Makarov. "Your Honor, this meat is tainted. It's not fit to eat."
Makarov gave Alekseyev a fiendish look. "Bastard, be quiet! Otherwise I'll have you arrested and sent to jail."
After accepting a price, Makarov ordered his men to take the meat in sacks down to the torpedo boat. He had run out of time to look for any other provisions. Alekseyev heaved a sack onto his back, eager at least to return to the
Potemkin
to tell Vakulenchuk and the others about the massive strikes.
An hour later, the
Ismail
steamed out of the harbor, the meat stacked below, stewing in the sultry summer night. The torpedo boat made a fast return to Tendraâtoo fast for a small fishing boat, which it struck on the way. The crew stopped to rescue the fishermen and return them ashore. Finally, the
Ismail
arrived by the
Potemkin
's side at 4 A.M. , June 14. Most of the ship was quiet; only the sailors on the night watch were still awake. In the dark, the meat was brought aboard and hung on hooks on the spar deck, maggots feasting unseen on the flesh.
5
T WO BELLS STRUCK at 5 A.M. on the
Potemkin.
A bugler brought his horn to his lips, inflated his cheeks, and then belted out the reveille. A boatswain's whistle preceded the gruff calls throughout the berth decks: "Turn out! Roll up your hammocks!"
Matyushenko extended his legs out of his hammock and dropped to the deck. Other sailors reluctantly turned out as well.
"Quick about it! Lively there! Tumble out, men!"
The sailors hurried, their petty officers forcing them along with curses and shoves. After rolling his hammock into a tight cocoon and dressing himself, Matyushenko moved down the narrow passageway and then climbed a series of ladders to the upper deck. He stowed his hammock under its number plate, and, with the others, obeyed the order to wash. Hundreds of sailors jostled and elbowed alongside him in the narrow chamber lined with a long trough and seawater taps.
"To prayer!"
Water dripping from his face, Matyushenko followed this command, the morning ritual ingrained in him after years in the navy. The ship's priest, Father Parmen, an unkempt man with a straggly beard and a proclivity to drink who also served as Golikov's spy, led the men through their Orthodox prayers and hymns. A breakfast of tea and buttered chunks of black bread lasted a half-hour before the order came to clean the ship. Dressed in freshly laundered blue-and-white jerseys and plain white bell-bottoms rolled up at the ends, the sailors scrubbed every deck and bulkhead and polished brass fixtures until they glowed.
As the sun rose, a sailor swabbing the spar deck smelled something foul. He followed the stench to the hanging carcasses of meat brought on board the night before. Another sailor came to his side and noticed a writhing mass of white maggots on the flesh. "Wellâit's fall of worms," he said matter-of-factly. Several others came to look at the meat, disgust visible on their faces, but they were soon broken up by the call for all hands on deck. The men assembled for the raising of the colors; whispers about the rotten meat passed through the ranks.
"Attention! Present arms!"
Captain Golikov walked onto the quarterdeck as the marine guards raised their rifles to their sides like torches lighting the way. He greeted Gilyarovsky, received his reports from the rest of his officers on the state of the battleship, and then turned to the flagstaff. The watch commander yelled, "Attention! Hoist flag!" The sailors and officers removed their caps. As the drums rolled, the St. Andrew's flag rose steadily on the flagstaff. Eight bells struck, and the command came for the assembly to break up.
As Golikov disappeared off the deck and the new watch began, sailors crowded around the spar deck to see this rotten meat for themselves. It was an unusually hot June morning, the air still and dense with humidity; the meat would only grow fouler as the sun rose into the sky.
"The Japanese feed Russian prisoners better,"
Makarov gave Alekseyev a fiendish look. "Bastard, be quiet! Otherwise I'll have you arrested and sent to jail."
After accepting a price, Makarov ordered his men to take the meat in sacks down to the torpedo boat. He had run out of time to look for any other provisions. Alekseyev heaved a sack onto his back, eager at least to return to the
Potemkin
to tell Vakulenchuk and the others about the massive strikes.
An hour later, the
Ismail
steamed out of the harbor, the meat stacked below, stewing in the sultry summer night. The torpedo boat made a fast return to Tendraâtoo fast for a small fishing boat, which it struck on the way. The crew stopped to rescue the fishermen and return them ashore. Finally, the
Ismail
arrived by the
Potemkin
's side at 4 A.M. , June 14. Most of the ship was quiet; only the sailors on the night watch were still awake. In the dark, the meat was brought aboard and hung on hooks on the spar deck, maggots feasting unseen on the flesh.
5
T WO BELLS STRUCK at 5 A.M. on the
Potemkin.
A bugler brought his horn to his lips, inflated his cheeks, and then belted out the reveille. A boatswain's whistle preceded the gruff calls throughout the berth decks: "Turn out! Roll up your hammocks!"
Matyushenko extended his legs out of his hammock and dropped to the deck. Other sailors reluctantly turned out as well.
"Quick about it! Lively there! Tumble out, men!"
The sailors hurried, their petty officers forcing them along with curses and shoves. After rolling his hammock into a tight cocoon and dressing himself, Matyushenko moved down the narrow passageway and then climbed a series of ladders to the upper deck. He stowed his hammock under its number plate, and, with the others, obeyed the order to wash. Hundreds of sailors jostled and elbowed alongside him in the narrow chamber lined with a long trough and seawater taps.
"To prayer!"
Water dripping from his face, Matyushenko followed this command, the morning ritual ingrained in him after years in the navy. The ship's priest, Father Parmen, an unkempt man with a straggly beard and a proclivity to drink who also served as Golikov's spy, led the men through their Orthodox prayers and hymns. A breakfast of tea and buttered chunks of black bread lasted a half-hour before the order came to clean the ship. Dressed in freshly laundered blue-and-white jerseys and plain white bell-bottoms rolled up at the ends, the sailors scrubbed every deck and bulkhead and polished brass fixtures until they glowed.
As the sun rose, a sailor swabbing the spar deck smelled something foul. He followed the stench to the hanging carcasses of meat brought on board the night before. Another sailor came to his side and noticed a writhing mass of white maggots on the flesh. "Wellâit's fall of worms," he said matter-of-factly. Several others came to look at the meat, disgust visible on their faces, but they were soon broken up by the call for all hands on deck. The men assembled for the raising of the colors; whispers about the rotten meat passed through the ranks.
"Attention! Present arms!"
Captain Golikov walked onto the quarterdeck as the marine guards raised their rifles to their sides like torches lighting the way. He greeted Gilyarovsky, received his reports from the rest of his officers on the state of the battleship, and then turned to the flagstaff. The watch commander yelled, "Attention! Hoist flag!" The sailors and officers removed their caps. As the drums rolled, the St. Andrew's flag rose steadily on the flagstaff. Eight bells struck, and the command came for the assembly to break up.
As Golikov disappeared off the deck and the new watch began, sailors crowded around the spar deck to see this rotten meat for themselves. It was an unusually hot June morning, the air still and dense with humidity; the meat would only grow fouler as the sun rose into the sky.
"The Japanese feed Russian prisoners better,"
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