In 1808, Dimitri’s father died and he received notice that the tsar had disinherited him, “by reason of your Catholic faith and your ecclesiastical profession.” It was devastating news, for he had borrowed heavily in expectation of the inheritance. Now without funds, good Father Dimitri nevertheless pursued his initiatives, soon falling into greater and greater debt. He occasionally received small sums from his sister. King William V of Holland once sent Dimitri $2,000 dollars under the pretext that it was a payment for some insignificant items left behind at the royal palace from the days when the two were boys together at play. Another time, in desperation the priest travelled to Washington to seek assistance from the Russian ambassador to whom he owed money. Historian Alexander Tarsaidze picks up the story:
The minister suggested that the discussion of financial matters be postponed until after dinner. Present at dinner were Henry Clay and the Dutch Envoy. After the plates had been removed, a servant brought in a candle to be used by the gentlemen in lighting their cigars. The Russian Minister rolled a spill, thrust it into the flame of the candle, lighted his cigar leisurely and smiled. A black ash was all that remained of the $5,000 bond.[3]
Dimitri struggled on, never out of debt but always confident that somehow God would provide. His fiscal irresponsibility provoked more than one tempest with the presiding bishops, but ultimately they appeared accepting of the situation and often came to the rescue.
Gallitzin was more than once proposed for a bishopric: in Bardstown, Kentucky; Philadelphia; Pittsburgh; and Cincinnati. All these he declined in favour of continuing his rural work in the verdant hills of western Pennsylvania. At the time of his death, there were an estimated ten thousand parishioners within his church’s district. The turnout for his funeral was massive and as the remains were being lowered into the crypt the choir intoned, I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength.
Chapter 6
The Pacific Frontier
By the mid-eighteenth century, the Spanish had taken possession of the Pacific coast, from Mexico north to San Francisco. The lands north of San Francisco’s Bay area, up through Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia, remained largely virgin territories open for exploration and development.
The Aleutians and Alaska, however, had long been strong drawing cards for Russian traders. The forests along the shores teemed with foxes, and shoal areas abounded with millions of sea otters. (That the waters were also home to an abundance of whales was initially unappreciated.) It was furs, furs, furs that propelled the initial Russian forays into the distant northwest Pacific regions. They thought little of crossing vast Siberian distances, embarking on vessels built in Kamchatka shipyards, and then sailing east to America.
The first to make a mark in the region was a barely literate Cossack sergeant from the Kamchatka garrison, a man whose name does not stand out among the giants of fur traders. Emelian Basov witnessed with interest the return home of Vitus Bering’s fur-clad crew, and he cast a particularly covetous eye the bales of furs they lugged ashore. If they could do it, so could he. Mustering all his persuasive powers, Basov talked a wealthy trader, a certain Andre Serebrenikov, into financing the construction of a small vessel for a fur-gathering expedition. He planned to sail the 115 miles to Bering Island where, he was confident, plenty of sea otters romped. In the summer of 1743, the tiny Kapiton, a two-masted, flat-bottomed riverboat, departed from Kamchatka and within weeks returned home, laden with furs. Basov made three subsequent voyages, the second one of which records a detailed inventory, including 1,600 otter pelts, 2,000 fur seals, and 2,000 blue fox, for a value of 200,000 rubles — an astronomical sum in those days. Basov certainly made it rich, and in the process precipitated what can only be called a “fur rush.”
The first to join the rush was Yakov Chuprov who in 1745 made his way to Attu, one of the westernmost Aleutian Islands, aboard the Eudoxia, a vessel similar in design to Basov’s but larger. The expedition was notable not so much for the success it met, but rather for the first contact that Russians had with North American Natives. Having one dark evening dropped anchor at Agattu, an island adjacent to Attu, the expedition awaited morning’s daylight. Dawn revealed scores of excited Aleuts dancing about on the shore, brandishing spears and other weapons. Was this an act of hostility or an indication of welcome? To test the waters, Chuprov catapulted to the shore bundles of manufactured goods: pots, knives, tin mirrors, and so on. In return, the Natives tossed to the Eudoxia freshly killed birds and small game. It was all non-threatening, and with his men on deck at the ready with muskets, Chuprov went ashore with a small party in the ship’s utility boat.
Initially, all progressed well amid a friendly atmosphere. The inquisitive Aleuts displayed unfettered curiosity, poking at this and that. Items of one sort or another were exchanged, including an offering by Chuprov of a pipe and pouch of tobacco. This bewildered the Aleuts, who were at a loss as to what to do with the strange gift, but, nevertheless, they politely accepted it. In return, they presented the Russians with a bone sculpture. At this point, the principal among the Natives indicated his desire for one of the muskets carried by the sailors. Chuprov refused curtly.
The positive atmosphere soured immediately and became charged. Faces initially radiating goodwill turned bitter, and some Natives moved threateningly toward the Eudoxia’s utility boat. A scuffle ensued on the water in which one Aleut was shot, but the ship’s crew returned safely to their vessel. Anchor was raised and Chuprov made for a return to Attu.
Word of the unfortunate events on Agattu preceded Chuprov’s arrival at Attu, and by the time the Eudoxia dropped anchor, the locals had fled into the hinterland. After gentle coaxing and patience, however, rapport with the Aleuts was eventually re-established, and the hunt for sea otter resumed. With the onset of winter, the men took to the comfortable quarters they had erected for themselves and adapted to Native ways. They dressed in the same sort of skins and assumed the local diet of fish, meat, and even blubber.
In their dealings with the Aleuts, every effort was made to show courteousness and friendliness. The unfortunate incident at Agattu was soon forgotten and harmony once again prevailed among the lot. Attu Natives were persuaded to enter the service of the Russians — the men to hunt sea otter and the women to tend to the kitchens. In fact, Russians arriving in those parts encountered little opposition in their expansionary initiatives, certain isolated indigenous tribes excepted. They met far more success in coexisting with the Natives than did the Americans or British.
The Basov and Chuprov expeditions ignited ambitions — scores of fur traders trod off to suffer hardships in favour of profit. Fridtjof Nansen, the twentieth-century arctic explorer and Nobel laureate paints the scene: “An unending stream of straggling, struggling, frostbitten men bundled in heavy clothing, some erect and powerful, some so skinny and bent that they could hardly drag themselves or their sleds; wasted, starved, plagued with scurvy, but all gazing forward into the unknown, beyond the edge of the northern sun toward the dream which they sought.”
Mounting success came to these entrepreneurs as they pushed further south along the continent’s coastline. Financing the ventures, however, grew in complexity — the problem of supply in particular. Ever larger sums were required for financing expeditions; individual traders had difficulty in raising capital. A score of small fur companies thus came into being, which in time merged to form the Northeastern Company. The new entity was forced to operate exclusively on its own, without any form of government subvention or protection. Trans-Pacific imperialism was not for Empress Catherine. From the outset, she declared that “it was for the fur traders to traffic where they please.… I will furnish neither men, ships nor money. I renounce forever all possessions in America.”
Subsequently, as an afterthought, she added, “England’s experience with the American colonies should be a warning to other nations to abstain from such efforts.” However, after Ivan Golikov, the co-owner of the Northeastern Company, presented the empress with a handsome gift of costly furs, Catherine looked more benignly on the developments in the Pacific. She granted the company tax-free status, and also ordered the company “to treat your new brothers, the aborigines of those lands, with gentleness, neither oppressing nor cheating them.”
With