Russian Sideshow

by Robert L Willett

  Colonel Emerson was as disinterested in the political squabbles of the Russian factions as any man I saw in Siberia. He was in Russia for the sole purpose of helping the Russians operate the railroad and took no interest in any other activity.17

  Graves also blamed Consul General Harris, who had prematurely verified the French statement that Allied help was on the way in early July and had so informed Emerson.

  When Emerson arrived in Vladivostok on September 6, he learned that the rest of the Nagasaki members of the RRSC had finally made it to Russia and that most of them were in Vladivostok. He also learned that the Intervention had begun and two American infantry regiments were already in Vladivostok with contingents from other Allies in the city as well.

  The RRSC group in Harbin, including Lieutenant Keeler, was still complaining about lack of action and purpose. Keeler was both a wireless operator and a telegrapher, but had almost nothing to do. On August 31, 1918, he wrote, “Things are moving rapidly around Harbin but not as far as we are concerned, although we all hope that something turns up for the R.R.S. to do. It is understood by everyone that our original mission has gone up the spout and we are waiting to see what will be done with us.”18

  Another letter, dated February 15, 1919, shows he was still frustrated: “Harbin told us today that they were hiring all the interpreters they could get and that it is ‘rumored’ we will be at work very soon. D––– these rumors.”19

  The corps would finally be put to work by an agreement among the Allies assigning various segments of the Trans-Siberian and Chinese-Eastern Railroads to individual nations. As with any agreement between nations whose goals may differ, the signing of the final agreement and its implementation, leading to the real usefulness of the RRSC, would not happen overnight. It would actually not happen until April 1919, nearly a year and a half after the corps left San Francisco. However, the future was dismal as the corps work was continually interrupted by marauding Cossacks and stymied by government bureaucracy. Eventually, the Czechs, the RRSC, and the AEFS would be bound to the vital railroad tracks that crossed Siberia and part of China.20

  16

  Vladivostok and the Navy

  We had a Filipino Band who never saw snow before. They came out to play nary a toot of their instrument froze on their lips and the marines had to carry them inside the ship.

  —Seaman A. Lange, Edith Faulstich Collection, Hoover Institution

  THE USS Brooklyn arrived on March 1, 1918, establishing the American military presence in Vladivostok to keep an eye on Allied, primarily Japanese, actions. The Brooklyn joined the other Allied ships, the British HMS Suffolk and the Japanese Asahi.1 While in port, the Brooklyn performed the usual ship’s routines, but occasionally had a moment of excitement. On April 1, four sampans came too close to the ship and were cautioned with warning shots. Then, three days later, four Japanese merchants were murdered in Vladivostok. A Japanese reaction was expected, so it was no surprise when on April 5, lookouts reported that a force of about 160 Japanese sailors landed near the railway station and marched toward their consulate. Soon after, fifty British sailors left the Suffolk under arms to protect British citizens and diplomats. Two days later the American commander in chief, Rear Adm. Austin Knight, and the chief of staff left the ship to attend the funeral services of the murdered Japanese.2 Although all forces remained on high alert, there were no major clashes in the city.

  The Americans were not involved in any fighting; however, during the period March 2 to May 30, the Brooklyn lost six of its crew-members, four sailors and two Marines, all of whom died of disease.3 The memorial services for C. E. Greene, W. B. Frost, H. E. Nelson (USMC), A. A. Helgeson (USMC), W. A. Nicholson, and A. L. Osuna were held on the windswept hill of Vladivostok’s Lutheran Cemetery on May 30 as a party went ashore to decorate their graves.

  Hostilities began on the morning of June 29, 1918, when the Czechs assaulted the sitting Soviet government in Vladivostok.4 While the revolt was in progress, all Allied ships sent armed shore parties into the city to protect their consulates and citizens. For those who stayed on board ship, virtually the only excitement was the arrival of two Czechs, who had been run off their posts. They stayed just over an hour, leaving at 3:40 P.M. At 5:25 P.M., a fully armed contingent of U.S. Marines under Lieutenant Grove went ashore to the consulate. “At 6:00 P.M. the firing ceased, the Bolsheviks were defeated, and the city became quiet. At 7:35 the armed guard at the American Consulate was reduced to eight marines.”5 The sailors could hear firing and see movement, but did not see any of the action.

  According to the ship’s log, trouble in the city began because the local government had ordered the Czechs in Vladivostok to disarm; this made the Czechs most unhappy. So with a minimum of discussion, the Czechs decided to take over the city.6 They installed a minor political figure, Russian Peter Derber, as the titular head of the new provisional government; but the Czechs, under Maj. Gen. Milo K. Dietrichs, formerly a Russian general, ran the town. The only U.S. naval contribution to the coup, beside guarding the consulate, was tending the Czech wounded. On July 4, Admiral Knight cabled the Secretary of the Navy, “10 Czechs killed in taking city—wounded being taken care of by our surgeons.”7

  However, the Brooklyn medical staff soon had an additional workload. On July 4, the Czechs suffered heavy casualties fighting the Reds near Nikolsk, the junction point of the Chinese-Eastern and Trans-Siberian Railroads. Their wounded were brought back to the city for treatment. There were seventy-seven in all; the Brooklyn had insufficient space for so many, so they converted a waterfront warehouse into a makeshift hospital for seventy-two Czechs. The five most severely wounded were put on board the Brooklyn for surgery. For most of July, wounded continued to come aboard the American vessel.8 All of the wounded who received treatment survived. Admiral Knight cabled the Secretary of the Navy on July 15:

  The assistance given the Czech’s wounded has been appreciated highly by them. The report of the kind service of the men of the USS Brooklyn and of comfort afforded have spread throughout the whole force, producing gratifying sentiment in return. Our men have given up mattresses, blankets, furnished cigarettes and other things cheerfully, and also acted as nurses and waiters. I have ordered additional surgeons and nurses from The Yokohama and Canacao Hospitals.9

  On July 6, the Allies took control of the city, stating:

  In view of the dangers which threaten Vladivostok and the Allied forces here assembled from the open and secret activities of Austro-German war prisoners, spies and emissaries, the city and its vicinity are hereby taken under the temporary protection of the Allied Powers and all necessary measures will be taken for its defense against dangers both external and internal.10

  While the Brooklyn would depart Russia in October 1918, the Navy presence would continue with return visits of the Brooklyn and replacement ships, the USS Albany, New Orleans, and South Dakota.

  It was more than a month later that the first units of the AEFS entered the scene.

  17

  The AEFS Assembles

  Watch your step; you will be walking on eggs loaded with dynamite. God bless you and good bye.

  —Secretary of War Newton Baker

  AS the 339th Infantry was en route to England, unaware of their new and frigid assignment in North Russia, another curious development was taking place at Camp Fremont in Palo Alto, California. The Eighth Infantry Division was in training at Fremont, getting ready for the battlefields of France. Ready to lead them was fifty-three-year-old, recently promoted Maj. Gen. William S. Graves. An 1889 graduate of West Point, he was a major when the war began. He was sent on a secret mission to Europe in 1916 to help devise an organizational plan for an American expeditionary force to join the Allies, should such a force be required. He remained on the general staff in Washington, being promoted as his responsibilities increased. After his promotion to major general in June 1918, Army chief of staff Gen. Peyton March offered him command of the Eighth Division. This was the job he rea
lly wanted, leading a division in combat. One description of the new major general was that “he was self reliant, well trained, intelligent, and that he had common sense and a self-effacing loyalty.”1

  Graves’s happiness with his new command was clouded by an ominous telegram from Washington, which he received on August 2. Graves was to take the first train from San Francisco to Kansas City, go to the Baltimore Hotel, and meet Secretary of War Newton Baker.2 There were no further instructions, so he had no idea what to take, not knowing when, or even if, he would be returning to Camp Fremont.

  Secretary Baker was at the station waiting for Graves when the general arrived, weary after sitting up on the lengthy trip. Baker could spare him but little time, as he was headed back to Washington immediately, so they met in the train depot. Baker told Graves that he was to lead the American Expeditionary Force Siberia. He apologized for the general’s change of orders, but offered no explanation. The meeting was brief; Baker handed Graves a sealed envelope with the orders for his new assignment. As Baker left, he cautioned the new commander, “This contains the policy of the United States in Russia which you are to follow. Watch your step; you will be walking on eggs loaded with dynamite. God bless you and good bye.”3

  Graves went to the hotel, opened the envelope, and found the Aide Memoire, written by the president just two weeks before. He read it again and again, feeling he had to know every nuance of the document. Early the next day, he boarded the Santa Fe and headed back to San Francisco.

  As expressed in Wilson’s Aide Memoire, his orders, or possibly “directions,” appeared to be as much diplomatic as military. He was to assist the Czechs, protect the supplies in the Russian Far East, and “steady any efforts at self-government or self defense in which the Russians themselves may be willing to accept assistance.”4 There were few effective governments in the Russian Far East; the Soviet government in Moscow was four thousand miles away and had little influence over the competing factions in the east.

  The War Department lost no time in assembling the various elements of the AEFS, on August 3 telegraphing the Headquarters Philippine Department to release two regiments. The Twenty-seventh Infantry under Lt. Col. Charles H. Morrow departed August 7, 1918, on three ships, the Merritt, the Crook, and the Warren. After one stop at Nagasaki, Japan, they arrived in Vladivostok on August 15 and 16. On August 12, Col. Frederick H. Sargent followed with his Thirty-first Infantry on the Sherman, arriving on August 21.5 Since General Graves would not arrive until later, Col. Henry Styer, stationed in the Philippines, joined the expedition as the interim commander of the AEF.6 Between the two regiments, there were just over three thousand men. In Vladivostok, they began their participation in the bewildering adventure of the American Intervention.

  General Graves, back in Palo Alto, had begun selecting his staff. Knowing that the first elements of his expedition would soon be landing in Russia, he picked carefully from the officers and ranks of the Eighth Division. Fortunately, he had the support and the sympathy of General March, who wired him on August 8 that he could have anything he needed for his mission. It seemed apparent that both Baker and March were aware of problems that would face Graves in the command they had just given him.

  On August 14, 1918, General Graves, Chief of Staff Lt. Col. O. P. Robinson, Assistant Chief of Staff Maj. Robert L. Eichelberger, together with 45 other officers and 1,889 men, boarded two troop trains at Camp Fremont. Later that day, at 8:30 P.M., they sailed on the army transport Thomas, passing under the Golden Gate Bridge en route to Siberia.7

  As the Thomas sailed out on its still “secret” mission, there was little fanfare, except for an unexpected and unwelcome searchlight that outlined the transport until long after she had passed under the bridge.8 The battleship Oregon and the gunship Vicksburg were to convoy the troopship as protection against German U-boats, but Graves impatiently requested their release so the faster Thomas could speed its passage.9

  As the troops on the Thomas relaxed, did calisthenics, listened to rudimentary lectures on military subjects, had occasional target practice, and generally whiled away the hours, Camp Fremont was still working frantically to fill the next contingent. These were primarily volunteers from the Thirteenth and Sixty-second Infantry Regiments, with a few left over from the Twelfth Regiment. Several noncommissioned officers actually took demotions to join the expedition, since there was a limit to the number of noncoms authorized. One newly commissioned captain of intelligence, Kenneth Roberts, inveigled his spot on the roster of officers headed for Siberia.10 He argued that he should replace a certain Captain Ruth; when the orders were published, he told Ruth what he had done, thinking Ruth would be upset. Ruth was delighted. “‘Siberia,’ he said. ‘Sore? Siberia? Gee, thanks!”’11

  Most of the troops craved excitement, and Siberia seemed mysterious, dark, and adventuresome, a change from the monotony of camp life.

  Soon, another shipment was ready; two transports sailed away on September 2, 1918, with 1,886 men on the Sheridan and 1,811 on the Logan.12 Adventure for these troops would not wait for their arrival in Siberia—they would create their own excitement en route.

  The Logan was the slower of the two ships, so the Sheridan had to slow down to keep her in sight. This meant burning more coal, and after two weeks at sea, it was determined that a refueling stop would be prudent. The port selected, for unknown reasons, was Hakodate, Japan. It was a poor choice: first, it had no coal, and second, it had a powerful Japanese whiskey.

  On the voyage, Captain Roberts met an extraordinary member of the AEFS, Maj. Samuel I. Johnson of Honolulu, who was in charge of the troops on the Sheridan. His name wasn’t really Sam Johnson—it was Boris Ignuatiev. Born in Russia, he joined a Cossack regiment as a boy and, later, was assigned to a naval training ship. He chafed under brutal treatment, wound up in irons, and when the ship arrived in the United States, jumped ship in Philadelphia. Eventually, he found himself in Honolulu and became a brigadier general in the Hawaiian National Army; he resigned to take a commission in the U.S. Army as a major. He wanted to fight Germans who had killed three of his brothers, but with his Russian background, he was picked for Siberia.13 It was Sam Johnson who would call on Captain Roberts for help in Hakodate.

  As the two ships anchored outside Hakodate on the northern island of Hokkaido, it was decided to let the doughboys get off the ship, visit the city, and stretch their legs. It was not a wise decision. The ships arrived unannounced, and very soon, unwelcomed. As the thirty-seven hundred doughboys, unsteady from weeks at sea, descended on the city, they immediately looked for bars and ladies of the evening. The sign in one bar said:

  Notice!! Having lately been Refitted and preparations have been made to supply those who give us a look-up, with Worst of Liquors and Food at a reasonable price, and served by the Ugliest Female Savants that can be Procured. This establishment cannot boast of a proprietor, but is carried on by a Japanese lady whose ugliness would stand out even in a crowd. The Cook, when his face is washed, is considered the best looking of the company.14

  That sign was enough to pack the place to the rafters; other even seedier spots prospered as the soldiers sought liquor and companionship. It soon became apparent that Japanese whiskey had a power that affected the men far more than they anticipated. Johnson described the problem to Roberts:

  “All the cheap bars have Scotch whiskey made in Japan,” he told us, “If you come across any, don’t touch it. It’s called Queen George, and it’s more bitched up than its name. It must be eighty-six percent corrosive sublimate proof, because thirty-five hundred enlisted men were stinko fifteen minutes after they got ashore. I never saw so many get so drunk so fast.”15

  Johnson enlisted Roberts and a few others to round up the men and get them back aboard the two transports. Roberts described the challenge:

  Intoxicated soldiers seemed to have the flowing qualities of water, able to seep through doorways, down chimneys, up through floors. When we slowly edged a score of khaki-clad tosspots
from a dive and started them toward the ships, then turned to see whether we had overlooked anyone, the room would unbelievably be filled with unsteady doughboys, sprung from God knows where, drunkenly negotiating for the change of American money or the purchase of juss one more boll of Queen George.16

  It was not just the enlisted men; officers joined in the orgy and later paid the price.17 Eventually, order was restored, and the two ships lumbered out of port, still without coal.

  They sailed some 150 miles north of Hakodate to another port, Otaru, hoping to find coal enough to get the ships to Vladivostok. As they anchored in Otaru, only a few men were allowed ashore, with cautions that their behavior would be studied carefully.

  This time, the problems were of a different nature. Several enterprising doughboys had gilded Philippine one-centavo coins and passed them off as real gold coins, exchanging them for all kinds of merchandise. The merchants in Otaru became suspicious, discovered the fraud, and reported it to police. Meanwhile, as a strong typhoon approached the coast, the men ashore waited for the weather to ease in order to get sampans back to the ships. One of the doughboys, frustrated and drunk, smashed a liquor bottle over the head of a Japanese policeman. This created a true international incident; even after the typhoon subsided, the ships were held in port by local officials until the fraud and assault were satisfactorily resolved. Finally, after four days, Lt. Rodney Sprigg found the guilty parties, made them ante up enough money to satisfy all victims, and they were allowed to leave.18 More courts-martial followed; Graves telegraphed the U.S. ambassador to Japan, Roland Morris on October 30, “It was undoubtedly a disgraceful occurrence, and the conduct of these men while on foreign soil has been a cause of mortification to us all.”19 Not only was American prestige damaged, but the typhoon winds had blown the Logan up on the breakwater causing some damage, However, she was still considered seaworthy for the short voyage to Russia.