"Your Majesty, it's said in the United States that you are Europe's most enlightened monarch; it's said you plan to free your serfs. Did you know that the Indians in Alaska, who were free from the beginning of time until the Russian American Company came to Alaska, are greater slaves than your own serfs?"
He paused momentarily. "I deal in furs. I know the income from those furs. I know that on every trip to Alaska I have made a very substantial profit. Still I understand that the Alaska company has to ask appropriations from the government of Russia to keep operating."
Alexander's face hardened. "Are you suggesting that the stockholders are being cheated? That the government is being robbed?"
"I'm only saying that each of my trips was successful. The trips of dozens of other traders whose furs I bought were successful. But the Russian American Company, which is on the ground,.is losing money." Alexander got to his feet and walked slowly across the room and back. Then he stopped and asked LaBarge about the matter of the wheat. Jean explained in as few words as possible, told of the burning of the wheat but without any suggestions or accusations. Then his own ride north and the delivery of wheat that resulted. The Czar asked many questions about the ride, the terrain crossed, and dangers.
"Obviously, Captain LaBarge," he said finally, "you honored your agreement with Count Rotcheff at great personal risk to yourself." He hesitated. "You are staying long in St. Petersburg, Captain?"
"No, Your Majesty, I'll return now. My only wish was to see the Princess safely returned to her home, and if possible to speak to you." "I see ... and what did you hope to gain by speaking to me?" "I hoped to suggest, Your Majesty, that Russia sell Alaska to the United States."
If the Czar was surprised, he gave no evidence of it. Perhaps Helena had mentioned it, perhaps he had seen it coming, or there might have been some such suggestion in the report forwarded by Count Rotcheff. "And you, a private citizen, are in a position to negotiate?" "No, Your Majesty. But," Jean added, "I have a friend in Washington who might be. His name is Robert J. Walker, and he is former Secretary to the Treasury of the United States, and former Senator from Mississippi. I know he favors such a plan, and is in touch daily with others who do." Alexander changed the subject and they talked quietly for nearly an hour on conditions in Alaska, the rapid westward expansion of the United States, and of the building of railways.
He arose suddenly. "Captain, I have taken much of your time. I thank you for coming to see me, and especially for assuring the safe return of the Princess, my niece."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"As for your suggestion, I shall give it much thought. It remains a possibility."
Outside in the park it was cool and pleasant. They stood for a long time watching the play of light among the sparkling waters of the fountains, and listening to the cascades as they ran down to the sea. From the palace came the sound of music. The dance continued, still, although it seemed forever that they had been gone.
"And now?"
"San Francisco. But I believe this time I'll cross the Atlantic and see Rob Walker."
"I shall return to Sitka."
He turned sharply around. "Helena, you ..."
"You think I am a fool? But Alexander is there, and my first duty is to him.
Would you think more of me if I remained here?"
"Less, maybe, of your loyalty, more of your judgment. It isn't safe, Helena."
"No matter, I must go back."
Chapter 33
Jean LaBarge picked his way across the rutted, muddy street. He had arrived in Washington scarcely an hour before and was shocked by the appearance of the capital. Heavy army wagons had furrowed the streets and plowed the avenues into rivers of mud. Here and there Negroes walked about with planks and for a consideration aided passengers alighting from vehicles to reach the sidewalks, or pedestrians to cross the streets. Hacks were few and hard to find, and often became stalled in the street where their passengers must remain marooned or wade through mud to the sidewalks.
Without waiting for a cab he picked his way through the streets and at last reached the impressive mansion on the tree-bordered square where Robert Walker made his temporary home. He walked up the steps and scraped the mud from his feet on the door scraper, then pulled the bell. The Negro who answered the door was a short, stocky man who recognized the name at once. "Mistuh LaBarge, suh? Mr. Robert, he's sho' gonna be pleased! He sho'ly is."
The man who sat behind the desk in the high-ceilinged room was short and slender. He looked up from his desk as the door opened, then came suddenly to his feet. "Jean!" he said. "Jean LaBarge!"
"Hello, Rob."
They gripped hands for an instant, smiling at each other. It had been a long time.
"When did you get in?"
"Less than an hour ago. I took a room at the Willard."
"You needn't have done that."
They walked on into the room and Jean handed his hat and cloak to the Negro. Rob glanced at LaBarge's wide shoulders and the perfectly tailored suit. "Whiskey?"
"Please...."
Rob poured the drinks. "To the Honey Tree!"
Jean grinned at him. "The Honey Tree!" He downed half his drink, then put his glass down. "I've often wondered about it, wondered if anyone ever got all that honey."
"I have no idea, Jean, but I do know there has been some talk of draining the swamp and logging it off."
"Then I don't want to go back."
For a half hour they talked of various topics, then Rob lit a cigar. "All right, Jean, tell me about it. Tell me about Russia ..." It was growing light when Rob suddenly got to his feet. "Jean, you're tired. Can you come for dinner tomorrow night?" He glanced at his watch. "I mean, tonight? I want you to meet some friends of mine."
"Sure."
"You should have told me you were coming. The Willard is all right, but--" "It's best for me. I'm lunching with a friend tomorrow. You may know him. Senator Bill Stewart."
"Of Nevada? I know of him, and a very able man." "He was a cattle drover for a while as a boy, drove them right along Mill Creek Road once, he told me."
"How does he stand?"
"On Alaska? He's for it, I'm sure. He came early to California and is in favor of opening up new country."
"Sumner is the man you must meet. He's been against us, but I believe he is wavering a little. Jean, I want you to talk to him, I want you to tell him about Alaska.
"There's been no question about Seward. He's been for it from the beginning, perhaps even before I was, and he has been taking the brunt of the ridicule while I've been gathering the support. The papers refer to it as Seward's Folly, Seward's Icebox, but he found many of the arguments offered against Alaska were the same as those offered against the Louisiana Purchase. Seward dug up all those old arguments and has published the lot." "Will it go through, Rob? Will they buy Alaska?" He shrugged. "Who knows? I believe we will. I believe, in spite of the opposition, that the treaty will be ratified, but we've got a fight on our hands. Sumner is lukewarm, unconvinced but willing to listen, but I will tell you something about him, Jean. He likes facts. He likes to know, and when he speaks, he likes to deliver facts. Given the proper ammunition, I think he'll be with us."
The streets were dark and silent. When the door closed behind him Jean LaBarge walked slowly up the street. Several times he paused in his walking, feeling the mistlike rain on his face, looking up a broad avenue. The mud was obscured by darkness, and the tree-lined streets were softly beautiful. Robert Walker did not go to bed. The excitement of seeing his old friend was joined with another realization: it was Jean LaBarge, if anyone, who could swing the balance toward ratification. His actual presence here, the chance to talk to a man who knew the country. LaBarge's own dramatic personality was sure to do much to convince a few laggards. He spoke easily and well, and above all, he seemed to know everything there was to know about Alaska. Seated at his desk, Robert Walker considered the situation that faced him. Pleased as he was to see his old friend, he knew at once he must utilize his presence, and he knew that LaBarge would have been the first to agree. A less colorful person would have been less valuable, but the dark, handsome LaBarge with his romantic scar, his stories of the fur trade and the islands, his recent visit to the Czar's court and the duel that preceded it, these were sure to make their impression.