The Chamberlain was in a towering bad humor.
As he made his appearance at least two hours earlier than he was expected, he found the decks of the Juno covered with the skins of sea-dogs, foxes, and birds. He had heard Langsdorff go to his cabin later than usual the night before, and that his pet aversion was the cause of a fresh grievance, but hastened the eruption of his smouldering resentment toward life in general.
"What does this mean?" he roared to the sailor on watch. "Clear them off--overboard, every one of them. What are you staring at?"
The sailor, who was a "Bostonian," an inheri-tance with the ship, opened his mouth in favor of the unfortunate professor, but like his mates, he stood in much awe of a master whose indulgence demanded implicit obedience in return. Without further ado, he flung the skins into the sea.
Rezanov, to do him justice, would not have acted otherwise had he risen in the best of tempers. He had inflicted himself with the society of the learned doctor that he might always have a physician and surgeon at hand, as well as an interpreter where Latin was the one door of communication. He should pay him handsomely, make him a present in addition to the sum agreed upon, but he had not the least intention of giving up any of the Juno's precious space to the vagaries of a scientist, nor to submit to the pollution of her atmosphere. Langs-dorff was his creature, and the sooner he realized the fact the better.
"Remember," he said to the sailor, "no more of this, or it will be the worse for you-- What is this?" He had come upon a pile of ducks, gulls, pelicans, and other aquatic birds. "Are these the cook's or the professor's?"
"The professor's, Excellency."
"Overboard." And the birds followed the skins.
Rezanov turned to confront the white and trembling Langsdorff. The naturalist was enfolded in a gorgeous Japanese dressing-gown, purple bro-cade embroidered with gold, that he had surrepti-tiously bought in the harbor of Nagasaki. To Rezanov it was like a red rag to a bull; but the pro-fessor was oblivious at the moment of the tactless garment. His eyes were glaring and the extended tip of his nose worked like a knife trying to leap from its sheath. But although he occasionally ven-tured upon a retort when goaded too far in conver-sation, he was able to curb his just indignation when the Chamberlain was in a bad temper. In that vague gray under winking stars in their last watch, Rez-anov seemed to tower six feet above him.
"Excellency," he murmured.
"Well?"
"My--my specimens."
"Your what?"
"The cause of science is very dear to me, Excel-lency."
"So it is to me--in its proper place. Were those skins yours?" His voice became very suave. "I am sorry you should have fatigued yourself for noth-ing, but I am forced to remind you that this is not an expedition undertaken for the promotion of nat-ural history. I am not violating my part in the con-tract, I believe. Upon our arrival at Sitka you are at liberty to remain as my guest and make use of the first boat that sails for this colony; but for the present I beg that you will limit yourself to the re-quirements of your position on my staff."
He turned his back and ordered a canoe to be lowered. Since the arrival of the Governor and Commandante, now three days ago, all restrictions on his liberty had been removed, and the phrases of hospitality were a trifle less meaningless. He had been asked to give his word to keep away from the fortifications, and as he knew quite as much of the military resources of the country as he desired, he had merely suppressed a smile and given his promise.
This morning he wanted nothing but a walk. He had slept badly, the blood was in his head, his nerves were on edge. He went rapidly along the beach and over the steep hills that led to the north-eastern point of the peninsula. But he had taken the walk before and did not turn his head to look at the great natural amphitheater formed by the inner slopes of those barren heights, so uninterest-ing of outline from the water. Once when Luis had left him to go down with an order to the Bat-tery of Yerba Buena, he had examined it critically and concluded that never had there been so fine a site for a great city. Nor a more beautiful, with the broken line of the San Bruno mountains in the distance and a glimpse of the Mission valley just beyond this vast colosseum, whose steep imposing lines were destined by nature to be set with palaces and bazaars, minarets and towers and churches, with a thousand gilded domes and slender crosses glittering in the crystal air and sunlight. If not another Moscow, then an Irkutsk in his day, at least.
But he did not give the chosen site of his city a glance to-day, although in this gray air before dawn when mystery and imagination most closely embrace, he might at another time have forgotten himself in one of those fits of dreaming that slipped him out of touch with realities, and sometimes pre-cipitated action in a manner highly gratifying to his enemies.
But much as he loved Russia, there were times when he loved his own way more, and since the arrival of Governor Arrillaga he was beginning to feel as he had felt in the harbor of Nagasaki. Not a word since that first interview had been said of his cargo; nor even of the treaty, although nothing could have been more natural than the discussion of details. Whenever he had delicately broached either subject, he had been met with a polite indif-ference, that had little in common with the cor-diality otherwise shown him. He foresaw that he might be obliged to reveal the more pressing object of his visit without further diplomacy, and the thought irritated him beyond endurance.
