Robert Merry's museum, Volumes III-IV (1842)

by Various

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.