The tragedy of Chodinsky Field -- the coronation of Tsar Nicholas II

And then as though it had been a signal, the whole aspect of that vast throng changed.  It was instantaneous and complete.  Men, women, and children charged  forward in a solid mass, for all the world like a stampede of the cattle that, in their stolidness, they so closely resembled.  They swept forward relentlessly, oblivious of obstacles, indifferent to the dangers they were creating for themselves and their fellows . . .

On the fringes of the throng, police and military exchanged sharp and anxious glances.  No words were necessary to point out the risks of disaster that mounted every minute.  The blind, unreasoning panic of a crowd -- especially one such as this -- is terrifying and terrible enough at any time, certain to lead to injury and probably death.  But it was not this danger that was uppermost in the minds of those whose unenviable responsibility it was to endeavour to ensure safety.  The field was a veritable death trap.  No planks, however strong, could withstand the load imposed by that tumultuous charge.

A captain of police stepped forward and shouted, trying to halt or turn the mob.  He was swept aside, and his body trampled underfoot.  All around him others were sharing his fate, as the rushing people stumbled into the ditches, in which they were pressed down by the weight of those who fell on top of them.

It was a horrifying sight that remained for ever sharply photographed in Ivan's mind.  Often I heard him, in after years, tell the story of the coronation tragedy, and I seemed to see the scene with the same vividness as he.

"Never before or since," he said, "have I been so overwhelmed by a sense of tragedy and helplessness.  I had soldiers -- several hundred of them -- at my disposal.  All round the field there were other detachments, as well as the police.  But what could we do?  We were powerless to stem that rush, which swept forward like some mountain torrent.  Panic was everywhere.  Yet the crowd crashed forward as though it was impelled by a single desire which must be satisfied at any cost -- to gain possession of those cheap, glittering tin cups and the pathetic little bags of food that were the Tsar's gifts to his people.  We could have fired, perhaps, but the risk was too great.  A single shot even into the air would have turned that pressing mob into a horde of raging beasts who would have torn at each other's throats and brought greater disaster where there was already disaster enough.

"All we could do was to keep on the fringes, trying to contain the mob and reduce in whatever way we could its mad momentum.  That was difficult enough.  Two of my men stepped forward trying to protect and rescue a middle-aged muzhik woman who carried a small child in her arms and had another, perhaps five or six years old, by her side.  They were swept away like small logs tossed into a cascade.  The woman, too, disappeared beneath the thousands of trampling feet.  Later, when it was all over, we found the woman, children, and our two men . . . they were unrecognizable.

One Russian's story by George Sava. 1970. Pages 91-2.