A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE.
The police of Moscow are not an attractive class of men, considering
them in the light of guardians of the law. With a good deal of
pomposity and laziness, they mingle much filth and rascality. The
emperor may have great confidence in them, based upon some knowledge
of their talents and virtues not shared by casual tourists; but if he
would trust one of them with ten kopeks, or agree to place the life of
any intimate personal friend in their keeping, in any of the dark
alleys of Moscow, his faith in their integrity and humanity must be
greater than mine. Indeed, upon casting around me in search of a
parallel, I am not quite sure that I ever saw such a scurvy set of
vagabonds employed to preserve the public peace in any other country,
except, perhaps, in Spain. The guardians of the law in Cadiz and
Seville are dark and forbidding enough in all conscience, and
unscrupulous enough to turn a penny in any way not requiring the
exercise of personal energy; and the police of Barcelona are not
inferior in all that constitutes moral turpitude, but they can not
surpass the Moscovites in filthiness of person or any of the essential
attributes of villainy.
I have it upon good authority that they are the very worst set of
thieves in the place, and that they will not hesitate to unite with
any midnight prowler for the purpose of robbing a stranger. True, they
did not rob me, but the reason of that is obvious. I gave them to
understand at the start that I was connected with the press. You
seldom hear of a writer for newspapers being robbed; and if such a
thing ever does happen, the amount taken is never large.
As a consequence of this proclivity for ill-gotten gains on the part
of the guardians of the law, it is unsafe for a stranger to go through
the less frequented streets of Moscow at night. Should he chance to be
stopped by two or three footpads and call for help, he will doubtless
wake up some drowsy guardian of the law, but the help will be all
against him. Instances have been related to me of robberies in which
the police were the most active assailants, the robbers merely
standing by for their share of the plunder. Should the unfortunate
victim knock down a footpad or two in self-defense, it is good ground
for an arrest, and both robbers and policemen become witnesses against
him. A man had better get involved in a question of title to his
property before the courts of California than be arrested for assault
and battery, and carried before any of the civil tribunals in Russia.
There is no end of the law's delays in these institutions, and his
only chance of justice is to get his case before the emperor, who is
practically the Supreme Court of the empire. Otherwise the really
aggrieved party must pay a fine for defending himself, and support the
assaulted man, whose nose he may have battered, during an unlimited
period at the hospital, together with physician's fees for all the
real or imaginary injuries inflicted. I met with a young American who
was followed by a stalwart ruffian one night in returning from one of
the public gardens. The man dogged his footsteps for some time. At
length, there being nobody near to render aid, the robber mustered
courage enough to seize hold and attempt to intimidate his supposed
victim by brandishing a knife. He came from a country where they were
not uncommon, and, besides, was an adept on the shoulder. With a
sudden jerk he freed himself, and, hauling off a little, gave his
assailant a note of hand that knocked him down. I am not versed in the
classics of the ring, or I would make something out of this fight. The
pad dropped like a stricken ox, his knife flying picturesquely through
the silvery rays of the moon. Next moment he was on his feet again,
the claret shining beautifully on his cheeks and beard. Throwing out
his claws like a huge grizzly, he rushed in, gnashing his teeth and
swearing horribly. This time our friend was fairly aroused, and the
wretch promptly measured his length on the ground. Thinking he had
scattered it on rather heavy, the American stooped down to see how
matters stood, when the fellow grasped him by the coat and commenced
shouting with all his might for the police--"Help! help! murder!
murder!" There was no remedy but to silence him, which our friend
dexterously accomplished by a blow on the os frontis. Hearing the
approaching footsteps of the police, he then concluded it was best to
make his escape, and accordingly took to his heels. Chase was given,
but he was as good at running as he was at the noble art of
self-defense, and soon distanced his pursuers. Fortunately, he reached
his quarters without being recognised. This was all that saved him
from arrest and imprisonment, or the payment of a fine for the
assault.
A common practice, as I was informed, is to arrest a stranger for some
alleged breach of the law, such as smoking a cigar in the streets, or
using disrespectful language toward the constituted authorities. Not
being accustomed to the intricacies of a Russian judiciary, it is
difficult, when once the matter comes before a tribunal of justice,
for a foreigner to rebut the testimony brought against him; and if he
be in a hurry to get away, his only course is to bribe the parties
interested in his detention. It would be unjust to say that this
system prevails universally throughout Russia. There is a small
circle around the imperial presence said to be exempt from corruption;
and there may possibly be a few dignitaries of the government, in
remote parts of the empire, who will not tell an untruth unless in
their official correspondence, or steal except to make up what they
consider due to them for public services; but the circle of immaculate
ones is very small, and commences very near the Czar, and the other
exceptions referred to are exceedingly rare. Thieving may be said to
begin within gunshot of the capital, and to attain its culminating
excellences on the confines of Tartary. The difference is only in
degree between the higher and the lower grades of officers. Hence,
although it is quite possible to obtain full reparation for an injury
before the Czar, through the intervention of a consul or a minister,
it is a vexatious and expensive mode of proceeding, and would only
result at last in the transportation of some miserable wretch to the
mines of Siberia. Of course no man with a spark of feeling would like
to see a poor fellow-creature go there. For my part, I would rather
suffer any amount of injustice than be the cause of sending a
fellow-mortal on so long and dreary a journey.
The whole bearing of which you will presently discover. I am going to
tell you a very singular adventure that befell me in Moscow. Do not be
impatient; it will all come in due time. A few dashes of preliminary
description will be necessary, by way of introduction, otherwise it
would be impossible to comprehend the full scope and purpose of my
narrative. If you be of the rougher mould, cherished reader, just cast
yourself back somewhere at your ease, take this most excellently
printed book deftly between your fingers, with a good cigar between
your teeth; throw your legs over your desk, a gunny-bag, a fence-rail,
or the mantel-piece of the bar-room, as the case may be; give me the
benefit of your friendship and confidence, and read away at your
leisure. But if you be one of those gentle beings placed upon earth to
diffuse joy and happiness over the desert of life, I pray you
consider me a serf at your imperial foot-stool; bend on me those
tender eyes; and with the mingled respect and admiration due by all
men to female loveliness, I shall proceed at once to tell you
(confidentially of course)
A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE
It so happened in Moscow that I fell in with a very pleasant and
sociable party of Americans, several of whom were in the railway
service, and therefore might reasonably be regarded as fast young
gentlemen, though far be it from me to imply any thing injurious to
their reputation. Beyond an excessive passion for tea, acquired by
long residence in Moscow, I do not know that a single one of them was
at all dissipated. When I first called at the rooms of these lively
countrymen, they immediately got out their tea-urns, and assured me
that it would be impossible to comprehend any thing of Russian life
till I had partaken freely of Russian tea, therefore I was obliged to
drink five or six glasses by way of a beginning. Having freely
discussed the affairs of the American nation at one room, we adjourned
to another, where we had a fresh supply of tea; and then, after
settling the rebellion to our common satisfaction, adjourned to
another, and so on throughout the best part of the day. Sometimes we
stopped in at a _traktir_ and had a portion or two, dashed with a
little Cognac, which my friends assured me would prevent it from
having any injurious effect upon the nervous system. In this way,
within a period of twelve hours, owing to the kindness and hospitality
of these agreeable Americans, who insisted upon treating me to tea, in
public and in private, at every turn of our rambles, I must have
swallowed a gallon or two of this delicious beverage. The weather was
exceedingly warm, but these experienced gentlemen insisted upon it
that Russian tea was a sovereign antidote for warm weather, especially
when dashed with Cognac, as it drove all the caloric out of the body
through the pores of the skin. "Don't be afraid!" said they,
encouragingly; "drink just as much as you please--it will cool you!
See how the Russians drink it. Nothing else enables them to stand
these fiery hot summers after their polar winters!" Well, I didn't
feel exactly cool, with thirty or forty tumblers of boiling hot tea,
dashed with Cognac, in my veins, but what was the use of
remonstrating? They _lived_ in Moscow--they _knew_ better than I did
what was good for strangers--so I kept on swallowing a little more,
just to oblige them, till I verily believe, had any body stuck a pin
in me, or had I undertaken to make a speech, I would have spouted
Russian tea.
Why is it that the moment any body wants to render you a service, or
manifest some token of friendship, he commences by striking at the
very root of your digestive functions? Is it not exacting a little too
much of human nature to require a man to consider himself a large
sponge, in order that hospitality may be poured into him by the
gallon? When a person of pliant and amiable disposition visits a set
of good fellows, and they take some trouble to entertain him; when
they think they are delighting him internally and externally--not to
say infernally--with such tea as he never drank before, it is hard to
refuse. The moral courage necessary for the peremptory rejection of
such advances would make a hero. Thus it has ever been with me--I am
the victim of misplaced hospitality. It has been the besetting trouble
of my life. I remember once eating a Nantucket pudding to oblige a
lady. It was made of corn-meal and molasses, with some diabolical
compound in the way of sauce--possibly whale-oil and tar. I had just
eaten a hearty dinner; but the lady insisted upon it that the pudding
was a great dish in Nantucket, and I must try it. Well, I stuffed and
gagged at it, out of pure politeness, till every morsel on the plate
was gone, declaring all the time that it was perfectly delicious. The
lady was charmed, and, in the face of every denial, instantly filled
the plate again. What could I do but eat it? And after eating till I
verily believe one half of me was composed of Nantucket pudding, and
the other half of whale-oil and tar, what could I do but praise it
again? The third attempt upon my life was made by this most excellent
and hospitable lady; but I gave way, and had to beg off. Human nature
could stand it no longer. The consequence was, I wounded her feelings.
She regretted very much that I disliked Nantucket pudding, and I don't
think ever quite forgave me for my prejudice against that article of
diet, though her kindness laid me up sick for two weeks. Nor is this
an isolated case. I might relate a thousand others in illustration of
the melancholy fact that hospitality has been the bane of my life.
When I think of all the sufferings I have endured out of mere
politeness--though by no means accounted a polite person--tears of
grief and indignation spring to my eyes. Old John Rogers at the stake
never suffered such martyrdom. But there is an end of it! The _tchai_
of Moscow finished all this sort of thing--so far, at least, as the
male sex is concerned. I would still eat a coyote or a weasel to
oblige a lady, but as to drinking two gallons of strong tea per day,
dashed with Cognac to reduce its temperature, to oblige any man that
ever wore a beard, I solemnly declare I'll die first. The thing is an
imposition--an outrage. Every man has a right to my time, my purse, my
real estate in Oakland, my coat, my boots, or my razor--nay, in a case
of emergency, my tooth-brush--but no man has a right to deluge my
diaphragm with slops, or make a ditch of Mundus of my stomach.
[Illustration: EFFECTS OF "LITTLE WATER."]
At the Peterskoi Gardens we had a little more tea, dashed with
_vodka_, to keep out the night air. As soon as the fire-works were
over we adjourned to the pavilion, and refreshed ourselves with a
little more tea slightly impregnated with some more _vodka_. Now I
don't know exactly what this vodka is made of, but I believe it is an
extract of corn. In the Russian language _voda_ is water, and _vodka_
means "little water." There certainly was very little in what we got,
or the tea must have been stronger than usual, for, notwithstanding
these agreeable young gentlemen protested a gallon of such stuff would
not produce the slightest effect, it seemed to me--though there might
have been some delusion in the idea, arising from ignorance of Russian
customs--that my head went round like a whirligig; and by the time I
took my leave of these experienced young friends and retired to my
room at the _Hotel de Venise_, it did likewise occur to me--though
that too may have been a mere notion--that there was a hive of bees in
each ear. Upon due consideration of all the facts, I thought it best
to turn in, and resume any inquiries that might be necessary for the
elucidation of these phenomena in the morning.
[Here, you perceive, I am gradually verging toward the adventure. The
heroine of the romance has not yet made her appearance, but depend
upon it she is getting ready. You should never hurry the female
characters; besides, it is not proper, even if this were all fiction
instead of sober truth, that the heroine should be brought upon the
stage just as the hero is tumbling into bed.]
But to proceed. Sleep was effectually banished from my eyes, and no
wonder. Who in the name of sense could sleep with forty tumblers of
Russian tea--to say nothing of the dashes that were put in
it--simmering through every nook and cranny of his body, and boiling
over in his head? There I lay, twisting and tumbling, the pillow
continually descending into the depths of infinity, but never getting
any where--the bed rolling like a dismantled hulk upon a stormy
sea--the room filled with steaming and hissing urns--a fearful thirst
parching my throat, while myriads of horrid bearded Russians were
torturing me with tumblers of boiling-hot tea dashed with
_vodka_--thus I lay a perfect victim of tea. I could even see Chinamen
with long queues picking tea-leaves off endless varieties of shrubs
that grew upon the papered walls; and Kalmuck Tartars, with their long
caravans, traversing the dreary steppes of Tartary laden with
inexhaustible burdens of the precious leaf; and the great fair of
Nijni Novgorod, with its booths, and tents, and countless boxes of
tea, and busy throngs of traders and tea-merchants, all passing like a
panorama before me, and all growing naturally out of an indefinite
background of tea.
I can not distinctly remember how long I tossed about in this way,
beset by all sorts of vagaries. Sometimes I fancied sleep had come,
and that the whole matter was a ridiculous freak of fancy, including
my visit to Moscow--that Russian tea was all a fiction, and _vodka_ a
mere nightmare; but with a nervous start I would find myself awake,
the palpable reality of my extraordinary condition staring me in the
face. Unable to endure such an anomalous frame of mind and body any
longer, I at length resolved to go down and take an airing in the
streets, believing, if any thing would have a beneficial effect, it
would be the fresh air. Acting upon this idea, I hastily dressed
myself and descended to the front door. The _Hotel de Venise_ is
situated in a central part of the city, at no great distance from the
Kremlin. It stands back in a large open yard, with a very pretty
garden to the right as you enter from the main street. The proprietor
is a Russian, but the hotel is conducted in the French style, and,
although not more conspicuous for cleanliness than other
establishments of the same class in Moscow, it is nevertheless
tolerably free from vermin. The fleas in it were certainly neither so
lively nor so entertaining as I have found them at many of the Spanish
ranches in California, and the bugs, I am sure, are nothing like so
corpulent as some I have seen in Washington City. I throw this in
gratis, as a sort of puff, in consideration of an understanding with
the landlord, that if he would refrain from cheating me I would
recommend his hotel to American travelers. It is very good of its
kind, and no person fond of veal, as a standard dish, can suffer from
hunger at this establishment so long as calves continue to be born any
where in the neighborhood of Moscow.
The porter, a drowsy old fellow in livery, whose only business, so far
as I could discover, was to bow to the guests as they passed in and
out during the day, at the expense of a kopek to each one of them for
every bow, napping on a lounge close by the front door. Hearing my
footsteps, he awoke, rubbed his eyes, bowed habitually, and then
stared at me with a vacant and somewhat startled expression. It was
not a common thing evidently for lodgers to go out of the hotel at
that time of night, or rather morning--it must have been nearly two
o'clock--for, after gazing a while at what he doubtless took to be an
apparition or an absconding boarder whose bill had not been settled,
he grumbled out something like a dissent, and stood between me and the
door. A small fee of ten kopeks, which I placed in his hand, aided him
in grasping at the mysteries of the case, and he unlocked the door and
let me out, merely shaking his head gravely, as if he divined my
purpose, but did not altogether approve of it in one of my age and
sedate appearance. In that, however, he was mistaken: I had no
disposition to form any tender alliances in Moscow.
[Illustration: RUSSIAN BEGGARS.]
The streets were almost deserted. An occasional drosky, carrying home
some belated pleasure-seeker, was all that disturbed the silence. I
walked some distance in the direction of the Kremlin. The air was
deliciously cool and refreshing, and the sky wore a still richer glow
than I had noticed a few hours before at the gardens of the Peterskoi.
The moon had not yet gone down, but the first glowing blushes of the
early morning were stealing over the heavens, mingled with its silvery
light. I took off my hat to enjoy the fresh air, and wandered along
quite enchanted with the richness and variety of the scene. Every turn
of the silent streets brought me in view of some gilded pile of
cupolas, standing in glowing relief against the sky. Churches of
strange Asiatic form, the domes richly and fancifully colored; golden
stars glittering upon a groundwork of blue, green, or yellow; shrines
with burning tapers over the massive doors and gateways, were
scattered in every direction in the most beautiful profusion.
Sometimes I saw a solitary beggar kneeling devoutly before some gilded
saint, and mourning over the weariness of life. Once I was startled
by the apparition of a poor wretch lying asleep--I thought he was
dead--a crippled wreck upon the stone steps--his eyes closed in brief
oblivion of the world and its sorrows, his furrowed and pallid
features a ghastly commentary upon the glittering temples and idols
that surround him. For above all these things that are "decked with
silver and with gold, and fastened with nails and with hammers that
they move not," there is One who hath "made the earth by His power and
established the world by His wisdom;" man is but brutish in his
knowledge; "every founder is confounded by the graven image; for his
molten image is falsehood, and there is no breath in them." Such
extremes every where abound in Moscow--magnificence and filth; wealth
and poverty; a superstitious belief in the power of images in the
midst of abject proofs of their impotence. And yet, is it not better
that men should believe in something rather than in nothing? The
glittering idol can not touch the crippled beggar and put health and
strength in his limbs, but if the poor sufferer can sleep better upon
the cold stones in the presence of his patron saint than elsewhere, in
charity's name let him,
"O'erlabored with his being's strife
Shrink to that sweet forgetfulness of life."
I wandered on. Soon the cupolas of the mighty Kremlin were in sight,
all aglow with the bright sheen of the morn. Passing along its
embattled walls, which now seemed of snowy whiteness, I reached the
grand plaza of the Krasnoi Ploschod. Standing out in the open space, I
gazed at the wondrous pile of gold-covered domes till my eyes rested
on the highest point--the majestic tower of Ivan Veliki. And then I
could but think of the terrible Czar--the fourth of the fierce race of
Ivans, who ruled the destinies of Russia; he who killed his own son in
a fit of rage, yet never shook hands with a foreign embassador without
washing his own immediately after; the patron of monasteries, and the
conqueror of Kazan, Astrakan, and Siberia. This was the most cruel yet
most enlightened of his name. I am not sure whether the tower was
built to commemorate his fame or that of his grandfather, Ivan the
Third, also called "the Terrible," of whom Karasmin says that, "when
excited with anger, his glance would make a timid woman swoon; that
petitioners dreaded to approach his throne, and that even at his table
the boyars, his grandees, trembled before him." A terrible fellow, no
doubt, and thoroughly Russian by the testimony of this Russian
historian, for where else will you find men so terrible as to make
timid women swoon by a single glance of their eye? Not in California,
surely! If I were a Czar this soft summer night (such was the idea
that naturally occurred to me), I would gaze upon the fair flowers of
creation with an entirely different expression of countenance. They
should neither wilt nor swoon unless overcome by the delicacy and
tenderness of my admiration.
From the green towers of the Holy Gate, where neither Czar nor serf
can enter without uncovering his head, I turned toward the Vassoli
Blagennoi--the wondrous maze of churches that gathers around the
Cathedral of St. Basil. Not in all Moscow is there a sight so strange
and gorgeous as this. The globular domes, all striped with the varied
colors of the rainbow; the glittering gold-gilt cupolas; the rare and
fanciful minarets; the shrines, and crosses, and stars; the massive
steps; the iron railing, with shining gold-capped points--surely, in
the combination of striking and picturesque forms and colors, lights
and shades, must ever remain unequaled. The comparison may seem
frivolous, yet it resembled more, to my eye, some gigantic cactus of
the tropics, with its needles and rich colors, its round, prickly
domes and fantastic cupolas, than any thing I had ever seen before in
the shape of a church or group of churches. While I gazed in wonder at
the strange fabric, I could not but think again of Ivan the Terrible;
by whose order it was built; and how, when the architect (an Italian)
was brought before him, trembling with awe, the mighty Ivan expressed
his approval of the performance, and demanded if he, the architect,
could build another equally strange and beautiful; to which the poor
Italian, elated with joy, answered that he could build another even
stranger and more beautiful than this; and then how the ferocious and
unprincipled Czar had the poor fellow's eyes put out to prevent him
from building another.
But this is not the adventure. I have nothing to do at present with
the Church of St. Basil or Ivan the Terrible except in so far as they
affected my imagination. The business on hand is to tell you how the
dire catastrophe happened.
Bewildered at length with gazing at all these wonderful sights, I
turned to retrace my steps to the hotel. A few droskies were still
plying on the principal thoroughfares, and now and then I met gay
parties trudging homeward after their night's dissipation; but I soon
struck into the less frequented streets, where a dreary silence
reigned. There was something very sad and solitary in the
reverberation of my footsteps. For the first time it occurred to me
that there was not much security here for life, in case of a covert
attack from some of those footpads said to infest the city. I began to
reflect upon the experience of my young American friend, and regret
that it had not occurred to me before I left the hotel. You may think
this very weak and foolish, good friends, surrounded as you are by all
the safeguards of law and order, and living in a country where men are
never knocked on the head of nights--with occasional exceptions; but I
can assure you it is a very natural feeling in a strange,
half-barbarous city like Moscow, where one doesn't understand the
language. Had I been well versed in Russian, the probability is I
should not have felt the least alarmed; but a man experiences a
terrible sensation of loneliness when he expects every moment to be
knocked on the head without being able to say a word in his own
defense. Had my guide, Dominico, been with me, I should not have felt
quite so helpless--though I never had much confidence in his
courage--for he could at least have demanded an explanation, or, if
the worst came to the worst, helped me to run away. The fact is--and
there is no use attempting to disguise it--I began to feel a nervous
apprehension that something was going to happen. I was startled at my
own shadow, and was even afraid to whistle with any view of keeping up
my spirits, lest something unusually florid in my style of whistling
might lead to the supposition that I was from California, and
therefore a good subject for robbery.
Which, by the way, puts me in mind of a remarkable fact, well worth
mentioning. The State of California owes me, at the least calculation,
two hundred dollars, paid in sums varying from six kreutzers up to a
pound sterling to hotel-keepers, porters, lackeys, and professional
gentlemen throughout Europe, exclusively on the ground of my
citizenship in that state. In Paris--in Spain--in Africa--in Germany
(with the exceptions of the beer-houses and country inns), I had to
pay a heavy percentage upon the capital invested in my gold mines
solely on the presumption that no man could come from so rich a
country without carrying off a good deal of treasure on his person,
like the carcass that carried the diamonds out of the rich valley for
Sinbad the Sailor. Yet I never could forego the pleasure of announcing
myself as an embassador to foreign parts from that noble state,
commissioned by the sovereigns generally to furnish them with the
latest improvements in morals, fashions, and manners for the public
benefit--an extremely onerous and responsible duty, which I have
executed, and shall continue to execute, with the most rigid fidelity.
After walking quite far enough to have reached the hotel, I became
confused at the winding of the streets. The neighborhood was strange.
I could not discover any familiar sign or object. The houses were low,
mean, and dark looking; the street was narrow and roughly paved. I
walked a little farther, then turned into another street still more
obscure, and, following that for some distance, brought up amid a pile
of ruined walls. There could no longer be a doubt that I had missed
the way, and was not likely to find it in this direction. It was a
very suspicious quarter into which I had strayed. Every thing about it
betokened poverty and crime. I began to feel rather uneasy, but it
would not do to stand here among the ruins as a mark for any midnight
prowler who might be lurking around. Turning off in a new direction, I
took a by-street, which appeared to lead to an open space. As I picked
my way over the masses of rubbish, a dark figure crossed in front, and
disappeared in the shadow of a wall. I was entirely unarmed. What was
to be done? Perhaps the man might be able to tell me the way to my
lodgings; but I could not speak a word of Russian, as before stated,
and, besides, was rather averse to making acquaintance with strangers.
After a moment's reflection, I walked on, cautiously and distrustfully
enough, for the notion was uppermost in my mind that this fellow was
not there for any good purpose. As I passed the spot where he had
disappeared, I looked suspiciously around, but he did not make his
appearance. With a few hasty strides I readied the open space--a
vacant lot, it seemed, caused by a recent fire. The houses were burnt
down, and nothing but a blackened mass of beams, rafters, and ashes
covered the ground. The only exit was through a narrow alley. Before
entering this, I looked back and saw the same figure stealthily
following me. On I went as rapidly as I could walk. Closer and closer
came the figure. He was a man of gigantic stature, and was probably
armed. Soon I heard the heavy tramp of his feet within a few paces. It
was evident I must either run or stand my ground. Perhaps, if I had
known what direction to take, or could have placed more reliance upon
my knees, which were greatly weakened by tea, I might have chosen the
former alternative, inglorious as it may seem; but, under the
circumstances, I resolved to stand. Facing around suddenly, with my
back to the wall, I called to the ruffian to stand off, as he valued
his life. He halted within a few feet, evidently a little disconcerted
at my sudden determination to make battle. His face was the most
brutal I had over seen; a filthy mass of beard nearly covered it; two
piercing white eyes glistened beneath the leaf of his greasy cap; a
coarse blouse, gathered around the waist by a leather belt, and boots
that reached nearly to his hips, were the most striking articles of
his costume. For a moment he gazed at me, as if uncertain what to do;
then brushed slowly past, with the design, no doubt, of ascertaining
if I was armed. I could not see whether he carried any deadly weapons
himself; but a man of his gigantic stature needed none to be a very
unequal opponent in a struggle with one whose most sanguinary
conflicts had hitherto been on paper, and who had never wielded a
heavier weapon than a pen.
Proceeding on his way, however, the ruffian, after going about a
hundred yards, disappeared in some dark recess in among the houses on
one side. I continued on, taking care to keep in the middle of the
alley. As I approached the spot where the man had disappeared, I heard
several voices, and then the terrible truth flashed upon me that there
must be a gang of them. I now saw no alternative but to turn back and
run for my life. It was an inglorious thing to do, no doubt, but which
of you, my friends, would not have done the same thing?
[Illustration: GAMBLING SALOON.]
Scarcely had I started under full headway when three or four men
rushed out in pursuit. I will not attempt to disguise the fact that
the ground passed under my feet pretty rapidly; and the probability
is, the hostile party would have been distanced in less than ten
minutes but for an unfortunate accident. It was necessary to cross the
ruins already described. Here, in the recklessness of my flight, I
stumbled over a beam, and fell prostrate in a pile of ashes. Before I
could regain my feet the ruffians were upon me. While two of them held
my arms, the third clapped his dirty hand over my mouth, and in this
way they dragged me back into the alley. As soon as they had reached
the dark archway from which they had originally started, they knocked
at a door on one side. This was quickly opened, and I was thrust into
a large room, dimly lighted with rude lamps of grease hung upon the
walls. When they first got hold of me, I confess the sensation was not
pleasant. What would the Emperor Alexander say when he heard that a
citizen of California had been murdered in this cold-blooded manner?
My next thought was, in what terms would this sad affair be noticed in
the columns of the Sacramento _Union_? Would it not be regarded by the
editor as an unprovoked disaster inflicted upon society? My fears,
however, were somewhat dispelled upon looking around the saloon into
which I had been so strangely introduced. Several tables were ranged
along the walls, at each of which sat a group of the most
horrible-looking savages that probably ever were seen out of jail--the
very dregs and offscourings of Moscow. Their faces were mostly covered
with coarse, greasy beards, reaching half way down their bodies; some
wore dirty blue or gray blouses, tied around the waist with ropes, or
fastened with leather belts; others, long blue coats, reaching nearly
to their feet; and all, or nearly all, had caps on their heads, and
great heavy boots reaching up to their knees, in which their
pantaloons were thrust, giving them a rakish and ruffianly appearance.
A few sat in their shirt-sleeves; and, judging by the color of their
shirts, as well as their skins, did not reckon soap among the luxuries
of life. Several of these savage-looking Mujiks were smoking some
abominable weed, intended, perhaps, for tobacco, but very much unlike
that delightful narcotic in the foul and tainted odor which it
diffused over the room. They were all filthy and brutish in the
extreme, and talked in some wretched jargon, which, even to my
inexperienced ear, had but little of the gentle flow of the Russian in
it. The tables were dotted with dice, cards, fragments of black bread,
plates of grease, and cabbage soup, and glasses of vodka and tea; and
the business of gambling, eating, and drinking was carried on with
such earnestness that my entrance attracted no farther attention than
a rude stare from the nearest group. No wonder they were a little
puzzled, for I was covered with ashes, and must have presented rather
a singular appearance. The three ruffians who had brought me in closed
the door, and motioned me to a seat at a vacant table. They then
called for tea, vodka, and quass, together with a great dish of raw
cucumbers, which they set to work devouring with amazing voracity.
During a pause in the feast they held a low conversation with the man
who served them, who went out and presently returned with a small
tea-pot full of tea and a glass, which he set before me. They motioned
to me, in rather a friendly way, to drink. I was parched with thirst,
and was not sorry to get a draught of any thing--even the villainous
compound the traktir had set before me; so I drank off a tumblerfull
at once. Soon I began to experience a whirling sensation in the head.
A cold tremor ran through my limbs. Dim and confused visions of the
company rose before me, and a strange and spectral light seemed shed
over the room. The murmur of voices sounded like rushing waters in my
ears. I gradually lost all power of volition, while my consciousness
remained unimpaired, or, if any thing, became more acute than ever.
The guests, if such they were, broke up their carousal about this
time, and began to drop off one by one, each bowing profoundly to the
landlord, and crossing himself devoutly, and bowing three times again
before the shrine of the patron saint as he passed out. It was really
marvelous to see some of these ruffians, so besotted with strong drink
that they were scarcely able to see the way to the door, stagger up
before the burnished shrine, and, steadying themselves the best they
could, gravely and solemnly go through their devotions.
But I see you are beginning to yawn, and, notwithstanding the most
exciting part of the adventure is about to commence, it would be
extremely injudicious in me to force it upon you under circumstances
so disadvantageous to both parties. You will therefore oblige me by
finishing your nap, and, with your permission, we will proceed with
our narrative as soon as it may be mutually agreeable. In the mean
time, I beg you will regard what I have already told you as strictly
confidential. My reputation, both for veracity and general good
character, is involved in this very extraordinary affair, and it would
be unfair that either the one or the other should be prejudiced by a
partial exposition of the facts.