A year after Dashkov’s arrival in the United States, John Quincy Adams, made his return trip to Russia, this time as the American minister — full diplomatic recognition had at last been extended. He held the appointment for six years, during which time he had “frequent and informal conversations” with Alexander. From the start, Adams was much impressed by his Russian hosts. “One of the first things that at once delights and surprises an American traveler here,” he wrote, “is the great respect entertained by the Emperor and Court for our national character.”
Chapter 3
The Pacific Passages
The 1803 Louisiana Purchase opened an important chapter in the story of Russian-American friendship. By that shrewd acquisition, the United States extended its territory far into the northwest, lands that today take in all or part of twelve states. Even before the conclusion of negotiations. Thomas Jefferson had commissioned Lewis and Clark to undertake their monumental journey of exploration into that unknown hinterland. The elusive Northwest Passage, a potential trade route to Asia, had been sought for over three hundred years, and the hope of securing it continued. The formidable Rockies, however, proved to be an insurmountable obstacle — exploration abruptly stopped. Although Lewis and Clark returned home in 1806 with a trove scientific data, promise of an easy access to the Pacific had been crushed.
But the expedition by the two explorers did ignite the imagination of a singular immigrant, John Jacob Astor, a butcher’s son from Waldorf, Germany. Arriving in the United States in 1784 at the age twenty to join his brother, Astor developed a fascination with furs. The young man had ample business sense, including insight, patience, perseverance, and a penchant for risk-taking. It didn’t take long for him to parlay a modest New York fur shop into the American Fur Company, a vast organization that came to dominate the fur trade of central and northern United States. It was America’s first monopoly. By 1808, Astor was a man of untold wealth.[1]
Early in his expansionist years, John Jacob recognized the potential offered by the Pacific coast. Not only did its shores provide easy access to the lucrative markets of the Far East, but they were also home to countless thousands of sea otters, their extraordinary glossy, rich, and soft pelts much in demand. In 1810, he travelled to those distant parts, and stopped at the mouth of the Columbia River in Oregon. There he established a trading post that he named Astoria — much credit for the American presence on the Pacific coast, therefore, belongs to that venturesome German immigrant.
The Russians, however, had already been on North American shores of the Pacific for seventy years. From the times of Ivan IV, his people had been pushing east from Moscow across the Urals into Siberia. These were mostly Cossacks, traders, and trappers, plus a handful of missionaries. By the early seventeenth century, Irkutsk in central Siberia had grown into a commercial centre for the vast hinterland. Nascent trade relations with China were proving lucrative — tea, silk, and other luxuries were acquired in exchange for furs. Merchants and trappers pressed farther and farther east until the Pacific Ocean was finally reached in 1639 — on the Sea of Okhotsk north of Japan. With expanding Asian demand for furs, Moscow sought more effective and less costly means of transport of goods — ideally an avenue through the Arctic Ocean. Since most of the great Siberian rivers flowed into those polar waters, new and rich fur-trapping grounds would open up inland as explorers continued their work.
In 1721 Peter the Great burst onto the Russian stage, a man of boundless energy, intellectual curiosity and unfettered ambition. His overriding priorities were to consolidate and expand the empire and to bring his people into the world outside their country. Like the double-headed eagle in the Russian coat of arms, Peter gazed simultaneously in both directions — a push to the east was no less important than the much-coveted “window to the west.” The idea of a northeast passage, a sea lane that would connect Russia with China, intrigued him, as it would be a splendid avenue for developing the lucrative fur trade with the Far East and for expanding the empire.
Peter the Great.
William Faithorne. Engraving, c. 1700. Library of Congress.
Early in Peter’s reign, the young tsar had travelled to Western Europe, where, among other activities, he laboured as a volunteer carpenter in the Amsterdam shipyards of the East India Company. He was fixated on mastering every aspect of warship construction.[2] During that tour, he spent sixteen weeks in England, where in 1698 he met William Penn. The eccentric Quaker was not only a man of intellect and breadth of interests, but he also spoke Dutch, a language in which Peter had greater fluency than English. In his student days, Penn was much admired for his athletic ability but criticized for an exaggerated piety. He was expelled from Oxford for non-conformity; soon afterwards, Penn was imprisoned by London authorities on the same charge. But he was not held for long. Years later, Charles II awarded Penn the proprietary rights to the colony of Pennsylvania — a repayment of an enormous debt owed the father.
Not without reason, Peter was charmed by this uncommon individual, despite Penn’s irritating attempts to convert him to Quakerism. The two took special delight in debating matters related to exploration and geography. It was in one of these sessions that Penn challenged Peter to determine whether North America was connected by land to Asia.[3]
And now, in 1725, at the twilight of his reign Peter set out to meet that challenge. On the recommendation of the Ministry of Marine, he appointed Captain Vitus Bering to undertake an exploration east. A Dane serving in the Russian navy, Bering was reputed to be audacious and single-minded as well as in possession of sharp seamanship skills. He had once sailed from Denmark to the East Indies — a daring voyage for those days. But the man’s scientific training was sorely lacking, as well as any sense of curiosity.
The tsar commissioned him to cross Siberia to the shores of the Pacific, and from there do what was necessary to ascertain whether a physical connection existed between Siberia and North America. If not, the Dane was to carry on with the search for the elusive passage west via the Arctic Ocean. If anyone could do it, it would be the likes of Bering. Peter, however, did not live to savour the fruit of his initiative. Within six months, he died at age fifty-three — all but ten of them as autocratic sovereign of the massive Russian empire. His widow and successor, Catherine I, endorsed the commission, and urged Bering to get on with it. The instructions dictated by Peter are brilliant, as much for their brevity and as for their naiveté. In part:
1 You shall cause one or two convenient vessels to be built at Kamchatka or elsewhere.
2 You shall endeavor to discover, by coasting with these vessels, whether the country towards the north, of which at present we have no knowledge, is a part of America, or not.
3 If it joins to the continent of America, you shall endeavour, if possible, to reach some colony belonging to some European power. In case you meet with any European ship, you shall diligently inquire the name of the coasts, and such other circumstances as it is in your power to learn. These you will commit to writing, so that we may have some certain memoirs by which a chart may be constructed.[4]
On the morning of Sunday, January 24, 1725, twenty-five sleds pulled out from the Admiralty in St. Petersburg with an entourage of ninety-seven carpenters, blacksmiths, seamen, and support staff. Bering had begun an arduous twenty-one-month passage to the Sea of Okhotsk across seemingly endless and inhospitable stretches of Siberia. Roads for the most part were non-existent and those available were primitive. Numerous rivers had to be forded without available boats. Settlements were few and far between. Freezing temperatures and deep snows brought misery in winter; unbearable heat and clouds of mosquitoes were common in summer. Their first winter was especially harsh — “the local people who have lived here more than twenty years say that it is the worst winter in memory,” one diarist noted. The passage of the resolute travellers was made all the more laborious by the immense quantity of food and equipment being hauled. Additionally, a hefty amount of iron was loaded aboard the sledges, material deemed essential for the construction of a vessel sturdy enough to battle the roughest waters. Builders on