24

October was easily the worst month of the Russian year. And all its worst elements were magnified in Petrograd. Dull, gloomy skies, which daylight did not penetrate until nine or ten in the morning, and which grew dark again at three in the afternoon. Bitter cold winds blew off the Baltic Sea. And when the winds ceased, it only meant a chill, oppressive fog would roll in. On top of all this, heavy rains came and turned the streets, which were frequently unpaved or in disrepair, into rivers of mud.

Daniel Trent had been trudging about in the mud and a steady, wet drizzle for most of the morning, circulating through the city and talking to common folk. He was gradually getting the impression that this day might well be the one to forever alter the history of Russia. But before Daniel sent his next news dispatch informing the world of the fall of the Provisional Government, he wanted to confer with someone in that government. When he went to Paul Burenin’s apartment, Mathilde told him that her husband was at the Winter Palace.

Kerensky had moved his government to the palace after the July uprising. The ministers of the Provisional Government occupied part of the second floor and held their meetings in the Malachite Chamber, so named because it was lavishly adorned with the fabulous green stone from the Urals.

But the government was not alone in the huge structure of over fifteen hundred rooms. A hospital, which housed five hundred war casualties, also functioned in the palace with a full staff of nurses and doctors. Also, there was palace staff—holdovers from Imperial days, uniformed in royal livery. The task of maintaining the huge edifice, even at minimal levels, continued despite war and revolution.

Upon arriving at the palace, Daniel had expected to meet some resistance. But his press pass and a couple of packs of cigarettes got him easily through the Red Guard that loosely surrounded the palace grounds. He also met no resistance at all as he slipped into the palace itself through a back door that was completely unguarded! He supposed that with literally hundreds of entrances and exits to man, it was an impossible task for the government to keep tabs on them all.

Daniel made his way undeterred through the wide corridors of the Winter Palace, even asking directions of a couple of passersby. He noted that many areas had been turned into barracks for the guards stationed there. Mattresses were strewn upon the floors, and on some, off-duty soldiers were sleeping. Litter was everywhere—cigarette butts, food wrappers—and empty wine bottles indicated the truth of rumors that the vast wine cellars of the palace had been raided.

In spite of the disorder and the fact that this palace had been occupied by the Provisional Government for over three months now, Daniel could not keep from feeling a sense of awe at being in the mighty palace of the tsars. The vast rooms with their vaulted ceilings and gilded trim made the mere machinations of man—wars and revolutions and such—seem small and trivial indeed. Daniel’s heels echoed on the marbled floors and made him think of all who down through the ages had trod upon these same floors. Not only tsars, but rulers from all over the world had come here to decide the fate of others.

Daniel wondered if there had been some poetic design in the Provisional Government’s choice of this place for its—final?—retreat. Surely it was fitting even if it had not been intentional.

After asking further directions, Daniel found his uncle in the Malachite Chamber conferring with some of the ministers.

“What’s it like out there?” Paul asked as he led Daniel to a chair.

“It really depends on who you talk to. Anyone with any political connections is in a state of high tension. But others are going about their day ‘business as usual.’ I spoke with a man on a streetcar who was shocked to hear a coup d’etat was being staged. He barely knew what a Bolshevik was. At least it hasn’t spread to Moscow yet.”

Someone brought warm glasses of tea, and Daniel gratefully cupped his in his cold hands.

“Every hour we get reports of one district after another going over to the Bolsheviks,” sighed Paul.

“So, is that it, then?”

“What can we do? We have been hoping the Cossacks at least will defend us, but they have remained silent. And you know the adage, ‘silence means consent.’”

“Then Trotsky’s proclamation of a bloodless coup is true?”

“Trainloads of sailors have been coming in from Finland to support the Bolsheviks. We are powerless, cowering within these walls like trapped rats. I’m surprised you got in. Bolshevik troops are moving steadily in on us. You saw for yourself the armored cars and field guns they have outside. I wouldn’t be surprised if we weren’t soon completely surrounded. There is one positive note. General Dukhonin—”

“That would be . . . ?”

“Acting Chief of Staff for the army at the Front. We still have wire communication with him, and he has canvassed several regiments. All but the northern army indicate they will support the Provisional Government.”

“The northern army . . . that’s the one nearest Petrograd.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But Dukhonin has promised to send reinforcements of Cossacks and other troops.”

“That could take time.”

Both men instinctively glanced toward the window. They couldn’t see it from where they were, but they nevertheless felt the ominous presence of the Aurora still anchored in the river. Worse yet, Daniel had noted as he entered the palace that the guns of the Peter and Paul Fortress had been aimed at the Winter Palace.

“Kerensky will be here in a few moments with an announcement of some sort. Perhaps he has a trump card to play. In any case, I decided to cast my lot with Kerensky and forsake the Soviet when they became so dominated by the Bolsheviks.”

“What will you do, Uncle Paul?”

“Hold out as long as possible.”

“I mean you—personally—when this is over?”

“You mean, of course, if it doesn’t go well for us? I will no doubt be arrested by the new regime. I have not only been too closely associated with Kerensky, but you well know of my unfortunate dealings with Lenin. However, I have decided that if by some miracle I do avoid arrest, my first responsibility is to Mathilde.”

“I saw Aunt Mathilde before coming here,” said Daniel. “I noticed suitcases in the front room.”

“We have been packed for a month now.”

“Is she able to travel?”

“It won’t be easy on her, but we have decided we will leave the country because that will be the only way we could remain together. If I can help it, I will not spend her last days in prison.”

“I’ll help you in any way I can. And if you can get to America my family will help you.” Daniel paused, took a business card from his pocket and a pen, and wrote a few lines on the back of the card. “This will get you in to see my brother. He will be at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Daniel. We haven’t much money, so we will need much help I am afraid.”

“You will not have to worry. If you contact him from some safe place in Europe using the code words I have written on the back of my card, he will send you passage—”

“That is too much—”

“Say no more, Uncle Paul. You are family. Besides, what else is all that Trent money good for?”

“Well, I am still full of hope that none of this will be necessary. We survived July. This is much the same—except that our military support has dwindled, but—”

Paul stopped as a stirring at the door of the chamber indicated Kerensky had arrived. He glanced at Daniel with a look that seemed to say, “Now, something will happen, just wait!”

Daniel hoped so. As a reporter he tried not to take sides in these types of affairs, but that was becoming more and more difficult as members of his family became involved. If Andrei was around, Daniel supposed his loyalties would be even more challenged.

Kerensky strode into the chamber with purpose. Except for added pallor to his complexion, he in no way looked like a man facing defeat. He glanced around the room to ensure all were present. He nodded toward Daniel, with whom he had spoken several times in the last months and thus knew fairly well.

“I believe we have been betrayed by the military commandant of the city,” Kerensky said without preamble. “Even if not outright betrayal, he has proven himself unable to hold back the Bolshevik onslaught. Many key positions have fallen into their hands, and it appears they are backed by a majority of the military regiments in the city. Since telephone lines are cut, I have decided to attempt to leave the city in order to raise help from Gatchina. If need be, I’ll go to Luga or even Pskov.”

“But is there enough gasoline for such a long journey?” someone asked, practically enough, given the economic state of affairs in the city.

“We will manage somehow.”

“Can you even get through the city safely?”

They debated that question for some time before it was finally decided Kerensky should make the attempt openly rather than try some covert mission. In that way he might deceive the Red Guard into thinking he was merely passing from one meeting place to another. Anyway, the risk must be taken, and Kerensky determined that he should take it rather than thrust it upon another.

Paul opted to accompany his friend, not only to offer moral support, he later told Daniel, but also because he was going stir crazy roaming the vast palace with nothing to do. At least attempting to raise troop support was something.

Daniel embraced his uncle. “Godspeed, Uncle.”

“Thank you, Daniel. We will not get far without His blessing, I fear.”

“And remember what I told you before—”

“Let’s not act like this is a permanent farewell. Indeed, Sasha could raise water from a desert. He will get the help we need.”

“Then, as we say in America, see ya soon!” Daniel wore an enthusiastic smile to accompany his words. But it was merely a front. He had been on the streets far more than Paul, and he had gauged the mood of the masses. They were not in a mood to trifle any longer.

Daniel and several ministers walked to the courtyard to bid Kerensky and his small party good-bye. Kerensky was giving last-minute instructions when a black Renault, flying an American flag, pulled into the courtyard. The driver stepped out.

“The American Embassy thought that perhaps it would help you to traverse the city under the protection of our flag.”

“How did you know I was leaving?” Kerensky glanced at Daniel, who shrugged his ignorance. However the Americans had gleaned their information, it had not been via Daniel.

The driver smiled. “We do have our ways.”

“Well, thank you kindly,” Kerensky said.

Kerensky threw Paul a final glance, as if to say, “I doubt it would help, but it was nice of them anyway.” Then they ducked into the backseat of his Pierce Arrow touring car, and the small procession drove away.

Shortly after Kerensky’s departure, Trotsky issued a proclamation to the effect that the Provisional Government had fallen and power had passed to the Military Revolutionary Committee—in essence, the Bolsheviks.

In the Winter Palace, there were more frantic meetings among the ministers, who, in the absence of their prime minister, were rather uncertain how to proceed. They tried to laugh at Trotsky’s nerve. They told one another he was bluffing. After all, they were still a government. Weren’t they?

Regardless, they tried to reinforce the guards at all the palace doors and hoped they could count on their main protection, the Women’s Death Battalion. But as the day progressed, they were beginning to feel more and more impotent, while the Bolshevik forces were appearing, in the eyes of the people at least, much more potent.

Daniel had remained in the palace, deciding that if there was any resistance at all to the Bolsheviks, it would take place here. He continued to talk to ministers and soldiers. One soldier pleaded with Daniel to speak with the American consul so that he could obtain a visa to enter America.

“I want to be American soldier!” the fellow said. “A doughboy, you know! A real Yank.”

Daniel tried to explain that visas were not easy to come by, but the soldier wrote down his name and address and pressed it into Daniel’s hand.

An hour later when many in Russia were sitting down to their evening meal, the ministers received an ultimatum from Trotsky. They and their troops must surrender within twenty minutes or the assault on the Winter Palace would begin. A wire was dispatched to Dukhonin, who continued to give assurances of reinforcements. The ministers agreed to continue their resistance, but they moved to an interior room in the palace. Daniel knew then that resistance would be futile.

Daniel was interviewing one of the ministers when their conversation was ended abruptly by sudden bursts of explosions.

“It’s started,” said the minister dismally.

The Aurora shelled the Winter Palace from one end while the guns at the Peter and Paul Fortress did the job from the other. Actually the shells were mostly blanks and the assault was ineffectual at best, breaking a few windows, cracking some plaster. But that was enough for the Women’s Battalion. They surrendered almost immediately along with several other guards. No doubt the women’s politics were more questionable than their courage, and this was all it took to convince them of the Bolshevik propaganda they had been hearing day in and day out. Perhaps they had heard, as Daniel also heard later, that the Reds were reluctant to fire on the women, fearing the ire of the people.

At any rate, the exit of the main force of defenders was a signal for the Red Guards to “storm” the palace. It was, however, more a case of handfuls of Reds trickling in. Many became lost and confused in the vast corridors. Daniel witnessed a few hand-to-hand skirmishes, but nothing that was the substance of legends.

By one in the morning, after intermittent shelling, larger forces of Red Guards entered the palace. But there was essentially nothing in the palace left to storm. Most of the defenders had been neutralized, and the government—the ministers and their lackeys—had been reduced to a tremulous gathering of old men. The ministers were finally located by the Reds and all were arrested. With that, the coup was over. The Bolsheviks had won the day, if not far more.

When the news reached the Smolny, Lenin looked at Trotsky and with a bemused smile said, “We have gone suddenly from hiding and persecution to being in power. It makes me dizzy!”