The Abortive Kronstadt: The Chilean Naval Mutiny of 1931 Open Access

The Great Depression of 1929 challenged the ability of Latin America’s governments to rule. Numerous administrations, unable to surmount the economic crisis, were overturned. Some nations rejected liberal democracy in favor of more exotic ideologies; others simply changed caudillos. Chile, which normally avoided political upheavals, did not escape the general malaise. Deprived of revenue when world demand for nitrates evaporated, the country quickly exhausted its financial resources. Unrest engulfed the nation and resulted in unseating General Carlos Ibáñez in July 1931. The return to civilian government did not restore order for in September 1931 the Chilean navy mutinied while on maneuvers off Coquimbo.

Historically, Chile’s fleet had seemed the most politically reticent of the armed forces. True, the navy had participated in the 1891 rebellion against Balmaceda, but it had subsequently abstained from the politiquería of the parliamentary regime. And, although in 1925 it had considered actively intervening in politics, the fleet generally remained aloof from the turmoil of the Alessandri period. This passivity ended when Ibáñez became president in 1927. Numerous naval officers were named to government positions and one, Carlos Froedden, served as Minister of the Interior. While the fleet had become involved in ruling the nation, it still acted within an institutional framework, and, more significantly, its chain of command, as well as its discipline, remained intact. Thus the 1931 mutiny shattered the navy’s institutional integrity because the leaders of this putsch were not ambitious officers but the lower deck. And, unlike the more traditional military upheaval, this one sought not political but economic reform.

The Chilean naval mutineers resembled the revolutionaries of the imperial Russian and German fleets in 1917-1918. The sailors of Kronstadt and Kiel revolted when neither the Tsar nor the Kaiser seemed capable of dominating the forces unleashed by World War I. Indeed, the collapse of the imperial fleets’ iron discipline seemed to be a harbinger of the unrest in civilian society. Soon after the sailors mutinied, the monarchies they had once sworn to defend ceased to exist.¹

Just as the hardships of a world conflagration incited the German and Russian fleets to rebel, the Great Depression precipitated Coquimbo. Chile’s internal situation appeared particularly grim in 1931. The political parties could neither agree on how to resolve the extremely difficult economic situation nor how to rule the nation. The military, already discredited because of its support of Ibáñez, was weakened by internal bickering and scandal. Large portions of the public, long repressed by the previous administration and suffering from acute economic hardships, seemed extremely restive and ready to embrace any cause which would bring them succor. The Coquimbo mutiny seriously challenged the new government by threatening, like the naval rebellions of 1917-1918, to precipitate a civil war.

Preoccupied with the more flamboyant Socialist Republic of 100 Days, scholars have tended to ignore the 1931 naval mutiny. Most of those who have described the rebellion were participants, seeking either to justify themselves or to incriminate others.² A few historians have mentioned the rebellion without, however, analyzing it in detail.³ Yet the mutiny was not insignificant. It demonstrated that revolutionary sentiment had permeated the enlisted ranks. Many believed that the mutiny may have altered the course of the 1931 presidential election. From a purely technical point of view, it provided one of the first examples of the deployment of air power against the battleship. Thus, the 1931 rebellion merits attention and this essay will not only seek to explain its origins, but to trace its development and to measure its impact on Chile’s history.

In late winter of 1931, Chileans busily planned for their annual rite: the dieciocho de septiembre, the anniversary of their nation’s independence. That year’s festivities literally celebrated the republic’s rebirth. The strongman Ibánez had been deposed in late July and the nation, ruled by a caretaker president, prepared for the first free elections since 1925.

While many luxuriated in this new freedom, serious problems continued to press upon the nation’s leaders. The Great Depression, which earlier had bypassed Chile, finally arrived with a vengeance. Denied the largesse of Wall Street, Minister of Economics Pedro Blanquier contrived to fund a government in which expenditures exceeded revenues. Blanquier reacted in traditional fashion by economizing—reducing the salaries of those government employees who earned more than $3, 000 (pesos) per year by twelve to thirty percent. While such acts reflected prevailing economic dogma, they hit hard at the perennially underpaid Chilean civil servant. The more diffident clerk might have silently tightened his belt yet another notch, but his military colleagues were soon to evince their hostility in more vivid gestures.⁴

While Santiaguinos prepared for the parade annually held in the city’s Parque Cousiño, the fleet had anchored off Coquimbo whose harbor and cantinas provided a haven for both the ships and men of the navy. The Chilean squadron which once dominated the Pacific coast now seemed but a pale shadow of its former glory. The navy’s only capital ship, the Latorre (formerly Valparaíso) had been ordered in 1911 but was appropriated by the British at the onset of the First World War. After the vessel had steamed for years as the HMS Canada, the Chileans repurchased it in April 1920. Nine years later, the Latorre returned to the shipyards of Devonport, England for a large refit at the shipyards which required almost eighteen months to complete.

The fleet possessed no other capital vessels. The next largest ships consisted of four pre-1900 cruisers, some of which had been modernized, the most recent being the O’Higgins in 1928-1929. The only new units were a flotilla of six destroyers and three submarines acquired in England in 1928. These vessels joined three prewar destroyers which, like the Latorre, had been taken by the British in 1914 and returned at the war’s conclusion. The British Admiralty ceded to Chile six Holland-class submarines, built in the United States but never delivered to Britain, as compensation for seizing the Latorre and the destroyers. The fleet also possessed some modern auxiliary vessels including a sub-tender, the Araucano, two oilers, and some coast guard vessels and tugs.⁵

Blanquier’s pay cuts demoralized the already underpaid navy. In 1930, the government had reduced the fleet’s salaries by ten percent in addition to halving its overseas bonus.⁶ Infuriated, the sailors immediately beseeched their officers to intercede on their behalf. The Latorre’s captain, Alberto Hozven, who apparently merited his reputation as an unfeeling martinet, refused to forward to the Minister of the Navy a petition drafted by the men. Instead, he assembled his crew, the commanders of the other ships, and enlisted representatives from these vessels to hear a lecture extolling the virtues of abnegation. Hozven urged his men to bear their economic hardships in the name of the motherland and threatened to punish anyone who tried to submit petitions. At the conclusion of this discourse, he called for the customary patriotic cheer. But for a few midshipmen, most of the men remained mute or, in the case of a few officers, greeted the speech with rude remarks.⁷

On the afternoon of August 31, 1931, most of the Latorre’s crew squeezed into the ship’s hydraulic equipment section to discuss the situation. Informed that various officers supported their demands and had suggested that the crew send its petition directly to the president, some sailors began to call for more energetic measures. By the end of the afternoon, the enlisted men, led by their petty officers, agreed to seize the fleet in order to dramatize their demand for a restoration of their salaries.

That evening, most of the squadron went ashore to see a boxing tournament in La Serena. The absence of many of the crew permitted the Latorre to send messages to the other ships, ordering various petty officers to a conference on the flagship. At midnight, the rebels launched their mutiny and by 2: 00 a. m., they had seized the Latorre’s arsenal and notified their comrades of this success. Within a short time, the rest of the fleet fell into the mutineer’s hands although, in the case of some of the destroyers, this was achieved only by sending out boarding parties from the flagship and the O’Higgins. Those officers aboard ship were locked in their cabins; the rest were taken into custody when they returned to their ships.

The Estado Mayor de Tripulación (EMT), a sailors’ council composed of representatives elected by the mutineers, assumed command of the rebel flotilla. A rotund petty officer yeoman, Ernesto González, appropriately named “El Guatón” (Fatso), who had also been the confidant of various officers including Hozven, replaced the flotilla’s admiral, Abel Campos. A colleague later suggested that González achieved this status because he was the most senior enlisted man, a virtue in the military lexicon, although his critics later denounced him as vacillating and indecisive. González’ principal aides consisted of Manuel Astica, a civilian apprentice, who was undergoing training for the post of naval accountant, and Lautaro Silva, also a payclerk trainee. As various observers noted, the mutiny’s leaders were generally men from the technical services, thus confirming the traditional naval prejudice that gunners and deckhands were too dense to plan anything. In addition to the EMT, each ship had its own smaller central committee of six men who commanded the vessel.⁸

Santiago did not learn the unhappy news until approximately 5: 00 p. m. when it received a statement from the rebels. The mutineers, while admitting that a crisis was ravaging Chile, nonetheless rejected the idea that they, the most modest, should bear the burden of the government’s economies. The sailors not only demanded the restoration of their salaries, but also called upon the Moneda to punish those men whose policies had reduced Chile to this deplorable state. The EMT also urged that the administration end the propaganda campaign which had been directed against the armed forces. The crew’s statement, which called for a reply within forty-eight hours, sought to reassure Santiago by denying that the men harbored any radical feelings and vowing that they would never use force to achieve their goals.

Shortly before midnight, a second list of more uncomfortably explicit demands arrived at the Moneda, calling upon the government to restore salaries, improve rations, and issue free clothing. Retirement and promotion policies were also to change while various naval schools were to be closed and the employment of contract pilots abandoned. Although presented in an arbitrary fashion, these demands at least addressed professional grievances. The EMT also included some goals which seemed inappropriate for a naval mutiny. The rebels demanded, for example, the suspension of the payment of Chile’s foreign debt, a lowering of bank interest rates to encourage business activity, and the subdivision of land to increase the number of farmers and presumably to stimulate production. The government also was ordered to invest heavily in the creation of national industries as well as to reduce unemployment by funding public works projects. To finance this program, the sailors urged the Moneda to impose new taxes and levy contributions from the nation’s wealthy.⁹ These goals differed radically from the first demands and indicated, as one observer noted tartly, that the rebels’ aims had become more sophisticated. More ominous was the mutineers’ failure to include a disclaimer of communist or radical influence when they published their second proclamation.¹⁰

The news of the rebellion quickly spread throughout the nation. On September 2, the southern naval base at Talcahuano learned of the mutiny despite attempts of the officers to keep the men uninformed. Like many commanders, the Director of the Escuela de Mecánicos sought to defuse the situation by encouraging his men to accept the pay cuts with more equanimity than their brethren in Coquimbo. He even requested his command to send a joint telegram to the mutineers indicating their disapproval of the rebellion.

Many of the enlisted men proved recalcitrant. The crew of the Araucano, for example, refused to send such a telegram. Fearful that this indicated support for the rebels, the officers locked the ship’s arsenal, ordered the men below, and stood all the watches without assistance from the ratings. That same evening, the men of the Condell, the Chacabuco, and the Prat heard a rumor that the submarines, accompanied by the Araucano, would be ordered north to sink the rebel ships. A group of armed sailors sought to stop this sortie by seizing the Araucano. At this point, the story becomes confused. The enlisted men claimed that they had been convinced not to take such a step and were, in fact, leaving the ship when the Araucano’s officers fired upon them. The infuriated sailors renewed their attack and captured the ship. The vessel’s captain, Eleodoro Muñoz, claiming that he did not enjoy the confidence of his crew, quit his post. Inexplicably, the base commander, Admiral Roberto Chappuseaux, also refused to resist and instead ordered his officers ashore, thus delivering to the rebels uncontested control of the Talcahuano’s facilities and its ships.

Before dawn on September 3, a flotilla of submarines, following in the wave of their mothership, left port. While fueling at nearby Dichato they were joined by three coastguard vessels, one of which had delayed its exit to take on a load of fresh bread from the Talcahuano naval bakery, and two tugs. The cruiser Blanco Encalada later rendezvoused with the rebel ships leaving two cruisers as well as some destroyers and submarines to guard Talcahuano.

The rebel southern fleet, like its northern counterparts, elected a committee to oversee its actions. These men voted to join their comrades in the north, a journey which they safely completed despite threats of an attack from the loyal air force units. Since Santiago had sent its orders en clair, the rebel crews easily avoided the planes. En route, the mutineers indulged in painting and scraping, a traditional naval pasttime, reaching Coquimbo looking properly groomed at dawn on September 6.¹¹

The mutiny also spread to the School of Communications, located at Las Salinas, close to Valparaíso. Here, too, some of the enlisted men demanded and received permission from the school’s commander, Emilio Merino, to send a telegram manifesting their support to the men at Coquimbo. Merino subsequently claimed that the men had exceeded their orders because the telegram expressed unconditional support for the rebels. Apparently words alone were insufficient to convey the students’ feelings because on September 3 they seized the facility. The mutineers did not harm their officers—Merino flounced out and took refuge in his home for the duration of the rebellion—although the sailors did stop civilian cars, occasionally robbing their occupants.¹²

Naval mutinies never occur at propitious moments and this was particularly true in Chile’s case. Since Ibáñez’ downfall, the nation had been ruled by a temporary vice president, Juan Esteban Montero. Some Chileans, taking advantage of their newly restored civil liberties, indulged in almost anarchical behavior. The police, who had acted brutally during the Ibáñez government, now became the targets of old vendettas as their former victims ambushed them in the streets. The lack of authority created uncertainty; private citizens began to form white guards as looters atttacked stores. The collapse of order caused some to yearn for the authoritarian Ibáñez or for the establishment of a military regime which would restore tranquility.¹³ The situation did not improve when Montero quit his post in order to campaign for the presidency. His successor, Manuel Trucco Franzani, had occupied the office less than a fortnight when mutiny erupted.

Aware perhaps of the vulnerability of civilian government, the nation’s political leaders, with the exception of the communist, Elías Lafertte, offered to support Trucco’s fledgling administration. Arturo Alessandri, for example, called upon the nation to coalesce around Trucco in order to preserve Chile from another military dictatorship. His statement received support from conservatives as well as from the more leftist Partido Democrático and even from the Trotskyist Manuel Hidalgo.¹⁴

Lamentably, Trucco enjoyed more support in the street than in his own government. Minister of the Navy Calixto Rogers opposed the use of military power to subdue the fleet, believing this would be counterproductive. The Minister of War, General Enrique Bravo, shared this opinion and thought that he could convince the rebels to surrender. The civilian members of the government, led by Horacio Hevia, however, advocated the immediate use of force. When Trucco opted to negotiate, his ministers resigned.¹⁵

The new cabinet, led by Marcial Mora, also included Enrique Spoerer, a former officer who had been purged from the navy by Ibáñez, and General Carlos Vergara. The latter’s appointment, the U. S. military attaché claimed, presumably terrified the rebels because he had the reputation of being tough. The regular officers, on the other hand, seemed delighted. They had earlier opposed General Bravo, claiming that his vocal opposition to Ibáñez had made him too political and hence “an element of uncertainty.”¹⁶ Unfortunately, the air force, one of the few instruments capable of subduing the fleet, appeared to be demoralized and divided by jealousies. Vergara’s brother, Ramón, who had recently assumed command of the air units, accused his predecessor, Arturo Merino Benítez, of politicizing his command. Worse yet, Merino, as well as various high ranking officers, were also under investigation for misappropriating funds. Not surprisingly, these officers loathed Vergara and actively sought to unseat him.¹⁷ The latter’s tenure was also complicated by the fact that the air force had been created in part from units which had once belonged to the navy. Hence various men, particularly the enlisted personnel, seemed reluctant to take up arms against their former shipmates.¹⁸

Dissension within the air force quickly surfaced. On September 4, the Second Air Group stationed at Quintero defected to the rebels. Under the leadership of Sergeants Manuel Poblete and Reinaldo Meneses, the mutineers seized the base and imprisoned its officers. Poblete also radioed a list of demands which, while echoing those of the fleet, also included a provision calling for the abolition of the air force, the closure of various military schools, and the elimination of the salary cuts. The rebels occupied the nearby town, seizing its communications and closing the local bars. The naval mutineers promised to send the destroyer Aldea to help defend the base against attack. In return, it requested that Poblete sabotage his unit’s planes, an order which he immediately obeyed.¹⁹

Already beset by the rebellion of various military units, Mora’s control over the civilians seemed equally tenuous. Mobs continued to attack private property while the police refused to oppose them, claiming that they received too little in salary to justify such risks. Many, especially after the uprising at Talcahuano, believed that the mutiny would spread to Lota, the southern coal pits, and the industrial belts. The northern salitreras, filled with discontented and unemployed, constituted an ideal seedbed for rebellion. Indeed, General Pedro Vignola, commander of one of the northern garrisons, feared that the mere appearance of the rebel fleet would spark a civil war in his district. Consequently, he urged negotiations with the rebels and even suggested that the government yield to their demands until they could be disarmed and neutralized. Some Chileans increasingly began to consider the military as their only salvation. Others, perhaps fearful of a resurrection of militarism, started to form civic guards. As the American military attaché noted, however, these groups lacked the necessary organization to deal with the threat facing Chile.²⁰

Slowly, however, the public began to manifest its support for Trucco. The government received statements of allegiance from such diverse organizations as the Chilean Dental Association, the Legión Cívica de Valdivia, and the Agrupación Democrática de Curicó. Various military units began enlisting volunteers from the ranks of former servicemen and even those without previous military experience. Santiago’s Intendant created a Guardia Cívica Unica whose ranks included not only veterans but also firemen, physicians, and engineers, all sworn to “guarantee both order and property.” Valparaíso’s Guardia Oficial was equally bourgeois in its membership claiming 300 engineers and 250 doctors. One of the few elements which seemed to be proletarian in character was the Second Regiment, which consisted in part of 200 employees of Santiago’s slaughterhouse.²¹

Despite these outpourings of support, the situation remained critical. Communist leader Lafertte declared a trolley strike in Santiago and by September 4 the city appeared deserted. Some of the more militant tried to spread the strike by preventing others from working. The demonstrators called for solidarity with the mutinous sailors and demanded restoration of full pay to civilian employees, suspension of rent payments by workers and employees, and the end of debt collection or foreclosures on items pawned in the Caja de Crédito, a government lending institution. Valparaíso, like the capital, was also paralyzed by a transport strike. The work stoppage became particularly noxious when the garbage men refused to work. The situation began to return to normal, however, when private individuals arranged for a substitute transport system and businesses reopened. Officials in the north shifted the unemployed from urban centers to northern salitreras where they received food and lodging. Provincial cities also formed paramilitary units to augment the local police. Ironically, the normally volatile Concepción district remained calm, perhaps because the government sent additional troops to this area.²²

Not surprisingly, Mora sought authority to limit public demonstrations and to suspend temporarily some constitutional guarantees. Some legislators, fearful of rule by decree, bridled at this request. Hidalgo, for example, opposed the measure, as did the Democratic Senator Vicente Adrian who believed it would be used to restrict political activity in the forthcoming presidential election. Congress, however, eventually authorized the proposal despite these objections.²³

As the situation worsened, especially after the rebellion in Talcahuano and Las Salinas, the government sought and received permission to cancel civil liberties and the right of assembly. Perhaps emboldened by this stand, the police became more spirited, expelling 200 communist students who had temporarily seized the headquarters of the University of Chile, thereby restoring public confidence in the government.²⁴ Two days later on September 5, Mora sought permission to implement the state of siege. Although the lower house did not object, Senators Aquiles Concha and Juan Luis Carmona joined Hidalgo and Adrian to oppose this measure. In order to reassure his critics, Minister of Justice Horacio Walker Larraín promised not to abridge personal liberties and vowed to use his powers of arrest only sparingly. Once he received this authorization, Trucco then requested immediate approval for a state of siege to last for thirty days.²⁵

The government not only had to contend with hostile legislators but a more elusive enemy—rumor. On September 4, El Mercurio reported that a U. S. flotilla, including an aircraft carrier, had sailed for Chile to crush the mutiny. No such action had been taken although Foreign Minister Luis Izquierdo had requested American intervention. The U. S. Minister, William Culbertson, publicly denied the press release. In private he also refused the Chilean petition for aid, stating that U. S. intervention was unnecessary and adding that his government would not intercede unless requested to do so, in writing, by the leaders of Chile’s principal parties. General Vergara requested American supplies of heavy bombs, tear gas, and a public statement that the United States would sell at least two submarines to Chile. The government needed the bombs, Vergara claimed, because Chilean weapons apparently could not penetrate the Latorre’s armor plate. The Minister of War doubted that he would get the submarines but hoped to use the promise to buttress public morale.²⁶

Vergara’s modest wishes went begging. The State Department replied that the Washington Naval Armaments Treaty prohibited the sale of submarines. American bases in Panama, moreover, did not stockpile gas and, because the Chilean request had been made on Saturday, the government did not know the type or quantity of bombs stored in its Canal Zone bases. Even if such material were available, it would have to be shipped by commercial airplane which, the Secretary of State noted, was an action also prohibited by international agreement. Thus, although the United States was not unsympathetic, Chile, as Culbertson observed, would have to resolve its problems unaided.²⁷

The reports of American intervention typified the various rumors that aggravated the atmosphere of uncertainty. The situation became so bad that on September 5 Mora went on the radio to repudiate unfounded allegations. He denied that Trucco and his government had resigned to be replaced by a junta, that Talcahuano had been bombarded, and that Valparaiso was burning. Chile, he reported, remained tranquil and his government promised a return to constitutional order as well as an end to dictatorship.²⁸

Trucco’s situation was particularly difficult: he yearned to restore order quickly, fearful that others might join the rebellion. Yet he hesitated to employ force since he wished to demonstrate that his government had abandoned the heavy-handed policies of the Ibáñez period. The vice president’s conciliatory policy enjoyed the support of Spoerer, who apparently feared that the use of force might destroy the navy’s ships. Trucco eventually opted for the peaceful solution, sending Admiral Edgardo von Schroeders, an officer who enjoyed the respect of both his colleagues and subordinates, to parley with the mutineers.²⁹

Von Schroeders, charged with the task of convincing the rebels to surrender and to use normal channels to register their complaints, flew north on a civilian plane. While the admiral personally disapproved of Trucco’s policy which he condemned as inappropriate as well as counterproductive, he loyally followed his orders. His mission began inauspiciously because the EMT refused to come ashore to parley with him and he was forced to waste precious hours before the Moneda would authorize him to board the Latorre. He persevered, however, warning that unless Santiago would authorize him to meet the rebels on their flagship, radicals would gain control of the mutiny. The mutineers welcomed Von Schroeders with all the ceremony due his rank, but this traditional courtesy was all that he received. Once he began debating with the crew, the admiral learned that their demands had escalated. Von Schroeders did not quibble with the professional aspects of their complaints, considering many, such as the right to free clothing, to be valid. He refused, however, to negotiate the other demands.

During the discussions, a split developed between the mutineers. The regulars concentrated on the professional problems while Astica used the opportunity to lecture both the admiral and his shipmates on the inequities of Chile’s economic and social system. Increasingly, it became apparent that the more politically militant Comité Ejecutivo of the Latorre was trying to gain control of the mutiny. Von Schroeders, therefore, sought to obtain the surrender of the northern fleet before it was joined by the even more radical southern flotilla whose presence, he believed, would make compromise impossible. The admiral promised to recommend that the government study rebel demands and recognize that the mutineers had acted out of patriotic motives. He would not guarantee amnesty although he indicated that the navy would take no disciplinary action until the matter was thoroughly investigated.³⁰

Unfortunately an impasse developed. While the northern fleet continued to change the language as well as the goals of its demands, the government, buttressed by increasing public support, became more intransigent. All possibilities of compromise ended when the southern fleet begged its northern comrades not to sign any agreement until it arrived, a request which the northern EMT honored.

A despondent von Schroeders returned to Santiago, displeased that his mission had failed but sure that the unity of the mutineers would soon shatter. True to his expectations, the arrival of the southerners did indeed alter the situation. The EMT issued a statement accusing the government of bad faith and stating that the only alternative was to alter Chile’s social system by working in unison with the Federación de Obreros Chilenos (FOCH), the working class, and the Communist party.³¹

September 5 marked the turning point in the mutiny. General Vergara ordered an attack on the Communications School at Las Salinas and the Quintero Air Base. The first fell to the men of the Coraceros, Andino, and Zapadores Regiments; and the second surrendered in the face of a combined air and land attack. The most difficult task remained: the assault on the Talcahuano base which was defended by approximately 1, 000 men, sixty percent of whom were civilians. The officer in charge of the assault, General Guillermo Novoa, commanded a force of 5, 000 men, including one company composed exclusively of naval officers anxious to redeem their honor. Although enjoying numerical superiority, Novoa’s men had to move along a narrow road, sandwiched between a mountain range and the ocean. Since the rebels could call upon naval gunfire from the Riveros, the Condell, and the Prat, the attackers’ situation was difficult.

At 8: 00 a. m., the army demanded the rebels’ surrender. The defenders rejected the offer, possibly because they expected the arrival of some destroyers, promised them by the EMT, which would have given them a considerable advantage. Apparently they did not believe that the army’s enlisted men would fire upon them. These hopes proved illusory for at 2: 00 p. m. the combined force moved on the naval citadel. Rather than advance along the coastal road, the troops initially descended the mountains behind the naval base. While the defenders turned to face this invasion, other units broke through the main gate. Within hours, loyalists again controlled Talcahuano.³²

Even while directing the operations against Talcahuano, Quintero, and Las Salinas, Vergara still worked to quash the naval mutiny in Coquimbo. His brother assembled an assortment of fighter planes, bombers, and transports near Ovalle. These elements were later joined by the planes of Group Number 2 after force was used against the planes’ mechanics to get them to make repairs for this mission. The mechanics were ordered to accompany the pilots on the raid thus guaranteeing their devotion to the tasks assigned them.³³ Early on September 6, two planes left on a reconnaissance mission. They easily located the rebel fleet and, after an unsuccessful as well as an unscheduled attack upon the Araucano, they returned to base. At 5: 00 p. m. on the same day, the assembled squadrons took off and within thirty minutes had engaged the waiting naval vessels.

The attack on Coquimbo brought little credit to the advocates of air power. Much to the discomfort of the pilots, the Latorre opened fire with its anti-aircraft batteries. This resistance, in conjunction with the other ships’ machine-gun fire, proved to be a successful deterrent and few if any of the rebel vessels suffered from the attack. Subsequently, the press reported that the pilots had been ordered not to sink any ship, perhaps out of deference to the state’s property. If so, they had indeed meticulously followed their orders since not one vessel suffered any damage. Only a small submarine, the H 4, which could not submerge due to mechanical problems was seriously strafed, losing one of its crewmen and another wounded. On the other side, the attackers suffered one plane shot down and others holed by anti-aircraft fire, small consolation for such a massive operation. In retrospect, one may safely conclude that the rebel fleet escaped largely due to its own skills and not because of the charity of its adversaries.³⁴ Many sailors, however, saw themselves isolated and feared that they would surely be subjected to another attack which they might not survive.

That evening, the EMT met with various officers and agreed to send a delegation to Santiago to arrange a settlement. General Vergara, delighted with his recent victories in the south, refused to grant a truce; the rebels were given an hour in which to surrender. Under the pressure, the latent ideological differences between the northern and southern fleets began to surface as the representatives from each flotilla sought to blame the other for the mutiny’s failure. The crews, however, were cowed by the demonstration of air power and disenchanted by political bickering. Thus while the EMT engaged in sterile debate, it learned that the Hyatt and the Riquelme had slipped away from the main body of the fleet and were headed toward Valparaíso where they planned to surrender. The defection did not dismay the more militant who proposed an attack upon Valparaíso, as well as its suburb, Viña del Mar, “the focus of that oligarchy which pressured the government into taking such energetic actions against us.”³⁵ The rebels also threatened to bombard northern coastal cities as well. This news precipitated an hysterical exodus from Coquimbo and La Serena. Every form of transportation, including horse-drawn carts, was utilized to escape. The less fortunate women and children stood by the side of the road, weeping or crying out for help. Local unions helped transport the people to the interior although a few morbidly curious sought a vantage point from which to view a return engagement between the fleet and the air force.³⁸

The fears and hopes of the refugees and thrill seekers never materialized. Before dawn on September 7, with the destroyers in the lead, the rebel squadron left Coquimbo for the south. The southern fleet’s leaders began to suspect that their northern compatriots wished to capitulate. Hemmed in by the Latorre and Blanco Encalada, the Araucano could not break away. As the southerners had anticipated, the men of the northern squadron returned their ships to their officers and with white flags flying put into port to surrender.³⁷

Ironically, the violence did not end with the fleet’s surrender. Early in September, some of the men assigned to the Infantry Regiment Maipo had been seen attending an open air political meeting. Subsequently when the navy rebelled, a group of the Maipo’s NCOs sent a telegram to the Coquimbo expressing their support of the mutineers. Although the Maipo’s commander Colonel Ernesto García Fernández knew of this action, he did not act except to confine the men to their quarters, fearful of the unrest in the city. Unable to leave, the NCOs asked a civilian barber who worked in the barracks to send the telegram message. Santiago learned of the message and sent an investigator to Valparaíso to determine if the Maipo remained loyal. He reached the port at 3: 00 a. m. and after interviewing García learned that the commander knew of the telegram but that he had not informed his superiors, presumably because he did not wish to overburden them.

The army relieved García of his command, replacing him with Lieutenant Colonel Ramón Díaz Díaz. In order to neutralize a potentially mutinous unit, General Augustín Moreno was dispatched to Valparaiso to give the Maipo’s NCOs a pep talk. The general concluded his short discourse by appealing to the men to demonstrate their loyalty to the government. Apparently his request failed to achieve its goal— the assembled NCOs not only greeted his impassioned remarks with silence but, he subsequently claimed, with laughter and an unmilitary attitude. The enlisted men argued that the general’s speech consisted of incoherent talk of bombs and poison gas which he predicted would be used against them if they rebelled. They had not responded to Moreno’s talk largely because they did not know what he wanted. After the general’s departure, Díaz, as well as his executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Santiago Murphy, spoke to the men. At the conclusion of their talk, all the NCOs loudly proclaimed their loyalty to their commanders, the reaction which Moreno had vainly sought to obtain.

Despite the affirmation of support, the government decided to defuse the situation by dividing up the Maipo, sending one battalion to San Antonio and leaving the second in garrison. The rest of the day was spent in athletic activities and preparations for the move which was to occur that evening. While the men of the Maipo played football, the garrison of the Infantry School and a unit of mountain infantry surrounded the barracks to quash any hint of insubordination.

That evening of September 7, while the men of the second battalion packed their equipment, the unit’s band stood guard. One of the sentries, seeing some individuals lurking around the barracks, challenged them. Displeased with their response and believing them to be communist agents, the sentry opened fire. Unfortunately, the target was one of the loyal forces who, fearing that the Maipo had rebelled, returned the fire. The ensuing battle happily did not become too bloody because the Maipo’s men did not have any ammunition available. Since some of the officers panicked, the men broke into the armories to get machine guns and ammunition to defend themselves. Colonel Murphy left the barracks and contacted the loyal but overzealous troops whom he persuaded to cease firing.

The casualties were few: two dead and twenty wounded, a small price for 45, 000 rounds of expended ammunition. Unfortunately, the gunfire erupted just as the crowds were leaving the cinemas, thus terrifying the civilian population. A siren began to wail calling civic guardsmen to their posts, and the city became convulsed as the people frantically sought to return home before they were shot. Such a reaction seems excessive until one remembers that the porteños were also terrified that the rebel fleet would bombard the city and that some 2, 000 had already fled the port.³⁸

Two weeks after its pyrrhic victory over the Maipo regiment, the government began to court-martial the mutineers in San Felipe. The prosecutor demanded the death penalty for González and Astica as well as for seven more ringleaders; the rest of the Latorre’s Comité ran the risk of twenty years of confinement. The accused could not offer much of a defense since they obviously had seized the fleet and the military mentality generally did not pay much attention to extenuating circumstances. Thus the prisoners had little alternative but to plead for mercy.

During the legal proceedings, the Communist newspaper Bandera Roja attacked the court-martial as a form of legal persecution. Alejandro Caldera, for example, claimed that a prosecutor had informed him “Look, carajo, there aren’t enough bullets in Chile to kill you.”³⁹ In order to save Elieso Sepúlveda, one of the leaders of the Talcahuano mutineers, as well as Ernesto González, from the “imperialists, landowners, and bourgeoisie,” the Communist party nominated both men as its candidates for congressional by-elections in the Valparaiso area. While denying that González belonged to the party, the Communists claimed that this act showed their support for the rebels. González, arguing that he was being persecuted for his earlier resistance to the Ibáñez regime, expressed his grateful surprise. For a man who obviously could not campaign actively, “El Guatón” nonetheless came in fourth, winning 5, 000 of the electoral districts’ 24, 000 votes; Sepúlveda did less well, obtaining but 172 of the 5, 550 ballots cast in the districts of San Antonio, La Victoria, and Melipilla.⁴⁰

The board of the San Felipe court-martial deliberated for three days before sentencing González and five shipmates to death. Astica and Zagal, who provided much of the intellectual leadership for the movement, received life sentences perhaps because they were not regular navy personnel.

Similar scenes were repeated throughout Chile as the government convened courts-martial. In La Serena and Valparaiso, the navy prosecuted the men of the O’Higgins as well as the rebels from the submarine and destroyer forces. The defense attorneys could offer few excuses although some challenged the right of the courts to hear the case arguing that they had no jurisdiction. Other critics rightly claimed that since the government had not punished the 1924-1925 rebels, their clients should also be freed. As in the trial of the Latorre’s crew, a few averred that they had been forced to join the mutiny. The appeals and affirmative defenses fell on deaf ears; by October 1, the naval courts had sentenced seven to death, ten to life imprisonment, and others to sentences ranging from one hundred days to fifteen years.⁴¹

The threat of imposing capital punishment unleashed a flood of criticism. Public organizations and private citizens demanded the commutation of the death penalty and the reduction of various prison terms. The people of San Felipe and Los Andes sent a telegram bearing 8, 000 names seeking a reduction in the penalties. Some beseeched the government not to defile the dieciocho by having Chileans execute other Chileans. Various leading political figures, including foreigners, called for clemency while Juan Esteban Montero attacked the death penalty itself, indicating that he leaned toward commutation.⁴²

General Vergara harbored no such charitable feelings. Earlier he had promised that no one would be executed without a proper trial. If convicted, however, he would not hesitate to execute the guilty for fomenting a rebellion. The cabinet divided on the issue. Izquierdo, Prat, Walker Larraín, and Spoerer favored postponing the executions, a position supported by Mora who wanted to await the results of all the courts-martial. Only Guzmán, Wilson, Martínez, and Matta opposed the death penalty. Trucco, aware of public opinion and sensing the division within his government, decided to delay the implementation of the court’s sentence, an act which almost drove Vergara to resign.⁴⁸

The air force proceedings, although less spectacular, began after the EMT had been convicted in San Felipe. The accused, like their naval brethren, could offer little in exculpation. Fanny Leibovich, a defense lawyer, claimed that the men had rebelled only to rejoin the navy. The court remained unimpressed sentencing Poblete, as well as an associate, to death and sending many others to long prison sentences. At the same time, the trial board also censured the conduct of the local commander Marín, as well as some of his subordinates who were accused of not preventing the mutiny or of failing to act decisively once it had begun.⁴⁴

The most outrageous proceedings occurred in San Bernardo where the army tried the men of the Maipo. The defendants correctly argued that they had done nothing more than send a telegram and that at no time did they resist lawful authority. Lieutenant Colonel Diaz attested to the men’s loyalty as did Colonel Murphy. A civilian lawyer, the flamboyant Juan Rosetti, claimed that the army was punishing the men for griping, hardly a crime, particularly in the military. He admitted that the soldiers had sent a telegram but asserted that it was a citizen’s right to petition his government to seek redress. The army, however, having convened the trial, could not retreat. The courts-martial admitted that the men had not rebelled but nonetheless deemed that their actions violated the Code of Military Justice. As punishment, the army discharged twenty-eight NCOs. Colonel Díaz was exonerated, as was Colonel García, although the latter had been violently attacked by the defense counsel as incompetent. Obviously the conduct of the Maipo’s officers did not please the government; the Minister of War dissolved the unit, changing its name from the Maipo to Regimiento de Infantería “Valparaíso.” Díaz was replaced by a new commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ariosto Herrera, who eight years later would be implicated in a plot to overthrow the government of Pedro Aguirre Cerda. Of all the legal proceedings, the San Bernardo trial seemed the most unfair. Even General Leonidas Bravo admitted that the mutiny had not occurred, labeling the entire incident a “horrible mistake.”⁴⁵

The public, including various presidential candidates like Lafertte and Alessandri, continued to work for the commutation of the death sentences. Many individuals, as well as the press, believed that the men should be spared since the rebels had killed no one and had surrendered peacefully. On October 16, Trucco commuted the death sentences to life imprisonment citing the guilty’s exemplary service records as well as his own desire to reconcile the Chilean nation after years of dictatorship.⁴⁶ Although saved from the firing squad, the mutineers jailed in San Felipe still had to endure one last ordeal. Before beginning their prison sentences, they were marched into the courtyard of the Regimiento Yungay. Each stepped forward as his name was called to have the insignia, buttons, and military ornaments stripped from his uniform. Then the prisoners exchanged the remnants of their uniforms for civilian prison garb and boarded transports to take them to the penitentiary.⁴⁷

This melodramatic ceremony did not end the naval mutiny. During the proceedings at San Felipe, one of the mutineers had claimed that various officers had provided support for their cause, especially Captain Roberto Valle who had helped prepare the Latorre’s anti-aircraft batteries. Apparently the public dismissed these claims. The navy’s officer corps was already in disgrace—officers were jeered at when they appeared in public and even small boys wearing sailor suits ran the risk of being roughed up. Few, however, could believe that the officers would act disloyally.⁴⁸

In early October, a letter authored by those convicted at San Felipe appeared in various newspapers offering proof that various officers had indeed signed the crew’s petition demanding change. These papers had remained hidden on the Latorre until González’ sister retrieved and delivered them to the men’s defense attorney. In addition to the petitions bearing the signatures of more than ninety officers, there was a detailed statement by Captain Athos Valenzuela reviewing the EMT’s demands and expressing support not only for issuing free clothes, improving rations, and changing promotion and retirement policies, but also for suspending payment of the national debt, assisting national industries, and taxing uncultivated land.⁴⁹ González and his companions originally claimed that they had not planned to reveal these documents. Now both their honor and incidentally their lives demanded it.⁵⁰

As El Mercurio noted, the appearance of these papers drastically altered the situation for officer involvement in the plot would reduce the men’s culpability.⁵¹ The navy’s prosecutor at San Felipe, Julio Allard, admitted that he had earlier learned of the existence of these petitions, but had disregarded them because the officers had signed them under duress. A defense attorney, Osvaldo Fuenzalida, argued that if the government had really known about the documents it would have punished the officers for their participation.⁵²

The government had, in fact, castigated a few of the officers through administrative means. Some, like Admiral Chappuseaux, had been retired; others were told to explain their actions, put themselves at the disposition of the navy, or prepare for retirement. Many of those affected were the commanders and the executive officers of the ships which had mutinied.⁵³ Still, the defense attorneys correctly argued that these penalties did not compare to those imposed on their clients.⁵⁴ Because of growing public pressure, the navy ordered an investigation of the issue. The charges of officer complicity appeared at approximately the same time that Trucco commuted the death penalties. In retrospect, it seems safe to conclude that the vice president’s clemency had been partially induced by the knowledge that not only enlisted men had participated in the mutiny. Thus, in the name of humanity, and doubtless political expediency, he substituted life imprisonment for the death penalty.⁵⁵

Various officers either denied that they had supported the mutineers or argued that they had been coerced into signing the crew’s petitions. Others stated that they had cooperated in order to defuse the situation or to await a chance to regain power.⁵⁶ These excuses did not impress the navy which ordered the suspects court-martialed.

Legal proceedings were convened at the Las Salinas naval base. Some of the press, as well as various politicians, favored the trial on the grounds that the officers knew of the rebellion beforehand but had not acted to stop the mutiny.⁵⁷ Other critics censured Hozven for failing to arm his officers and for acting too nonchalantly especially after the crew had responded so coolly to his speech of August 31. The commodore claimed that he had acted as bravely as he could and, when captured, had sought to avoid more dishonor by begging his captors to shoot him. This melodramatic behavior did little to impress his shipmates. On the contrary, Hozven’s executive officer did not permit him to assume command of the Latorre after the rebellion had ended, but instead confined him to his quarters fearful of antagonizing the still restive crew. Thus, while the mutineers remained at large on the ship, the former captain was a virtual prisoner in his cabin.⁵⁸

Some of the testimony indicated that a few officers supported the crew at least verbally. Hernan López, for example, reported that various wardrooms, including that of the O’Higgins, rang with complaints about the pay cuts.⁵⁹ Nevertheless, it does appear that those officers who had signed the petitions did so out of fear or threat of physical violence in spite of the claim of the left-wing La Libertad that it was the discontented officers who goaded the men into rebelling with promises of support.⁶⁰

Consequently, the Las Salinas court-martial exonerated the accused. Those who signed the petitions were told to expect some administrative punishment to be meted out by the navy. The trial board convicted only Roberto Valle and Ramón Beytía, discharging them from the fleet. Valle was found guilty of having not only signed the petitions, but also of supporting the crew’s actions; Beytía was punished for his collaboration.⁶¹ This officers’ purge did not confine itself solely to the navy. The government also investigated the activities of certain air force officers in failing to respond properly to the mutiny.⁶²

The 1931 mutiny altered the physiognomy of the fleet. Many officers, including those exonerated by the court, lost their commands and were retired. The government also beached many vessels. Henceforth, the fleet consisted of one flotilla of destroyers and one of submarines, plus the O’Higgins and the Araucano.⁶³ Rumors warned that the government would discharge 3, 000 enlisted men, a move opposed by El Mercurio since such men, trained in using weapons, might become easy prey to subversives. Instead, it suggested that the state create fishing cooperatives in the south to absorb the former sailors.⁶⁴

Punishment of the officers and cuts in the navy did not end the agitation to free the enlisted mutineers. The national directorate of the Partido Democrático declared November 29 a day of amnesty for the jailed and announced that it would campaign for their pardon. This interest may have developed because one of the convicted, Dionisio Garrido, had headed a party unit in Talcahuano. The Democratic Senator Adrián introduced an amnesty proposal in the legislature with the approval of the rest of the party.⁶⁵

The mutineers’ supporters took to the streets to manifest their feelings. A crowd of 1, 000, partially composed of the families of the jailed men, obtained an audience with Montero. Although the president did nothing, the crowd nonetheless cheered him spontaneously breaking into the Chilean national anthem. The sixth annual convention of the Chilean Professors’ Association, as well as FOCH, also called for the men’s release.⁶⁶ Various legislators agreed that it did not seem fair that poor enlisted men were forced to languish in jail while their officers had escaped without punishment. Two senators claimed that the rebels had been tried in an agitated atmosphere before the nation had realized that they were not solely responsible for the mutiny.⁶⁷

The demonstrations, petitions, and requests for legislative relief failed to accomplish their purpose. On May 1, the jailed mutineers declared a hunger strike and achieved instant notoriety. Alessandri, at the behest of one of the prisoner’s mothers, begged the men to quit. Ramon Sepúlveda, a deputy from Valparaíso, supported the strikers, warning the government of the problems that would result if the men died. The international Congreso Obrero Latinoamericano which was meeting in Santiago entertained a motion calling for clemency. Some of the delegates even visited the strikers although their colleagues considered this act an intrusion into Chile’s internal affairs.⁶⁸

Support for the hunger strikers continued to grow. The Convención del Partido Socialista Marxista and the Asamblea Radical Socialista joined with the Federación de Estudiantes and the Democratic and Communist parties to call for amnesty. Funds were collected by the leftist La Crónica. One of the most lavish contributors was Alessandri who lamented that while the officers who had set the example of lawlessness remained free, their men rotted in jail.⁶⁹

Apparently encouraged by Marmaduke Grove and Gaspar Mora, the government reduced some of the prison terms, including that of Garrido, and commuted the sentences of others to internal exile. La Crónica repudiated such generosity arguing that only total amnesty would rectify the “judicial farce” which had occurred at Las Salinas and San Felipe. The situation became more dramatic when the authorities, apparently concerned about the health of the prisoners, moved them from the local penitentiary to San Salvador Hospital. This transfer, in conjunction with increasing legislative pressure, forced the government to be more conciliatory. Montero released some of the men unconditionally while sentencing the remainder, including González, to internal exile. The ministers of Justice, Interior, and ironically, Social Welfare, even journeyed to the hospital to convey the news personally to the men.⁷⁰

Some believed that outside agitators had fomented the hunger strike, and one deputy feared that henceforth common criminals would use this tactic to obtain their freedom. Montero rationalized his actions, claiming that the men’s service records and conduct in jail had been exemplary. He resented, however, the legislature’s attempt to write an amnesty law which he considered an invasion of his executive prerogatives. The newly freed men became instant celebrities and, much to the disgust of the American military attaché, some were even feted at a party by their legislative defenders. The former rebels eventually received more than a free meal. Within a year the government published yet another decree permitting the mutineers to return to the fleet. Those who refused this offer, and who had served in the armed forces for more than ten years, could retire with a pension.⁷¹

While we have traced the development and conclusion of the 1931 mutiny, its origins still remain unclear. Many consider the rebellion another manifestation of the political malaise which had corrupted Chile for years. Initially, it was the officers who in 1924-1925 and 1927 introduced the virus of rebellion by deposing the legal, albeit inept, parliamentary regimes and Figueroa administration. Not surprisingly, Manuel Hidalgo concluded that the enlisted would take such direct action to protect their interests.⁷² Many in the Chilean left consider the mutiny a cause célèbre, an abortive Kronstadt which did not gain enough momentum to become a full-scale social revolution. Despite this failure, however, some claim that it portended a revolutionary movement of soldiers, sailors, workers, and peasants against a bourgeois government.⁷³

Certainly many of the participants regarded the mutiny as communist inspired. General Vergara believed that the movement originated in “an international movement against social order,” while his colleague in the Foreign Ministry, Luis Izquierdo, claimed that the Communist party wanted to establish a republic in the northern salitreras. Clearly, the crew’s ultimatums were preoccupied with issues unrelated to a salary dispute. On September 6, the EMT announced that henceforth it would seek to foment a social revolution and would, if necessary, level La Serena to accomplish that goal.⁷⁴ Evidence does exist to support the thesis of communist involvement. Richard J. H. Krebs, a former Comintern agent, claimed that he carried funds which were used by communists to finance the mutiny. Carlos Charlín, a Chilean Socialist, did not agree with Krebs’ statements contending that Russia simply was not interested in Latin America at that time. He conceded, however, that Moscow might well have fomented the mutiny without informing the local party cadre whom it apparently did not trust. Contrary to Charlín’s allegations, the mutiny did attract the attention of the Soviets. A Pravda editorial written by “Rosado” described “the revolutionary activists in the navy, with the Chilean Communist party at their head . . .” as they sought to convert the rebellion into a political movement.⁷⁵

A strong similarity exists between the events in Coquimbo and the mutiny of the British fleet at Invergordon, Scotland, which occurred on September 15, 1931. This rebellion was also sparked by a drastic cut in the wages of the crews. The English sailors, however, neither seized control of their ships nor challenged the authority of their officers; they simply refused to work. The British mutiny also took no lives and caused no injuries. Within a day, the Admiralty promised to study the issue and ordered the fleet back to its home ports.

Many argue that communists fomented the Invergordon mutiny. One of the rebellion’s leaders, Len Wincott, had joined the Communist party almost immediately upon his discharge from the navy. He denied any ties to the party at the time of the rebellion but his sudden embrace of communism perhaps indicates that his was not a conversion on the road to Damascus. The home port of Wincott’s ship was Devonport, supposedly a hot bed of communist agitation, where the Latorre also underwent repairs. Moreover, the HMS Lucia, which had provided the Latorre logistical support, had also been a focus of seditious activity and had mutinied even before Invergordon. Thus, many have argued that various communist agitators had converted some of the Latorre’s sailors who in turn spread the gospel to their comrades once they returned to Chile.⁷⁶

Elías Lafertte tried to refute the charge. His memoirs admit that a messenger arrived from Coquimbo to inform him that the sailors had planned a mutiny. He claimed that he tried to delay the outbreak until the party could coordinate its strategy but the sailors acted before the central committee could do anything. Lafertte’s story contains some inconsistencies. The Latorre’s crew had not decided to mutiny until approximately 10:00 p.m. of August 31. If so, how did a messenger arrive so quickly in Santiago from the north, and more significantly, why did the crew even bother to send the news of their impending mutiny to the Communist party leader? In short, it appears that the rebellion was not so impromptu as claimed.⁷⁷

González, Astica, and Cerda all denied any communist influence. Astica, for example, noted that the mutineers could not have been communists because they rejected the support of Coquimbo’s party cell, which in turn, denounced the sailors as “pancistas”—men “impelled by their own selfish motives.”⁷⁸ The former member of the EMT also claimed that he could not have been a communist because he came from a religious family, had received a Catholic education, worked for Catholic newspapers, and sought to organize Catholic unions in the salitreras. It is difficult to understand how someone as educated as he —Astica apparently attended some university courses—would join the navy, an act he sought to rationalize by claiming that he was fulfilling a childhood fantasy. It is also hard to comprehend how he, a relative newcomer to the fleet, would have been elected to the EMT. Astica’s involvement still remains unclear. At his trial the repentant rebel argued that he had little contact with the fleet’s enlisted men who apparently disliked him and his accountant colleagues. Astica joined the EMT, an act which he deeply regretted, because, he claimed, they threatened to kill him unless he participated in their deliberations. He noted, however, that he had cleverly stayed in the background and never deserved the reputation of being a leader of the EMT. Thirty years later, Astica not only proudly spoke of the mutiny which he argued had been launched to improve the lot of the enlisted personnel, but also admitted his role as a leader of the rebellion.⁷⁹

Some Chileans attributed the mutiny to the scheming of less colorful political groups. Many feared that Carlos Froedden, Ibáñez’ former Minister of the Interior, had fomented the rebellion in order to return his ex-master to power. Certainly, the circumstances were suspicious since Froedden had fled to a fundo near Coquimbo following Ibáñez’ overthrow. Some claimed that he had met with various officers and, capitalizing on their discontent, convinced them to rebel. Apparently the government considered such a scenario to be quite plausible. Froedden was arrested and flown to Santiago for interrogation although General Vergara subsequently ordered his release.⁸⁰

Although freed, Froedden remained a convenient scapegoat if not a suspect to his fellow countrymen. J. Edwards Bello and Admiral Olegario Reyes del Río attacked him for misappropriating funds and suborning unscrupulous officers while retiring those men who refused to pander to Ibáñez’ wishes. La Libertad argued that the former minister had politicized the navy and that the enlisted men had used unconventional methods to solve their problems when Froedden’s untrained and selfish officers refused to help them obtain financial relief.⁸¹

During the Las Salinas trial, Admiral Campos claimed that an important politician had visited him in England to inquire what would be the fleet’s attitude if Ibáñez were to fall from power. Campos had refused to become embroiled in politics although he was not so sure that his officers were as abstemious as he. Some Chileans believed that the mystery politician was Arturo Alessandri who was trying to overturn Ibáñez from his European exile.⁸²

Questions have also been raised about the conduct of Alessandri’s close friend, General Enrique Bravo, who had served in Trucco’s first cabinet as Minister of War. Bravo reported that various influential politicians requested that he lead a junta to replace Trucco. In order to demonstrate his fidelity, Bravo restricted the military to their barracks, ordered out patrols to maintain the peace, and even harangued a crowd which had gathered near the Moneda in hopes of convincing him to join in a revolutionary junta. Bravo informed these people that he had not fought Ibáñez’ illegal government only to emulate the former dictator by turning against a legally constituted president. Bravo’s ministerial colleagues supported his charge that he had not conspired against Trucco. Despite this disclaimer, Santiago was alive with talk that the general and Alessandri sought to overthrow the government.⁸³

These allegations are difficult to verify. Ricardo Donoso happily repeated them, largely one suspects, because of his unquenchable loathing of the Alessandri family.⁸⁴ It is true that Don Arturo doubted the viability of the Mora ministry and also suspected the army’s loyalty. This lack of faith hardly indicates that he was fomenting a coup. Alessandri’s close associate of many years, Daniel Schweitzer, vehemently denied that the Lion of Tarapacá entertained such notions. Clearly the persons who perpetuated these rumors, Conrado Ríos Gallardo and Ismael Edwards Matte, were well-known foes of Alessandri. In short, no solid evidence exists to indicate that the former president organized the naval mutiny. Had such proof existed, Montero would certainly have brought charges against Alessandri, thus eradicating his most powerful political enemy.⁸⁵

The most likely explanation is that the communists probably either fomented the rebellion or encouraged the dissenters to mutiny. The nature of the crew’s demands seems inconsistent with the needs of the lower deck. Indeed, the final statement of the EMT indicated that the leaders had openly allied themselves with the communists. As a government minister noted, most of the crew was exempted from Blanquier’s economies because they earned less than $3,000. Agitators, however, seized upon the pay issue as a means of inspiring the disenchanted but loyal sailors to rebel.⁸⁶ Once the crew realized that the EMT had escalated its demands and had allied itself to the Communist party, the rest of the men withdrew their support.

It is difficult to assess the results of the abortive mutiny. Rather than radicalize, it seems that the rebellion frightened the electorate into abandoning the progressive Alessandri in favor of the conservative Montero. If so, then the sailor’s rebellion did alter Chile’s political development.⁸⁷ Ironically, Montero did not survive a year; his government caved in when confronted by a Socialist junta composed of Eugenio Matte, Carlos Dávila, and the ubiquitous Marmaduke Grove. One may rightly wonder why the less well-known Trucco managed to survive a brutal assault upon his administration when his successor could not. One obvious answer is that the army remained loyal in 1931, but abandoned Montero a year later. Perhaps the specter of thousands of obviously proletarian sailors demanding radical change conjured up unpleasant images of Kronstadt and the Winter Palace, a debacle the armed forces wished to avoid. By defending Trucco and thus demonstrating that it had returned to the fold of constitutional government, the military could also refurbish its tarnished image.

Certainly, the civilian populace may also have been more committed to the restoration of liberal democracy in 1931 than in 1932. A dictator had just fallen and the nation cooperated to restore “civilidad” and democratic government to Chile.⁸⁸ Later, when the luster had disappeared, Montero was revealed as a colorless former professor of law, a man incapable of mastering the crisis afflicting the nation. Consequently, when the more dynamic Grove rebelled in June 1932, the nation did not feel inspired to defend an insipid government.

The naval revolt emerged as a singular event in Chile’s history.⁸⁹ For the first time since 1891, the fleet had intervened violently in the nation’s political life. Unlike the earlier rebellion, however, the Coquimbo mutiny failed because it could not obtain the allegiance of the civilian society. Despite this inability to galvanize support, the rebellion demonstrated the extent of radical sentiment in Chile. The lower deck accurately articulated the desires of many Chileans who would later seek similar reforms. Indeed, the naval mutiny anticipated many of the programs not only of the Socialist Republic but also the Popular Front. Thus, the sailors of Coquimbo, unlike their colleagues of Kiel and Kronstadt, failed not because they misdiagnosed the problems of their society but because the nation was unwilling, at that time, to accept their proposals for change.

Author notes