to take a sad farewell from his beloved mare, that had borne him through so many hard-fought battles and desperate adventures: Dúra came with me to Novorossísk. When I knew for certain that it was out of the question to take her with me I pulled out my revolver. But I couldn’t kill Dúra, I could not set my hand to it. I sought out a garden with grass and a pool of water. I took the saddle off her, and the harness, kissed her, closed the gate, and went away without looking back.

SUMMARY OF EVENTS Year Month

Event

1917 March Revolution in Petrográd June Kalédin elected Atamán of Don Cossacks November Bolsheviks overthrow Provisional Government Alekséyev starts Volunteer Army 26 Rostóv Soviet takes charge November 7 December Kalédin regains control of Rostóv with help of Junkers and White generals 1918 10 January Cossacks returning from the front declare against Kalédin 19 January Constituent Assembly in Petrográd closed by Communist sailors 11 February Not able to hold Novocherkássk or Rostóv, Kalédin commits suicide. Whites withdraw south into the Kubán’ 23 March Podtyólkov becomes Chairman of Don Soviet Republic May Volunteer Army returns stronger. Allied with Germans, the Whites retake Rostóv and start 18 months of control by the Don Cossacks with their capital in Novocherkássk 1919 February The Red Army sweeps south through the Don territory, but from March to June they have to contend with the wide-scale rebellion of Cossacks which has broken out in their rear, centred in Vyóshenskaya on the middle reaches of the Don (see The Don Rebellion) JuneWhites advance north towards Moscow and reach Oryól October 24 October Budyónny takes Vorónezh, threatening Volunteer Army’s communications. Start of Whites’ headlong retreat 1920 January Red Army takes Rostóv February Whites break back into Rostóv March Whites driven to evacuate from Novorissísk November Whites (under Vrángel’) forced out of Crimea

GLOSSARY

Aksáy At the edge of the high west bank of the Kiziterínovskaya Balka, the valley which separates Aleksandróvka from Nakhicheván’. Also the factory at this point. There is still a factory overlooking the valley here. Almighty Vóysko of the Don Vsevelíkoye Vóysko Donskóye. White Cossacks under Krasnóv, replaced as Atamán by Afrikán Bogáyevski in February 1919. Baedeker Produced many detailed travel guides. baryshnya Young lady. burzhúy A member of the idle rich, seen by Marxists as capitalists exploiting the working class. cell The smallest basic unit of the Party apparatus (yachéyka). Central Executive Committee Vserossíski Tsentrál’nyi Ispolnítel’nyi Komitét (VTsIK). For this and other Soviet institutions, see Khromov (ed.) Entsiklopediya: Grazhdanskaya voina i voyennaya interventsiya v SSSR, M., 1983. Centre for Information on the Recent History of Rostóv Óblast’ TsDNIRO. Cheká Chrezvycháynaya komíssiya po bor’bé s kontrrevolyútsiey i sabotázhem, the secret police, renamed subsequently as NKVD, KGB etc. conspiratorial name klíchka. Since the Russian Tsars declared most political activity to be illegal the major parties had to work underground. Many individuals adopted conspiratorial names, which often became better known than their original surnames, for example, Lénin, Trotsky, Stalin. counter-intelligence kontrrazvédka. District ókrug. Don Cossack territory was divided into 9 okrugá. Donburó The organization instituted by Central Committee to take overall control of policy in the Don area. The Donburó always operated from bases behind Red Army lines. Among its other responsibilities it was to coordinate Red underground cells and committees in areas under the Whites. Keeping control of the underground meant that their couriers, mostly women, had to take on the additional risk of crossing the shifting fronts which divided Reds from Whites. Dúma The Russian equivalent of a ‘Parliament’. Its powers were severely restricted under the Tsars. After the February Revolution elections were held both for the national Dúma and for local Dúmas which were intended roughly to fulfil the roles of local councils. frontier rubézh, granítsa, the imaginary line separating the territory under Deníkin and Krasnóv from Moscow, Petrográd and all the territory controlled by the Soviet government.

Glossary

175

Gaydamáki Originally referred to those fighting for Ukrainian independence in the eighteenth century. In 1918 supporters of the Ukrainian ‘parliament’ (Ráda), trying to secure independence from Soviet Russia. Greens Irregular forces with no permanent attachment to either Reds or Whites. Junkers Young men training to be officers. Kadéts A centrist party in the Dúma who wished to introduce constitutional democracy. The Bolsheviks used the word as a term of abuse, implying that ‘Kadéts’ meant anyone who wanted to destroy the revolution. Kolkhída Colchis, in Greek mythology the land of the Golden Fleece, supposedly in western Georgia. Komsomól Communist League of Youth (kommunisticheskii soyuz molodyózhi). kópeck One hundred kópecks made one rouble. Krug Rough Cossack equivalent of ‘Parliament’. Óblast’ Subdivision of Republic. An Óblast’ might be as large as, say, the present size of Belgium. Osóby otdél Organ of the Cheká supervising army units. police After the revolution the police were renamed ‘milítsiya’. I have continued to use the word ‘police’ for both periods. pood Old measure equivalent to 16.38 kg. Poor of the Don Donskáya bednotá, illegal newspaper produced by Selivánov et al. Priazóvski kray Right-wing newspaper purporting to cover both Rostóv and its environs around the Sea of Azóv. prospékt Long straight street. In Rostóv generally refers to streets running north-south at right angles to the Sadóvaya. Ráda Elected Assembly in Ukraine and the Kubán’. Red Guards Volunteers arming themselves to support the Bolshevik Revolution. In October 1917, a rough estimate credits the Red Guards as counting some 200,000 men in Petrográd and other urban centres. In January 1918, the Soviet government (Sovnarkóm) began to form the Red Army, and by September virtually all the Red Guards had been absorbed into Red Army units. Revolutionary Military Council Each unit in the Red Army was under the political control of the Communist Party, exercised by an RVS (Revolyutsiónnyi voénnyi sovét). The RVSR (RVS of the Republic) controlled Red Army strategy. Trotsky was its Chairman. RKP(b) Rossískaya Kommunistícheskaya pártiya (bolshevikóv) so called 1918–25, until it was named KPSS (Communist Party of the Soviet Union). RSRSD Rostóvo-Nakhichevánski Sovét rabóchikh i soldátskikh deputatov. RVS see Revolutionary Military Council (Revvoyensovét) the small ‘Committee’ attached to each unit to ensure that the commanders did not breach Party policy. Sadóvaya lit. ‘a street planted with trees’. The Bol’sháya Sadóvaya has long been the main street of Rostóv, running east-west, with the Railway Station at its western end. Sovnarkóm Soviet of People’s Commissars, title of the Soviet government till 1946. SR Socialist Revolutionary, representing mainly the peasantry. stanítsa Cossack village serving as centre for local administration. verstá Old measure of length roughly equivalent to 1.06 km,

Glossary

176

Volunteer Army Dobrovól’ cheskaya ármiya (official title for Deníkin’s White army in South Russia).

PERSONS MENTIONED

Abrósimov Vasíli: informer against the underground. He should not be confused with Semyón Abrósimov who broke down the prison door in 1920 to release Spírin and the other revolutionaries. Alekséyev Mikhaíl Vasilevich (1857–1918). 1917: Chief of Staff under Nicholas II and Provisional Government. After October General Alekséyev escaped to Novocherkássk, and organized the Volunteer Army with Deníkin and Kornílov. Antónov-Ovséyenko Vladimir Aleksandrovich (1883–1939). Organized storm of the Winter Palace in October 1917; December 1917-March 1918: commanded Red Guards against White Cossacks; March-May 1918: Supreme Commander of Soviet forces in South Russia; 1939: executed as a former adherent of Trotsky. Bogáyevski Mitrofán Petróvich, Kalédin’s aide, executed by AntonóvOvséyenko (14 April 1918). Bogáyevski Afrikán Petróvich (1872–1934). Brother of Mitrofán. February 1919: succeeded Krasnov as Atamán of the Almighty Vóysko of the Don; November 1920: emigrated from the Crimea. Budyónny Semyón Mikháylovich (1883–1973) knew Stalin from 1918 when both were commanders in the defence of Tsarítsyn. The Communists had suffered from shortage of cavalry, but in 1919 Trotsky announced the slogan ‘Proletarians to horse!’, and the Red Army rapidly built up its cavalry units. Budyónny’s victory at Kastornóye was a turning point in the whole war, since the capture of the railway there meant that the Whites no longer had a secure rail link to the Volunteer Army round Oryól, and thus began the long retreat which forced them out of South Russia in March 1920. Budyónny published anything that added lustre to his image and was not always a reliable source, but there seems no reason to doubt his memoirs on the capture of Rostóv, which was a triumphant moment, as the Red Army drove the Whites south of the Don. Budyónny says his 1st Cavalry Army had completely cleared the Whites out of Rostóv by 10 January. Berlov was serving in this most famous unit of the Red Army. But 1st Cavalry Army also earned a reputation for lack of discipline and its riotous behaviour (see Primary sources, chapter 5). Chebotaryóv Aleksándr Chebotaryóv: informer. Chebotaryóv Grigóri Chebotaryóv wrote an account of the revolutionaries in prison. Deníkin (1872–1947). Commanded Volunteer Army from April 1918 till its evacuation from Novorossísk in March 1920. Dóroshev Ippolit Antonovich (1896–1939). On 19 January 1918, Dóroshev and Krivoshlýkov, sent a telegram to Lénin that the Cossack Military Revolutionary

Persons metioned

178

Committee accepted the authority of the Soviet government. Dóroshev later worked in the Vorónezh section of the Donburó. Duménko (1888–1920). 1918: Commanded Don Cossack Division in defence of Tsarítsyn; from September 1919 promoted to command Cavalry Corps. Falsely accused of killing his political commissar; 11 May 1920: executed. Frénkel’ Aron Avraamovich (1894–1939). 1914–15: student at Petersburg Neurological Institute; 1915–17: University of the Don. After February 1917: member of the Executive Committee of the Rostóv-Nakhicheván’ Soviet; edited newspaper Our Banner. Accompanied Podtyólkov’s expedition in May 1918, but escaped to write Eagles of the Revolution, under pseudonym D”Aktil (which he also used for some other writings); August 1918-July 1919: member of the Donburó, often at odds with Syrtsov in clamping down on Cossacks’ autonomy. Kalédin Alekséy Maksímovich (1861–1918). Commanded 12th Army Corps; 30 June 1917: elected Atamán of the Don Vóysko; 11 February 1918: foreseeing fall of Novocherkássk, resigned, and shot himself through the heart. Kámenev Sergéy Sergéyevich (1881–1936). July 1919–1924: Commander-in-Chief of the Red Army. Kérensky Aleksándr Fyódorovich (1881–1970). After the February Revolution Kérensky was prominent holding various posts as Minister in the Provisional Government, and became its head until ousted by the Bolsheviks in October 1917. Kolchák Aleksándr Vasílyevich (1873–1920). From November 1918 Admiral Kolchák assumed the title of ‘Supreme Ruler’ of the Whites facing the Red Army on its Eastern Front; driven back from Omsk in November 1919 he was taken by the Czechs and executed by Bolsheviks in Irkutsk on 4 January 1920. Kornílov Lavr Geórgiyevich (1870–1918), from Siberia. Fought against the Germans and escaped from being a prisoner of war; Commander-in-Chief of Imperial Army; August 1917: led abortive advance on Petrográd against the Provisional Government. Imprisoned in Bykhov, but made his way south to Novocherkássk in December 1917. After the Reds took Novocherkássk and Rostóv, Kornílov led the small Volunteer Army into the Kubán’, where they faced the so-called ‘Ice Campaign’; Kornílov tried to attack Yekaterinodár, the main Bolshevik strong point, but his men were outnumbered and could not take the town. On 31 March 1918, Kornílov was killed by a shell, whereupon Deníkin took over command of the Volunteer Army and led them away, back to the Don. Krasnóv Pyotr Nikoláyevich (1869–1947). May 1918-February 1919: Atamán of Almighty Vóysko of the Don; February 1919: displaced by Afrikán Bogáyevski, emigrated to Germany; 1939–45: collaborated with the Germans; and in 1947 was executed by order of the Supreme Court of the Soviet Union. Krivoshlýkov Mikhaíl Vasílyevich (1894–1918). Junior officer (práporshchik) in war against Germany; 1917: elected Chairman of Committee of 28th Don Regiment; January 1918: Secretary of Cossack Military Revolutionary Council; March 1918: member of Central Executive Committee of Don Soviet Republic. When the Whites took Rostóv, Krivoshlýkov went north with Podtyólkov’s expedition. They were captured by White Cossacks and executed on 11 May 1918. Kropótkin (1842–1921). Anarchist. Escaped to western Europe in 1876; returned to Russia in 1917, and supported the Provisional Government. After October Kropótkin criticized Bolshevik excesses, but also opposed foreign intervention in the Civil War. Out

Persons metioned

179

of respect for his memory Soviet Russia named a street and metro station in Moscow— Kropotkinskaya. Lénin Ulyánov, Vladimir Il’ich (1870–1924). 1895: arrested; 1900: emigrated; 1903: separated Bolsheviks from Ménsheviks. 3/16 April 1917: returned from exile to Petrográd; October 1917 (Old Style): led revolution, which overthrew the Provisional Government and led to the Soviet Union. Makhnó Néstor Ivánovich (1889–1935). Anarchist, based in Gulyáy-Póle in Southeast Ukraine; 1918: rebelled against Germans. Three times Makhnó was allied with Reds against Deníkin, but was never willing to submit to Red Army discipline. Finally on 26 August 1921 he was forced out into Romania. Mirónov Filípp Kuz’mích (1872–1921). 1918–19: distinguished himself leading his Red Cossack Cavalry. In June 1919, he was stationed at Saransk, far from his native Don, and far even from the front against Deníkin. It seems obvious that he was relegated there by those Communists who sus-¬ pected that he might not remain loyal to the Soviets. In August 1919 Mironov tried to lead his men to the front to fight the Volunteer Army; he was condemned for proceeding against orders, but pardoned and given command of 2nd Cavalry Army. In 1921 Mironov was unjustly arrested and shot in prison. Posthumously rehabilitated in 1960. Murlychóv, Yúra Led the underground in Rostóv from 1918. Imprisoned during September 1918 and executed in February 1919. Nazárov Anatóli Mikháylovich 1876–1918, From 29 January 1918, succeeded Kalédin as Atamán of Don Cossacks. Executed by Bolsheviks on 18 February 1918. Ordzhonikídze Grigóri Konstantínovich (Sergó) (1886–1937). 1918: Extraordinary Commissar of South Russia, one of the defenders of Tsarítsyn, member of Central Executive Committee of Don Soviet Republic; 1919: Chairman of Defence Council of North Caucasus; 1920: Chairman of North Caucasus Revolutionary Committee. Petlyúra Simon Vasílyevich (1879–1926)—Ukrainan nationalist. May 1917: Chairman of Ukrainian Central Rada. From 14 November 1918: Atamán, commanding Ukrainian National Republic’s Army; February 1919: Red Army defeated Ukrainians, Petlyura fled to Vínnitsa; 15 November 1919: Petlyura Supreme Atamán; December 1919: went to Warsaw; 21 April 1920: Polish-Ukrainian Treaty; 7 May 1920: Poles took Kiev, installed Petlyura’s government; 11 June 1920: Red Army retook Kiev, Petlyura went into exile. Podtyólkov Fyódor Grigórevich (1886–1918). Lieutenant in war against Germany; January 1918: in Kámenskaya Congress Cossacks returned from the front elected Podtyólkov Chairman of Don Cossack Military Revolutionary Council; April 1918: Chairman of Don Soviet Republic; May 1918: led expedition north from Rostóv, captured by White Cossacks and hanged on 11 May 1918. Potótski Dmítri Nikoláyevich (1880–1949). Major-General commanding 7th Don Cossack Division. 1917: joined Volunteer Army, commander of forces in Rostóv; December 1917: taken prisoner by Red sailors. Power Rhoda Dolores le Poer Power, M.B.E. (1891–1957). ‘One of the pioneers of BBC school broadcasts, through whose imaginative scripts many children came to feel there was more to history than just a list of dates’ (Obituary in Times, 9 March 1957). Sabárovs Rich Rostóv family. In 1917 engaged Rhoda Power as governess to their daughter Natasha.

Persons metioned

180

Shchadénko (1885–1941). In 1917: commanded Red Guards against Kalédin; August-November 1918: Commissar of North Caucasus Military District; 1919: with special powers in Revolutionary Military Council of 10th Army defending Tsarítsyn; November 1919-July 1920: member of RVS of 1st Cavalry Army; July-October 1920: RVS of 2nd Cavalry Army; January-June 1919: RVS of Ukraine Front. Shcherbakóv Nikoláy Petróvich, born 1879. 1899: Cavalry College in Nikoláyevsk; May 1918: entered Rostóv as Colonel commanding 6th Uhlan Regiment, later commanded Southern Army. November 1918: Major-General. Syrtsóv (1893–1937). November 1917: installed Rostóv Soviet; March-September 1918: Deputy Chairman of Don Soviet Republic (which had little power after the Whites took Rostóv in May); August 1918-September 1919: Chairman of Donburó, where he encouraged severity against all Cossacks. Timoshénko Semyón Konstantínovich (1895–1970). From June 1919, commanded Cavalry Corps in 1st Cavalry Army. Trotsky Bronshtéyn, Lev Davidovich (1879–1940). From March 1918: People’s Commissar for War, and the main individual behind the creation of the Red Army with up to five million men, largely commanded by ex-Tsarist officers; during the 1920s, Stalin excluded Trotsky from power, exiled him in 1928, and arranged his assassination in Mexico in 1940. Vasíl’chenko Semyón Filippóvich (1884–1937), son of a railway trackman. 1903: sentenced to hard labour in Siberia for leading workers’ demonstration into the centre of Rostóv; 1918: attacked Kalédin in Aksáyskaya and had to flee to Khár’kov where he edited a newspaper The Donéts Proletarian. He was reproved by Lénin for employing tactics which did not conform to overall Party strategy in Ukraine. Back in Rostóv he began to form militarized detachments of workers, but was forced out to Kazan’ and Yekaterinodár; 1920: Vasíl’chenko organized the publishing house Moskóvski rabóchi, which later published Shólokhov’s novel Quiet flows the Don’, 1937: executed as a follower of Trotsky. Vasílyev Andrey Yefrémovich; conspiratorial name—Shmidt (1889–1937). Leader of the underground in Rostóv after the arrest of Murlychóv. Voronóvich Colonel. 1917: trying in Sochi to set up convalescent estate for wounded soldiers. Opposed Ordzhonikídze and Deníkin who wanted to conscript peasants in Sochi District and eastern coast of Black Sea; November 1919: Committee for Liberation appointed Voronóvich to command their Peasant Militia and as Deputy Chairman to Filippovski. Voroshílov Klimént Yefrémovich (1881–1969). November 1919-May 1921: member of Revolutionary Military Council of 1st Cavalry Army. Vrángel’ (Baron Wrangel) PyotrNikolayevich (1878–1928). 30 June 1919: led Caucasus Army to capture Tsarítsyn. Criticized Deníkin’s leadership; 1920: commanded Whites in Crimea and southern Ukraine.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Arans, How we lost the Civil War. Bibliography of Russian émigré memoirs on the Russian revolution 1917–1921, Oriental Research Partners, Newtownville, MA, 1988. Aten, A.T. and Ormost, A., Last train over Rostóv bridge, London, 1962. Badcock, Sarah, ‘We’re for the Muzhiks’ Party! Peasant support for the Socialist Revolutionary Party during 1917’, Europe-Asia Studies, 53, 1, 2001. Barchugov, P.V., Ocherki bol’shevitskikh organizatsii Dona, Rostóv, 1973. Brinkley, G.A., The Volunteer Army and intervention in South Russia 1917–21, Notre Dame, Indiana, 1966. Brovkin, V.N., Behind the front lines of the Civil War: Political parties and social movement in Russia, 1918–1922, Princeton, NJ, 1994. GARO, Gosudárstvenny arkhív Rostóvskoy óblasti. Hill, George A., Dreaded hour, Cassell, London, 1936. Holquist, Peter, Making war, forging revolution: Russia’s continuum of crisis, 1914–1921, Harvard University Press, 2002. Kakurin, N.E., Kak srazhalas’ revolyutsiya, 2 vols, Politizdat, Moscow, 1990. Kenez, P., The defeat of the Whites, Berkeley, CA, 1977. Mámontov, Sergéy, Ne sudimy budem: pokhody i koni, Voennoye izdatel’stvo, Moscow, 1999. Mawdsley, Evan, The Russian Civil War, Allen and Unwin, Boston, MA, 1987. Meijer, J.M. (ed.), The Trotsky papers, 2 vols, Mouton, The Hague, 1962–64. Mirónov, in Danilov et al. (eds), Filipp Mironov: Tikhiy Don v 1917–1921 gg., Demokratiya, Moscow, 1997. Murphy, Brian, ‘The Don Rebellion March-June 1919’, Revolutionary Russia, December 1993. Murphy, Brian, The Russian Civil War: Primary sources, Macmillan, Basingstoke, and St Martin’s Press, 2000. Murphy, Brian, ‘Black Sea, Civil War 1919–20’, Revolutionary Russia, December 2001. Power, Rhoda, Under Cossack and Bolshevik, Methuen, London, 1919. Proletárskaya, Proletárskaya revolyutsiya na Donú, Rostóv on Don, Sborniki 1, 2, 1922, Sbornik 4, 1924. Rayenko, Ya. N., Khronika istoricheskikh sobytii na Donú, v Kubáni, i v Chernomór’e, Vypusk 1: March 1917-March 1918, Rostizdat, 1939; Vypusk 2: March 1918-April 1920, Rostóvskoye oblastnóye knigoizdátel’stvo, 1941. Reshetova, Natal’ya, Intelligentsiya Dona i Revolyutsia, Rosspen, Moscow, 1998. Rosenberg, W.G., ‘The Russian municipal Duma elections of 1917’, Soviet Studies, 1969, pp. 131– 63. Shólokhov, M.A., Quiet flows the Don, J.M.Dent, London, 1996. Shukman, Harold (ed.), The Blackwell Encyclopedia of the Russian Revolution, Oxford, 1994. Shvetsov, Sergéy, Na vysokom donskom beregu, Rostóv-on-Don, 1982. Sidorov, Vladimir, Entsiklopediya starogo Rostova i Nakhichevani-na-Donu, 6 vols, 1995. Swain, G.R., Russia’s Civil War, Tempus, 2000.

Select bibliography

182

Venkov, A., Pechat’ surovogo iskhoda: 1919 na verkhnem Donu, Rostóvskoye knizhnoye izdatel’stvo, 1988. Vólkov, S.V., Entsiklopediya grazhdanskoy voyny. Beloye dvizheniye, Olma Press, 2000. Voronóvich, N., Mezh dvukh ogney, Arkhív Russkoy Revolyutsii, 7, 1922. Williamson, H.N.H., Farewell to the Don, London, 1970.

INDEX

Note: Page numbers in bold indicate additional information on a topic.

Abgonérovo 83 Abólin, Antón 136–7; escaping from Novocherkássk 147–8 Abrámenko 66 Abrósimov, Aleksándr 131, 137; wife Marusya 144 Abrósimov, Il’yá 146, 148 Abrósimov, Semyón, engine driver 115 Abrósimov, Vasíli, informer 89; goes to Velikoknyázheskaya 124, 131; in jail 91, 100; released 144; takes charge of printing press 117; threatening letter 124, 128, 145 accountancy, young man teaches 52 accounts 24; overdue 46 ADC 28 advertisements 42, 52 Afanas’eva, killed as informer 123 Aksáy factory 59, 89, 93–4, 95, 117, 120 Aksáyskaya 60, 117 Aleksándrov 131–2 Aleksandróvka: election procedure 21–3 Aleksándrovsk-Grushevski 86 Alekséy and Kólin to hold Vasilénko 124, 126 Alekséyev 15, 28, 75; see also Persons mentioned Alexander Nevsky cathedral 74 All power to the Soviets 1, 21 Almighty Vóysko of the Don see Don Cossack government American pilot Aten 164 ammunition shortage 84

Index

184

Amúr River 26 anarchists 17, 116 Anna, Shmidt’s secretary 117 anti-Semitism 55–7; Jews’ residence restricted 4 Antónov, Yákov 59, 61 Antónov-Ovséyenko 60, 134 Anya, Red Army telephonist 58, 162 Arbitration Service authorizes rise for workers 41 Arkhípov, I.F. 80–1 Armenian People’s Party 49 Armenians 2, 18 armoured cars 10, 132 armoured trains 14, 69, 71–2, 81; captured by Whites 149; destroyed 86–7 arms: to be given in 13 artillery 169 Asmólov Tobacco Company 50, 59, 61, 116, 128 Astrakhan’ Officers Regiment 84 Atamáns elected by villages 5 Aten 164 Avdéyev, S.S. 130, 133 Avdéyev Ivan Alekséyevich, author of To Tsarítsyn with 12 trains: replaces engine driver 70–1; stationmaster at Gashún 80 Avdéyev Yevgéni in Gashún 80 Azerbaijan 94 Azóv: 1696 Russians capture Turkish fortress 2, 117 Bábchenko, Yelizari 105, 111–12 Babiyev, S. hoarded cloth for uniforms 53 baggage train 173 bail money 137; 5,000 for Zhóra Vaséchko 143; Don Committee released funds 138 bakeries pay off workers 47 Bakú 94 Bakú Commissariat 98 Balabánovski Wood 92, 127 ballast 31 bandits 68–71 barge robbed 53 Batáysk, strike ends 43, 68–9, 89, 117; Red Army near 120 Báyev: accused 136, 138–9 Belgians 18; Belgian company 41

Index

185

Bélgorod 96 Bifman 42 Bizmenov, Party representative in Nakhicheván’ 93 black earth 3, 16 Black Sea Fleet 9 Black Sea Flotilla 27 Blokhín 64–71, 84, 118 Bochkóva, woman lawyer 145 Bogáyevski, Afrikán 26; commuted death sentences 137; see also Persons mentioned Bogotyanóvski Lane 93, 146 Bol’sháya Kalítva 87 Bol’sháya Orlovka 79 Bolsheviks, London Congress 1; closed Constituent Assembly 174; dominated Soviets 2; repressed Cossacks 29 Bol’shóy prospékt 52, 88 Borísov, Colonel 60 Borkó,Yeléna 136; killed 163 bread ration coupons 24 bread supplies 47 breech blocks taken off guns 93 Brékhov 84–6 Brest-Litóvsk treaty 3 March 1918 16, 90 bribes 139 bridge across River Don 3, 68, 165, 166, 168 British Consulate 10, 17 British diplomacy 28 British Mission in Novorossísk 167–8 British officers 4, 11, 13, 14, 54 British subjects 19 Bronshtéyn see Trotsky budget for Novocherkássk 45–6 Budyónnovski prospékt 64 Budyónny 78–9, 133, 152; see also Persons mentioned buildings maintenance 46 Bund 57 Bundyúk (Mrs) wants to buy sugar 42 burglary 43 Burtylyóv, Ignáti Nikítovich, Ignat’ev Radio Operator 120; biography 134; employed in Novocherkássk radio station 129, 131, 133; stopped Novocherkássk’s radio contact with Don rebellion 135; underground members bribed Sórin 138, 139 Burtylyóva, Burtylyóv’s wife, Anna Lavrent’evna 129–30; Finance Department of the Don Committee gives 5,000 roubles for Zhóra Vaséchko 10,000 for Fíminov 143; July 1919 Mínskaya came to Rostóv 144;

Index

186

leaves train with Litvinénko 143; to Novocherkássk with son Fedya 141; safe house at 138/140 6th Street in the New Settlement 105, 134; bribed lawyers 137 burzhúi’ 13 Býstraya River 86 Býstry 87 cabs 10, 27, 91, 96, 127, 141, 153 calendar: Old Style 2, 27, 156 cartridges 79 carts 80 Catherine the Great 2 Caucasus 75, 79, 99 Caucasus Army 125 cavalry important 149; see also First Cavalry Army cells (of Communist Party) 90; established by Ósipov 93; Vasílyev to prepare 121 censorship 12, 94; of radio bulletins 135 Central Committee 90 Centre for Information on the Recent History of Rostóv Óblast,’ fond 12 ópis’ 3 TsDNIRO xii cereals: Food Commission buying flour 47 chairman’s absolute powers 89–90 Chebotaryóv, Grigóri, author of ‘death cell’ 155 Chebotaryóv, Nikolay, informer 137, 146 Chechens punishment squad 92 cheese 17 Cheká 156–7 Chentsóv 130 Cherédnik, anarchist 67 Chertkóvo 44 Chíkov 76 children starving 50 cholera: 10 cases in Tsarítsyn 51; organize vaccines 51; watch water and sewage system 51 Chudakóv, informer, killed 123 cinemas 10, 45 City Hospital 52 class gap between rich and poor 7 climate xii; January 1920, –16 Celsius, snow 150 cloth: 140 metres in Orion Hotel 53 clothing, taken from corpses 12;

Index

187

dressing up for New Year 54 coal 24; exchange for cereal 48; shortage 46 Commandant of Rail Station 80 Commissar of train 70 Commissars not all Jews 57 Communist Party see Party comrade 13, 98–9 condemned prisoners 159–64 congress (krug): Cossacks elected Krasnov May 1918 44–5 Constituent Assembly 2, 21, 130 Constitutional Democrats see Kadéts Co-operative robbed: Don-Kubán’-Térek Co-operative Society 53 corpses naked 12 corruption in Whites’ rear areas 168 Cossack infantry regiment 27 Cossacks 4–6; better educated 29; hampered Soviets 73; ‘honorary’ Cossack 54; retain weapons 74; secret session of Don Cossacks 55–6; unwilling to work under Deníkin 56 Council of Executive Heads 56 counter-intelligence 89, 92, 94; of Baltic Factory 98; gave away informers 137; replaced guards 138; searched Burtylyóva’s apartment 136; suppress printing press 123; too many agencies 133 couriers 60, 116; Várya too late in Novorossísk 126 cows 48, 80 crime 42–3, 53–4 Crimea 173 currencies forged 53; bandits change silver for notes 69; Imperial, from the time of Kérensky, issued by the Don Vóysko 107; large sum from Donburó 144 D”Aktil (pen name) see Frénkel’ Datchenko, Aleksandr 135, 141–2 death cells 147, 159–60 death sentences 43; none executed 138 defence headquarters 71, 73 delegation to Kalédin 27

Index

188

democracy 1917 many voting 20–1 Deníkin 15–17, 81–2 Denisov 63, 64 Department of Internal Affairs 55 Derzhánov 24 desertions 9, 122 Didlóvski 123 discipline 16; Germans kept 64; Trotsky 89 disease 52 Disinfectant Team 42 display types 96 District Committee see Don Committee division (artillery) section of battery, normally two guns 171 Dmítriyev, Colonel of 2nd Guards Battery 172 Dmítriyevskaya Street union premises 61 dockers 66, 93, 116, 124, 127 documents, treatment of xii Dolománski Street 143, 145 Donbáss (Donéts Basin) 86 Donburó 89; Donburó approves Don Committee membership 117; Dóroshev Secretary 95; holds workers back from open rebellion 93; links with Rostóv underground 115; sends Gorbáchik and Karagódskaya 134 Don Committee (Donkom) 90, 117 Don Cossack government 9–10, 26, 55–6, 132 Don delta: shallow channels 30–1 Donéts District 21 Donéts Republic 26 Donkom see Don Committee Don-Kubán’-Térek Co-operative Society 47, 50, 53 Don Óblast’ 26, 32, 75, 78 Don rebellion 122, 135 Don River, influenced strategy, thick ice 2 Donskáya bednotá see The Poor of the Don Donskáya volná 73 Don Soviet Republic 12, 26; evacuated Rostóv 64–7; lost control 71 Don Vóysko see Don Cossack government Dóroshev, Ippolít 66, 95–6, 118; see also Persons mentioned Drachúk 30 Drozdóvski, General Drozdóvski’s 2nd Horse Battery 172 Duma: 1917 elections to local Dumas 21, 23; restricted under tsars 21 Duménko 78–9, 84;

Index see also Persons mentioned Dunáyev, Ványa 95 Dunayévski 63 duplicating machine 95 Dúra 169, 170, 172–3 Dúrov, Íl’ya 104 dvor 141; see also yard Dvoynáya 78 D’yachénko, K.S. 86–7 Dyúzhev 130–1 Dzhurak from Remóntnoye 152 Dzýgalo, Assistant Governor 157 Eagles of the Revolution 116 Eddie 165, 167 Eiffel Tower radio reports 120, 135, 140 elections 20–1; Armenians 49 electricity: lighting cut 49; raise price 41 engine drivers 62, 77, 84 Escort Squad 147 evacuating Velikoknyázheskaya 76–7 Evening Times 57 executions: and priest 73; Reds shoot boys 12; Whites hang many 92, 129, 165 explosives 140 Fadéyev-Kámenski 63 families of railwaymen 79–81 Fayn, Director of tram company 92 Fedáy, Ivan 129 Feodósiya 64 Fíminov released for 10,000 roubles 143 finance: from Donburó 107, 117; local 23; receipts 143 Finance Department 143, 145 fire brigade 46 fireman 77 First Cavalry Army 79, 149–150 First of May 92, 132 fisherman 117 food 7, 17; children starving 50; lavish portions for Red Guards 73

189

Index Food Administration forbids private purchase 47 forage for horses 46 French 18, 28 Frénkel’ 95, 116, 118; see also Persons mentioned front lines not continuous 60, 79, 91 frostbite 10 fuel: high price, tanks containing petrol 49 Galinítsov yard 43 galoshes 44 Gamtsiyev 93 Gashún 79–80 Gavron 150 Gaydamáki 97; see also Glossary Gaydúk 74 Gelendzhík, Sidorchúk executed 126 Gel’fat: not with the Bolsheviks 57 Gerásimov, Colonel 48 German governess 15 Germans take Rostóv 17; discipline 64, 89; will not invade Kubán’ 47 Germany November 1918 rebellion 132 Gershtéyn 72 Gileád 63 Glushánin 83 Gniloaksáyskaya 83 Gnilóvskaya Whites threaten Kolkhída 31, 171 gold 95; bail for Burtylyóv 144 Gololénko 71–2, 74 Gólubev 74 Gorbáchik, Ól’ga (Mínskaya) 90, 128, 137; in July did not know of disaster in May 144 Gordon, Anna, Secretary of Don Committee 117; comes to Burtylyóva 143; escaped arrest 138, 140; Morózov, ‘Anna a bitch’ 145; stayed with Burtylyóva 134; in Taganróg District 123, 127, 130 Gordon Highlanders 54 Government Bridge 75 Grach 84, 87 grain Germans export from Ukraine 16 Greeks 3 Greens 124–6, 131; see also Murphy Black Sea Civil War 1919–20

190

Index Grékov 119, 132 Gremyáchaya 83 Guard Company 73 guarding public buildings 54 Gundoróvski village 74, 79 Gun’kó destroyed bridge 137 guns, locks removed 90 Gusev 79, 87 Guzíyev N.A., Commandant of Rail Station 80; commands fourth train 81 Hill George 54 Holquist 73 horse races 45 horses lost 46; in rail fire 49; requisitioned 65 hospital deficient 52 hostages 15, 16, 31; from jail 147 Hotel Rostóv 166 ice breaker 167, 169, 171 Ice Campaign 10, 16 ice, thick on Sea of Azóv 2, 49; thin below Sinyávka 171; whipped up in Don estuary 165 icon 7 identity papers 98, 100, 121 Ikayev 92 inflation checked 45, 122 informers 117, 123, 136–7 intelligence: collected by Denisov 59 international detachment: good order 67 Internationale 126 Irkutsk 135 Ivanov 32 Japanese in Siberia 135 Jewish cemetery 163 Jews: considered responsible for Civil War 56, 57; efficiency 4; hated by peasants 3–4; see also anti-Semitism Junkers 9, 10, 14, 26, 30, 32, 43 Kadéts 73, 130

191

Index

192

Kagántsevs 144 Kaiser 6 Kalédin, Don Vóysko elected 5; introduced martial law, retook Rostóv 9, 10, 25–7, 32, 63, 88–9, 133; see also Persons mentioned Kalyuzhny 63 Kámenev, Sergéy Sergéyevich see Persons mentioned Kamenolomni, bodies found 53 Kámenskaya Congress 10, 21, 86 Kanevski dentist 55 Karagódskaya, Maríya 134, 140 Kastornóye 178 Kas’yánov 79, 87 Kazerbyúk 30 Kérensky 78, 86 Khakhládze merchant 162 Khár’kov 26, 74, 84, 95, 98, 133 Khar’kov Ford across Mánych 75 Khonguróv 162–3 Khoróshi 32 kindergarten classes 42, 50 Kinkhead 165 Kniga,V.I. 150 Kolern 121 Kolin 124, 126 Kolkhída 30, 88, 171 Kolpakóv Red Cavalry commander 78 Konotóp 85 Kopmykóv, Chief of Police 41 Kóriyev 43 Kornílov 10, 15–16 Korotkov 87 Kotél’nikovo 79, 82–3 Kovalyóv, Kóstya 143 Koysút on southern shore 171 Kozlóv 130 Krasnodár see Yekaterinodár Krasnokútskaya Wood 141 Krasnóv 26, 44–5, 64, 77, 89, 100, 118–19; see also Persons mentioned Krásov 113 Kravtsóv, K.L. 80 Krepostnóy Lane, Ósipov to instal printing press 93 Krivoshlýkov 64, 131; see also Persons mentioned Kropótkin 17, 59 Krug (Cossack parliament) 44–5, 89 Krylénko 57 Kubán’ Cossacks 91, 93 Kubán’region 10, 26, 93 Kubán’ River 173 Kuberlé 78–80

Index

193

Kuberlé River 78–9 kulaks 29 Kundí 30 Kunítsa 93, 123 Kursk 95–6, 100 Kutépov, General 165 Kuz’mín, Colonel 171 Kuznétskaya Street 143 land allocation 24, 29 Land Commission 24 Lárin 134 lawyers Sénchenko, Sórin 137 leaflets 56, 106–7, 116, 134–5 Ledenyov 146 Leli works 116 Lénin 1, 2, 21, 118, 122–3 Leningrád 1 letters delayed 42 Lightning train 121 Likhaya 49 Lines in Nakhicheván’: Line 21 43; Line 25 117; Line 35 123 Listopád, Zhénya 103 Listóv 111 Litvinénko, Várya 140, 143 livestock: meeting to discuss renting a common area of pasture 48 loan from individual contributors 46 Local Executive Committee 76 locomotives: steam 61–2, 69, 77 Lokermán 61 Lomtalídze, lawyer, L’s father Inspector of Schools 160–1 London Congress 1 looting 14–15, 59 Lóvchikov 106 Lunachárski 57 Lúrikh 157–8 L’vov 150 Lysénko 79, 87 Lyúba 128 Lyubichóva 43 Mackinder 154 Magistrates’ Court 145 Makhnó 17, 59 Maksímovich 128 Málaya Kirsánovka 98–9

Index

194

Málaya Orlovka 79 malína 43 Malinóvskaya, Maríya 103 Malínskaya, Maríya (registered as Vera Smirnóva) 129; escapes 136; defers interrogation 138; drinks with officers 140; take off list 141 Malinski, I.A. 51 Mály Kurgan 97 Mály prospékt 89 Mámontov, Konstantín 1919 cavalry raid disrupted Red Army’s rear 130 Mámontov, Sergéy 168–9 Mankóvski, sergeant 111 Mánych: Red Army retreats across the river 120; ship cereals, sunflower seed 47 maps 59 Marinéts, Pável 140 Mariúpol’ 18, 49, 117 market forces Gurvich favours 46 Markets, Old and New 53 Mars Theatre 29, 63 martial law 26 Marúsya Nikíforova 89 Mashchenko 22 Máslov 99, 100, 145 Mayor 23, 24 Menshevik propaganda 30, 54, 59, 76–7 Ménsheviks 1, 17, 61, 84 116, 118 Mentsov 89 military detachments 120 Military Revolutionary Council 26 Militia: 7th Sector 95 Míllerovo 93, 130, 131, 140 Minasov, robber 53 Mínskaya see Gorbáchik Mironénko destroyed bridge 137, 146 Mishustin 146 mitigation of sentence 146 Mít’ka the Boa constrictor 157–8 Mochálov 133 Mókry Batáysk 119 molasses 35 Morkovitski 32 Morózov 145 Morózovsk 76, 78–9, 84–7 Morse code 93 Moscow 1, 64, 134 Moskóvskaya Street 132 Moskvina, Varya 142

Index

195

mothers plead for coming generation 12 Múra-Mysakhlyánski 43 Murávich (‘Bródsky’) arrested 136, 137, 146; stayed with parents in Rostóv 148 Murlychóv, Yúra 89, 93, 94–7, 100, 116–17, 120, 130, 131 Múrmansk 19 Nakhámkis 57 Nakhicheván’ founded by Catherine 3; Council staff ask for Saturdays off 50; Nakhicheván’ Duma 23–5 Nakhicheván’ Lane 144–5 Naliváyko ten years hard labour 146 Napiváyko 111 Natasha Sabárov 7, 17 Nazárov, A.M., Atamán 26, 32, 61; see also Persons mentioned Nésterov 43 New Market 110 New Settlement: 7th Street 127; 53 Bogdánov Street 91; 138/140 6th Street 138 New Year 1918–19 54–5 Nicholas II 2, 73 Nikítovka-yáma 117 Nikoláyevski Lane 17 Nikólskaya Street 132; grocery shop 105; residence of Mótya Popóva 144–5 Nina 164 Novitski, student sent to Novorossísk 125 Novocherkássk 9, 18–19, 26; base for Whites 95; Beryózkin, Vysechkó, Uspénski and Zhitkóv escape to Rostóv 147; budget 45; Burtylyóv transmits reports 134; debit 46; radio station 135; Reds arrested 123; Vasíli Chebataryóv informer 146 Novokhátski, Vasíli Andréyevich (Morin) 13; ‘I have worked in the police’ 98, 140; professional printer 94; sent to 7th Militia Sector 95 Novokhopyórsk 130 Novorossísk: Greens powerful, Rostóv establishes contact 125, 131; ice free port 65; March 1920 Whites evacuate 168, 173 Novosvyatáysk 150

Index

196

nurses 14 Óblast’ Food Administration 46–7 Oblivskáya 32, 86 October Revolution 1917: Bolsheviks seize power in Petrográd, Soviets celebrated on 7 November, New Style 2 officers 163–4 officers’ caps 28 Okhnyánski, Denisov blames for Ménsheviks’ half-hearted policy 61–2 Oleynikov, cab driver 91 Ól’ga see Gorbáchik (Mínskaya) Ól’ginskaya stanítsa, between Rostóv and Novocherkássk 152 Omél’chenko, Posts and telegraphs 129; appointed Director 133 ópis ’3 138 Ordzhonikídze, Sergó 65–70; wife hid money 68 Orgburó 90 Orlóv 51, 59 Orlovka 72, 79 Orlóvski 155 Oryól 168 Ósipov 88, 93, 137 Our Banner 25–6 Our Struggle, published in Tsarítsyn 32 outrage 165; see also Preface Ovsyánnikov see Volmér Palace Hotel 64 pamphlets 26, 96, 121 panic 75 paper supplies for the printing press 100 partisans 78–9, 86, 89 Party 89; 7th Party Congress 95; Describes District Committee 94; discipline 91, 120; finance Ósipov to control funds 93; funds from Donburó 116; organization 89–90, 120 passport 96, 98–9; passport showed—Malínskaya resident with Burtylyóva 136 pasture 48 Pável Marinéts 90, 140 Pavoríchki, courier, distributed pamphlets 116 peace, land and bread 9 pensions 24; assistance for soldiers’ families 50 People’s University 51 Persiánovka 140

Index

197

Peschinka 71 Peter, the Great 2 Petersburg 1 petitions 159–60 Petkévich telegraphist 76 Petrénko 118 Petrográd 1, 8, 63 petrol found in rail stations 49 Petróv,V 112, 123, 137; bribed court 139 Pímenov 137, 140 Pivovárov (Kalitá) 91, 122, 128, 130, 137 planes 82, 85 Platóvskaya 79 Podtyólkov 64, 116, 131; see also Persons mentioned pogóny see shoulder straps pogroms expected 8, 55 Pokráss 155 Pokróvski 120 Police 41, 94–5, 99, 100, 121–2 Polish front 149 political parties 23 Polovinkin 170 Poltorátski, anarchist 116 Ponomaryóv 131 pood, former measure of weight 42 The Poor of the Don 120, 131–2 Poplávski, L. 80 Popóv, doctor 142 Popóv, former Mayor 23 Popóv, General 147 Popóva, Mótya 143, 145 port facilities unhygienic 52 Posts and Telegraph Union 131 Potótski 30, 31, 88 Priazóvski kray 27, 51; source for excerpts in chapter 4 Daily life 41, 100, 119, 131–2 priest shot 73 printing blocks 100 printing press 100, 115; betrayed 136 prison 114 prison library as meeting place 158 Proletársk (Proletárskaya stanítsa formerly Velikoknyázheskaya) 80 Prospékt Chékhova 17 Provisional Government: continued war against Germany 2 Pskov 55 Pushkin Street 15, 122 Putílov works 59 puttees 10

Index

198

queues 24 Ráda ‘parliament’ (Ukraine and Kubán’) 97; Cossacks aim shells at rails 85; January 1920 only bridge across River Don 164 rail: no lines open to Vorónezh or Kiev, Only line open through Zvérevo runs to Mariúpol’ 49; see also stations rail ticket 142 railwaymen 3; deny locomotives to Whites 61; most railwaymen were left-wing 129; Ordzhonikídze’s train delayed 68; railwaymen not paid for four months 63; railwaymen shot 62; see also rail workshops railways three routes intersect at Rostóv 3; Greens attack trains 125; January 1920 1st Cavalry blow up line to Batáysk 153; rapid spread of rail network 65; shortage of fuel 18; strategic importance 64; Vladikavkáz Railway Company 118–19; see also trains, Vladikavkáz Railway Company rail workshops 26, 51, 59, 61, 119 rape: Ánya, age 15, raped before she was hanged 162 rate of interest not more than 7% 46 rations: Food Commission stops issuing ration cards for flour 48 Rátner SR, Chairman of Nakhicheván’ Duma 23 reconnaissance 118 Red Army: 8th Red Army approaching from Taganróg 131; families 79–80 The Red Banner 120 Red Guards 9, 11, 15, 18, 21, 73; commanders elected, loose discipline leaves front open 78, 86, 88; discuss evacuation, panic 75 refugee train 18 register of residents 139 Reilly, Sidney, master spy 54 Remóntnoye 152 Reshetnyák counter-intelligence officer, escaped retribution 157 revolutionaries: dedication 58 Revolutionary Military Council controlled each Red Army unit 176 Revolutionary Military Headquarters 63 Rhoda Power 6; Power 181 rich well fed 7–8

Index

199

RKP(b) see Bolsheviks roads: poorly surfaced 64 Rodiónov, forty-five versts from Rostóv 150 Rogov 91 Románov, Vasílyev confided his hiding place 122, 123, 130 Romanóvski 87 Rosenburg 21; see also Bibliography Roskóshny 87 Rostóv Commission, for Leisure Activities 51 Rostóv-on-Don situation, strategic importance: 555 vote 21; 1761 founded at lowest crossing point over Don 2; 1917 70; 2 May 1918 Reds evacuate Rostóv 64, 8–10; January 1920 Red Army retake 149; major port, 1912 population 199, 200; Rostóv Soviet forms Military Revolutionary Committee 9; three rail routes met at Rostóv 3 Rostóv Prison: District 1 Rostóvskaya rech’ 12 Rot 145 Rotunda Novokhátski invited to meeting 95 Rózin 130 Rubán, I.I. with Avdéyev 77, 80 Russia: economic development 1, 65 Russian Empire 1 RVS see Revolutionary Military Council RýbkinYákov 137, 146 Rývkin 100 Sabárovs 6, 10, 15, 17; see also Persons mentioned Sadóvaya 10, 11, 14, 64; see also Glossary safe houses 93–4, 100, 127, 134; notice in window 136 sailors 9, 21, 27–8, 31, 133 Sal’sk District 74, 78 Samárski village 120 Samókhin 52 Samóylov 59, 61–3 Samsonov 79, 87, 116 Sandutsi, Captain Borís 156 Saráyev 152 Sarépta 70, 84 schoolboys 12 Sea of Azóv fresh water: thick ice persists in March 2

Index Sedýkh 61 Selivánov (‘Chernóv’) 100, 117 Sénchenko, A., Sórin’s brother-in-law 135, 139 Sénchenko, Zhóra freed for 200,000 roubles 145 Sénnaya Street 128, 146 Sennykh 87 sentences 43, 131; quashed 137–8; sentence commuted 147 servants 7, 14 Shákhty 93; see also Aleksándrovsk-Grushevski Shchadénko 86, 87, 133; see also Persons mentioned Shcherbakóv 58; see also Persons mentioned shells 30, 82 Shevkoplyásov 78–9, 84 Shmánov 25–32 Shmáyev 79, 87 Shmidt 90 Shólokhov 58 shortage of cartridges 79 shoulder straps 27; hated 32 Shtéyger 81 Sidorchúk 90–2, 128, 129 Simon, L.V., senior commander 81 Símonov, Deputy Governor 54, 157 Símonova 51, 55, 59 Sinyávka 169, 170 Sívers 60, 131 Skasyrskaya 86 slogans 72 Smele, Jonathan, on Japanese 135 Smirnóv, Colonel 156 Smirnóv, trade union leader 61 Smirnóva 138; see also Malínskaya smoke screen 83 snow two feet deep 150 Sochi 125 Social Democrats 1, 21, 59, 95, 129, 133 Socialist Revolutionaries 17, 21, 59 Sofíysky cemetery 131 soldiers 8, 10 Sórin, lawyer 137; friend of Svírin 143 Sorókin 69, 89 Sósyk 69 Sotnikova in Finance Department 143 Southern Column 78

200

Index

201

Sovdépiya 132 Soviet of People’s Commissars of the Don Republic 131; see also Don Soviet Republic Soviet Russia 89, 90, 98 Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies 9, 27 Soviets 1; Bolsheviks pushed out other parties 2; dominant in large industrial centres 9; favoured workers’ state 2; at first contained several political parties 159 speculation individuals forbidden to buy flour and grain 47; speculators sell loaves from villages 48 Spírin, Grigóri Yákovlevich 50, 58, 100; arrested 136; Whites refuse to release but no one will be executed 139, 146 Spírina, Yeléna Nikoláyevna Grigori’s mother (name Maríya given in error) 131; brother Iván, (age 11) 131; sister Klávdiya, (age 10) 131 Stalin 56, 57, 71, 79 Stalingrad see Tsarítsyn stanítsa 5 Staropochtovy Lane 42 Stásya 128 stations 11, 15, 18, 57–9, 65, 96, 99, 132, 166 station staff 80 Stávropol’ 71 Stávropol’ Province: Germans will not invade 47, 66, 74, 75 steamers 140 Stepalkóvski, Prison Governor 157 Stepánov 60–3 6th Street 138/140 Burtylyóva’s apartment 140; see also New Settlement streets foul 46 strikes 43, 61–2 Student Battalion 147 students praise February Revolution 8; envied by working class 15; financial difficulties 41; kópecks 50; pay flat tram fare of 10; willing to teach 52 sturgeon 55 sugar: speculation 42; sugar ration coupons stolen 43 Súlin, Reds derail trains 93 Súmy 96; in Ukraine 97 sunflower oil 48 supplies 78, 80 Svirin, District Court investigator 143–4

Index

202

Syrtsóv, Sergéy 30, 55, 56, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 89, 129 Taganróg 17, 27–8, 31, 48, 49, 52, 98, 115; Reds arrested 123, 140 Taganrógski prospékt (now Budyónnovski prospékt) 64, 132 Tambóv 130 tanks 10, 150 Tatárinov 109; disguised as sailor to trap Burtylyóv 139; tortures Spírin 110–11 Tatsinskaya 86 tax: on towns resisting Bolsheviks 16 teachers advertising lessons 52 telegraph 64 Témernik District 52, 55, 59, 63 Témernik River 51, 132 Tikhorétskaya 26, 51, 57, 61, 69 Tingutá 83 Tólotski, N.V., Chairman of Defence Headquarters of Sal’sk District 64 Torgóvaya 71, 79 torture 52 továrishch 13 trade unions 118 trains 18; cross front lines 59; hospital train 164; Ordzhonikídze’s train 60; red light stop 143 Tram Depot 126 trams 9, 121, 127, 141; 10 July 1918 raise fares 50–1; Ósipov organiser 90; stopped trams on First of May 92; tram workers join military units 120, 128–9, 153; Tram workshops 88 Trans-Amúr Cavalry Regiment 26 treacle producing, alcoholic drink 43 Treasurer Vasilénko 117, 126 Trífonov, V. 90 Trotsky 63, 89; see also Persons mentioned Tsaritsa River 57 Tsarítsyn 32, 57, 58; 1925 renamed Stalingrad, 1961 Volgográd 57; manufacturing armaments 61–3; Red Army stronghold 66, 79 TsDNIRO see Centre for Information on the Recent History of Rostóv Óblast’ Tundútovo 83–4 tunnel from prison 158 Turgenev Street 145

Index

203

Turno 24 typeface 96, 100 typhoid and typhus 52, 147 Ukraine occupied by Germans 64; Makhnó impedes Whites 60; October 1920 1st Cavalry crossing Ukraine 150; Ukrainian nationalists 97 Ukrainian name 100 underground military units 51, 59 Uspénski, Vadim professor’s son translated radio reports for Reds 135, 137 Val’kóvo 78–9, 87 valuables 62 Vaséchko, Zhora released 137; for 5,000 roubles 143 Vasíl’chenko, S.F. 25, 26 Vasilénko, Yemel’yán (Bezrúki), Party Treasurer 89; informer 117, 123–4; killed 128, 131, 143–4; Novokhátski meets 94–5; police search 100; to Donburó 116; tried to escape 127 Vasílyev, A. commanded southern group June 1918 75 Vasílyev (Shmidt), Andrey Yefrémovich 89–90; leader of Party underground 1919 128, 130, 137; in Vasílyeva’s apartment 145; verified ópis’ 3 138; see also Persons mentioned Vasílyev, Borís, Chairman of Rostóv Mensheviks 90 Vasílyeva, Maríya gives coded phone messages to Burtylyóva 145 Vasya 128 Vatsétis 63 Velikoknyázheskaya stanítsa 71; 26 June prepare to leave 76 Vérkhne-Popóva 79, 87 Vernidúb 117 verstá 177 Vínkler 52 Vinogradov 93 Viri works 88 Vítebsk 115 Vladikavkáz 50, 57–8 Vladikavkáz Railway Company 58, 84; expansion 118–19; workshops 51, 59, 65, 88, 116 Vol’f, Yeléna 90; member of Don Committee 117; Vasilénko asks for Yeléna to be present when his case is considered 127 Volga, rail route from Rostóv 57

Index

204

Volkovaya 139 Volmér (Ovsyánnikov) 90, 130, 137 Volmér came to back up underground Reds 128 Vólova lawyer obtained mitigation of sentence 114 Volóvaya lawyer 137; forced to retreat 132; Power sees worn out officers 10; took Rostóv May 1918 16; Volunteer Army formed by Kornilov, Deníkin and Alekséyev 15 Volunteer Army: deploying on south bank of Don 166; February 1918 Rhoda Alekseyev 15 Vorónezh 130, 133; First Cavalry defeated Whites 150 Voropáyev 61–2 Voroshílov 84–5, 133, 152; see also Persons mentioned votes in Rostóv 21, 130 Vrángel’ 6 Vychevski 145 wages in Rostóv higher than in Soviet territory 45 warder provides plan 63 water: carry to engines 83; mains need repairs 46; poison supply 80–1; precautions against cholera 51–2 Wheat at Velikoknyázheskaya, ship to Rostóv along Rivers Mánych and Don 48 Whites: HQ in Novocherkássk 134; White Guards 55 Williamson 4 working hours 41; staff ask for Saturdays off in July and August 50 Yámburg 63 yard (dvor) 141; old man employed to sweep the yard 162–3 Yekaterinodár 16; rail link to Novorossísk 65, 69, 93; Reds arrested 123 Yekaterinosláv 84 Yeléna see Vol’f Yél’mut 74, 77 Yemel’yán see Vasilénko Yermák 88 Yermólov, Fyódor 130 Yudénich 63 Yúdin 172

Index

205

Zakutni 146 Zarzhevski 156 Zaslávski 43 Zhénya Zhirnovó: in coal bearing area 86 Zhlóba 71, 79, 84 Zhuk 30 Zhútovo River Reds repair bridge with telegraph poles 83 Zimovnikí 79, 80 Zólin 61 Zubov’ Nikolay, disabled engines on steamer 140 Zyálkin, F. 59, 61