A Young Naval Officer Had Recently Been Sent Out
By The Emperor To Take Command Of One Of The Company's Vessels.
The Governor, As Usual, Had Him At His "Prosnics," And Plied Him
With Fiery Potations.
The young man stood on the defensive until
the old count's ire was completely kindled; he carried his point,
and made the greenhorn tipsy, willy nilly.
In proportion as they
grew fuddled they grew noisy, they quarrelled in their cups; the
youngster paid old Baranoff in his own coin by rating him
soundly; in reward for which, when sober, he was taken the rounds
of four pickets, and received seventy-nine lashes, taled out with
Russian punctuality of punishment.
Such was the old grizzled bear with whom Mr. Hunt had to do his
business. How he managed to cope with his humor; whether he
pledged himself in raw rum and blazing punch, and "clinked the
can" with him as they made their bargains, does not appear upon
record; we must infer, however, from his general observations on
the absolute sway of this hard-drinking potentate, that he had to
conform to the customs of his court, and that their business
transactions presented a maudlin mixture of punch and peltry.
The greatest annoyance to Mr. Hunt, however, was the delay to
which he was subjected, in disposing of the cargo of the ship,
and getting the requisite returns. With all the governor's
devotions to the bottle, he never obfuscated his faculties
sufficiently to lose sight of his interest, and is represented by
Mr. Hunt as keen, not to say crafty, at a bargain, as the most
arrant waterdrinker. A long time was expended negotiating with
him, and by the time the bargain was concluded, the month of
October had arrived. To add to the delay he was to be paid for
his cargo in seal skins. Now it so happened that there was none
of this kind of peltry at the fort of old Baranoff. It was
necessary, therefore, for Mr. Hunt to proceed to a seal-catching
establishment, which the Russian company had at the island of St.
Paul, in the Sea of Kamtschatka. He accordingly set sail on the
4th of October, after having spent forty-five days at New
Archangel boosing and bargaining with its roystering commander,
and right glad was he to escape from the clutches of "this old
man of the sea."
The Beaver arrived at St. Paul's on the 31st of October; by which
time, according to arrangement, he ought to have been back at
Astoria. The island of St. Paul is in latitude 57deg N.,
longitude 170deg or 171deg W. Its shores, in certain places, and
at certain seasons, are covered with seals, while others are
playing about in the water. Of these, the Russians take only the
small ones, from seven to ten months old, and carefully select
the males, giving the females their freedom, that the breed may
not be diminished. The islanders, however, kill the large ones
for provisions, and for skins wherewith to cover their canoes.
They drive them from the shore over the rocks, until within a
short distance of their habitations, where they kill them. By
this means, they save themselves the trouble of carrying the
skins and have the flesh at hand. This is thrown in heaps, and
when the season for skinning is over, they take out the entrails
and make one heap of the blubber. This, with drift-wood, serves
for fuel, for the island is entirely destitute of trees. They
make another heap of the flesh, which, with the eggs of sea-
fowls, preserved in oil, an occasional sea-lion, a few ducks in
winter, and some wild roots, compose their food.
Mr. Hunt found several Russians at the island, and one hundred
hunters, natives of Oonalaska, with their families. They lived in
cabins that looked like canoes; being, for the most part formed
of the jaw-bone of a whale, put up as rafters, across which were
laid pieces of driftwood covered over with long grass, the skins
of large sea animals, and earth; so as to be quite comfortable,
in despite of the rigors of the climate; though we are told they
had as ancient and fish-like an odor, "as had the quarters of
Jonah, when he lodged within the whale."
In one of these odoriferous mansions, Mr. Hunt occasionally took
up his abode, that he might be at hand to hasten the loading of
the ship. The operation, however, was somewhat slow, for it was
necessary to overhaul and inspect every pack to prevent
imposition, and the peltries had then to be conveyed in large
boats, made of skins, to the ship, which was some little distance
from the shore, standing off and on.
One night, while Mr. Hunt was on shore, with some others of the
crew, there arose a terrible gale. When the day broke, the ship
was not to be seen. He watched for her with anxious eyes until
night, but in vain. Day after day of boisterous storms, and
howling wintry weather, were passed in watchfulness and
solicitude. Nothing was to be seen but a dark and angry sea, and
a scowling northern sky; and at night he retired within the jaws
of the whale, and nestled disconsolately among seal skins.
At length, on the 13th of November, the Beaver made her
appearance; much the worse for the stormy conflicts which she had
sustained in those hyperborean seas. She had been obliged to
carry a press of sail in heavy gales to be able to hold her
ground, and had consequently sustained great damage in her canvas
and rigging. Mr. Hunt lost no time in hurrying the residue of the
cargo on board of her; then, bidding adieu to his seal-fishing
friends, and his whalebone habitation, he put forth once more to
sea.
He was now for making the best of his way to Astoria, and
fortunate would it have been for the interests of that place, and
the interests of Mr. Astor, had he done so; but, unluckily, a
perplexing question rose in his mind.
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