Katalan's Rock.
Katalan's Rock towers above the sea at the top corner of Sitka. Below
it, on the one hand, the ancient colonial houses are scattered down the
shore among green lawns like pasture lands, and beside grass-grown
streets with a trail of dust in the middle of them. On the other hand,
the Siwash Indian lodges are clustered all along the beach. This
rancheria was originally separated from the town by a high stockade, and
the huge gates were closed at night for the greater security of the
inhabitants; but since the American occupation the gates have been
destroyed, and only a portion of the stockade remains.
Katalan's Rock is steep enough to command the town, and ample enough to
afford all the space necessary for fortifications and the accommodation
of troops and stores. A natural Gibraltar, it was the site of the first
settlement, and has ever remained the most conspicuous and distinguished
quarter of the colony. The first building erected on this rock was a
block-house, which was afterward burned. A second building, reared on
the ruins of the first, was destroyed by an earthquake; but a third, the
colonial castle and residence of the governors, stands to this day. It
crowns the summit of the rock, is one hundred and forty feet in length,
seventy feet in depth, two stories with basement and attic, and has a
lookout that commands one of the most romantic and picturesque
combinations of land and sea imaginable.
It is not a handsome edifice, nor is it in the least like a castle, nor
like what one supposes a castle should be. Were it anywhere else, it
might pass for the country residence of a gentleman of the old school,
or for an unfashionable suburban hotel, or for a provincial seminary. It
is built of solid cedar logs that seem destined to weather the storms of
ages. These logs are secured by innumerable copper bolts; and the whole
structure is riveted to the rocks, so that neither wind nor wave nor
earthquake shock is likely to prevail against it.
Handsomely finished within, it was in the colonial days richly
furnished; and as Sitka was at that time a large settlement composed of
wealthy and highbred Russians, governed by a prince or a baron whose
petty court was made up of the representatives of the rank and fashion
of St. Petersburg and Moscow, the colonial castle was most of the time
the scene of social splendor.
The fame of the brilliant and beautiful Baroness Wrangell, first
chatelaine of the castle, lives after her. She was succeeded by the wife
of Governor Kupreanoff, a brave lady, who in 1835 crossed Siberia on
horseback to Behring Sea on her way to Sitka. Later the Princess
Maksontoff became the social queen, and reigned in the little castle on
Katalan's Rock as never queen reigned before. A flagship was anchored
under the windows, and the proud Admiral spent much of his time on
shore. The officers' clubhouse, yonder down the grassy street, was the
favorite lounging place of the navy. The tea-gardens have run to seed,
and the race-course is obliterated, where, doubtless, fair ladies and
brave men disported themselves in the interminable twilights of the
Alaskan summer. In the reign of the Princess Maksontoff the ladies were
first shown to the sideboard. When they had regaled themselves with
potent punch and caviare, the gentlemen followed suit. But the big
brazen samovar was forever steaming in the grand salon, and delicious
draughts of caravan tea were in order at all hours.
What days they were, when the castle was thronged with guests, and those
of all ages and descriptions and from every rank in and out of society!
The presidential levee is not more democratic than were the _fetes_ of
the Princess Maksontoff. To the music of the Admiral's band combined
with the castle orchestra, it was "all hands round." The Prince danced
with each and every lady in turn. The Princess was no less gracious, for
all danced with her who chose, from the Lord High Admiral to midshipmite
and the crew of the captain's gig.
You will read of these things in the pages of Lutka, Sir George Simpson,
Sir Edward Belcher, and other early voyagers. They vouch for the unique
charm of the colonial life at that day. Washington Irving, in his
"Astoria," has something to say of New Archangel (Michael), or
"Sheetka," as he spells it; but it is of the time when the ships of
John Jacob Astor were touching in that vicinity, and the reports are not
so pleasing.
While social life in the little colony was still more enjoyable, a
change came that in a single hour reversed the order of affairs. For
years Russia had been willing, if not eager, to dispose of the great
lands that lay along the northwestern coast of America. She seemed never
to have cared much for them, nor to have believed much in their present
value or possible future development. No enterprise was evinced among
the people: they were comparative exiles, who sought to relieve the
monotony of their existence by one constant round of gaity. _Soirees_ at
the castle, tea-garden parties, picnics upon the thousand lovely isles
that beautify the Sitkan Sea; strolls among the sylvan retreats in which
the primeval forest, at the very edge of the town, abounds; fishing and
hunting expeditions, music, dancing, lively conversation, strong punch,
caviare and the steaming samovar,--those were the chief diversions with
which noble and serf alike sought to lighten the burden of the day.
While Russia was willing to part with the lone land on the Pacific, she
was determined that it should not pass into the hands of certain of the
powers for whom she had little or no love. Hence there was time for the
United States to consider the question of a purchase and to haggle a
little over the price. For years the bargain hung in the balance. When
it was finally settled, it was settled so suddenly that the witnesses
had to be wakened and called out of their beds. They assembled secretly,
in the middle of the night, as if they were conspirators; and before
sunrise the whole matter was fixed forever.
On the 18th of October, 1867, three United States ships of war anchored
off Katalan's Rock. These were the Ossipee, the Jamestown and the
Resaca. In the afternoon, at half-past three o'clock, the terrace before
the castle was surrounded by United States troops, Russian soldiers,
officials, citizens and Indians. The town was alive with Russian
bunting, and the ships aflutter with Stars and Stripes and streamers.
There was something ominous in the air and in the sunshine. Bang! went
the guns from the Ossipee, and the Russian flag slowly descended from
the lofty staff on the castle; but the wind caught it and twisted it
round and round the staff, and it was long before a boatswain's chair
could be rigged to the halyards, and some one hauled up to disentangle
the rebellious banner.
Meanwhile the rain began to fall, and the Princess Maksontoff was in
tears. It was a dismal hour for the proud court of the doughty governor.
The Russian water battery was firing a salute from the dock as the Stars
and Stripes were climbing to the skies--the great continent of icy peaks
and pine was passing from the hands of one nation to the other. In the
silence that ensued, Captain Pestehouroff stepped forward and said: "By
authority of his Majesty the Emperor of Russia, I transfer to the United
States the Territory of Alaska." The prince governor then surrendered
his insignia of office, and the thing was done. In a few months' time
fifty ships and four hundred people had deserted Sitka; and to-day but
three families of pure Russian blood remain. Perhaps the fault-finding
which followed this remarkable acquisition of territory on the part of
the United States government--both the acquisition and the fault-finding
were on the part of our government--had best be left unmentioned. Now
that the glorious waters of that magnificent archipelago have become
the resort of summer tourists, every man, woman and child can see for
his, her and its self; and this is the only way in which to convince an
American of anything.
Thirty years ago Sitka was what I have attempted to describe above.
To-day how different! Passing its barracks at the foot of Katalan's
Rock, one sees a handful of marines looking decidedly bored if off duty.
The steps that lead up to the steep incline of the rock to the castle
terrace are fast falling to decay. Weeds and rank grass trail over them
and cover the whole top of the rock. The castle has been dismantled. The
walls will stand until they are blown up or torn down, but all traces of
the original ornamentation of the interior have disappeared. The carved
balustrades, the curious locks, knobs, hinges, chandeliers, and
fragments of the wainscoting, have been borne away by enterprising curio
hunters. There was positively nothing left for me to take.
One may still see the chamber occupied by Secretary Seward, who closed
the bargain with the Russian Government at $7,200,000, cash down. Lady
Franklin occupied that chamber when she was scouring these waters in the
fearless and indefatigable, but fruitless, search for the relics of the
lost Sir John. One handsome apartment has been partially restored and
suitably furnished for the use of the United States District Attorney.
Two rooms on the groundfloor are occupied by the signal officers; but
the rest of the building is in a shameful condition, and only its
traditions remain to make it an object of interest to every stranger
guest.
It is said that twice in the year, at the dead hour of the night, the
ghost of a bride wanders sorrowfully from room to room. She was the
daughter of one of the old governors--a stern parent, who forced her
into a marriage without love. On the bridal eve, while all the guests
were assembled, and the bride, in wedding garments, was the centre of
attraction, she suddenly disappeared. After a long search her body was
found in one of the apartments of the castle, but life was extinct. At
Eastertide the shade of this sad body makes the round of the deserted
halls, and in passing leaves after it a faint odor of wild roses.
The basement is half filled with old rubbish. I found rooms where an
amateur minstrel entertainment had been given. Rude lettering upon the
walls recorded the fact in lampblack, and a monster hand pointed with
index finger to its temporary bar. Burnt-cork _debris_ was scattered
about, and there were "old soldiers" enough on the premises to have
quite staggered a moralist. The Muscovite reign is over. The Princess is
in her grave on the hill yonder,--a grave that was forgotten for a time
and lost in the jungle that has overgrown the old Russian cemetery. The
Indians mutilated that tomb; but Lieutenant Gilman, in charge of the
marines attached to the Adams, restored it; and he, with his men, did
much toward preserving Sitka from going to the dogs.
Gone are the good old days, but the Americanized Sitka does not propose
to be behind the times. I discovered a theatre. It was in one of the
original Russian houses, doomed to last forever--a long, narrow hall,
with a stage at the upper end of it. A few scenes, evidently painted on
the spot and in dire distress; a drop-curtain depicting an utterly
impracticable roseate ice-gorge in the ideal Alaska, and four
footlights, constituted the sum total of the properties. The stage was
six feet deep, about ten feet broad, and the "flies" hung like "bangs"
above the foreheads of the players. In the next room, convenient in
case of a panic, was the Sitka fire department, consisting of a machine
of one-man-power, which a small boy might work without endangering
anybody or anything.
Suburban Sitka is sweet and sad. One passes on the way to the wildwood,
where everybody goes as often as may be,--a so-called "blarney stone."
Many a fellow has chipped away at that stone while he chatted with his
girl--I suppose that is where the blarney comes in,--and left his name
or initials for a sacred memory. There are dull old Russian hieroglyphs
there likewise. Love is alike in all languages, you know. The truth
about the stone is merely this: it is a big soft stone by the sea, and
of just the right height to rest a weary pilgrim. There old Baranoff,
the first governor, used to sit of a summer afternoon and sip his
Russian brandy until he was as senseless as the stone beneath him; and
then he was carried in state up to the colonial castle and suffered to
sober off.
Beyond the stone, and the curving beach with the grass-grown highway
skirting it, is the forest; and through this forest is the lovers' lane,
made long ago by the early colonists and kept in perfect trim by the
latest,--a lane that is green-arched overhead and fern-walled on either
side, and soft with the dust of dead pine boughs underfoot. There also
are streams and waterfalls and rustic bridges such as one might look for
in some stately park in England, but hardly in Alaska. Surely there is
no bit of wilderness finer than this. All is sweet and grave and silent,
save for the ripple of waters and the sighing of winds.
As for the Siwash village on the other side of Sitka, it is a Siwash
village over again. How soon one wearies of them! But one ought never to
weary of the glorious sea isles and the overshadowing mountains that lie
on every side of the quaint, half-barbarous capital. Though it is dead
to the core and beginning to show the signs of death, it is one of the
dreamiest spots on earth, and just the one for long summer solitude,--at
least so we all thought, for on the morrow we were homeward bound.