... Neither on the first day of our stop during the Constantinople passage, nor on the next day, did any of us know if they were going to leave us in Turkey or take us further, and where to, exactly. Different rumors were circulating; they were talking about Egypt, Greece, Bulgaria, some islands, and even Brazil. In the meantime, our director made a couple of trips to land and had negotiations there with somebody, as the result of which on the third or fourth day it was determined that we were to be dispatched to the Kingdom of the SCS (Serbs, Croats and Slovenes), as Yugoslavia was called then.

... Our voyage continued without special adventures, big ones anyway. Small ones did happen. From those it is worth mentioning the so-called “hunger riot,” in which the leading role, with great temperament and success, was taken by my classmate Nicholas (Kolya) Mihajlov, afterwards an engineer and the very father of the presently widely known Yugoslav writer Mihajlo Mihajlov.

... We have to say beforehand that on the ship “Vladimir” they fed us no better than half-starving portions and, in particular, were giving us a little bread, because it was under the authority not of our steward but of some high-ranking commissary, who was serving it to the whole population of the ship. There was as much bread as one wishes in his care. It was formed in high stacks like wood and lying in a couple of places on the deck, covered with tarpaulin. And so that it did not get dragged out by hungry men, next to these storehouses stood our very same cadet sentries, with rifles in their hands.

... However, I’m returning to the “riot.” Soon the bread lying on the deck started to become green and covered with mold from dampness, and we were still given miserable portions of it. Such a situation developed so that one nice day about ten cadets of the first company went in search of the attendant. He was found on the upper deck. We did not have any specific plans as far as methods of influence, and maybe everything would have happened peacefully. But, seeing in front of him in a chaise lounge the fat figure of the military official in a beautiful general’s overcoat with red trimmings, the hungry-as-a-wolf Mihajlov right away became brutal. The attendant, unfortunately, also was very arrogant. Between them took place this dialogue:

- Are you the main attendant of the ship?

- Yes, I am. But for your information I have a rank: Secret Councilor with the title of His Excellence. And this is how I should be addressed. What would you like?

- It would be nice to know who you are saving the bread for?

- I don’t have to give you an accounting.

- Is that what you think? You have never seen how they make an obviously dead man from a Secret Councilor?

- This is a riot! shouted the “Councilor,” arising from his chaise lounge. Mihajlov took out his Nagan revolver. We surrounded the two, ready if necessary, to stop the excesses of the enraged Mihajlov, but at the same time growling menacingly at the attendant.

- In your place I would agree to distribute the bread---with ingratiating voice the calm and reasonable cadet Trophimov recommended. - Because is the sin too far? It would be too bad if such a wonderful Councilor entitled His Excellency would perish.

- OK, I will give orders, - muttered the official, becoming pale and losing all his assurance seeing the Nagan. At this moment our “old man” appeared on deck, having been informed by some of the passengers of what was happening. He immediately drove us away and started calming the attendant, who with the new turn of events took heart and again began rambling with the indignant voice of a “general.”

This riot had two consequences: they started giving us plenty of bread, but by the demand of the captain of the ship we were disarmed. Being afraid of excesses superiors conducted this operation very carefully: they did not say anything to the cadets, but late at night took away and gave to the commander of the ship all our rifles which were piled in the corner of the hold. To calm us they promised us to give them back at disembarkation, but we never saw the rifles again and were comforted that our pistols remained with us.

The attendant was in a rage, demanding that the instigators be almost executed, but aside from a reprimand, nothing happened to the culprits of this incident. Our “old man” did not allow his people to get hurt.

Reminiscences of a White Officer
Buenos Aires, 1977, pp 28-31
Edicion
Talleres Graficos DORREGO
Avenida Dorrego 1102, Buenos Aires, Argentina
(pp 28-31)