Red Mutiny by Neal Bascomb

victory rang out, but, knowing the Cossacks would return, the workers upended two tram cars and some carts to form a barricade. At a distance, the Cossacks re-formed their line and advanced, slow and deliberate, with deadly intent.
    A Social Democrat and former Black Sea sailor, Fyodor Medvedev, who had fled the navy after the November 1904 riot in the Sevastopol barracks, stood on top of the makeshift barricade, holding a red revolutionary pamphlet. A rifle shot sounded from a nearby building. Someone had taken aim at the Cossacks. Medvedev raised the pamphlet over his head to rally the workers, surveyed the scene, and then shouted, "Comrades—"
    The Cossacks fired at the crowd, killing Medvedev before he managed another word. They urged their horses forward. Some of the Cossacks fired their rifles; others brandished sabers or studded whips. At their advance, the workers fled in every direction. Some fell where they were struck. Others rushed into the factory or dove for cover behind the barricade. Short of suicide, their only option was to retreat from the Cossack guns, their slashing blades, and the stomping hooves of their horses. By the time the Cossacks reassembled, several workers had been killed and dozens wounded. A slight haze of gun smoke settled over the area.
    When Kirill returned down Moskovskaya Street, having failed to locate any comrades in the city center, he saw carriages without their horses and stores and street stalls closed. Mothers hid their children behind their skirts while their husbands gestured angrily at the huge police presence patrolling the streets. Kirill sprinted toward the Henn factory.
    Outside its gates, Cossacks stood by their horses, some smoking cigars. The police chief, Parashchenko, was huddled in conversation with several factory workers. Someone grabbed Kirill's shoulder from behind. He turned to find one of his comrades, his face white and his hands trembling.
    "Fyodor has been shot," he said.
    Kirill looked around him, finally understanding that the gathering had turned violent. His comrade began to tell him what had happened when several workers carried a shrouded body through the factory gates. The Cossacks tried to seize it from the workers, but they escaped down Moskovskaya Street. People emptied out of nearby factories, workshops, and houses and followed the macabre cortege, Kirill with them. "Women tore their hair and filled the air with sobs and curses on the murderers," recounted one witness.
    As the procession coursed through the muddied streets of Peresyp, news of the killings spread throughout the district and into the city center. One horrified elderly man cried, "This is our government! This is what it has become!" The crowd became more excited. Some
shouted, "Guns! Give us guns!" By the early afternoon, thousands marched through Odessa, stopping trams and ignoring the mayor's pleas to return to their homes.
    Kirill felt himself carried along by the surging mass of workers. They roamed the streets, pausing now and then to listen to a speaker or to throw rocks at a patrol, but unable to move together with a single purpose. They needed leadership and, more important, they needed guns if they were to stage an effective armed resistance against the government. Otherwise, as soon as the military stepped in with any strength, they could do nothing but scatter in retreat as they had done earlier that morning. More workers would die while government forces suffered mere scrapes and cuts.

    Behind the high walls of Odessa's military garrison, General Semyon Kakhanov stood in his office overlooking the harbor. His lieutenants periodically interrupted his reverie with the latest reports from Peresyp and other parts of the city. As military governor of Odessa, he was the last line of defense, and the reports left him troubled.
    At sixty-three years of age, with a slow gait and deep crevasses across his brow, Kakhanov was far from the fit, wild-spirited lieutenant who had