Alaska (61 page)

Freed at last, it fell ignominiously earthward, where it landed on the heads of our men, who failed to catch it in their hands, and then it became mixed up in their bayonets. I was mortified. Arkady continued to swear, something he rarely does, Prince Maksutov looked

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straight ahead as if there were no flag and no pole, and his pretty wife fainted.

I wept. Arkady and I are determined to remain here in Sitka, as it is now to be called, and to be the best citizens we can be of our new nation. He is staying because his mother and father had such close associations with these islands, and I shall stay because I have grown to love Alaska and its enormous potential, and when you come to visit us next year I believe you will see a city twice this size and twice as prosperous, for they assure us that when America assumes control, it will pour millions of dollars in here to make this a major possession.

It was not premature for Praskovia and the other Russians who were selecting American citizenship to announce their choice, because in the days before the transfer, Prince Maksutov had assembled the heads of families and explained in glowing terms the Russian-American treaty which would govern such matters. Standing in his crisp white officer's uniform and smiling warmly, he was obviously proud of the work his committee had done: 'Both countries deserve commendation for the excellent rules they've agreed to. Great statesmanship, really.' When a young teacher from the local college, one Maxim Luzhin, asked for details, Maksutov patiently explained: 'I helped draft the regulations, so I can assure you that you'll be fully protected, however you choose.'

'For example?' Luzhin pressed, and the prince said: 'If you want to go back to Russia, you can do so anytime within three years. We'll provide free transportation to your home district. If you elect to remain here and become Americans, your new government promises you full citizenship automatically, no restraints because you're Russian, and complete freedom of religion.' Smiling at people who trusted him, he told them honestly: 'Not often in life do you get two choices, each one excellent. Choose as you wish. You can't go wrong.'

So when the Voronovs participated in the transfer ceremonies they did so as American citizens, but their transition into their new homeland was a rude one, for no sooner had the American flag risen to the top of the pole on that first day than General Davis issued a startling order: 'All Russians on the hill to vacate their quarters before sunset!' and a major directed his soldiers to occupy the buildings.

Arkady went to the major, and in a quiet, respectful voice, explained: 'My wife and I have elected American citizenship.

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Our home is up there,' and he pointed to their quarters atop the castle.

'You're Russian, aren't you?' the major growled. 'Out by sunset. I'm taking those rooms.'

When Voronov, burning with indignation, informed his wife of the order, she laughed: 'The prince and princess have been tossed out of their quarters, too. General Davis wants their rooms.'

'I can't believe it.'

'Look at the servants,' and Arkady saw the Maksutov possessions being toted down the hill.

The Voronovs moved their goods into a small cottage near the cathedral, where they watched as their Russian friends made agonizing choices. Those who had enjoyed their life in Sitka longed to remain, willing like the Voronovs to trust their fate to American generosity, but friends in Russia applied such strong pressure for them to return home that most decided to sail on whatever steamer arrived to carry them to Petropavlovsk.

'What will happen to them when they get to Russia?' Praskovia asked, and Arkady replied: 'I wouldn't like to guess.' But now distraught neighbors, unable to decide for themselves, came to the Voronov cottage, asking Arkady what to do, and usually he advised: 'Go home.' And if a husband and wife differed in their choice, he invariably counseled a return to Russia: 'There you know what your neighbors are going to do.'

This repeated recommendation that people who harbored doubts should go back to Russia had a surprising effect on him, for although he had started with a firm resolve to stay in Alaska, his constant projection of himself into the minds and conditions of others revealed how insecure in his choice he was. One evening as he and Praskovia walked home from a meeting with the Maksutovs, who were reconciled to returning home and perhaps even eager to do so, Arkady said without warning: 'Praska, are we doing the right thing?' and she temporized, wishing to know the full range of his doubts: 'What do you mean, Arkady?' and he revealed his uncertainty: 'It's a fearful decision, really. The rest of our lives. We don't know Russia anymore, we've been away so long.

And we don't know America, because we can't predict how they'll behave ten years from now ... or even now, for that matter. This General Davis? I wonder if he has any concept of what Alaska is. I wonder if he's very bright.'

'I'm certainly not impressed with his first decisions,' Praskovia said, 'but he may get better.' She encouraged her husband to spread out all his fears, and as he ventilated them she

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saw that they were nothing more than the sensible alternatives that any people their age should consider when making a decision of such gravity: 'Go on, what's your greatest fear?' and he said gravely: 'That it's the last big choice we'll ever make. Not for me, really. I was never attached to Russia, you know. I'm from the islands. But you . . .' and he looked at her with the great love which had always been the mark of Voronov men. His great-grandfather and his grandfather, both in Irkutsk, had enjoyed the good fortune of loving their wives. His father, Vasili, had found in the islands a love with his Aleut bride that few men know, and he had been the same. From the first moment he saw Praskovia during his student days in the capital he had loved only her, and now he feared that he might be behaving as his father had done when he surrendered Sofia Kuchovskaya in order to accept soaring promotion in the church.

He was thinking of himself and not of his wife, and very quietly he said: 'I'm an island man. I'm forcing you into a cruel choice.'

She did not laugh, or even smile at his ingenuousness, but she did take him by the arm and lead him toward the cathedral, where they entered together to find rude chairs in the back among the shadows, and there she informed him as to her vision of the future: 'Arkady, you're sixty-six. I'm fifty-eight. How many years are we gambling on this thing? Not many. An error, if we make one, won't be the wastage of an entire life.' Before he could respond, she said with great force: 'At Nulato, watching the Yukon sweep past, feeling the immense cold, getting to know those sled dogs and seeing how Father Fyodor was greeted in the villages ...' She smiled and squeezed his hand: 'I made my choice then, whether Alaska remained Russian or not. This is my home.

I want to be here to witness the conclusion of our great adventure.' Before he could speak, she concluded: 'Arkady, I do believe that if you elected to go home to Russia, I might stay here by myself.' Then she added in a confidential whisper: 'Truth is, but don't tell the prince, I actually prefer their American name Sitka to the Russian name New Archangel.'

After that revealing moment, Arkady stopped advising anyone what to do, nor did he volunteer any information as to what Praskovia and he would do when the first ship sailed, the one that would take Prince Maksutov and his wife away. Instead, the Voronovs bought a somewhat larger house that was being vacated by a family heading home, and in it they began accumulating those comfortable odds and ends that would mean so much to them when Sitka became a totally American city. 'It's to be a wonderful new life,' Praskovia said, but Arkady, who was witnessing each day the inability 376

of the Americans to govern their new possession, had additional reasons for apprehension.

As Christmas approached in that fateful year 1867, the Maksutovs held a farewell dinner party to thank those trusted friends who had worked so hard for Russia but who now elected to become American citizens. 'I cannot challenge your decisions,'

he said gently, 'but I pray you will serve your new homeland honorably.' He explained that although he must remain two more weeks to complete the transfer, his wife would be sailing on the morrow. And then nature pulled a cruel trick. During these weeks of departure Sitka's normal fog and gloom had established a mood proper for farewell, but on the final day the mists lifted, revealing Sitka in its refulgent grandeur: there stood the noble volcano, the rim of snow-clad mountains, the myriad green islands, the green onion dome of the Orthodox cathedral, the trim neatness of the most congenial port in Russian America.

'Oh, Praska!' the princess cried as she embraced her friend. 'We're throwing away the most beautiful town in the Russian Empire,' and it was in bitterness that she made her departure.

Two weeks later the Voronovs formed an honor guard for Prince Maksutov as he marched in dignity down the hill to where a small boat waited to ferry him to his waiting ship: 'I leave Alaska in the hands of you Voronovs. You know it better than anyone else.' From atop the hill, General Davis, now ruling from Baranov's Castle, ordered a salute to be fired, and as the echoes reverberated through the mountains and valleys of Sitka, the Russian Empire in Alaska came to an end.

THE UNITED STATES ASSUMED RESPONSIBILITY FOR Alaska on 18 October 1867, and by early January 1868 it was apparent to the Voronovs and the Luzhins that no sensible form of government indeed, none at all, sensible or ridiculous was going to be installed.

General Davis and his soldiers were supposed to be in charge, but only a part of the blame could be placed on them.

The fault lay with the American Congress, which, remembering the irresponsible oratory opposing the purchase of Alaska, had claimed that the area was worthless and populated by no one meriting serious attention. So, incredible as it would seem to later historians, America refused to give Alaska any form of government. It refused even to give it a proper name: in 1867 it was called the Military District of Alaska; in 1868, the Department of Alaska; in 1877, the Customs District of Alaska; and in 1884, simply the District

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of Alaska. From the first day of ownership it should have been designated the Territory of Alaska, but that would have presupposed eventual statehood, and orators opposing the suggestion ranted: 'That icebox will never have enough population to warrant statehood,' so the area was initially denied the step-by-step learning experience of first being an unorganized territory with judges and sheriffs, then an organized one with its own legislature and emerging government, and finally a fullfledged state.

Why were normal rights denied the area? Because businessmen, saloonkeepers, trappers, miners and fishermen demanded a free hand in garnering the riches of Alaska and feared that any form of local self-government might pass laws restricting them. And especially because Alaska was then and would remain America's blind spot. No matter what happened here what riches were uncovered, what triumphs achieved the American people and their government would not believe. For generations this treasure would be left to float adrift in icy seas, like an abandoned ship whose planking slowly rotted.

By mid-January, Arkady Voronov began to fear that a kind of creeping paralysis had engulfed Sitka and the rest of Alaska, but he did not appreciate the depth of the confusion until he talked with the young teacher Maxim Luzhin: 'Arkady, you can't imagine the situation! An enthusiastic businessman from California came north on the ship that brought the troops. He wants to move here and open some kind of trading business. But he can't buy land for a home and office because there is no land law.

And he can't start his business because there is no business law. If he settles here, he can't leave his property to his children, for there is no office to legalize wills or enforce them.'

When the two Russians looked into other impediments, they were told: 'You can't call upon the sheriff to protect your rights, because there is no sheriff, no jail and no court to appeal to for redress, for there is no court, which is understandable, because there is no real judge.'

Together the two men climbed the hill to inform General Davis of the concern the Russians had for their safety amid such chaos, and when they met him at ease in his quarters, they were struck by how handsome and military he looked. Tall, lean, carefully erect, with a heavy black beard, a voluminous mustache and a romantic wealth of dark hair which covered much of his forehead, he looked a born ruler of men, but when he spoke the illusion was shattered: 'I'd like to enforce the law, but there is no law. And I can't make guesses about it because no one knows what Congress will do.'

When

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they asked what form the new government would probably take, he said: 'Legally, I think we're a Customs District, so I guess when a customs officer arrives, he'll be in charge.'

Despite the perspicacity of their questioning, they could elicit no substantial explanations from the general, and they left the meeting both confused and disheartened, so they were not surprised when, upon the arrival of a passenger ship, well over half the local Russians decided to leave Alaska and head back to Siberia. When General Davis saw the huge number departing, he tried ineffectively to entice them to remain, but they'd had enough of American vacillations and would not listen.

Voronov and Luzhin, better able than Davis to estimate the high quality of those who were fleeing Sitka, consoled each other and their wives with the hopeful thought: 'Those of us who are staying will have extra work to do ... and extra opportunities to do it,' and each of the four was determined to be the best possible American citizen.

THE REST OF THE RUSSIAN STORY IS QUICKLY AND SADLY

told. After the first contingent of emigres fled, the undisciplined American troops, with no clear mission to occupy them or any stern leader to keep them under control, began to run wild, and Voronov, like the other Russians who had stayed behind, became appalled at what was happening.