Galt snorted. “Everybody is — my colleague Mr. Cartier here and others like Tilley and Tupper. It’s whoever Monck thinks has the strongest political party likely to win the most seats in the first election, the person who is the proven best leader and best understands the political and parliamentary process.”
“Who d’you think that will be, Mr. Galt?” Sir William pressed.
“I’ve just described John Alexander Macdonald!”
“D’you agree, Mr. Cartier?”
“There’s no doubt in my mind. How else are we going to build the Pacific railway and the intercolonial too? How else is British Columbia going to be brought into Confederation — and Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland — unless Mr. Macdonald is the Prime Minister?”
“I must confess” — Galt smiled — “I think Macdonald has a hankering for the job.”
He stood to thank the banker so that Cartier and he could take their leave. “In the meantime, Sir William, we really must get on with the business of keeping British Columbia out of the clutches of the Americans. And that means building a railway to the Pacific. We thank you for your interest.”
“Gentlemen, you have my attention and my interest,” Sir William said cordially. “But it’s your interest that I will be looking for if we finance you. Your interest payments — guaranteed.”
6
December 16, 1866
St. Petersburg
Both sides of the tall, arched doors to the anteroom swung open to reveal the Emperor’s principal secretary. The wizened old man’s eyes, more shortsighted than ever, searched the expansive waiting hall until the stopped at a blurred figure in the distance.
“Minister de Stoeckl?” came the tentative inquiry.
“It is I, Oleg Vladimir Ivanovich,” de Stoeckl replied.
“Good. His Imperial Majesty will see you now.”
De Stoeckl, broad-shouldered, heavy-set, neither tall nor short, strode the length of the marble-floored waiting room, the heels of his polished black boots making a loud, reverberating clacking, so much noise that he knew it would be useless to speak to the hard-of-hearing old man until he stopped next to him.
“Oleg, old friend. It’s been two years since I saw you last. How are you keeping? I must say the time has touched you lightly.”
The ancient retainer chuckled. “Lightly? Perhaps. But with a brush that has lightly diminished my sight, lightly curtailed my hearing, but even so, has increased my enormous attractiveness to the opposite sex.”
De Stoeckl threw back his head and laughed heartily. “If they’re after your body, Oleg …”
“Yes, minister, I know. If they’re after it, let them have it. But then there are so many that I have to consider rationing.”
De Stoeckl became serious. “Speaking of many, are they all here?”
The secretary motioned him inside the anteroom, then shut the doors behind them. “Yes.” He nodded. “The Tsar, the Grand Duke, Foreign Minister Gorchakov, the Minister of Finance, Mr. De Reutern, and Vice Admiral Krabbe.”
As the old man spoke, de Stoeckl’s eyes took in the paintings of the Tsar’s ancestors that adorned the silk-covered walls. It was appropriate that all who had received an audience with His Imperial Majesty should be made to understand or, indeed, be reminded of his powerful lineage. De Stoeckl stared at the huge portrait hanging to the right of the door leading to the conference room. It was of Peter the Great, whose striking face of physical strength, vast intelligence, and extraordinary determination inspired de Stoeckl on the rare occasions when he was privileged to see it.
He walked slowly beside Oleg, who began to shuffle his way across the deep Persian rug toward the entrance to the Tsar’s chamber.
“I expected everyone but Krabbe. Why is he here?” de Stoeckl asked.
“Simple, my dear minister.” Oleg’s reedy voice was lowered as they approached the door. “Minister Gorchakov thought that the Admiral should be present because as Marine Minster he has special knowledge of the affairs of the Company which, as you know, is in dreadful condition.”
“Dreadful indeed,” de Stoeckl agreed.
For decades the wealthy and powerful Russian American Company had developed and controlled the expansion of the business of hunting the valuable sea otters and seals and latterly whales and fish, as well as trading in those and other commodities along the northwestern shores of North America. Moreover, the Company possessed and claimed sovereignty over those lands and waters in the name of the Tsar.
But now the Company was in dire straits. In 1857 the value of a share of the Company stock had been a gratifying 500 rubles. In the intervening nine years disaster had befallen the organization. The herds of seals and sea otters in Russian America had been depleted by uncontrolled hunting almost to the point of extinction. Trade with the Americans had virtually ceased during the American Civil War when most of the resources of the United States had been concentrated on the resolution of its bloody conflict. The Company had fallen on such hard times that its shareholders could get no more than 75 rubles for a share and were lucky if they could find a buyer. In reality the Company was bankrupt and its principals had had no choice but to plead with the Tsar and his minsters to have the government take it over.
The plight of the Russian American Company was only part of the question that the Tsar’s secret “Committee of Tomorrow” would have to resolve at this meeting. More importantly the Committee would also have to decide the fate of the Tsar’s North American territorial possessions. Should Russian America territories be sold and the Company terminated? There was no question in de Stoeckl’s mind as to what should be done, but it would be His Imperial Majesty’s decision alone after he had received the advice of his senior ministers.
The chamber was a corner room designed in order to enable the now-long-forgotten architects to utilize the two outer walls for broad windows that stretched from the floor to the relatively low, ornate gilt ceiling. The windows were lightly draped so that on that brilliant day they allowed shafts of warming sunlight to fall across the room. The other two walls harboured massive fireplaces, each leaping with flame as they and the sun’s heat made the Tsar’s chamber passably warm against the piercing wintry cold.
Dominating the room was a long conference table with seating for ten on each side. At the far end was the high-backed, elaborately carved chair in which the Tsar now sat, with the Grand Duke on his right side, Gorchakov on the left. All the chairs to the right of the Grand Duke were empty out of deference to his station. To Gorchakov’s left were de Reutern and Krabbe, the Vice Admiral in full uniform while the others at the table were in their high-collared shirts and black cut-away business suits in emulation of His Imperial Majesty.
De Stoeckl, his valise in hand, walked to the table and made a deep bow toward the Tsar, who acknowledged the salute with a curt nod of his head, then motioned de Stoeckl to sit next to Krabbe. Like the others, the Vice Admiral, a monocle clenched in his left eye, was engrossed in reading a document, a copy of which had been passed to each of the participants before de Stoeckl’s arrival.
There was, however,
