The Great Alone (58 page)

After a nerve-racking delay, a Russian sailor was ordered aloft to cut the flag free. On the last breath of a dying breeze, the Russian flag floated down. As it came to rest on the bayonets of the Russian soldiers, Princess Maria fainted.

When it was rescued, Captain Peshchurov made a brief declaration on behalf of the Russian government, making the territory over to the United States of America. The order was given to present arms, and the cannonade salute from the Russian batteries and the American warships began, the thunderous booms vibrating all around Nadia, leaving her shaken when it ended.

Immediately after General Rousseau accepted the delivery of the territory, the American flag was hoisted to the top of the pole. It hung limp and lifeless. With the first salute from a Russian cannon, the flag appeared to shudder. As the firing of the second cannon echoed and re-echoed against the mountains, the flag unfurled its red and white stripes and blue field of stars.

Aunt Anastasia bowed her head and covered her tear-stained face with her hands. Nadia wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, crying softly, too. The rousing cheers of the Americans seemed heartless and cruel. As their last jubilant “hip-hip-hoorah!” faded, the new commander of the military in the territory that the Americans called Alaska stepped forward to make an announcement.

“I am Major General Jefferson C. Davis. I am in sole command of this garrison and this territory. Quarters for myself and my wife are to be immediately made available in the former governor’s residence. The barracks are to be vacated and made available for immediate occupation by the troops of the United States Army. All buildings are now the property of the United States government.”

“No,” Anastasia murmured, clutching at Nadia’s hand. “The ship taking us to Russia is not to leave for a month yet. All my things are not yet packed. They cannot turn us out of our home. Where will we go?” Panic-stricken, she turned to her father. “Papa, what are we to do?”

“You and Nikolai will move in with me. There is plenty of room in my empty house for your belongings,” Wolf assured her, but the general’s orders made it clear to everyone that there would be no gradual transition of authority. The Americans were in charge now, and the Russians were literally tossed out in the street.

Within a month the face of Sitka had changed drastically. No more were the guard beats walked by soldiers from the Siberian regiment. Now the sentries who patrolled the palisade and stood watch at the fortress wore the blue uniforms of the United States Army. The Russians had never bothered to name the town’s streets, but the Americans quickly remedied that. The main thoroughfare became Lincoln Street, and the two cross streets were called Russia and America.

Everywhere there was overcrowding as the town first had to absorb the Russian families from outlying settlements on the mainland and the Aleutian Islands then had to make room for the Russian soldiers and sailors from the garrison taken over by the American Army, most of whom were waiting to depart on ships bound for Russia. The crowding was compounded by the arrival of several hundred American settlers who jammed the streets. Stakes dotted the town and extended its previous limits for miles, plotting out homesteads. Crude shanties were thrown up, then sold to newcomers for exorbitant prices.

The two commissioners, American Rousseau and Russian Peshchurov, had remained at Sitka for a week, working together to deed title to lands, shops, and homes to Russian individuals. With the exception of the homes, most of the property had changed hands almost overnight, and continued to be bought and sold, each time at a higher price.

Late morning on a bleak and gray day in mid-November, Ryan Colby strolled along the boardwalk, his hands thrust in the pockets of his black cloth redingote, the cigar in his mouth tilted at a jaunty angle. The streets and sidewalks were crowded with bustling people, but he didn’t mind the occasional jostling of his elbow.

The steady din of voices—Russian, American, and one or two languages he didn’t recognize—was a sound as pleasant as the clink of coins in his cash box. Like the hammering and sawing in the background and the almost constant activity at the wharf, it all meant business and profits for him, both at his saloon and in land sales.

Taking the cigar from his mouth, he nudged his companion. “Look at this, Gabe.” He gestured at the throng of people and the horse-drawn drays rattling up and down the street. “It’s a boomtown, and it’s just the beginning. We have storekeepers, homesteaders, prospectors, shipowners, cooks, bakers, a few squatters, real estate dealers, promoters, speculators, gamblers, and whores.” A new sign was going up on a building across the street. Signs seemed to be always coming down and new ones going up as businesses changed hands sometimes twice in one week. This one caught Ryan’s eye, and he stopped. “Now we’re getting a barbershop. I tell you, Gabe, this town is busting wide open.”

“Which is exactly why it was so important to draw up a town charter, establish some ordinances, and elect a mayor and city council so we can regulate some of this growth. Granted, we don’t have the legal authority to do this yet, and we can’t legally transfer title to the various lands that have been sold, not until Congress enacts legislation officially granting us territorial status and bringing us under territorial government.” Gabe had been in the thick of all the organizing, and Ryan had stayed well clear of it. He and the law had never gotten along.

“You’re saying that the town ordinances are invalid and your regulations can’t be enforced.” Ryan started walking again.

“Technically that’s correct. At present, we’re under military rule, which means General Davis is the only authority. But it’s only a matter of time before Congress makes Alaska a territory. Right now, they’re still arguing over the appropriation bill authorizing the seven-million-plus dollar payment to Russia. Our situation is only temporary.” The attorney’s optimism was unflagging. “Even General Davis agreed to the formation of a city council and mayor and gave them authority in town matters.”

“The general was probably glad to have problems like sanding pavements this winter taken off his hands,” Ryan suggested dryly, then paused in front of the door to the newly built restaurant. “I haven’t had breakfast yet. The saloon business doesn’t allow me to be an early riser like you. Come and have a cup of coffee.”

“I—” Hesitating, Gabe Blackwood glanced up the street as if he had somewhere else to go. His expression suddenly brightened. “Isn’t that— Excuse me, Ryan.” He moved off, quickly sidling his way through the pedestrians on the boardwalk.

Ryan hardly needed to look to know who the man had seen. Sure enough, when he glanced up the street, he saw Nadia Tarakanova, accompanied by her grandfather and younger sister, approaching.

“Miss Tarakanova.” Gabe halted in front of her, blocking their path. He removed his hat, indifferent to the chilling breeze that ruffled his sandy hair. He would have taken her hand and kissed it, but the empty market basket she carried made such gallantry awkward. “What a delightful surprise to see you in town this morning. And you, too, Mr. Tarakanov.” Belatedly he acknowledged her grandfather. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to take my eyes off your granddaughter. I have never known a lovelier woman. The sight of her is like food to a starving man.”

So captivated was he by the wholesome beauty of her rosy-cheeked face framed by a fur-lined hood, Gabe didn’t notice her agitation. “I am so glad to see you, Mr. Blackwood.” He heard the anxiety in her voice. “We have just come from the market. We tried to purchase some fresh meat, but the Kolosh—the Tlingits as you call them—refused to accept our money.”

“Your money …” Gabe hesitated, searching for a delicate way to phrase his question. “Is it the parchment paper that the Russian American Company formerly used as currency?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, but few tradesmen are accepting it in payment for goods any more, then only at a heavy discount.” He hated to see her look so stricken.

“But I have no other currency. What am I to do?”

“Now you’re allowing yourself to become upset over nothing. It’s really a very minor problem, merely a matter of exchanging that old currency for American coin.” Gabe glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see Ryan still standing by the restaurant door. If he’d had the money, Gabe would gladly have changed her currency on the spot, but he was confident his friend would help her out. “Mr. Colby may be able to help you. Let’s go have some tea and talk to him.”

She spoke to her grandfather in Russian. Although Gabe had learned a few Russian words, his grasp of the language was still woefully inadequate. Her grandfather nodded, appearing to consent to Gabe’s suggestion.

“We will have tea with you and speak with Mr. Colby,” she said.

“Good.”

Gabe led the way to the restaurant entrance where Ryan stood. After an exchange of greetings they went inside. The busy restaurant was noisy with the clatter of dishes, food orders shouted back and forth between the cook and the servers, and the steady chatter of voices. Gabe guided Nadia to an unoccupied end of a long table and waited until she was seated on the bench with her long skirts properly arranged, then sat down beside her. Ryan and her grandfather sat opposite, with seven-year-old Eva between them.

Gabe explained the Tarakanovs’ currency plight to Ryan. Although he knew as well as Ryan that the company scrip was almost as worthless as Confederate money, he silently appealed to his friend to be generous, as a personal favor. Ryan obliged, exchanging the two-inch-square pieces of parchment for considerably more than they were worth.

“Didn’t I tell you that it was nothing to trouble yourself over?” Gabe watched as Nadia pushed the black fox-lined hood off her head. Her every movement, her every gesture, was a thing of grace to him.

“I can never thank you enough for this.”

“Forgive me for speaking so boldly, Miss Tarakanova.” Gabe spoke with all the volubility of a lovesick swan, and Ryan dipped his chin, hiding the smile that twitched the corners of his mouth. “But you remind me of a Russian princess.”

“I know all about princesses,” young Eva piped up. “We had more than Princess Maria. Anna, the Kenai woman who was the mother of Baranov’s children, was made a Russian princess.”

“You mean she was an Indian princess,” Ryan corrected, indulgently responding to the child’s attempt to take part in the adult conversation.

“No.” She shook her head in a vigorous denial. “The Tsar made her a real Russian princess. Her name was Anna. Grandpa told me. Didn’t you, Grandpa?”

“Yes. She lived to be an old woman,” Wolf Tarakanov confirmed.

“Do you mean the Russians actually gave a noble title to an Indian?” Gabe looked skeptical.

“Yes. It has been the custom of the Russian Tsars to bestow the titles and privileges of nobility on certain persons of a conquered race,” Nadia replied, but Ryan noticed how uneasy she appeared to be with the subject under discussion.

“Making a princess out of an ordinary savage is carrying the custom a bit too far, I would say,” Gabe stated. “But it shows you just how meaningless titles are and the incompetence of a monarchy. In a democracy, a person achieves importance based on skills or intelligence, not at the whim of some king.”

“The daughter of Princess Anna and Baranov married a man who became one of the governors of Russian America.” Gabe’s critical comments had gone over Eva’s head. But the subject had gained her the attention of the adults, and she intended to pursue it.

“One of your governors was married to a half-breed?” Gabe frowned and shook his head. “I suppose in those times there was a shortage of decent women here, just as there is in most frontiers.”

“Grandpa has been telling Eva many stories about the early days,” Nadia offered, almost as an apology. “She spends many afternoons with him now that the school is closed. I have tried to spend time with her as well and teach her the things that I learned at Lady Etolin’s school. It is difficult without the books on history and geography, but she does well with her needlework and languages.”

“Well, you needn’t worry about her education much longer, Miss Tarakanova. The school will be open soon. We have a school board now and we’re in the process of hiring a teacher,” Gabe assured her. “Soon you will see a new Sitka, an American Sitka.”

“I have seen a new Sitka,” Wolf Tarakanov inserted dryly.

Ryan studied him curiously. “Something in your voice tells me that you don’t care much for the changes around here.”

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the changes come too quickly for us. There has always been a pattern to our lives. Every day we knew what to expect. Now all is different. Our pace was slow, but all you Americans hurry, hurry everywhere. It confuses us.”

“You are used to an autocratic rule where nearly every facet of your life was controlled by someone in authority. It will take you time to adjust,” Gabe said. “But soon you will see how much better the democratic form works. You are your own man now. Nobody tells you what to do.”

“That is so. Once we had to buy all our goods from the company at the prices they set, but they gave us all the fish we could eat. Once we had schools for our children. We had doctors and a hospital. We had to work every day except Sundays and Holy Days.”

“You have that now.” Gabe looked quizzically at the old man.

“Ah, but now this is America and we must pay for everything. But you won’t accept our money and we have no work.”