My Life In Russia’s Service;

Chapter Four

return to russia

While I had been acknowledging the farewell ovations from the officers of the Rossya, a little group had gathered near me which took in these doings with particular interest. An old man with a white beard disengaged himself from this group and said to me: “You must be feeling pretty proud about this, sir?” It was Mr. Bell of Telephone fame, who was returning to the United States after a business visit to Japan. He had his wife and two very pretty daughters with him. Apart from the Bell family and my two companions, Lieutenants Kube and Pusanoff, the Rossya’s paymaster, the latter being in charge of my finances, there was a Russian doctor proceeding to Honolulu. 

This little intimate group was all the Society on board.

The steamer belonged to an American company and was by no means a luxury liner. She carried five masts for emergency purposes in case her engines should break down on the way, but in spite of this cumbersome burden, she did a steady fourteen knots all the time.

The voyage passed without any untoward incidents. There were the usual deck games, and the ship’s doctor added to the monotony of a quiet sea and the rhythmic thud of the engines by singing sentimental German songs.

Every morning he and the captain would be seen ‘shooting the sun.’[1]

When we passed the 18oth degree latitude, I experienced the curious time freak of two consecutive Fridays.

Eight days after leaving Yokohama we reached Honolulu, which at that time presented none of those attractions for which it is now so famous as a Pacific resort. It had then, I think, only recently come under American suzerainty, and apart from the town and a number of sugar plantations worked by Germans, it had little of interest for a casual visitor, as there was not enough time to see the interior.

After two days at that island, we continued on our way to San Francisco.[2]

I was greatly struck by the magnificent harbour, which like Constantinople and Vladivostok has its ‘Golden Horn,’ but apart from the fact that San Francisco, including my hotel, was at that time almost entirely built of wood, I remember little.

I was in a hurry to return to Europe, and my recollections of the trans-continental journey are of the vaguest. At every station where the train stopped I was pestered by journalists who swarmed upon me like bees. They wanted to know everything. ‘What do you think of the Far East situation?’[3] or ‘What is your impression of American girls ? ’ and much else was fired at me. About the political situation I knew nothing and cared less—I am a naval officer—and about American women—after all, I had had scarcely time enough to look around. I had met none; I was anxious to get back to Europe as soon as possible.

This farce was repeated again and again until I became thoroughly tired of it all.

I interrupted my journey at Chicago, where I was met by our Consul, Baron Schlippenbach, who took me to the fashionable and magnificently equipped ‘Gentlemen’s Club.’ I think that I spent two days at Chicago altogether, and I had a good general impression of the place and American life. 

It was December and bitterly cold, and I just remember having had a glimpse of the frozen Niagara Falls through the windows of my compartment.

The journey across the United States had taken about one week, but the very well equipped and comfortable Pullman coaches of the various railways left one none the worse for this long period spent in trains. I had been well looked after and had all the comforts that could be devised as well as excellent food.

Arrived at New York, I decided to stop there a week, attending Divine Service at our Church[4] and seeing all that could be seen during such a short stay. An excellent impression was made on me by the high standard of acting in the theatres, and by New York’s gay night life.

Then I boarded the Fürst Bismarck,[5] bound for Genoa, and, I believe, one of the North German Lloyd’s steamers.

Here all was very different from the old-fashioned Pacific steamer with its homely atmosphere.

The Fürst Bismarck was one of those vessels which foreshadowed the swimming palaces that were to come upon the sea, veritable luxury hotels afloat, which, in a way, take away much of what used to be fascinating and original in a long crossing on board the small craft of other days.

To us sailors these modem liners with all the ‘hullaballoo’ of their cocktail bars and other ‘blessings’ of modernity are a wanton incursion of ‘landlubberism’ into our realm, which has always held us to it with its dangers and uncertainties, has invited us to wrestle with its primitive spirit in a contest of skill and courage.

Moreover, I hate crowds. I have always hated them, and the Bismarck was packed like a box of sardines!

Fortunately, they had provided me with the ladies’ lounge which I had entirely to myself.

While we were mooring at Genoa, I noticed two girls waving to me frantically from the shore. The situation was awkward, as I had not the least idea who they were.

I said good-bye to Captain Albers and thanked him for the excellent arrangements which he had made for my comfort and stepped ashore, where I was met enthusiastically by the girls whose salutations had puzzled me so. They were Ella and Marie Naryshkin[6], the dancing partners of my childhood days who had grown up into handsome young women, and had become pleasantly unrecognizable.

They were staying with their mother on the Italian Riviera, for it was January of the year 1899, and during the severe winters all who could get away to the pleasant warmth of the south did so.

I paid a hurried visit to Cannes, where I met my Mecklenburg relations and a number of others. We played golf, bicycled together and had a very pleasant time.

Thence I rushed home to Russia, where I presented myself to my parents and the late Emperor.

He gave me my well-earned leave, and I decided to return forthwith to Cannes, where I was sure to find many people of interest.

Cannes in those days was a most exclusive winter colony of Royalties. Its villa life was unique of its kind with an atmosphere of exquisite refinement and old-world culture. There were no crowds, no casino, no rowdyism, and no tourists. Everything breathed with the spirit of that inimitable refinement which belongs to a world the shattered fragments of which have been washed irretrievably by war and revolutions into the sea of history.

It was a welcome change from the strenuous work on board and I intended to make the best of this congenial atmosphere.

My brother Boris, Kube, and I left accordingly for Cannes.

On our arrival we found that the Prince of Wales was staying there. He had his yacht Britannia with him.

There were many names famous in the English Society of the ’nineties among those who were staying there at the time. I remember especially Sidney Greville, the Prince’s equerry. Occasionally we joined Prince Edward’s week-end parties at Monte Carlo, where we took part in all kinds of pleasant social diversions. He attracted around him a very congenial spirit of brilliant gaiety, and it was a real pleasure to be in his company.

At Cannes I found Cousin Michael and his wife, Countess Torby. My Mecklenburg relations were still there and Princess Charlotte Reuss, and a host of other Royal guests who entertained one another and joined in the many social activities of the season. After a pleasant six weeks’ holiday I returned to Russia and the sea.

The gunnery school which I joined at Reval consisted of a rare collection of maritime show-wonders, many of which belonged to the immediate post-Crimean period. It was as though these ancient hulks had been specially gathered from a desire to preserve them for a kind of object lesson of how things should not be done at sea.

It was a quixotic armada which I beheld with something approaching a feeling of mingled pity and awe.

They were the scrapings of our fleet, veritable museum pieces of archaeological interest.

There was the old Kreml, for example, a vessel which was more like a crab than anything else I have ever seen. It was a standing joke in the Navy that she was obsessed with awe of the Island of Gothland, for whenever she drew up with its coasts, she passed it moving sideways as if in terror of some fearful calamity that might lie in store for her if she were to pass it otherwise. The Japanese, I believe, perform some funeral rites before scrapping their ships in the belief that these have souls. Ships may have souls, at any rate some sailors think so, and if any vessel had a spirit of dark superstition in her, it was this one.

And there was another, which when the helm was put to starboard would invariably proceed to meander about, and then move in the opposite direction or turn right round on her course. And some of these museum pieces in that scrap-heap were actually sent out to fight the Japanese. Their real purpose was that of monitors, but the most they could do was to float.

We have a word for vessels of the kind. We call them ‘old goloshes,’ and if ever there was a lumber-room containing all the old and useless ‘goloshes’ it was to be found here. Forty years previously they might have done.

Some of them found it hard to negotiate the easy passage from Reval to Helsingfors[7]. Into these flat-bottom affairs they had built some modern guns, which were to provide us with training in gunnery.

I was appointed to the General Admiral, a square-rigged, half-sail and half-steam frigate for which six knots was the very maximum of speed.

To add to the inconsistency of the situation a brilliant man was in command of this gunnery school afloat. He was Rojdestvenski[8], then a Rear-Admiral, the defamed hero of one of the great exploits in naval annals, a kind of Hannibal of the Sea, of whom I will have occasion to say a few words later. I consider it my duty to pay a tribute to this Russian patriot who sailed to certain doom, about which he had no illusions whatever, with a floating scrap- heap, over twenty thousand miles of sea, unbacked by any base and with the face of the world set hard and sarcastically against him. And when they knew that all was lost, that Port Arthur had fallen, and the armies routed, they met a splendidly equipped enemy born to the sea, and in an unequal contest they perished like men, fighting till the sea closed over them.

In spite of this heterogeneous and obsolete collection of hulks, I learnt much that was useful to me in the way of practical gunnery, and I got to know the Admiral as a man of severe and upright character, one passionately attached to his duty and painstaking, possessed, moreover, with an unflinching will to overcome all difficulties.

It was, indeed, his misfortune that he had such useless material in his hands, but ill luck pursued him throughout his career.

My training in gunnery was interrupted for a brief interval by my parents’ silver wedding[9], which was entirely a private affair and recalled lor a moment the very happy home of my childhood.

I rejoined my ship and continued my training until early September, when we all returned to Kronstadt and leave, the fleet being dismantled for the winter. The Baltic freezes in those parts and makes navigation possible only with the aid of ice-breakers, hence we had to continue our service on shore during the winter months until spring recalled our ships to activity from the hibernation which nature had forced upon them.

I intended to go to Paris, but my brother Boris who had been invited to Darmstadt by our cousin the Grand Duchess Victoria Melita of Hesse, as she then was, persuaded me to come with him.

There was going to be a family gathering at Wolfsgarten, near Frankfurt. Everyone was going to be there. I did not regret my decision as I found the occasion one of unrestrained and quite natural gaiety. The late Emperor and Empress were among the guests. It was the home ol her childhood. We were en famille and lived a normal and charming life among the pleasant and wooded surroundings of the Grand Ducal estate. There were amateur theatricals in the evenings at which all of us performed, rides and drives in the woods and pleasant pranks, and time passed only too quickly. Our hosts were Victoria Melita and her husband, the Grand Duke of Hesse, the brother of the late Empress and of the Grand Duchess Sergey. I have the happiest recollections of this visit, and it must have been a success, for the late Empress was particularly gay and charming, and gaiety was not part of her character. This place contained memories of her youth and she felt at home in these familiar surroundings.

The only official business that came our way was the consecration of our Church[10] at Darmstadt.

Princess Louis Battenberg lived quite near at Schloss Jugendheim, where we paid her a visit.

Boris and I left this happy gathering for Paris and before our return to Russia we spent a few days with Uncle Alfred and Aunt Marie[i] at Coburg. While we were with them, the Grand Duchess Victoria Melita came to see her mother.

Uncle Alfred’s estates had some excellent shooting, a pastime of which I have always been particularly fond.

On my return to St. Petersburg I served with the Naval Guards in the dual capacity of Lieutenant in Her Majesty’s first Company and of A.D.C. to the late Emperor.

The winter season at the capital pursued its uninterrupted course of brilliant gaieties, with great Court Balls and private social functions. These episodes of a sunken world are like a series of kaleidoscopic pictures, with their colours and movement and unmatched splendour;—a last great and spectacular effort, before the fall of the curtain. The ‘grand finale’ of an epoch. 

The Princess Hohenlohe-Langenburg, who was to be my youngest sister-in-law, joined in all these festivities, entering into their spirit with the charming elegance and grace which was hers. She was very popular among society and with us, who called her ‘Sandra.’

I cannot pass over this occasion without paying some tribute to the efficient organization of the Court. It was a model institution of its kind and worked with clock-like precision. Of all the official institutions in Russia, I think, without exaggeration, it was the best organized.

It was entirely self-contained, had its minister with his department, and was, in fact, a State within a State.

Quite apart from its splendour, which at no time was permitted to become overloaded or to stick blindly to a military discipline or pedantic ceremonial, it combined, as it were, the best points of all the Courts of Europe. And it had charm!

We were an enormously rich country, the wealthiest in the world at that time, but in spite of this its wealth never expressed itself in vulgar show. A spirit of culture and refinement pervaded the Court representing the best traditions of eighteenth-century Europe in a modern setting. Its organization left nothing to be desired. This clock beat rhythmically, when, alas, so much else was allowed to lag behind in the other spheres of the machine of State.

One occasion during this gay season, especially, stands out among all these fascinating but now hazy recollections of Court and Society life, and this was a fancy dress ball which we gave at the Vladimir Palace, when men were dressed in the dashing Polish uniforms of the Napoleonic era and the women wore classical ‘Empire’ dresses.

This ball was such a conspicuous success that the late Emperor had it repeated at the Ermitage Palace.

In the early spring of 1900 I paid a visit to Cannes, where I met all the usual habitués, and on my return to Russia was appointed to the Rostislav, one of the units of our Black Sea fleet.

The Captain of the Rostislav was Grand Duke Alexander Michaelovich[11], whom we called Sandro in the family. He was the husband of my cousin, the popular and very charming Grand Duchess Xenia.[ii] [12]

I visited them on the conclusion of my service with the Black Sea fleet, at their Crimean castle of Aitodor[13], where for the first time in my life I saw vineyards. All kinds of wines were produced in the Crimea, even champagne, which was so excellent that it was served at Court banquets.

The Crimea and the Caucasus, in fact, the whole of the Black Sea littoral, are a veritable paradise of nature, abounding in vegetation and natural beauty.

For that reason, service with our Black Sea squadron was a pleasure. Curiously enough, and for no apparent reason at all, our fleet in those hospitable regions only went to sea in the summer, possibly out of sympathy with our Baltic squadron, which, for reasons already mentioned, had no alternative to remaining ice-bound at its base. The Black Sea is open for navigation during the whole winter and yet our men-of-war were confined to port. Only skeleton crews were left on the ships, the others occupied naval barracks and for the time being became Marines. The whole thing was amazing, and needed, as did the whole of our Navy, stringent measures of reform.

The Rostislav was a new vessel, but in spite of that a failure. As a man of war she did not want in comforts, but from a practical point of view she was of no use. Slow and insufficiently protected, she had but one redeeming feature, and even this at first defeated its own purpose —she was our first oil-burning naval unit.

When I joined her in the late spring of 1901 she was still in the hands of her builders and our engineers were trying to get used to her boilers and to the various gadgets attached to them. This took time and, what was worse, instead of producing as little smoke as possible, the Rostislav was covered with a cloud of black soot like a volcano in the process of eruption. Thick and oily smoke hung over her ; it got into everything, our white summer tunics were covered with it, the white paint and everything that was not already black became so in due course, and the engineers were cursed.

After a month of experimenting they had made themselves more or less familiar with the firing process, and we proceeded along with a smaller pillar of smoke in our wake.

After the usual course of gunnery and fleet exercises and all the rest that belongs to the ordinary routine of navies, we started out from Sebastopol on a cruise along the shores of the Black Sea.

When we passed the yards of Nikolaiev I saw a number of ‘Popovkas,’ in all probability the most exotic of naval freaks. They had been designed in Russia and built in England. Their purpose was that of monitors and their appearance was that of a mixture between giant armoured pancakes and jelly fish. They were quite round and like a sphere cut in half, being designed to move in all directions, sideways as well as forward or astern, and carried a heavy gun. The early monitors proved too low in the water, and were dangerous in heavy seas. To counteract this, the ‘Popovkas ’ were built in such a way that, even if they were awash in ‘dirty’ weather, they could remain afloat like submarines. The total result of this ingenuity was that they were unmanageable and unseaworthy in the extreme. As they were armoured islands afloat, and almost hermetically sealed, the sun beat down mercilessly upon them, and owing to lack of proper ventilation they were infernally hot inside. And in conclusion, they were, of course, dismal failures. But as a curiosity they were worth seeing.

Our first port of call was Odessa, and what I saw during this Black Sea cruise was like a revelation.

At Odessa there were receptions by the Governor, Count ‘Pavel’ Schouvaloff[14], and a number of the usual social activities, only one of which I now clearly remember because it was marked by something which, had I not actually seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought impossible. The Odessa fire brigade gave a display, during which its chief, whose physical strength was reputed to be enormous, demonstrated his Herculean prowess by tearing a strong towel in half. Not content with this, he took the torn towel up and putting the two halves together tore them once more, so that four separate pieces remained in his hands.

Thence we directed our course to the coast of Turkish Asia Minor without, however, entering any port. The first port at which we called was Batum, where we interrupted our cruise for a while. The climate there is sub-tropical and the vegetation luxuriant.

I am thoroughly familiar with the French and Italian rivieras, but this Black Sea coast and its mountainous background are by far superior. Along the west coast there were scarcely any ports, no railways, and no modern roads. It was a wilderness and paradise, a land of plenty left to itself.

Not only had Nature been generous to this region in every conceivable way, where mountains and sea and cliffs, heavy with verdure and mineral wealth too, are heaped together in lavish proportions, but even history had left the fascinating imprint of ancient civilizations on the coasts of that sea which the ancients had called ‘the Hospitable.’ At Batum I was given short leave and went to Tiflis, the capital of Georgia and Vice-regal seat of government for the Caucasus. The train passed through the splendid Caucasian scenery'—a land of wild mountains and forests, more imposing than the Alps, numbering among its snowy heights Mount Elbrus, the loftiest peak in Europe.

From Tiflis I visited Cousin Nicholas[iii]  [15]at his place at Borjom. He was an eminent man of learning and the historian of our family. Apart from this, he was a world authority on entomology and had the best collection of Caucasian butterflies. Even the gates of the drive which lead to the castle were surmounted by a butterfly of wrought iron. The scenery, which unfolded itself around Borjom, was one of savage grandeur—an ideal spot, moreover, for a lover of nature and sport, and there was excellent shooting to be had in that region.

During my return journey to the ship, I spent another day at Tiflis, where, I remember, I tried the Kachetian wine of the district—very heavy and white wine which the natives drink like water, but on the uninitiated, it is apt to have sad effects. It belongs to that family of wines which, although they leave one quite sober, possesses the unfortunate propensity of affecting the power of movement. One simply remains ‘anchored,’ so to say, to the spot—a foolish situation indeed.

The Caucasus made an unforgettable impression on me, for its glens are inhabited by a motley crowd of mountaineers, and practically every major valley across a pass has a different people with a different language, traditions, and dress. It is as though the Caucasus had acted like a magnet throughout the ages of human history, attracting to it the representatives of all the races that have ever passed from East to West and from West to East in the great ebb and tide of human migration. There are tall, fair-haired people of the purest Nordic stock and Iberians of Spanish type. There are the Ossetians and Chevsurs, the Georgians and the Svanetians, Tartars and Circassians, Armenians and many others. There is one people, for example, which to this day wears the chain mail armour of the Crusaders. Tall and fair-haired men, they seem to have come straight from the expeditions of Richard Coeur de Lion or St. Louis. Their language and religion are one of the many puzzles of this racial backwater, and even their dwellings resemble the architecture of medieval strongholds.

The Caucasus provides for all tastes, and here the nature lover and mountain climber can share his happiness with the mining engineer and archaeologist.

A grand and savage and a very imposing land it is, and the rich mythology of its peoples runs in line with that of ancient Greece. It is the country of Prometheus and the Golden Fleece, of the quest of the Argonauts and of Iphigenia’s exile, of St. George and the forty martyred legionaries. Greeks occupied parts of it as did the Romans and the Parthians. All passed along that way—a land of promise which invites exploration.

We continued our cruise along the West Coast, saw New Athos, a monastic settlement, and anchored at Novorosiisk. There were the usual official receptions with dinners, speeches, and toasts.

While lying at anchor there I witnessed the same natural phenomenon which had puzzled me so at Malta. All was perfectly still when suddenly a violent and vicious wind descended from the mountains upon the harbour and turned it into a cauldron of foaming water, while the sea beyond remained quite calm.

Not far from Novorosiisk was the famous castle of ‘Gagry’ which Prince Oldenburg had turned into a sanatorium for consumptives.

I visited Abrau Durso, a place famous for its vineyards. The property belonged to the Imperial Family, the members of which were the beneficiaries and the late Emperor its trustee. The vineyards of this estate, under the able management of an old Frenchman, produced all the better- known French wines, including excellent Russian champagne.

From Novorosiisk the Rostislav took course for Kertch, where were excavations in progress under the auspices of the Ermitage. The tombs of Kertch contained the treasures of all the stages of Greek civilization and are now as famous as Troy, Minos, and Mycene.

During the period of my service with the Black Sea fleet I had an opportunity to visit a number of castles along the Crimean coast. Those of them which belonged to members of the Imperial Family were in pleasant contrast with many of the other residences of the kind which, together with the grounds in which they stood, had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair and presented a picture of sad neglect.

But the Imperial residences were thoroughly worthy of the magnificent landscape with which they were perfectly matched. I visited Livadia and Yalta. In Livadia, Uncle Sasha had died and a new palace had been built for the late Emperor.

My captain’s[iv] place at ‘Aitodor,’ which I have already mentioned, was a pleasant and very comfortable edifice, beautifully situated on the cliffs which descended abruptly into the clear waters of the Black Sea. Its rich orchards and vineyards were famous.

On the conclusion of my duties with the Black Sea fleet I returned to the capital, whence my sister Helen and I set out for Wolfsgarten once more.

This was to be my fourth meeting with my cousin Victoria Melita. During the occasions on which we had met before we had become good friends, and our friendship grew into a strong mutual affection. The three weeks which I spent at Wolfsgarten in the autumn of 1900 were decisive for the whole of my life. Thereafter we were to meet as often as possible.

I was accompanied by Ilia Tatishchev, my father’s A.D.C. 1 mention him specially because later he was attached as A.D.C. to the late Emperor, whom he accompanied to his exile and martyrdom in Ekaterinburg. He remained with his Imperial Master to the very end and perished with him. A better and more loyal man than he it would be hard to find.

Helen persuaded my cousin Victoria to come to Paris with us, where we had planned to go next. It proved an excellent idea as we enjoyed ourselves enormously in the gay and carefree manner of youth 

They returned to Germany, but I paid a hurried visit to Cannes.

On my return to St. Petersburg I was appointed to the Peresviet[v] which at the time was still building. It had been decided by our Admiralty that her first voyage should be to Port Arthur, and this, as far as I was concerned, meant an absence of at least two years.

The Emperor gave me leave and I again returned to Cannes, where I found Aunt Marie[vi] with her three daughters, Marie, the Crown Princess of Roumania, Cousin Victoria, and the future Infanta Beatrice. Cousin Marie had her husband and children with her.

Boris and I took our cousins for drives in our motor car, or ‘automobile’ as they were then called, and we went through the length and breadth of the French Riviera.

Motor cars were then a complete novelty and we belonged to the small group of pioneers.

Our ‘machine’ was a Panhard-Lavasseur and boasted twelve horse-power. Its engine had to be started up like a primus stove, spluttered, shook and made fearful noises. The brakes were dangerous, its front wheels smaller than the back, and one had to get into it from the rear. In spite of this protoplasm in the evolution of cars, it negotiated all the steep inclines of this mountainous region, and proved itself quite reliable and efficient.

The Peresviet lay at Kronstadt undergoing her finishing touches, with workmen and engineers still on board. There was the usual concert of pneumatic drills, bangings, and hammerings. The living quarters on board had not been completed and I had obtained the Emperor’s consent to establishing myself meanwhile on board his yacht, the Poliarnaya Zvezda.[vii]  

Every day I reported for duty on the Peresviet, where, among other matters, I had to supervise the electrically worked munition hoists, which, more often than not, broke down.

The Peresviet was a strange vessel, as strange as was her ultimate career and those who were to be her officers.

She had been designed as an intermediary type between a cruiser and battleship, but succeeded only in missing the advantages and purpose of both, being too heavy and slow for a cruiser and too weak for a battleship.

The reason for some of our failures in naval construction lay with the Admiralty and not with the designers. The former was too anxious to produce new types of ships, lacked sobriety of purpose and were prompted by a spirit of extravagant innovation, which only succeeded in defeating its own object. Our designers were excellent, and when things were left to their initiative they were always entirely successful. They were perfectly capable of producing such excellent results as the Rossya which surprised the world and, in a way, gave rise to a revolution in naval construction in so far as long range ships were concerned.

The career of the Peresviet was ill-fated. She fell into the hands of the Japanese after the capitulation of Port Arthur: they raised her from the sea and incorporated her in their Navy. At the outbreak of the Great War she was bought by us from Japan and was sunk by a mine in the Mediterranean. There is a memorial to those who perished on her at Port Said. 

Her sister ship, the Pobieda,[viii] was sunk at the battle of Tsushima.

The officers who had been commissioned to the Peresviet were, barring a few, a hopeless crowd of incapables. They had been chosen at random by the Admiralty and apparently without any reason whatever.

Few of them knew their jobs. The captain, who knew nothing at all, came from the Black Sea squadron, and had to learn all his navigation during the voyage. It is quite possible that his appointment to the command was an accident, for it was said of him that he had been in charge of a ‘light ship’!

There may have been some confusion in one of the Admiralty’s offices—a clerical error, a mix-up of names, for there was something definitely wrong with the rest of them, who were not far behind their captain in inefficiency, and this was quite contrary to the usual practice of appointing first class officers and men to new ships.

The captain was helpless and so entirely ignorant that he had to be taught the use of the engine telegraph. Everything had to be done by the commander, who together with a small group of others was our salvation. We owed it to this commander that we succeeded in getting to the Ear East. Without him and Lieutenant Kube, Gunnery Officer Dimitrieff, and Navigation Officer Dournovo, we would certainly have come to grief outside Kronstadt, as we did, in fact, soon after leaving.

This atmosphere of inefficiency on board, the continuous noise and other things, too, of an unpleasant nature, did not encourage me to look to the future with particular optimism. Such a voyage had its sudden as well as continuous dangers. Anything might happen, not, indeed, through the usual perils of the sea, which every seaman expects and is trained to counter, but through the stupidity of man which is incalculable and, therefore, by far, more alarming.

The evil emanation of amateurism and rank inefficiency was as pronounced on the lower deck as it was on the quarter-deck. The engines were bad, as was everything else on board—all was dismally chaotic.

I had no illusions about the nature of this voyage, and three weeks before I was to set out upon this East Asiatic odyssey of several thousand miles, in such pleasant company, I took leave and went to Wolfsgarten, taking Ilia Tatishcheflf with me.

I was glad to have gone, as it proved a great success, as had, in fact, all the occasions on which I had visited Wolfsgarten. The place was admirably run by Cousin Victoria. Everything, from the castle to its grounds and stables, was of the best. She was, incidentally, the most accomplished, graceful, and daring horsewoman I have ever known.

I will mention the names of some of the guests who were present. There was Princess Helena and her daughter, ‘Tora’ of Schleswig-Holstein, and Prince Arthur of Connaught with his equerry, Captain Wyndham, who was an excellent horseman.

We amused ourselves immensely. There was tennis, riding, and drives among the splendid pinewoods in the evenings. We danced and performed amateur theatricals and played all kinds of amusing games.

Before leaving Germany we went to Mainz for the German Army manoeuvres.

It was not on this occasion but, I believe, during one of my previous visits to Wolfsgarten or Darmstadt that I met the Kaiser for the second time. He has a way of singling out someone during luncheons and dinners to whom he generally addresses himself for a while, the others having to listen.  On this occasion his choice fell on me, and as my German was by no means fluent, I felt like a victim.

His knowledge of naval matters is that of an expert, and I remember that during this luncheon he expounded to me the technical moves of changing a fleet from one of the ordinary formations into a line of battle. He did riot generalize but went into details. Every now and then I was able to lire a rapid charge into his continued broadsides in German which left much to be desired. The whole situation was awkward in the extreme.

On another occasion I was taken on a special visit to the Dowager Empress Victoria, the wife of Emperor Frederick. She was a striking person to meet and had in her time played a political part. In character she may have taken after her father, the Prince Consort. She ruled her castle near Frankfurt, and all those that belonged thereto or entered its precincts, with a severity which approached that of military discipline. 

She would not tolerate anything which came upon her black list of ‘taboos,’ of which there was a formidable array. She would have no smoking, and woe betide the culprit who dared to throw a cigarette stump upon her immaculately kept garden paths. My cousins told me that whenever they wanted to smoke they had to do so in the large fireplaces where the smoke of their cigarettes would be caught up by the draught of the chimneys.

Relatives, casual visitors, and domestics, were in awe of her.

Arrived back in Russia I joined in the efforts of putting the Peresviet into final shape. It proved a strenuous process, as much had to be done in the short time which was left before putting to sea in the early autumn of 1901.

Her builders had arranged my cabin in a very homely manner. The iron walls had been covered with chintz attached to wooden brackets.

Following my family tradition of sleeping on camp beds, as my ancestors had done since my great grandfather Nicholas I, I slept on one during the whole of this voyage. It proved far more suited to the movement of the ship in heavy weather than an ordinary ship’s bunk. When the Peresviet rolled in heavy seas, I was never thrown out of bed as were the others.

At last all was ready for the venture. I bade farewell to parents and friends, and with mixed feelings of anticipation of certain but unknown calamities and of anxiety for the welfare of the one for whom I cared, I went on board not in the best of spirits.

Footnotes:

(2024)

[1] “Shooting the sun.”  Using a sextant to take a navigational reading.  Before the days of Global Positioning, sailors used a sextant to measure the angle between the horizon and the noonday sun to determine latitude.

[2] Grand Duke Kirill was swamped by the American press during his entire visit.  See the New York Times, “Czar's Cousin Visits Us: Grand Duke Cyril Among Arrivals at San Francisco from the Orient”; 28 December, 1898, p. 1.

[3]  Grand Duke Cyril felt that his efforts had secured real goodwill between the Russians and the Japanese and hope that there would be no conflict in the future, yet spoke the diplomatic party line with the press: “In regard to the attitude of England toward the Russian possessions in China, the Grand Duke smiled as he remarked, ‘England, as is well known, is opposed to our possessions in China, but I do not see why she should be. Russia needed seaports in the Pacific for an outlet to her commerce, and she has got them now, and if England does not like it we are sorry that it displeases her, but we have to look after the interests of our people.’  Do you think that the Chinese will be able to develop a stable government of their own?" he was asked.  ‘From what we have seen and know of those people, they will not,’ he replied. ‘It does not seem to be in them to do so, from present appearances at least.’  What is the feeling in Japan now as regards Russian expansion in the Pacific?" ‘Oh, all feeling of opposition has now passed,’ was the reply. ‘Japan now sees that her interests and those of Russia are identical, and agreeable harmony now pre- vails. The Japanese like the Russians and are glad to have them for their friends.’ “ NYT, “Grand Duke Cyril's Day”,  4 January, 1899, p. 3

[4] The Russian community had a small church located in the parlor floor of a rented rowhouse north of Stuyvesant Square at 323 Second Avenue.  It was replaced by the Cathedral of St Nicholas at 15 East 97th Street, the land for which was acquired in 1899. Construction began in 1901, and was completed in 1902.

[5] SS Fürst Bismarck was a passenger liner built in 1890 by AG Vulcan for the Hamburg-America Line. A steamship of 8,430 tons, it made transatlantic crossings between Hamburg and New York.  The Fürst Bismarck was part of an express fleet that made the trip in five or six days. In 1904, the ship was sold to Russia, where it served as the “Don” and later as the “Moskva” until 1912.

[6] Elizabeth and Maria Naryshkin

[7] Now Helsinki, Finland.

[8] “Rojdestvenski”. Zinovy Petrovich Rozhdestvenskii (Russian, 1848-1909) Graduate of the Naval Cadet Corps (1868). Among many other positions, he served as Commander of the “Vladimir Monomakh” (1894) the “Pervenets” (1896) and was created Rear-Admiral (1898). Ultimately, Rozhdestvenskii bore much of the responsibility for the disastrous Battle of Tsushima. Public outcry forced his resignation and after 1907, he lived as a recluse, rarely leaving his home, and died in St. Petersburg from a heart attack on New Year’s Eve, 1909.

[9] The Twenty-Fifth Wedding anniversary of Grand Duke and Grand Duchess Vladimir on 28 August, 1899 was an international event, with members of more than sixteen Sovereign houses in attendance.  Massive gifts were commissioned and presented, including large quantities of silver from Aucoc, Christofle, Keller, and Faberge for the couple’s “Silver” anniversary.

[10] “…our Church at Darmstadt”  The Russian Orthodox Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene at Mathildenhöhe in Darmstadt, Germany . The Chapel was built by Nicholas II, and named for the patron saint of his Grandmother, Empress Maria Alexandrovna, born a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt. The Russian style building at Nikolaiweg, 18, was designed by the architect Leon Benois (Russian, 1856-1928).

[11] Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich of Russia (b. 1866-1933) was a son of Grand Duke Michael Nikolaevich of Russia, the youngest son of Nicholas I of Russia, and Grand Duchess Olga Feodorovna (born Cecilie of Baden). A first cousin of Alexander III, he married his first cousin’s daughter (first cousin once removed) Grand Duchess Xenia Alexandrovna. n 1909 he was promoted to the rank of vice admiral, and was instrumental in the creation of the Russian Imperial Air Service.  Alexander Mikhailovich was a supporter of Grand Duke Kirill in exile, and urged all Russians to unite behind the Grand Duke.

[12] Grand Duchess Ksenia Alexandrovna of Russia (b. 1875-1960) was the eldest daughter of Emperor Alexander III and his wife Empress Maria Feodorovna.  She married her first cousin once removed Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich in 1894, and the couple had one daughter and five sons, all of whom married morganatically.  After the revolution, the Grand Duchess became more and more reclusive, living at Frogmore House, Windsor.

[13] “Aitodor”  Ai-Todor is the former estate of Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich of Russia at Gaspra, Crimea, inherited by his son Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich. The house was built on a plot of land purchased from Princess Meshcherskaya in 1869.  In 1902 and again in 1912, the house was expanded by the Grand Duke and his wife. From 1917-1919, the house served as a holding place for the Dowager Empress and her family until they were removed from Crimea on the HMS Marlborough in 1919.

[14] Count Paul Andreyevich Shuvalov (b. 1830-1908) was a Russian statesman. A graduate of the Corps des Pages, he served with distinction in the Crimean War. During the Russo-Turkish War, 1877-1878 he was in charge of the staff of the imperial guards and of the Petersburg Military District. From 1885 to 1894, he was the Ambassador at Berlin. From 1894-1896 he served as Governor-general of Warsaw. Shuvalov retired from office in 1896 and spent the rest of his life in Yalta, Crimea.

[15] Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovich of Russia (b. 1859-1919) was the eldest son of Grand Duke Michael Nikolaevich of Russia and his wife Grand Duchess Olga Feodorovna (nee Pricness Cecile of Baden), and he was a first cousin of Alexander III. The very liberal Grand Duke worked closely with the Provisional Government after the February Revolution, but even that did not save him on 29 January 1919, when he was moved to the Peter and Paul Fortress in Petrograd, and murdered with several relatives.

Original Footnotes

(1939)

[i] Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, then Duke and Duchess of Coburg and Gotha.

[ii] Sister of the late Emperor Nicholas II.

[iii] Grand Duke Nicholas Michaelovitch, son of Grand Duke Michael and Olga Feodorovna princess of Baden, executed by the Bolshevists on January 30, 1920, in the fortress of Petropavlovsk.

[iv] Grand Duke Alexander Michaelovitch, Captain of the Rostislav.

[v] Legendary Hero

[vi] Previously Duchess of Edinburgh, then Duchess of Coburg and Gotha, for the Duke of Edinburgh succeeded to the title of Duke of Coburg and Gotha.

[vii] Polar Star.

[viii] Victory.