Raising the Shtandart

In 1703, Peter the Great had barely founded St. Petersburg and Russia’s decisive victory at Poltava in its Northern War with Sweden (1700-1721) was still six years off. To protect the country’s new frontier, Peter needed a navy on the Baltic.

Peter had been enthralled by sailing since an early age, and he acquired essential boatbuilding skills on the docks of Holland and Britain during his Grand Embassy, an 18-month journey to Europe in 1697-98. The tsar traveled incognito, as Peter Mikhailov, and labored with simple carpenters, not shunning difficult work. His own knowledge and the craftsmen he lured back to Russia enabled the creation of a great new fleet.

So it was that, in the spring of 1703, on the Olonetsk dock of the small town Lodeynoye Pole, the keel was laid for the first flagship of the Baltic fleet, the frigate Shtandart. For six months, 150 carpenters, blacksmiths, riggers, and sailmakers worked to complete it.

Atop the frigate’s mainmast fluttered a bright-yellow flag, His Majesty’s standard, featuring a two-headed eagle, the symbol of the Russian Empire. Each beak and each set of talons clutched a map showing the contour of a sea: to the Caspian, Azov, and White Seas was now added the Baltic, whose shores had been retaken from Sweden that year. The updated imperial flag also gave the ship built to lead the Baltic fleet its name: the Shtandart (“the standard”). The first ship’s first captain was Emperor Peter himself, officially listed at Peter Mikhailov.

So glorious a start would seem to herald an illustrious military future, but that prospect was never fully realized. The frigate saw few battles in the Northern War, and spent most of the time patrolling the Empire’s new borders. Since frigates were known for their speed and agility, they were typically used for gathering intelligence and protecting borders.

In 1719, however, the ship was “put out to pasture” in St. Petersburg’s Skipper’s Canal. Worms had eaten through its hull. Wood is not the most long-lasting of materials, and in their rush to create the new Baltic fleet the craftsmen had not taken enough time to properly dry the lumber. As a result, it was prone to rot, an affliction that could take down the greatest of fleets.

Years passed. The reign of Peter the Great came to an end, and in 1725 his wife ascended the throne, taking the name of Catherine I. During an inspection of imperial ships two years later, Catherine ordered that the decrepit Shtandart be taken out of the water, restored, and maintained as a monument to Peter. Sturdy cables were laid under the ship’s hull. The hoists creaked under the ship’s weight, and suddenly the cables cut through the worm-eaten wood, breaking Peter’s Shtandart to pieces. When Catherine found out, she issued a decree for the frigate to be built anew, to glorify Peter’s reign. “In honor of the name given by His Majesty Peter the First,” the decree read, “a new frigate shall be rebuilt and renewed.”

But as happens so often in Russia, it can take a bit of time from a measure’s signing to its execution...

Two hundred and sixty-five years after Catherine’s decree, Vladimir Martus, a professional windsurfer, shipbuilder, and member of the “Polar Odyssey” maritime club in Petrozavodsk, decided to bring the historic ship back to life. None of the drawings for the original design had survived, but after extensive research, historian Viktor Kraynyukov produced drawings that served as the basis for a scale model of the frigate built in 1991. Martus saw the model one year later: “When I saw how beautiful and well-made the Shtandart was, I decided I had to build it.” The blueprint was adapted to satisfy modern requirements for safety and comfort.

In order to finance the building of the Shtandart, Martus sold the first replica ship he built, the St. Peter (not the same ship as featured in the following article) for $50,000. The city allocated space rent-free in a suburban park for the construction site, and the first set of ribs was put in place on April 8, 1995.

Work begins

Peter’s original frigate had a whole host of craftsmen working on it. But the modern-day Shtandart had only a handful at first. The dream persisted nevertheless, and construction chugged along. Over the next four and a half years, people would find out via word or mouth or media (Russian Life wrote about the project in October 1996) that a wooden frigate was being built in St. Petersburg, and they would come – first to look, then to help.

Oaks for the ship’s hull were scouted out in the city’s urban forests and felled by project participants. Special permission was acquired for the felling of 30 larch trees, since larchwood is waterproof and does not rot in water. Woodworkers recreated the original wreath molding around the gun ports and decorated the shipboards with dolphins and mermaids. The bow of the ship featured a lion, symbolizing power and royalty.

Finished!

Financing for the ship’s construction came from various sponsors, including the royal families of Britain and the Netherlands, where naval traditions and historic legacies are held in high esteem.

On May 30, 1998, the still-unfinished ship was christened Shtandart. Its “godfathers” were the governor of St. Petersburg, Vladimir Yakovlev, and His Highness Prince Andrew, Duke of York.

Of course, the new ship did not adhere strictly to eighteenth-century technology. Its creators intended not only to recreate Peter’s Shtandart, but to also sail it throughout the Baltic and Northern seas. To do so, they equipped the frigate with 560-horsepower engines. On the original ship, the hold stored water, food, cannonballs and powder, while the sailors and gunmen slept right on the deck, out in the open. Only the captain and officers had a roof over their heads. On the new frigate, the interior included crew quarters, a galley, and a cozy messdeck.

Nonetheless, the modern Shtandart retained warship features: red shipboards, gun ports, and the guns themselves. Even in modern times, they are still used in battle – or at least in recreations of historic battles.

On September 4, 1999, the keel of the new Shtandart was first lowered into the Neva River in front of an audience of 40,000. A bottle of champagne was smashed against the hull, and for the past 15 years, the neck of that bottle has been kept in the ship’s navigation room, to remain there as long as the frigate is seaworthy.

Captain Vladimir Martus

The modern frigate charted its first voyage to follow the course of Peter’s Grand Embassy, visiting the ports in Holland and England where Peter studied shipbuilding with European masters.

And when the ship returned to Russia in 2000, the Shtandart began hosting a maritime volunteer program.

I remember the October evening when my father and I first boarded the Shtandart. Dad was a university professor and engineer, a curious and enthusiastic person. He immediately supported my plan to join the crew of the historic frigate.

A cold rain was coming down outside, but the messdeck was warm. Two people were on duty: an officer and one of the volunteers acting as mate. We were greeted, offered tea, and told about the incoming group of volunteers. Every fall, they explained, the Shtandart welcomed a new group of seafaring enthusiasts.

From that moment on, my life became inextricably tied to the ship (or, as we called it, endearingly, the korablik). Some weeks I would spend more time on board than at home. From November to April, we prepared the frigate for the summer navigation season.

We learned every sort of practical skill. There is always enough work to go around on a wooden ship: sanding, spackling, painting, lacquering, scouring, drilling, polishing, sewing, making cordage – you get the idea.

“No one just heaped work on you. You had to ask, to show some interest,” said Alexander Lisafin, a project participant. He joined the effort in 2006, after hearing a radio program about a call for volunteers. In time, he became the quasi-official photographer for the program and returns every year.

The work was never a burden: there were plenty of us, united by a common goal and love for the “little boat,” and it made the work easier. In the winter, we started classes in sailing theory, and then we could apply our new knowledge about shipbuilding and sailing right there, on board the frigate.

Young crew members hard at work on the ship

“Before that, I lived in my own little word,” Alexander recalled. “The Shtandart taught me to communicate and work in a team.”

In fact, as we worked, we gradually became friends. By the time we set out to sea in the spring, we were not just a team, we were a family. By then, for many the ship had become a second home.

The SHTANDART is known and loved throughout Europe: Hamburg, Amsterdam, Brest, and London invite it to their sailing festivals. But it is not welcome everywhere, and unfortunately, the project’s merits are not recognized in its home country. For years now the ship has not returned to St. Petersburg. If it comes back, it will get “put to the wall,” put to rest, and the “living” ship that has sailed the seas of Europe would be forced to become a museum.

“Currently, the sailboat Shtandart is registered as an athletic sailing yacht, a training ship,” Vladimir Martus explains. “This means that all the people on board are volunteer sailors who go out to sea for their own pleasure and at their own risk.

“Russian shipping registers (the Maritime Register of Shipping and the Russian River Register) do not recognize Shtandart and will not recognize it in the future for several reasons. The ship is made of wood, and the last time standard documentation was published for wooden ships of this size was in 1944. It has not been updated since then, so the registers can no longer apply to it. Besides, the internal policies of both registers specify that ships older than 15 years shall not be registered unless they were registered in the past. So the Shtandart cannot be registered.

“It does not appear possible to change the situation without powerful support from the very top, as that would involve making an exception to the general rules for just one ship. Other wooden ships of this size (the Poltava, for example, is under construction) are not intended for sailing or being used for training in seamanship. I have not heard anything about [Russia] making a special register for wooden or for historic ships.”

So it is that the Shtandart Project now mostly hosts foreign volunteers. They come on board as trainees, learning the basics of seamanship during the voyage, while their room and board fees help finance the ship’s continued operation. A few years ago, the Shtandart left the northern seas for warmer climes. The crew greeted 2016 in Sicily. RL

Young crew member.

To read more about the Shtandart, and to see its present location (at press time, just off the coast of southern Spain), visit shtandart.ru