The Siberian Sable-Hunter.
CHAPTER XIV.
The ship Czarina continued to pursue her southerly course, and soon came in sight of Corea, a large peninsula, separated from China by the Yellow Sea, and from the Japanese islands by the straights of Corea. It is four hundred miles long, and one hundred and fifty broad, and inhabited by a tall, brave and polite race, who appear to live much after the fashion of the Chinese. The country is finely cultivated, and though traversed by a range of mountains, many portions are very fertile. Kingkitao, an inland town, is the capital. The king of Corea pays a small tribute to the emperor of China, but he is in most respects independent. The government here appears to exclude strangers from the country with the same jealous care, as in China and Japan.
Sailing forward in a southerly direction the vessel soon came near the Loo Choo islands, the largest of which is sixty miles long. It would seem that these islands possess the most delightful climate in the world. Fanned by perpetual sea-breezes, they are alike free from the frosts of winter and the scorching heat of summer. The soil is prolific, and the vegetation is of the most luxuriant kind.
But the people of these islands are the most interesting objects of observation. The captain of the Czarina went ashore upon the great Loo Choo, and Suvarrow and Alexis were permitted to accompany him. They found the people not more than five feet high, very fat, and with a smooth, oily skin, of a copper color. Their houses were low, and built in the Chinese fashion. The people seemed the most cheerful and happy creatures imaginable. They were very polite to the captain and his party, and gave them a feast of roasted dogs, monkeys and cats. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the country. Though it was now winter, still the whole extent of the landscape was nearly as verdant as spring. The high state of cultivation gave the island the appearance of a vast garden.
Alexis and Suvarrow left this lovely island and these gentle people with great regret, and proceeded, with the captain, to the ship. Their course was still southward, and they soon came in sight of the large island of Formosa, a name which signifies “fair.” It belongs to China. The western portion of it is very fertile and inhabited by a civilized people. The eastern part is rugged and mountainous, and is occupied by savages, who tattoo their skins, sleep in caves on beds of leaves, and have scarcely any clothes or furniture.
While the ship was passing by the island, the Russian merchant asked Alexis if he had ever heard of Psalmanazar. To this the youth replied in the negative; but expressing a desire to hear the story, the merchant related it as follows:
“The extraordinary man, who called himself Psalmanazar, is supposed to have been a native of France, but this is not certainly known. He obtained an excellent education in some of the colleges of the Jesuits; and at an early age he stole a pilgrim’s cloak from a church, where it had been dedicated, and putting it on, travelled about as a pilgrim, and lived upon the charity he thus obtained.
“After this, he put on another disguise, and pretended to be a native of Japan. Not succeeding very well in his scheme, he went to another place, and there passed himself off as a native of Formosa. In this character he went to Liege, in Belgium, and there being met with by an English clergyman, who was duped by his plausible story, he was converted to Christianity, baptized, and formally admitted into the church!
“The conversion of so able and extraordinary a man was esteemed a great thing, and accordingly, as he went to London soon after, he easily obtained the patronage of Compton, the bishop of London. Under his auspices, Psalmanazar became one of the greatest objects of interest and curiosity, especially among learned men. He lived in the house of bishop Compton, and was greatly sought after and flattered by persons of high rank and station. All this time, he pretended to be very pious, but to keep up his imposition, he affected a little of the wild man too, and fed upon raw flesh, roots and herbs.
“Things went on very well with him, and so he set to work and made up a language, which he called the Formosan! He even translated the church catechism into this fictitious lingo; and finally he wrote a history of Formosa out of his own brains!—Such was the ingenuity of his trick, and such the credulity of the public, that this quickly passed through two editions, few or none doubting that it was all a genuine relation of real events. But at last some inconsistencies were detected in the history; suspicions were excited; the learned Formosan was charged with his imposition; and being thus detected, he confessed his guilt. He lived a number of years in London after this—and though fully exposed, he devoted himself to writing books, and greatly assisted in preparing a famous work entitled a ‘Universal History.’ He professed to be penitent for his imposture, and lived in an exemplary manner. He wrote a life of himself, in which he told the story of his deception, and died in 1763.”
Leaving the Chinese Sea to the right, the navigators now turned to the east, and were soon upon the bosom of that mighty sea—the Pacific Ocean. In a few weeks they came to the Ladrones, a group of islands, inhabited by an interesting race of people, who appeared to have made farther advances in civilization than most of the barbarous tribes who occupy the islands of the Pacific. When first discovered, in 1512, the islands were quite populous, the whole number of inhabitants amounting to forty thousand. They are now reduced to five thousand.
Leaving the Ladrones, and passing by various other groups of islands, our voyagers at length approached the Fejee islands, which are situated nearly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. At one of the largest of the group, called Paoo, the captain concluded to stop for a short time, for the purpose of obtaining fresh water. The vessel was accordingly brought to anchor near the land—and the captain, with two or three of the officers, the Russian merchant, and about a dozen men, went ashore.
Here they were met by some of the natives, who invited them, by signs, to visit the king, at a short distance. To this the party agreed, and were led forward about a mile, where there was a considerable village, at the head of a small bay. As the strangers approached this place, their attention was drawn to a considerable vessel, built in the fashion of a canoe, coming up the bay. She had tall masts, and four ranges of spars across them, to each of which were suspended a great number of figures bearing a resemblance to the human shape.
The margin of the bay was soon crowded with the natives, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of the canoe, and seemingly excited by some event of great and animating interest. The strangers paused on the brow of a hill near the bay, for they began to be surrounded with multitudes of the savages. The Fejee vessel soon came to the shore, and now the captain and his friends could easily see that the images which decorated the spars of the savage vessel, were human bodies—the upper tier consisting of infants—the second of larger children, the third of women, and the fourth of men! It appeared that the king and his warriors had been to wage battle against a neighboring island, and these mangled bodies were the trophies of victory which they bore back with shouts of triumph and rejoicing.
No sooner was the Fejee king informed of the visit of the Russian captain, and his company, than he marched to his cabin, and there awaited the strangers. Here a short interview took place, during which the Russians observed that a crowd of warriors were gradually surrounding them. Alarmed at this, the captain begged leave of the swarthy prince, to withdraw, when a sudden signal was made, and the Fejee warriors set up a wild yell, and brandished their weapons in the air, with a fierce and threatening aspect. It was clear that an attack was about to follow, and it was to be the onset of hundreds against little more than a dozen men.
It was a fearful moment—and even the Russian officers seemed to quail before the dark and lowering throng of armed men that hemmed them in on all sides. The hope of escape appeared to be utterly vain; and by degrees they were making up their minds to sell their lives as dearly as they might—when an incident occurred which suddenly changed the whole aspect of the scene. The Russian merchant had taken the precaution, before leaving the ship, to arm himself with a brace of pistols, which were stuck in his belt, and a dagger, which he had swung at his side. Seeing the imminent danger which now threatened his party—he sprang forward like a tiger, seized the king, hurled him to the ground, and holding his pistol to his face, threatened him with instant death. At the same time, he required him, by signs, to command his men to depart. The king, utterly confounded at the whole manœuvre, did as he was required; the warriors drew back, and the Russians made a hasty retreat—leaving their savage foes to recover at leisure from their panic. Scarcely had the party reached their boat, when the throng of savages came roaring after them, like a foaming tide fretted by a rocky beach.
The Russians soon gained their vessel in safety—and were glad to take leave of the island of the Fejee king. Nor did the captain fail to express his gratitude to the fur merchant, who had saved his life and the lives of his companions by his prompt skill and manly daring. The event indeed was noticed by all on board, and from that time the fur merchant became an object of notice, and all seemed to see something extraordinary about him.
I cannot undertake to tell all the details of the voyage of the Czarina, in her passage homeward. My readers must be content to hear that, after touching at various islands in the Pacific Ocean; after doubling Cape Horn, crossing the Atlantic, and stretching far to the north, she at length passed through the British channel, entered the North Sea, traversed the gulf of Finland, and approached the city of Cronstadt, a port about twenty miles from St. Petersburgh, where vessels of war always stop, it being impossible for them to reach the city on account of the shoals.
It was now about a year since the vessel had left Okotsk, and at least eighteen months since Alexis had parted with his father and sister at Tobolsk. He expected to find letters from them at St. Petersburgh; but what mingled emotions agitated his heart as he approached the mighty city that was now before him! What hopes and fears—what ardent desire—and yet what apprehension lest it should all end in learning that some fearful calamity had befallen those he loved—alternately took possession of his heart.
In this agitation, Suvarrow participated to a considerable degree. Although he always spoke cheeringly to Alexis, in respect to his father and sister, he could not deny to himself, that there were causes of uneasiness. He feared that the misfortunes which had befallen the noble-hearted Pultova—misfortunes which alike extended to his country and himself—had broken his heart, and, added to the weight of years, had borne him down to the grave. This apprehension was founded partly upon his own observation before he left Tobolsk, and partly upon the last letters which Alexis had received from his father and sister.
Nor was this his only source of uneasiness. A shadowy fear—a dim suspicion of Krusenstern, the commandant of the castle at Tobolsk, on account of his attentions to Kathinka, had sprung up in his bosom, before he left that place, and by degrees it had grown into an active feeling of distrust and jealousy. He knew the man to be profligate and base, capable of carrying into execution any wickedness his heart might suggest. Suvarrow’s mind had dwelt much upon this subject during his long voyage; and in the absence of other occupations, he had woven a variety of little circumstances which he had noticed in the conduct of Krusenstern, into a consistent web of proof, sufficient to satisfy himself that the Russian officer harbored some evil design against the daughter of the Polish exile—and who now seemed dearer to him than any other earthly object.
While thus Alexis and his young friend had these common sources of uneasiness, there was still another, which affected them in no small degree. Alexis knew the secret of the mysterious merchant, and as he had become deeply interested in his behalf, he trembled when he thought of the probable fate that awaited him on his arrival at St. Petersburgh. He knew the stern and relentless character of the emperor Nicholas in dealing with matters of state policy; and he could not doubt that the unauthorized return from exile of so important a personage as the Polish count Zinski, and that too in disguise and on board a Russian ship of war, would be punished according to the bloody code of the Czars. Impelled by his fears for the safety of one whom he now loved as a friend, he urged the count, and almost with tears, not to take the rash step he meditated, which was immediately to report himself to the emperor; but, rather to seek concealment for a time; to make his situation known to the princess Lodoiska, and trust to her mediation in his behalf. These suggestions, though kindly received, seemed to have little effect upon the determined purpose of the count.
While such were the feelings of Alexis, in respect to the count, those of Suvarrow, though of a lively nature, were somewhat different. He had not been told the real name and character of the merchant—for Alexis had kept his friend’s counsel in good faith; but still, the bearing of the stranger, though in general harmonizing with the part he was playing, in a multitude of instances, and especially in the affair of the Fejee islands, betrayed the fact that he was not what he would seem to be. Suvarrow was not alone in remarking this—for the captain of the ship, and the other officers had come to the same conclusion. Suvarrow had often heard them expressing their suspicions, and more than once he had listened to the suggestion that the seeming Russian merchant was the Polish count Zinski.
Under these circumstances, Suvarrow had a severe struggle between his feelings and his sense of duty. He was a Russian officer, and bound by every tie of honor to act with fidelity to the government. Could he let such a secret as this, in respect to the count, pass by, without communicating his knowledge to the emperor? While he was thus debating the question in his own mind, he was summoned to the apartment of the captain, where he found the officers of the ship assembled, together with Alexis and the count. The latter soon after rose, and addressed the captain as follows:
“Before we part, my dear sir, I have an apology to make to you and these gentlemen. It is to hear this apology that I have requested you to meet me here. I have practised a disguise, I may almost say, an imposition, upon you all. I am not a Russian merchant—but the disgraced and banished Count Zinski. I have taken this step, merely to reach St. Petersburgh. We are now approaching the city, and my object being accomplished, it is due to you and my own character to remove the mask under which I have sought and obtained your kindness and courtesy. Do not fear that either your character or mine shall suffer for this; my purpose is fixed: I shall forthwith surrender myself to the emperor.” “Here,” said he, addressing the captain, while he held a paper in his hand, “is a statement of my return: this I shall entrust to Alexis Pultova, who will bear it to the emperor. As is your duty, captain, I have to request that you will place me under a guard, that I may remain in security on board your vessel, at Cronstadt, till the will of his majesty is known. At the same time, my wish is, that my real name may not be exposed. Indeed, captain and gentlemen, if it be compatible with your sense of duty and propriety, I could wish that my whole story might for the present be held in reserve, as a matter only known to ourselves.”
As the count finished, the captain rose, and grasping his hand, was about to speak—but his voice was choked, and the tears gushed down his cheeks. In a moment, however, he recovered and said—“My dear count, I will do as you request, for I know that this is as well my duty, as your interest; I would not encourage false hopes—but, sir, I am indebted to you for my life, and for the lives of many of these friends around me. But for you, our career had ended ingloriously, at the island of Paoo. You shall not suffer for the want of due representation of this service rendered to us and to the country. If it can avail, we will go down on our knees, or lay down the lives which your gallantry purchased.”
The vessel at last approached the frowning castle of Cronstadt, and was saluted with a discharge of cannon which shook the sea to its bed and made even the stout ship stagger in her path. This was returned by the vessel—and soon after she entered one of the docks provided for the Russian fleet.
After taking an affectionate leave of the count, and other officers, Suvarrow and Alexis set out immediately for St. Petersburgh, where they arrived late in the evening. The latter proceeded immediately to the place where he expected to obtain letters from Tobolsk; but judge of his disappointment to find that none awaited him! With a heavy heart he returned to the hotel where he had taken lodgings—but as he was about to ascend the steps, his arms were seized by a rough, strong hand, and turning suddenly round, he recognised the well-known features of old Linsk!