The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov

by Carl Douglass

  “Boris,” Abram said, “this fur business right here would be sufficient to provide me and my family and all of our employees with a lifetime of comfort; you could consider it to be soft gold. I can truthfully say that we could be rich from the sale of beaver skins for American and European top hats alone. My own Russian and Buryat promyshlennikmi [fur trappers] are the best in the world, and I have had the wisdom to make their efforts and hardships worth their while. But, I have to say that I have always wanted more. I want to rival John Jacob Astor’s American Fur Company, Simon Fraser in Canada, the British Hudson’s Bay Company, the Russian-American Company, and the Russians Gregorii Shelikhov, and Pavel Lebedev-Lastochkin.”

  “From what I see here, I have no doubt that you can achieve it all. I applaud you Abram Timurovitch.”

  Boris gave a small bow and a salute.

  “Thank you, Boris; but I am getting a bit older and will need some help. I would like you to think on that as we go about today.”

  Abram had certainly gotten Boris’s attention.

  Abram led Boris out of the fur emporium and back to the phaeton. With a small click of the long reins on the carriage horses’ backs, they drove onto Amerikanskaya Street on down to the free port. Abram maneuvered the horses and the carriage through the thronging workers, sailors, military personnel, and businessmen to a fleet of six beautiful three-masters, all bearing the Tarasova herald—a bear at the helm of a sailing vessel. Guards in Tarasova livery came to attention when the master and his guest walked past. They saluted Abram as the master, and Boris as the general.

  “This is another part of your world, Abram. I can scarcely believe what I am seeing.”

  “To be truthful, most of this is Alexandra’s doing. She has a great head for business and is an accomplished sailor and ship’s captain. She is in partnership with James Matheson II, the nephew of the founder Matheson of Jardine, Matheson as we are with the taipan himself. Not to boast, but our combined fleet consists of more than fifty ships; and we are moving forward to establish a monopoly on trade from Vladivostok through the South China Sea, the Sea of Japan, East China Sea, to the Indian Ocean. We control a large share of commerce with Japan, Chosŏn, Southern China, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines, and the Indonesian archipelago. We build and hire as fast as we can, but we are always some behind the East India Company. We are determined to win that race.”

  “Highly ambitious, Abram. Do you ever fear becoming over stretched financially?”

  Abram laughed, “All the time. It is the way of the world here. Great companies, shipping lines, and commercial houses, come and go as they fall to the strength of larger and more aggressive companies. Right now, we have leveraged ourselves with as much debt–private and banking–as we dare. Frankly, we pray constantly that we will not be destroyed by a typhoon or pirates or the East India Company, or that we will be unable to meet our obligations in a lean year or two. So far, we have bulled our way ahead, but our accountants are urging caution.”

  “Probably this is none of my business, Sir, but does your income exceed your expenses? Whole countries have become bankrupt by failing to heed their sober advisors’ cautions.”

  “I am going to assume that you are close enough to the family to be able to have such information. Yes, right now and for the next two years, we have every expectation of maintaining a positive balance. After that, it will be imperative that we grow in order to keep the East India Company wolf at bay.”

  Boris felt flattered and began to feel the worm of ambition niggling at his innards. He tried not to let his face reveal his thoughts. Did this mean that the family was strongly in favor of a match between him and Alexandra? He hardly dared to hope.

  Alexandra–dressed in a chiffon bouffant summer dress which flattered her nubile figure–appeared from a walkway between two of the brigs.

  “Enough business and stuffy man talk for a little while. I have a picnic fit for princes. Mother and I slaved all morning to prepare it. We will serve you,” she said brightly radiating her toothy smile.

  Abram laughed and said, “As if I could imagine either of you doing cooking and scullery maid service. And where are the servants to make ready this feast?”

  “Oh, Father,” both Irina and Alexandra laughed. “you know us too well.”

  Irina raised her right hand and without looking back gave a distinctly feminine wave. A small army of servants marched forward, set up tables, placed a marvelously decadent brunch out on serving tables. There was one large table for the four of them, set with fine china, the best silverware, serving ware, goblets, and napkins.

  The House of Tarasova Chinese major domo bade them sit, and sommeliers brought out an assortment of afternoon wines—sweet table wines, sherry, port, claret, and sack—apple cider and pear perry served in bearded man jugs from Germany, cordials flavored with local berries and herbs collected by the Chinese and Buryats, fermented honey mead laced with secret spices, a little grain, and some fresh fruit. There were jars of Ossetra, Tzar Imperial Kaluga Huso, and Baika caviar and crackers to start.

  Alexandra placed slices of heavy seeded German bread, flaky French croissants, and Alaskan sour dough on a separate table then began to build sandwiches to order. First, she slathered the slices of bread with creamy butter, garlic aioli, garlic and onion mustard, Choices included thick slices of cold roast of beef, chicken, pastrami, wurst, and sliced cheeses—gouda, Swiss with air holes, white cheddar, and Gruyere. Add-ons as it suited the men’s choices included sliced fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, onions and dill pickles.

  Abram winked at his daughter when Boris was busy with his sandwich. She smiled back. They finished the meal with three different Russian wines imported from wine grapes planted at Fort Ross on the Sonoma coast of California by Santa Rosa wine makers who migrated down from the Russian Valley in the Alaskan colonies and Petrovska Beer from the Stepan Razin Brewery in Saint Petersburg.

  “Alexandra, while the servants clear up our leavings, why don’t you show Boris around this part of our fleet here in Vladivostok?”

  “I would be delighted if you would, Alexandra,” Boris broke in.

  “I will be only too happy to give him the tour,” Alexandra said and laughed gently at Boris’s impatience.

  Abram stretched out on a gentle mound of sand and pebbles and smoked his pipe as the two young people he was staking so much of his future on, walked towards the ships. He gave a little smile of satisfaction as he saw Boris take hold of Alexandra’s hand.

  “Is it really true that you have your captain’s papers, Alexandra?” Boris asked as they walked up the narrow gangway of the barquentine Matheson-Tarasova Fur Carrier.

  “It is true, and I earned them by going through an apprenticeship and taking a very rigorous test.”

  “I continue to be amazed at you and your accomplishments, Alexandra. Not many women could lay claim to such a feat.”

  Alexandra laughed, “There is a very famous woman admiral of a fleet in these parts. Have you ever heard of the Red Flag Fleet?”

  “No, I guess I am too new here.”

  “You will know all about her soon enough. Her name is Zhèng Yi, and she is an infamous pirate who is alleged to have more than a thousand ships in her fleet and commands more than seventy thousand pirates. She is a huge thorn in the Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova side and in the side of the East India Company. She has thus far evaded capture and has almost free rein in the seas around us. One day, we will launch an all-out war against her.”

  “And you will be out there as one of the admirals, I suppose.”

  “Never let it be said that I’m not ambitious, Boris.”

  They both laughed heartily at her braggadocio.

  “Tell me about this boat, will you Alexandra? Seems like it is time for me to begin to learn.”

  “First of all, get ‘boat’ out of your vocabulary. This is a ship, a barquentine, to be precise.”

  “What distinguishes it from other sailing ships?”


  “Here comes the skipper. I’ll get him to give you the details.”

  She introduced David Ching, a half Chinese, half British, middle-aged man with a sparse beard, a balding pate, and a florid large nose. His eyes were almond shaped but too close to each other to give one the impression of him being fully Chinese.

  Boris saluted, and the salute was returned.

  “Skipper, tell my friend here what a barquentine is, and how it differs from the other ships moored here.”

  “Sir,” he said, “the Matheson-Tarasova Fur Carrier is a ship-rigged vessel that carries three square sails on each mast—we have three masts, but others may have four. You will note, Sir, that our ship is fore-and-aft rigged with the foremast fully square-rigged and her mainmast rigged with both a fore-and-aft mainsail (a gaff sail) and square topsails and topgallant sails. It is a medium sized carrier built for speed displacing nearly 40,000 feet and has 30,000 square feet of cargo space. The hull is reinforced oak, tough enough for cannon balls to bounce off, and the sails are the heaviest oiled canvass to withstand typhoons and a lifetime of exposure to sea water. We have fourteen guns, a well-stocked armory, and a crew of hard working hands and real fighting skills.”

  “You are justifiably proud of your ship, Skipper, as you should be.”

  “I am proud to be part of the Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova fleet, Sir.”

  “I see that there are differences in the five other ships of the fleet moored here. Pardon my ignorance, Skipper, but I am a land-lubber soldier.”

  “I am aware of your reputation for heroism, General Yusupov. It is an honor to have you aboard, and a pleasure to share what knowledge I have. Next to us is what we call a clipper ship which serves a special purpose for us in these dangerous times. They are built for speed. So, you will note the long, slim, graceful, streamlined hull, its long projecting bow—like a spear head–and the very large spread of sails mounted on three overly tall masts. Clipper ships are American in origin–built for smugglers and pirates–but also to win in the tea races here in Chinese waters. The practical purpose then and now is to bring the first tea harvest of the year to ports all over the world, and also to give us an edge in transporting our goods on short notice. Our vessel was built in Bristol, England, and others under our command were built in Harwich, London, Pool, and Southampton, merchant ports. I graduated from being master of clippers to becoming the captain of this beautiful ship on whose deck we stand.

  “The next four ships, in order, are Captain Alexandra Tarasova’s ship, the brigantine Far East Transporter. It has three masts with all of them fully rigged but the foremost. The main mast is the aft one as you can see. It is rigged with both a fore-and-aft gaff sail and square topsails and topgallants. It is probably the best ship for the Tarasova company purposes—a compromise between the barquentine and a sloop. It is actually faster and more maneuverable and is a favorite for pirates, smugglers, reconnoitering, and as a fighting ship to protect larger cargo vessels. Because of the Red Flag Fleet, the Far East Transporter and our other brigantines are excellent for fast maneuvering and for carrying large enough cargoes—50 to 200 tons–to be worth the expense of multiple voyages.

  “The next two are oceanic Manila Galleons, the largest ships in our fleet or in the East India Company fleet. The Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova-Chang Master of the South Seas and the King of the Merchant Fleet were purchased from Spain. The ships are identical in everything but name. They carry 2,000 tons of cargo. They are large, multi-decked, and heavily armed. They have three masts with a lateen fore-and-aft rig on the rear masts. As you can see, they are built with a prominent squared off raised stern, and have square-rigged sail plans on their fore and main-masts.

  “The last two ships moored here look rather like our galleons but are much smaller. They are called carracks, an old style but still useful cargo ship. They usually have three masts, but our two, the Carrack South Seas Carrier, and the Carrack Jardine-Matheson-Tarasova Express Ship, are fitted out with four masts, each with four sails. The main and foremasts are square rigged; the mizzenmast carries both a fore and aft triangular sheet called a lateen sail. For greater speed and maneuverability our ships are fitted out with a square sail beneath the bowsprit forward of the bow, and topsails are hung above the courses on the mainmast and foremast. Our carracks have bonaventures—the fourth masts—you see and carry another large lateen sail. Take note of the deep and broad hull, high sterncastle, and an even higher fo’c’s’le which hangs out over the bow. The sterncastles and forecastles are larger than those on a galleon which makes them more comfortable and spacious but more clumsy in the water. I prefer the galleons, but most of the ships in our fleet are the less costly carracks.”

  Boris was overwhelmed with too much information and could not keep track of the many names for ships and ships’ parts he was hearing. He strove not to show his ignorance.

  “Skipper, thank you for your masterful and concise descriptions. I can see why you are a valued member of the Tarasova company. I can also see that I am going to sit down with a few books and pictures until I can master at least the nomenclature. I trust that Alexandra can help me.”

  “More than glad too, Boris,” she said quietly as they continued their tour of the handsome and impeccably clean ship.

  It did Boris’s soul good to see the gleaming polished teak decks, the oiled and shined masts, the spotless white sails, the well-ordered brass monkeys bearing their cannon balls, and all of the brass that shone like gold—obviously polished that morning.

  Alexandra pointed back at the shipyards to the south, “Captain Ching, perhaps you can give General Yusupov an idea of what we do in the yards.”

  “I would be proud to do so. I am afraid I have already bored you with too much ship detail, but please allow me to give just a short summary and invite you to come back one day and walk about the yards. I think you will be quite amazed.

  “Where to start? In no particular order, the Tarasova Ship Yards are fully independent and employ several thousand highly skilled shipwrights and specialists who save the company millions in costs and months of time if the work had to be contracted out. We have: blacksmiths and anchorsmiths, block makers and blockers, caulkers, color makers (most are officers’ wives, I might add), draftsmen, mast makers, riggers, ships’ taylors…and…I am forgetting something. A little help, Alexandra, please?”

  “Chain and rope makers, carpenters, sawyers, and warehouse workers, shippers and purchasers.”

  “Oh yes, I neglected to mention the importance of the shippers and purchasers,” Captain Ching said.

  They thanked the proud young sea captain for his time and for his encyclopedic knowledge. When they were back on the docks, Boris shook his head.

  “What?” Alexandra asked.

  “I admit that I will have to do a lot of studying and to get first hand knowledge of the fur business, the shipping, the mathematics of commerce, and the people and places that we will deal with,” Boris said almost as an aside.

  Alexandra’s mind was made up about Boris as a future—near future—husband and partner. The way he referred to the Tarasova enterprises as something he and Alexandra were about to share convinced her that her plotting to win him was nearly in its final stages. She was almost giddy with anticipation of what was planned for the next few days.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A WHIRL-WIND COURTSHIP

  Courtship is to marriage, as a very witty prologue to a very dull play.

  —Anon

  Tarasova House, No. 71 Svetlanskaya Street, Vladivostok, Far East Russia, August 10-18, 1879

  Alexandra cloistered with her mother for a concentrated two-hour rendition of what had transpired, what had been said, and what was promised by her father’s and her day with Prince Boris. They plotted, argued, planned, and conspired, as mothers and daughters do as they scheme to ensnare a suitable marriageable young man. For all her girlish excitement, Alexandra kept a level head and made notes. What resulted was a clear but complex ta
ctical plan, and the majority of what a wedding celebration would be. There, she and Irina differed.

  “But, dear,” Irina tried to argue once again for her conviction that a lavish extravaganza at the House of Tarasova would be the only fitting way for Vladivostok’s princess—or the nearest the growing city separated from the seats of power in the west could produce—and for the Tarasova family.

  “Let me tell you my ideas, Mother. I want something different, unique, and memorable. And for that matter, a lot of fun.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. Marriages are not supposed to be anything silly…like…fun. They are solemn occasions, important ones for establishing ourselves. Do you remember your sixteenth birthday party?”

  “Of course, I do, Mother. How could anyone forget such a bacchanalia? Princes and grandees and the rich from all over the world. More wonderful food than a city could consume in a month. Don’t get me wrong. I thought my birthday and coming-out party was perfect…for the time…and for the purpose. This is different. Boris and I will be celebrating love, happiness, and, yes, fun. We want to make and keep friends, real friends. I think my ideas will be novel and interesting and will endear all those old generals, admirals, and tycoons to us. I have talked to Jamie Matheson about it. He agrees that it will be the talk of society for years.”

  “Alexandra, do you hear yourself? You sound like a grammar school child about to go to her first party. You are a grown-up and a successful business person in your own right. You would give everyone the wrong idea if you insist on going through this silly affair. I forbid it.”

  Irina knew that she had sealed her doom so far as the wedding was concerned by letting her emotions get the better of her. She could have kicked herself down the stairs for her outburst. She knew better than anyone else that Alexandra would never allow anyone to give her orders about her life. More than that, she knew that her headstrong daughter would react to her mother saying ‘I forbid it’ by doing everything in her power to thwart her.