Colonel Bulkley determined to sail on the 6th of August for Anadyr
Bay, and ordered the Variag to proceed to the Amoor by way of Ghijiga.
Early in the morning the corvette changed her moorings and shook a
reef from her telescopic smoke stack, and at nine o’clock I bade adieu
to the Wright and went on board the Variag, to which I was welcomed by
Capt. Lund, according to the Russian custom, and quartered in the room
specially designed for the use of the Admiral. The ladies were on the
nearest point of the beach, and just before our departure the Captain
and most of his officers paid them a farewell visit. Seizing the tow
line of the Danzig, which we were to take to sea, we steamed from the
harbor into the Pacific, followed by the cheers of all on board the
Wright and the waving of ladies’ handkerchiefs till lost in the
distance. We desired to pass the fourth, or Amphitrite, channel of the
Kurile Islands; the weather was so thick that we could not see a
ship’s length in any direction, and all night men stood with axes
ready to cut the Danzig’s tow line in case any sudden danger should
appear. The fog lifted just as we neared the channel, and we had a
clear view on all sides.
We cast off the Danzig when fairly out of the Pacific. During the two
days the Variag had her in tow we maintained communication by means of
a log line and a junk bottle carefully sealed. Casting our bottle on
the waters, we allowed it to drift along side the Danzig, where it
could be fished up and opened. Answers were returned in the same mail
pouch. One response was in liquid form, and savored of gin cocktail,
fabricated by the American captain.
An hour after dropping the Danzig we stopped our engines and prepared
to run under sail. The whole crew was called on deck to hoist out the
screw, a mass of copper weighing twenty-five thousand pounds, and set
in a frame raised or lowered like a window sash. With strong ropes and
the power of three hundred men, the frame and its contents were lifted
out of water, and the Variag became a sailing ship. The Russian
government is more economical than our own in running ships of war.
Whenever possible, sails are used instead of steam. A few years ago a
Russian Admiral was transferred from active to retired service because
he burned too much coal.
The Variag was 2100 tons burthen, and carried seventeen guns, with a
crew of 306 men. She was of the fleet that visited New York in 1863,
and her officers recounted many pleasant reminiscences of their stay
in the United States. While wintering in Japanese waters she was
assigned to assist the telegraph enterprise, and reported as soon as
possible at Petropavlovsk; but the only service demanded was to
proceed to the mouth of the Amoor by way of Ghijiga and Ohotsk.
The officers of the Variag were, a captain, a commander, four
lieutenants, six sub-lieutenants, an officer of marines with a cadet,
a lieutenant of naval artillery, two sailing masters, two engineers, a
surgeon, a paymaster, and a priest. As near as I could ascertain,
their pay, including allowances, was about three-fourths that of
American officers of similar grades. They received three times as much
at sea as when awaiting orders, and this fact led them to seek
constant service. In the ward room they read, wrote, talked, smoked,
and could play any games of amusement except cards. Card playing is
strictly forbidden by the Russian naval regulations.
The sailors on the corvette were robust and powerful fellows, with
appetites to frighten a hotel keeper. Russian sailors from the
interior of the empire are very liable to scurvy. Those from Finland
are the best for long voyages. Captain Lund once told me the
experience of a Russian expedition of five ships upon a long cruise.
One ship was manned by Finlanders, and the others carried sailors from
the interior. The Finlanders were not attacked with scurvy, but the
rest suffered severely.
“All the Russians,” said the captain, “make good sailors, but those
from the maritime provinces are the best seamen.”
Early in the voyage it was interesting to see the men at dinner. Their
table utensils were wooden spoons and tubs, at the rate of ten spoons
and one tub to every ten men. A piece of canvas upon the deck received
the tub, which generally contained soup. With their hats off, the men
dined leisurely and amicably. Soup and bread were the staple articles
of food. Cabbage soup _(schee)_ is the national diet of Russia, from
the peasant up to the autocrat. Several times on the voyage we had
soup on the captain’s table from the supply prepared for the crew, and
I can testify to its excellence. The food of the sailors was carefully
inspected before being served. When the soup was ready, the cook took
a bowl of it, with a slice of bread and a clean spoon, and delivered
the whole to the boatswain. From the boatswain it went to the officer
of the deck, and from him to the chief officer, who delivered it to
the captain. The captain carefully examined and tasted the soup. If
unobjectionable, the bowl was returned to the galley and the dinner
served at once.
A sailor’s ration in the Russian navy is more than sufficient for an
ordinary appetite and digestion. The grog ration is allowed, and the
boatswain’s call to liquid refreshment is longer and shriller than for
any other duty. At the grog tub the sailor stands with uncovered head
while performing the ceremonial abhorred of Good Templars. As of old
in our navy, grog is stopped as a punishment. The drink ration can be
entirely commuted and the food ration one half, but not more. Many
sailors on the Variag practiced total abstinence at sea, and as the
grog had been purchased in Japan at very high cost, the commutation
money was considerable. Commutation is regulated according to the
price of the articles where the ship was last supplied.
I was told that the sailor’s pay, including ordinary allowances, is
about a hundred roubles a year. The sum is not munificent, but
probably the Muscovite mariner is no more economical than the American
one. In his liberty on shore he will get as drunk as the oft quoted
‘boiled owl.’ _En passant_ I protest against the comparison, as it is
a slander upon the owl.
At Petropavlovsk there was an amusing fraternization between the crews
of the Variag and the Wright. The American sailors were scattered
among the Russians in the proportion of one to six. Neither understood
a word of the other’s language, and the mouth and eye were obliged to
perform the duties of the ear. The flowing bowl was the manual of
conversation between the Russians and their new friends. The Americans
attempted to drink against fearful odds, and the result was
unfortunate. They returned sadly intoxicated and were unfit for social
or nautical duties until the next day.
When the Variag was at New York in 1863, many of her sailors were
entrapped by bounty-brokers. When sailors were missing after liberty
on shore, a search through the proper channels revealed them converted
into American soldiers, much against their will. Usually they were
found at New York, but occasionally a man reached the front before he
was rescued. Some returned to the ship dressed as zouaves, others as
artillerists; some in the yellow of cavalry, and so on through our
various uniforms. Of course they were greatly jeered by their
comrades.
Everyone conversant with Russian history knows that Peter the Great
went to England, and afterward to Holland, to study ship building. He
introduced naval construction from those countries, and brought from
Holland the men to manage his first ships and teach his subjects the
art of navigation. As a result of his enterprise, the principal parts
of a Russian ship have English or Dutch names, some words being
changed a little to adapt them to Russian pronunciation. The Dutch
navigators exerted great influence upon the nautical language of
Russia. To illustrate this Captain Lund said: “A Dutch pilot or
captain could come on my ship and his orders in his own language would
be understood by my crew. I mean simply the words of command, without
explanations. On the other hand, a Dutch crew could understand my
orders without suspecting they were Russian.”
Sitting among the officers in the ward-room, I endeavored to accustom
my ear to the sound of the Russian language and learn to repeat the
most needed phrases. I soon acquired the alphabet, and could count up
to any extent; I could spell Russian words much as a schoolboy goes
through his ‘first reader’ exercise, but was unable to attain rapid
enunciation. I could never get over the impression that the Muscovite
type had been set up by a drunken printer who couldn’t read. The R’s
looked the wrong way, the L’s stood bottom upward, H’s became N’s, and
C’s were S’s, and lower case and small caps were generally mixed up.
The perplexities of Russian youth must be greater than ours, as they
have thirty-six letters in their alphabet and every one of them must
be learned. A brief study of Slavonic verbs and nouns convinced me
they could never be acquired grammatically in the short time I
proposed remaining in Russia, and so I gave them up.
What a hindrance to a traveler and literal man of the world is this
confusion of tongues! There is no human being who can make himself
verbally understood everywhere on this little globe. In the Russian
empire alone there are more than a hundred spoken languages and
dialects. The emperor, with all his erudition, has many subjects with
whom he is unable to converse. What a misfortune to mankind that the
Tower of Babel was ever commenced! The architect who planned it should
receive the execration of all posterity.
The apartment I occupied was of goodly size, and contained a large
writing desk. My bed was parallel to the keel, and hung so that it
could swing when the ship rolled. Previous to my embarkation the room
was the receptacle of a quantity of chronometers, sextants, charts,
and other nautical apparatus. There were seventeen chronometers in
one box, and a few others lay around loose. I never had as much time
at my command before or since. Twice a day an officer came to wind
these chronometers and note their variation. There were marine
instruments enough in that room to supply a dozen sea-captains, but if
the entire lot had been loan’d me, I never could have ascertained the
ship’s position without asking somebody who knew it.
[Illustration: PLENTY OF TIME.]
The partition separating me from the ward-room was built after the
completion of the ship, and had a way of creaking like a thousand or
more squeaky boots in simultaneous action. Every time we rolled, each
board rubbed against its neighbor and waked the echoes of the cabin.
The first time I slept in the room the partition seemed talking in
Russian, and I distinctly remember that it named a majority of the
cities and many noble families throughout the empire. After the first
night it was powerless to disturb me. I thought it possible that on
leaving the ship I might be in the condition of the woman, whose
husband, a fearful snorer, was suddenly called from home. The lady
passed several sleepless nights, until she hit upon the expedient of
calling a servant with the coffee mill. The vigorous grinding of that
household utensil had the effect of a powerful opiate.
At eight o’clock every morning, Yakuff, (the Russian for Jacob,)
brought me a pitcher of water. When my toilet was over, he appeared
with a cup of tea and a few cakes. We conversed in the beginning with
a sign language, until I picked up enough Russian to ask for tea,
water, bread, and other necessary things. At eleven we had breakfast
in the captain’s cabin, where we discussed steaks, cutlets, tea, and
cigars, until nearly noon. Dinner at six o’clock was opened with the
never failing zakushka, or lunch, the universal preparative of the
empire, and closed with tea and cigars. At eight o’clock tea was
served again. After it, any one who chose could partake of the cup
which cheers and inebriates.
[Illustration: RUSSIAN OFFICERS AT MESS.]
One morning during my voyage a sailor died. The ocean burial occurred
on the following day, and was conducted according to the ceremonial of
the Eastern Church. At the appointed time, I went with Captain Lund to
the place of worship, between decks. The corpse was in a canvas
coffin, its head and breast being visible. The coffin, partially
covered with the naval ensign, lay on a wide plank about two feet
above the deck. At its head the priest was reading the burial service,
while near him there was a group of sailors forming the choir. Captain
Lund and several officers stood at the foot of the coffin, each
holding a burning taper.
The service lasted about twenty minutes, and consisted of reading by
the priest and responses by the choir. The censer was repeatedly
swung, as in Catholic ceremonials, the priest bowing at the same time
toward the sacred picture. Simultaneously all the candles were
extinguished, and their several men advanced and kissed a small cross
lying upon the coffin. The priest read a few lines from a written
paper and placed it with the cross on the breast of the corpse. The
coffin was then closed and carried upon the plank to the stern of the
ship.
After a final chant by the choir, one end of the plank was lifted, and
a single splash in the water showed where the body went down. During
the service the flag floated at half mast. It was soon lowered amid
appropriate music, which ended the burial at sea.
On the third day after leaving the Pacific we were shrouded in fog,
but with it we had a fine southerly breeze that carried us rapidly on
our course. The fog was so dense that we obtained no observation for
four days, but so accurate was the sailing master’s computation that
the difference between our observed and estimated positions was less
than two miles.
When the fog rose we were fairly in Ghijiga Bay, a body of water
shaped like a narrow V. Sharp eyes looking ahead discovered a vessel
at anchor, and all hoped it was the Clara Bell. As we approached she
developed into a barque, and gave us comfort, till her flag completed
our delight. We threw the lead and began looking for anchorage.
Nine, eight, seven fathoms were successively reported, and for some
minutes the depth remained at six and a half. A mile from the Clara
Bell we dropped anchor, the ship trembling from, stem to stern as the
huge chain ran through the hawse-hole. We were at the end of a nine
days voyage.