Part 20 (1/2)

On Friday evening, March 25, 1867, Mr. Seward was playing whist with members of his family when the Russian minister was announced. Baron Stoeckl stated that he had received a despatch from his government by cable, conveying the consent of the Emperor to the cession.

”To-morrow,” he added, ”I will come to the department, and we can enter upon the treaty.”

With a smile of satisfaction, Seward replied:--

”Why wait till to-morrow? Let us make the treaty to-night.”

”But your department is closed. You have no clerks, and my secretaries are scattered about the town.”

”Never mind that,” said Seward; ”if you can muster your legation together before midnight, you will find me awaiting you at the department.”

By four o'clock on the following morning the treaty was engrossed, sealed, and ready for transmission by the President to the Senate. The end of the session was approaching, and there was need of haste in order to secure action upon it.

Leutze painted this historic scene. Mr. Seward is seen sitting at his table, pen in hand, listening to the Russian minister. The gaslight, streaming down on the table, illuminates the outline of ”the great country.”

When, immediately afterward, the treaty was presented for consideration in the Senate, Charles Sumner delivered his famous and splendid oration which stands as one of the masterpieces of history, and which revealed an enlightened knowledge and understanding of Alaska that were remarkable at that time--and which probably surpa.s.sed those of Seward.

Among other clear and beautiful things he said:--

”The present treaty is a visible step in the occupation of the whole North American Continent. As such it will be recognized by the world and accepted by the American people. But the treaty involves something more.

By it we dismiss one more monarch from this continent. One by one they have retired; first France, then Spain, then France again, and now Russia--all giving way to that absorbing unity which is declared in the national motto: _E pluribus unum._”

There is yet one more monarch to be retired, in all kindness and good-will, from our continent; and that event will take place when our brother-Canadians unite with us in deed as they already have in spirit.

For years the purchase was unpopular, and was ridiculed by the press and in conversation. Alaska was declared to be a ”barren, worthless, G.o.d-forsaken region,” whose only products were ”icebergs and polar bears”; vegetation was ”confined to mosses”; and ”Walrussia” was wittily suggested as an appropriate name for our new possession--as well as ”Icebergia”; but in the face of all the opposition and ridicule, those two great Americans, Seward and Sumner, stood firmly for the acquisition of this splendid country. They looked through the mist of their own day and saw the day that is ours.

CHAPTER XVII

Since Sitka first dawned upon my sight on a June day, in her setting of vivid green and glistening white, she has been one of my dearest memories. Four times in all have the green islands drifted apart to let her rise from the blue sea before my enchanted eyes; and with each visit she has grown more dear, and her memory more tormenting.

Something gives Sitka a different look and atmosphere from any other town. It may be her whiteness, glistening against the rich green background of forest and hill, with the whiteness of the mountains s.h.i.+ning in the higher lights; or it may be the severely white and plain Greek church, rising in the centre of the main street, not more than a block from the water, that gives Sitka her chaste and immaculate appearance.

No buildings obstruct the view of the church from the water. There it is, in the form of a Greek cross, with its green roof, steeple, and bulbous dome.

This church is generally supposed to be the one that Baranoff built at the beginning of the century; but this is not true. Baranoff did build a small chapel, but it was in 1848 that the foundation of the present church was laid--almost thirty years after the death of Baranoff. It was under the special protection of the Czar, who, with other members of the imperial family, sent many costly furnis.h.i.+ngs and ornaments.

Veniaminoff--who was later made Archpriest, and still later the Archbishop of Kamchatka, and during the last years of his n.o.ble life, the Metropolitan of Moscow--sent many of the rich vestments, paintings, and furnis.h.i.+ngs. The chime of silvery bells was also sent from Moscow.

Upon landing at Sitka, one is confronted by the old log storehouse of the Russians. This is an immense building, barricading the wharf from the town. A narrow, dark, gloomy pa.s.sage-way, or alley, leads through the centre of this building. It seems as long as an ordinary city square to the bewildered stranger groping through its shadows.

In front of this building, and inside both ends of the pa.s.sage as far as the light reaches, squat squaws, young and old, pretty and hideous, starry-eyed and no-eyed, saucy and kind, arrogant and humble, taciturn and voluble, vivacious and weary-faced. Surely no known variety of squaw may be asked for and not found in this long line that reaches from the wharf to the green-roofed church.

There is no night so wild and tempestuous, and no hour of any night so late, or of any morning so early, that the pa.s.senger hastening ash.o.r.e is not greeted by this long line of dark-faced women. They sit like so many patient, noiseless statues, with their tempting wares cl.u.s.tered around the flat, ”toed-in” feet of each.

Not only is this true of Sitka, but of every landing-place on the whole coast where dwells an Indian or an Aleut that has something to sell.

Long before the boat lands, their gay shawls by day, or their dusky outlines by night, are discovered from the deck of the steamer.

How they manage it, no s.h.i.+p's officer can tell; for the whistle is frequently not blown until the boat is within a few yards of the sh.o.r.e.