The climate here is perfect, one doesn’t suffer at all from the heat, in summer and winter the temperature is nearly always the same. I was very much astonished, however, to see ladies enveloped in furs in July.
We managed to keep up our incognito at the Lyndhurst, and attracted no special attention until after the publication in the Examiner of a statement, that “General Doukhovskoy was supposed to have reached San Francisco travelling incognito.” After that it was noticed that “The middle-aged gentleman who appeared to be the leader of the party, but whose name was registered in the books of the hotel as ‘Mr. Sergius,’ didn’t go out as frequently as at first.” Another San Francisco paper reproduced our portraits, after which Sergy told me to wear my hat when I went down to the dining-room, in order not to be easily recognised by my portrait, copied in different newspapers in which I was reproduced without my hat.
Our first care in the morning was to peruse the earliest editions of the papers to see if we were found out. The reporters were on our track again. A journalist who had been tracking down Mr. Shaniavski all along, step by step, discovered him out at the Lyndhurst, and wanted to have all sorts of information about General Doukhovskoy, and again Mr. Shaniavski told him that he knew nothing about the General.
Sarah, the chambermaid, tried to penetrate our incognito and to learn who and what I was. More than once, while doing up my room, she expressed the desire to see a real Russian General. Looking at my hands she said: “I daresay you have never known what work means, look at your hands, they are much too white!”
It was Mme. Beurgier who had lifted up the veil of our incognito by buying a sewing-machine for me. She had ordered it to be sent to Vladivostock, and the order for the machine gave the information about our party. Happily we were leaving San Francisco on the following day. I was greatly amused by the idea that it was a sewing-machine that had revealed our secret.
CHAPTER LXIV
ACROSS THE PACIFIC
On the eve of our departure from San Francisco we went to inspect our cabins on the mail-ship, Peru, on which we are to cross the Pacific. We are undertaking a long and dangerous voyage. It is not a small affair to settle on board for eighteen days! On our way to the quay we encountered a queer moving house, set on rollers, and being pulled along by a team of horses. The Peru, lying on the quay, was getting ready for the sea. The whole of the crew are Chinamen, who are noted to be admirable sailormen. They were taking leave just then of their sweethearts, and offering paper flowers to them as a souvenir.
11th July.—We had to start early in the morning. We hurried over our breakfast and walked rapidly towards the pier and saw the Peru getting up steam, impatient to snatch us away. A great crowd was on the quay. Mr. Artsimovitch, the Russian Consul-General at this part, had come to see us off, accompanied by Mr. Haram-Pratt, Vice-Consul, a gallant young man with a large bouquet of the most beautiful pink flowers, called “American Beauties,” for me in his hand. I had my flowers put immediately in water, wearing a few of them. The chief of the police was pacing the after-deck followed by two burly private detectives who were appointed to watch over our safety; they lounged around on each side of our party, close enough to see and hear all that was going on, and kept a close eye upon us. This guard was kept until the Peru started on her voyage. Tiresome reporters, sent by the papers to get something from us, dogged our steps pencil in hand. My husband had a long chat with a representative of the New York Herald. Sergy begged of him not to look upon him as a Governor-General, for he was meanwhile a simple Russian tourist, who had been on a visit to the World’s Fair, and is now proceeding on his journey.