On 13 April 1904, after two months of the Russo-Japanese War, the battleship Petropavlovsk, flagship of the Russian Pacific Squadron, struck a mine and sank outside Port Arthur. The ship was replaceable, but the Squadron Commander—Vice Admiral Stepan Osipovich Makarov—was not. Admiral Makarov was by far the ablest leader in the Russian Navy during the past century. He would have been outstanding at any time and in any navy.
The first of his long series of notable achievements was his becoming a naval officer. For he was not of noble birth, at a time when nobility was regarded as an indispensable qualification for leadership. He was born in 1848, the son of an army petty officer and it was natural that he should seek a military career. Ineligible to attend any of the preparatory schools that normally led to officer’s rank, he enrolled in the Maritime School at Nikolaevsk on the Amur, a merchant marine academy for social and political nobodies who had no hope of obtaining a navy commission. The school was under the jurisdiction of Rear Admiral Pyotr Kazakevich, the commander of the port. Young Makarov’s abilities were so obvious that Kazakevich violated rules and cut red tape to obtain for him an appointment as a naval cadet in the Pacific Squadron.
Thus, in 1863 at the age of 15, Stepan Makarov’s seagoing education started on board the Bogatyr, a small, fast cruiser which was part of the Pacific Squadron then under the command of Admiral Aleksandr “The Terrible Admiral” Popov. The pedantic Popov was a man of very considerable abilities in such varied fields as diplomacy, naval architecture, and steam navigation. For a prospective officer in the Russian Navy, a better school could not have been found at that time.
Shortly after Makarov joined the squadron he would one day command, Admiral Popov undertook a mission which was both diplomatic and strategic. In October 1863, the Russian Government, impelled by fears that the start of a possible war with England and France might bottle up the Russian fleets within closed seas, as had happened during the Crimean War a decade earlier, ordered the Baltic and Pacific fleets to visit American ports. Admiral Popov’s Pacific Squadron crossed the North Pacific to San Francisco.
Following this unusual first cruise, Makarov returned to school to graduate first in his class. Admiral Kazakevich, once again impressed by his protege’s honors, interfered with the normal progress of events by recommending him for promotion to the rank of Midshipman; the appointment eventually went through. In the meantime, as a petty officer, Makarov completed a trip to European Russia on board the Askold in the fall of 1866. The following year, at the age of 19, he had his first article published in Morskoy Sbornik, a Russian counterpart of the U. S. Naval Institute Proceedings.
By 1869, Makarov was firmly entrenched as a naval officer and was also well embarked on three sideline careers: as a writer, an inventor, and a scientist.
His first success came as an inventor. On his first cruise as an officer in the armored ship Rusalka, the vessel hit one of the numerous submerged rocks in the Gulf of Finland and foundered. Makarov examined the system of damage control then in use in the Russian Navy and decided it was wholly inadequate. In 1870, he published in Morskoy Sbornik a series of suggestions for increasing the floatability of ships.
Only one of his recommendations was immediately acted upon; this was the collision mat, an invention so obvious and yet so useful that it was speedily adopted on virtually all the ships of every nation. So compelling was Makarov’s article that it attracted the attention of one of the ablest men in the Russian Navy, Admiral G. I. Butakov, Chief of the Armored Squadron, who facilitated Makarov’s promotion to the Russian equivalent of lieutenant, junior grade, in 1871. Makarov continued to address himself to the problem of damage control. (Eventually, following a series of wholly unnecessary ship losses, his efforts led to the offering of a course in damage control—34 years after his initial proposal.)
The next milestone in Makarov’s career was the invention in 1876 of new weapons and tactics for an expected war with Turkey. At that time there was every prospect that the Russians would be badly beaten at sea. The Black Sea Fleet had been destroyed during the Crimean War and had not been rebuilt. Hence, at a time when the Turkish Navy contained more than a dozen modern ironclads, besides smaller vessels, the Russians had only a few unarmored steamers and gunboats, plus two ironclads. The latter were the product of one of Admiral Popov’s least successful ventures. Completely circular, with two guns carried in a turret on the center of the ship, they had been uncontrollable at sea and, on their trials, had caused massive cases of seasickness among their crews. These completely worthless Popovkas, as they were called, could be used only as fixed forts. In terms of paper strength, then, the Russians were outmatched on the order of ten to one.
These apparently hopeless odds did not dismay Makarov. He proposed the use of a steamer to transport small torpedo boats or torpedo launches to the scene of attack. The small vessels would then be released, each carrying a torpedo or mine which she would seek to explode against the hull of the enemy ship. The proposal was unique in that neither movable torpedoes nor fast torpedo boats were then in existence. Too, torpedoes and mines were almost indistinguishable.
In order to bring these weapons into contact with an enemy vessel, they had to be either towed or carried at the end of spars and exploded in contact with the hull of the enemy ship. The Russians had already made the first widespread and successful use of mines in the Baltic during the Crimean War and what Makarov proposed was merely an adaptation of this type of warfare. After conceiving his plan of attack, Lieutenant Makarov, then 28 years old, carried it directly to the Navy Minister, the Grand Duke Konstantin, a comparatively young and very progressive official whose lifelong hobby was the Navy, Konstantin had earlier supported submarine construction out of his own pocket- book. Rightly concluding that the Russians had nothing to lose and everything to gain, Konstantin gave the plan his approval and sent Makarov to the Black Sea to carry it out.
From December 1876 to mid-April 1877, Lieutenant Makarov was busy converting his ship—which he tactfully renamed Grand Duke Konstantin—to her new use. At the same time, he was designing and building six steam launches, attempting to perfect the primitive mines then in use, and training officers and men to use the new weapons. It is interesting to note that one of his assistants was Lieutenant (later Vice Admiral) Zinovi Petrovich Rozhdestvenskiy who was destined to lead the Baltic Fleet halfway around the world to its defeat at Tsushima.
Official action in Russia was often slow, and both the outbreak of war with Turkey and the completion of Makarov’s preparations preceded approval by the Black Sea Fleet commander. But permission finally came, and the Grand Duke Konstantin set forth on a series of cruises. The first two illustrated the new flotilla tactics. On the first cruise, the Grand Duke Konstantin got within six miles of the target and then freed her six launches, four of which tried unsuccessfully to tow a torpedo under a Turkish ironclad.
On 25 May, however, four Danube-based launches—this time using spar torpedoes—- made a successful attack on the Turkish monitor Seife, sinking her. In the next attack a Turkish corvette was damaged. A cruise along the Anatolian coast netted three sailing ships. In July, five commercial vessels were sunk off the Bosporus.
For a time the Konstantin was detached for transport duty, but, on 26 January 1878, she carried the launches Chesma and Sinop to Batum where they sank the steam frigate Intibakh. In this final attack of the war, the launches carried Whitehead tubes with movable torpedoes, just then being introduced.
These earliest of all flotilla attacks were both tactically successful and strategically effective. Like most new weapons they generated great fear. The Turks, to protect their ironclads, devised wooden booms, mine defenses, land-based artillery, and even torpedo nets, but these defensive measures generally meant an abandonment of the initiative. The Russians were able to transport men and supplies, bombard enemy positions, carry on normal commerce, and, in short, play the role of the stronger naval power throughout the war.
His activities in this short, 11 months war won for Makarov national fame, half a dozen decorations, and a promotion to lieutenant commander.
The following quarter of a century was spent in varied types of naval service which involved diplomacy, ordnance, Arctic exploration, ship design, oceanography, invention, and a great deal of professional writing. In each field he made important original contributions. During this period, on several occasions, Makarov also indicated his disagreement with the naval policy Russia was then following.
Makarov’s attitude toward naval policy requires some elaboration. The conversion from sails and wooden ships to steel ships, steam propulsion, armor plate, movable torpedoes, and high-powered guns was particularly hard for the Russian Navy. The country’s industrial backwardness and its tainted Tsardom made the transition particularly burdensome. It was not, however, that Alexander III (1881-94) and Nicholas II (1894-1917) were unwilling to spend money for new ships— they favored a policy of naval expansion. It was simply that the Russians rarely got their money’s worth from the ships they built themselves. They were too expensive, too slow of construction and, often, inferior in design. The rulers worshipped the false god of quantity and failed to appreciate the vital importance of quality in ships and crews. In order to build a great number of ships, the Tsars economized on everything pertaining to the men who manned them.
Not surprisingly, Makarov became the Russian Navy’s Cassandra, crying out his alarm at naval policy. In paper after polemic paper, he stressed the necessity of keeping ships in readiness for war at all times. He recommended thorough training for crews, and pointed out the inadequacies of Vladivostok and Port Arthur in the Far East as bases for a fleet. He deplored the absence of war plans, argued for uniformity in ship types, pleaded for long-range reconnaissance and naval communications, and for improvement in artillery and armor plate.
In every instance he was later proved to be right. But his farsighted proposals were either not acted upon or were taken up as late as a generation after they were made.
Yet, incredibly, Makarov seems to have made few if any personal enemies. If his opinions were debatable, his honesty, patriotism, and superior ability were not. Promotions came with startling rapidity. He was promoted to rear admiral at the age of 41 and, in 1894, was named commander of the small Mediterranean Squadron. Two years later, when he became a vice admiral, he had already attained universal recognition as the ablest Russian leader.
In retrospect, Makarov had far more to offer the Russian Navy than constructive criticism. His record of achievement in several fields has few counterparts in naval history. A few examples are sufficient to illustrate the breadth of his contributions.
Makarov did not stop with the invention of the collision mat. He held important patents in both armor plate and ordnance which included the percussion cap. But his outstanding innovations were in the field of ship design. In the late 1890s, he was responsible for two new types of ships peculiarly suited to Russian needs. One was a class of six vessels named after Russian rivers and designed as mine-layers from the keel up, the first ships to be so designed in any navy. These gave an excellent account of themselves in both the Russo- Japanese War and World War I.
Of even greater importance was the world’s first ship designed exclusively as a polar icebreaker, the 8,700-ton Ermak. Built in England from a design perfected by Makarov, who for several years was interested in the problems of Arctic exploration, the Ermak was a success from the start. In two voyages in Arctic ice under Makarov’s command, she proved an indispensable tool of polar navigation. The icebreaker made it possible to carry on winter navigation within ports, paved the Way for the rescue of ice-locked ships and crews, extended by several weeks the period of navigation possible in very cold seas, and ushered in the era of theretofore impossible polar exploration.
Yet, the invention of the Ermak was only a stepping stone to two other ambitions, neither of which he had time to achieve. Makarov longed to be the first to reach the North Pole. More important, he desired to shorten sea communications between European Russia and the Far East in order to lessen the fearful geographic handicap Russia faced in having to maintain three fleets, each out of touch with the others. He proposed, with the aid of icebreakers, to clear a sea route north of Siberia. This was the germ of the Northern Sea Route idea, brought to fruition by the Soviets 40 years later. Makarov’s voyages in the Ermak between 1899 and 1901 surveyed this route as far as the mouths of the Ob and Yenisei Rivers, also conducting scientific studies of the Properties of ice to be encountered en route. Had such a route been in existence at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, Rozhdestven- skiy’s squadron might well have reached the Far East in far less time and thus averted its destruction.
As a scientist, Makarov’s claim to greatness rests largely on his work in the fields of hydrography and oceanology. One of his earliest articles was inspired by the work of America’s Matthew Fontaine Maury. In 1881, while stationed at Constantinople on board the steamer Raman, he studied the sea’s physical properties, and the currents and depths of the Bosporus. He reported his discoveries in a scientific paper entitled “On the Changes in the Waters of the Black and Mediterranean Seas.” In it he proclaimed the discovery of two currents, running in opposite directions at different depths. This paper established Makarov as the father of Russian oceanography. Still, for five years, he was unable to add materially to his findings.
Then, in September 1885, he was appointed to command the corvette Vitiaz, then building. In the summer of 1886, this ship started a three-year leisurely cruise around the world. Makarov now found the time for observations and experiments which he recorded in 1894 in The Vitiaz and the Pacific Ocean, a book which established his rank as one of his country’s leading scientists and a world leader in oceanography. It also brought him invitations to represent his country before international scientific meetings. Most of Makarov’s findings were not spectacular, but dealt with such matters as the depth of the ocean, underwater currents, and the temperature and characteristics of water taken at various depths and locations in the North Pacific. He also invented various new instruments for taking samples and measurements.
Few naval officers have left a larger or more varied bibliography than Makarov. His writings include some 50 books, articles, and major papers. His literary legacy deals with such diverse topics as strategy, tactics, voyages of exploration, ordnance, damage control, oceanography, hydrography, ballistics, and naval policy. He regarded Considerations on Questions of Naval Tactics as his greatest work. This was a collection of articles first published in Morskoy Sbornik which was translated into several foreign languages.
Makarov’s contemporaries describe him as a tall, strongly built man with a loud voice. He was conspicuous for his enormous capacity for work, his tenacity, his deep religious sense, and his inquisitive, versatile mind. As a disciplinarian, he was demanding without being cruel or unreasonable. He demanded, especially from his higher officers, the ability and willingness to make decisions and carry them out. He was gay and friendly in personal contacts. From the beginning, he was at ease while talking to persons of the highest rank; but he never forgot his background and took such good care of his enlisted men that he was dubbed “The Sailor’s Admiral.” From the time he was captain of the Vitiaz, he undertook as a main duty the education of the younger officers serving under him. His philosophy of naval life placed preeminence upon the virtues of offensive action. The first of his five major rules governing naval tactics may be translated roughly as follows: “If an enemy ship is very weak, attack it; if it is of the same strength, attack it; if it is very strong, attack it.”
Others of his maxims stressed the importance of doing the work at hand, of co-operating with allies, and of making and carrying out decisions. He was idolized by his men and, at a time when distrust and class hatreds were undermining the Russian Navy, Makarov was able to talk directly and persuasively with the common seamen, who referred to him affectionately as “Old Beardy” and “Little Grandfather.”
The busy and satisfying life which Makarov led during the late years of the 19th century was clouded only by concern over his country’s foreign and naval policies. In the Far East, particularly, he felt that the Tsar’s government was combining an aggressive and warlike foreign policy—which could hardly fail to antagonize Japan—with wholly inadequate preparations for conflict.
His fears were fully justified in 1904 with the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War. Disdaining to give warning by a declaration of war, the Japanese launched a surprise night torpedo attack upon the Russian Pacific Squadron at Port Arthur. Simultaneously, the Japanese Imperial Fleet pounced upon Russian ships in Korean waters and easily destroyed them. Two Russian battleships and a cruiser of the Pacific Squadron were crippled for many months, thus putting Russians completely on the defensive at the opening of the war. Rapid, successful Japanese moves, both on sea and land, never permitted the Russians to regain their balance.
The outbreak of war found Admiral Makarov in command of the Kronshtadt Naval Base. This was an important position but hardly the ideal location for the navy’s ablest admiral when a war was being lost 7,000 miles away. Shortly before the attack, however, Makarov had written the Navy Minister Admiral Fedor Avelan, expressing grave alarm over the existing situation. When Nicholas II became aware that the naval commanders in the Pacific had not only been caught unprepared but also lacked the ability to retaliate, he was left with only one choice. In almost its only sensible move in the entire war the Russian Government ordered Makarov to the East. It was five years too late.
The admiral required about a month to gather and organize his staff, to choose some expert workmen to repair the damaged ships, to cross European and Asiatic Russia by slow train, and then to report to Russian headquarters at Mukden before going on to Port Arthur.
The situation Makarov found in the Far East when he arrived at Port Arthur on 8 March was worse than he had anticipated. The Russian commander for some seven years had been Vice Admiral Yevgeniy Alekseyev. A more complete contrast to Makarov it would have been impossible to find. Alekseyev, who owed his position to family connections rather than to ability, possessed an arrogant and despotic personality. Uninformed in naval matters, he seems to have taken pains to remain so. Though he had been successful in getting larger forces allocated to him, the Pacific Squadron had declined in quality under his administration. He had failed to develop Port Arthur as a naval base, a weakness which was aggravated by the 1,100-mile distance from Vladivostok, the only other Russian naval base in the Far East. Because ident the harbor had never been deepened, the ships could enter or leave only at high tide. There was no agreed-upon strategy beyond vaguely expressed hopes, no arrangements for show co-operation with the Russian Army, and no war plans either in Petrograd or Port Arthur.
The Russians had very poor military intelligence while the Japanese operated a large and efficient spy ring which reported every Russian move. Training, gunnery, tactics, even the ability to steam in formation, had been so disregarded that 22 hours were needed for the Russian squadron merely to leave Port Arthur harbor. Vice Admiral Starck, who commanded the fleet under Alekseyev, was an amiable mediocrity whose of ability speedily became manifest after the start of the Russo-Japanese war. Rear Admiral Vitjeft and Prince Ukhtomsky had only their personal courage to commend them.
Although the Russian battleships outnumbered the Japanese by seven to six upon the outbreak of war, the Russian vessels were smaller, slower, more poorly armed, and in three cases more weakly armored. In cruisers and torpedo craft, the Russians were enormously outnumbered. In terms of the capital ships of that day (pre-dreadnought battleships and armored cruisers) the Japanese margin in the Far East was 14 to 11. Actually, it was far greater, for not only were the Japanese ships and men qualitatively superior, but the Japanese forces were united while the Russians had divided their fleet and maintained a secondary squadron of armored cruisers at Vladivostok.
Of the eight capital ships at Port Arthur, two had been disabled in the opening attack. The Japanese superiority was therefore at least two to one. In summary, Makarov’s assignment was to make a real fleet out of the “floating barracks” at Port Arthur, to give the training and indoctrination in short weeks that should have been spread over several years, and then to defeat a markedly superior fleet commanded by the great Admiral Togo.
Once he was on the scene, Admiral Makarov may well have despaired of the task. He wrote: “Oh to know what to do. Truly our men are in need of everything. They do not know how to navigate at night. Mismanaged and confused . . . Incapable of identifying themselves, they hesitate to return [to port] for fear of being mistaken for Japanese!”
But if he felt private despair, he did not show it. His doctrine of offensive action and his recognition of the truth of Napoleon’s maxim that the spiritual is to the material as three-to-one made him concentrate on the morale of his command.
This task proved easy. His name had become almost a legend; and as soon as the news that he was the new fleet commander became general, confidence spread through all ranks; even his great capabilities became magnified. When they saw him for the first time, many sailors took off their caps and crossed themselves.
Only two days following his arrival, early on the morning of 10 March, a Russian destroyer was attacked by four Japanese torpedo craft. Russian light forces attempted to rescue her. The cruiser Askold steamed out without the admiral’s flag. It was a black disappointment to sailors who hoped to see their new commander take the lead in battle. Then, to the amazement of the onlookers, the tiny cruiser Novik, fastest ship in the fleet, steamed past flying the admiral’s flag.
Makarov, anxious to get into the thick of the fight, had transferred his flag to the faster ship, which speedily overtook the Askold. Unhappily, the rescue expedition proved too late to save the Stereguschiy and had to withdraw before approaching Japanese battleships. But Makarov’s return was a personal triumph, as sailors from every ship cheered wildly and crowded the railings of their ships to catch a glimpse of him. From that time forward, to quote a Russian naval historian, Makarov could truly speak of the fleet as “my squadron.” There was not an officer or man who would not have died for him.
After this skirmish, Makarov settled down to the insurmountable problem of creating a real fleet overnight. For a month there was a long succession of 16-hour days as the new commander sought by almost continual training to undo the effects of years of maladministration and neglect. Great energy was put into the repair of the damaged ships. When, in the absence of a dry dock, repair of the battleship Tsessarevich appeared to be impossible, Makarov invented a means of doing the job by building a cofferdam. The time required for the entire squadron to leave port was cut to two and a half hours.
Ceremonies and formalities were abolished as an unnecessary waste of time. Makarov minutely and frequently inspected ships that had not been thoroughly examined for years. He talked with officers and men, soliciting opinions. Every word and gesture he made was reported immediately throughout the squadron, and his popularity soared. Mistakes and accidents due to inexperience and ignorance he accepted grudgingly as a cost of learning the naval trade, but failure to act when action was required was never tolerated. Training exercises were carried out nightly by the torpedo craft and every few days by battleships and cruisers. At the end of Makarov’s first month of command, the squadron was virtually unrecognizable. Its morale was high, and its capabilities were steadily and rapidly rising, though still far short of those of the Japanese who had enjoyed good leadership for years.
The Japanese had not failed to note the steady rise in Russian aggressiveness and competence, as well as Makarov’s penchant for getting into the thick of action. They had made several attempts to block the narrow mouth of the harbor by sinking ships, had engaged in minelaying—as had the Russians—and had won several skirmishes with enemy torpedo craft. They had also engaged in indirect bombardment of the Russian ships by firing over the low hills surrounding Port Arthur. None of these tactics had been particularly productive.
In searching for new and more effective methods, the Japanese succeeded beyond their wildest dreams when an unexpected series of events eliminated the one Russian leader whose abilities might have defeated them.
During the night of 12-13 April, Japanese minelayers, operating in dense fog, laid new mines near Port Arthur. Though the Russians suspected such activity, they had not yet had time to investigate when they were distracted by an outside skirmish between torpedo craft which resulted in the sinking of the Russian destroyer Strasnyy. Two Russian cruisers went to her rescue, but they were in time only to pick up survivors. Four Japanese cruisers then arrived as did additional Russian ships—first the cruisers Askold and Novik, and then the Poltava and Makarov’s flagship Petropavlovsk. When Japanese battleships entered the fray, the Russians were outnumbered and disengaged themselves. The Japanese pursued and gained ground but, much to the amazement of the Russians, gave up the chase while their quarry was still several miles from Port Arthur.
The reason for this puzzling action soon became apparent as the Russians steamed across the newly-laid minefield. At 9:45 a.m. the Petropavlovsk hit at least one and possibly two mines. There was a very loud explosion and a tremendous cloud of smoke. Within this cloud the flagship sank in less than two minutes. Seven officers and 73 men were rescued, but Admiral Makarov was one of the 31 officers and 600 seamen who lost their lives. The long, sad search for Makarov’s body resulted only in the recovery of his coat.
The Russian disaster was not over. Half an hour later, the Pobyeda struck a mine which blew a hole in her starboard side. She listed heavily but regained the harbor.
The events of 13 April accomplished far more than depriving the Russians of their only first class leader. A feeling of intense foreboding pervaded the command and, though the Russians scored heavily a month later when their own mines sank two of the six Japanese battleships, there was no recovery from the lethargy into which the Pacific Fleet sank following the death of Makarov. The nature of the Russian loss was best expressed by a mourning seaman on the cruiser Diana.
“What is a battleship?” he asked. “They are welcome to sink another one and even a couple of cruisers. That’s not it; but we have lost our head. Oh why had it to be just him and not any of the others?”
Makarov’s conduct in his last battle has been criticized on two counts: first, that he should have investigated the vague reports of Japanese minelaying; second, that he ran excessive personal risks in the battle.
On the first count, Makarov may well have been too rash; though, with the lack of reliable information before him, his course is understandable. His presence in the thick of battle is another matter altogether. Makarov was making every effort to develop subordinates able to make wise decisions. But their education had just begun, and, until it was much further advanced, both officers and men required the inspirational direction that only he could give. Admittedly, even had this not been true, it is doubtful if he would have followed a less risky course. For, throughout his life, he had never hesitated to gamble against heavy odds.
What, then, is Makarov’s place in naval history?
Within Russia, his fame is secure. Major warships of both the Tsarist and Soviet navies have borne his name. Half a dozen biographies have appeared, and one of the leading landmarks at the naval base at Kronshtadt is a heroic statue of Makarov.
Both Tsarist and Soviet writers have accepted him as a very great seaman.
Had Makarov been born in other times and circumstances he might well have been one of the world’s universal geniuses. That he achieved fame in a backward navy at one of the low points in its history can only add luster to the record of one of the most versatile leaders in all naval history.