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Two Commanders

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    Английская версия повести "Два командора" о судьбе адмирала Крузенштерна и графа Резанова.


  
  

Sergey Voronin

Two Commanders

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Krasnoyarsk, 2018

   BBK 67.99 (2) 11
    At 88
  
   Sergey Voronin. Two commanders. The story. - Krasnoyarsk: SAMIZDAT, 2018. 63 p.
  
  
  
         
  
        The historical story of Sergei Voronin, widely known in Russia and abroad, based on the novel Son of Ra, is devoted to the description of the fate of the Russian admiral Ivan Kruzenshtern and the commander Nikolai Rezanov, the life paths of which were once crossed thanks to the marine voyage around the world 1803-1806.
      
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
                                     
                                    The fate of Maloo
  
  
      The hot tropical sun, like pink wine, splashed gently across the bay of this heavenly green island in a gentle sunrise. In the blue lagoon, like in a mirror, white cumulus clouds with a bizarre caravan of animals unknown to the world, slowly, sailed over the beautiful island of Santa Catarina. The Brazilian Island of Santa Catarina stretches, perhaps, in one of the most picturesque places of our blue planet, worthy of a brush of some talented painter - a seascape, just in some 500 meters from a large South American continent. Santa Catarina is the largest island of the archipelago, adjacent to the islands of de Ratones, Atomiris, Alvaredo and Gal. Two pretty neat fishing villages of San Antonio di Lisbon and Ribeira da Ilia, located on the west coast of the island of Santa Catarina opposite the mainland, were founded by Portuguese and Spanish explorers as far back as the 16th century, which was truly the "golden age" of the greatest geographical discoveries of the century.
        The fishing village of Ribeiran-da-Ilia was still sleeping in a deep sleep when Malu awoke, hastily pulled a colorful Brazilian dress over her bare body, and, pushing aside the mat, emerged from the miserable fishing hut. Carefully, trying not to make noise, the girl walked about twenty paces and suddenly stopped, like a dug out, listening anxiously to the sounds in the village.
      However, her delicate hearing caught only the calm breathing of the sleeping and the quiet, distant noise. It was the roar of the waves, the echo of the breath of the noisy ocean. No one woke up in the hut.
     Malu is quiet, on the tiptoes past the huts of the old fisherman Miguel and her brother Carlos, closest to the girl's dwelling. The slender, slightly inclined forward figure of the girl resembled one of those coconut palms that the recent trade wind bent on its way. But Malu walked in the opposite direction, and here, in the forest, the air current was not felt at all. Moving cautiously, Malu knew exactly where her foot would set foot, and, although the night had not yet passed, she always felt, with some special animal instinct, where she had to duck, when a low-growing branch blocked her path.
     The stars shimmered above the tops of the forest. They are still quite bright, as usual at night, the sky has not faded anywhere yet, and has not faded, so, Malu was not late. Today she will be convinced ... learns something that no one else knows (and Malu was absolutely sure of this) - the love of a Russian captain named Nikolai.
      Malu had to overcome a large mountain on the outskirts of the village, completely overgrown with dense tropical vegetation, so it was worth an incredible effort to climb such a mountain. And therefore no one tried to do such a stupid thing. Another thing Malu. Elastic and flexible, like a young branch, she made her way through the thickets, and all the time the road led her up the hills, sharp peaks of which rose above the tops of the highest coastal palm trees. In this forest she knew every tree, every bush, every reed bush. Some old trees had their own names. There, where the growth of bananas ended, the forest path disappeared, and Malu had to continue her way without a road. Here began the most steep climb. She stopped at the foot of the mountain and, before moving on, she took a rest. No, she did not feel tired, it's just a habit to rest here: in fact, to overcome the overgrown bush the steepness of the mountain, fresh forces are needed.
       On the right in the darkness there was a splash of water. There was a small waterfall, a mountain key - life-giving moisture, just as necessary for the life of the islanders, as edible fruits, fish, poultry and sun. Malu looked at the sky. The dark, almost purple bluish above his head was the same as at midnight. Perhaps she will not disappear until she reaches the top of the mountain. She was overcome with intense impatience, sweet excitement. Something fluttered in Malu's heart, as if the ocean wind suddenly rustled in dormant more often. Her whole body tensed, and, driven by a joyful excitement, she moved on. And, gradually, as if the lower parts of the trees were falling lower and lower, the thicket plunged deeper and disappeared somewhere in the darkness under Malu, and she herself rose higher and higher. The bushes have ended, now I twist the bedspread only with grass and mountain flowers, and then they disappeared too. Malu scrambled up the bare stone wall, resembling a huge bird climbing a tree trunk. This stone wall was flat enough so that a person could keep his balance. The cliff reached the heights of ten or twelve human figures, then the top of the mountain gradually flattened and ended with a small platform, six steps wide; and in the middle of it lay a mossy stone - so smooth and round, as if it had been polished by the hand of a man.
      Malu stood on a round stone and looked down for a long time. It was the highest place on the island. Everything, everything was decidedly below it. Now Malo rose above the island, the mountain, the ocean ... over the whole world. And the world is all that you can see, look around, everything that a person knew or could imagine - a collection of things and concepts. For Mala and her people the whole world was in this island, the water expanse around it, in the sky with the sun, the month, the stars and clouds - in everything that was accessible to the gaze and the feeling. To her world belonged also the water depths: a dark, hidden from the eyes bottom of the sea with its secrets, unknown and incomprehensible miracles.
     But is this all? This is what Malu did not know yet. And she wanted to know, and that's why she left her bed soon after midnight and climbed up here. She was young, too young; seventeen times in her life all she met was spring. Malu (full name Maria Lucia Santos) was a descendant of Portuguese sailors. Those same sailors, a brilliant squadron of which, under the command of the legendary Fernand Magellan in 1520, anchored in the picturesque bay of the Brazilian island of Santa Catarina.
      Oh, and how beautiful was Malu! A mixture of Brazilian - Portuguese blood created an authentic masterpiece of nature! A tall forehead framed by thick brown hair, the silky strand of which slipped carelessly, coquettishly covering the right eye, forcing the girl, from time to time, to do a very erotic movement with a thin graceful hand; wide-open brown eyes, gazing avidly at this wonderful world! A cheeky snub nose that gave Malu's face some special charm of almost childish immediacy - very touching and tender; coral lips, still no one and never kissed, promising only her chosen man some unearthly, some cosmic pleasure!
       The whole world now lay at the feet of Malu - the world that its inhabitants called Santa Catarina, - a green flowering garden in the middle of the ocean. A good walker could quite easily, for some three days, walk around the whole island. From the top of Malu, almost the whole island was surveyed - an elongated hillock among the boundless water area with a white ring of sandy coast, with groups of palm trees on the shore, reeds, hills and valleys. The island is surrounded by a calm transparent lagoon, behind which stands a natural mole - a low coral reef with a strait to the east and two straits to the west. Here and there on the reef are the slender silhouettes of individual coconut palms. The melted silver is cast by the water in the lagoon; in the first rays of the rising sun, the foliage sparkles and trembles on the bushes and trees; and sheltered huts of islanders, as if holding their breath, listen to the distant buzz coming from the sea. But never this rumble did not reach the island itself, and the water and the boundless sky did not threaten the local residents. From this mountain you could see and part of the mainland - the eastern coast of Brazil.
      However, it was necessary to hurry. The sun had risen already high enough, and Malu began her hurried descent from the mountain. Her feet, up to her knees, were scratched with a hard thorn bush; until the blood was scratched and the girl's hands, almost to the very elbows of a colorful national dress, barefaced with a thin cloth. But can it stop a young girl in love hurrying on a date?
        Having descended from the mountain, Malu narrow forest path led to the seashore, shimmering in the morning sunshine, like an expensive pink pearl, from pink to azure and turquoise. On reaching the shore, the girl froze in amazement: in the bay of the island in the roadstead was a magnificent three-masted ship. It was the Russian sailing sloop "Nadezhda", which, together with another sailing ship "Neva" under the command of the captain-lieutenants Kruzenstern and Lisyansky, on July 26 (August 7), 1803, began his famous round-the-world voyage from Kronstadt. The second sailing sloop "Neva" at this time was in the harbor of the Brazilian port of Destero, in which captain - lieutenant Yuri Fedorovich Lisyansky was forced to repair the mainmast of the ship, damaged during a severe storm. For more than a month in December 1803, the expedition idly stood idle near the coast of Brazil, waiting for the completion of the mast repair. To somehow take the crew (and there were also famous scientists on the board of Hope - naturalists like Gorner, Thilesius, Landsdorf), and the rich tropical flora and fauna gave such an excellent opportunity, Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenshtern decided to wait for " Neva "near the paradise island of Santa Catarina, which Russian sailors among themselves called with love Saint Catherine. That's why Malu now watched this beautiful three-masted sailboat in the bay of her own, such a painfully familiar monastery.
      Looking closely, the girl noticed how the boat from the ship's board separated, in which there were 9 people: 8 sailors in simple sailors' clothes and that tall nobleman in an expensive coat, who then attracted her maiden attention to the rustic fishing market. And it was so.
       At the end of December 1803, Commander Nikolai Petrovich Rezanov, who, with the thoughtless will of Emperor Alexander the First (and the tsar called Rezanov the chief commander of the expedition before the start of his campaign) was endowed with absolutely equal authority with the real captain - the real "sea wolf" hereditary military sailor Krusenstern on the sloop "Hope", took a "fateful" decision to celebrate the Christmas of 1804 on the island of Santa Catarina. On the December morning of 1803, Nikolai Petrovich went to buy provisions, along with his numerous retinue and sailors, to the local fishing market in the village of Ribeiran da Ilia. It was there, among these old and ugly fishmongers and seafood, the old ladies' man and the famous Bonvian in narrow aristocratic circles, Nikolai Rezanov, who spotted this shining diamond in the human flesh-Maria Luisa Santos, and in the Portuguese tradition of shortening the Spanish names-just Malu.
   - And, tell me, to me, the maiden is red: how much is your wonderful fish? Asked Rezanov Mulu coquettishly in Russian, as if she were able to understand and appreciate fully his Don Juan delights. Malu blushed with surprise and, pointing to the freshest, morning catch of fish on the counter, her fingers showed her value.
   "Very well," Rezanov said. - And call me an interpreter. Translate her the following: "Rybanka, you are beautiful! You are the real decoration of this wonderful island! And therefore, I buy all your goods, and at a double price! "
      Malu listened attentively to the translation, blushed even more and smiled in confusion, quietly grinned in Spanish: "Thank you!" Nikolai Petrovich at the same moment felt - this unusual young girl had clearly tugged him! Has hooked, moreover as !!! As an old hunter, who sensed real prey, his most valuable hunting trophy, he began the manly seduction game worked out to filigree skill, arranging the snares for this helpless, childishly naive, but such a coveted tropical bird.
   "The maiden is beautiful, what's your name?" My name is Nikolai. I want to invite you to visit my ship! We will soon have Christmas and a wonderful occasion to glorify Christ!
   - Oh yeah! Exclaimed Malu. - We always here praise Christ as our only God and Savior! My name is Malu, my lord!
   - Well, that's wonderful! In short, tomorrow morning I'm waiting for you on this beach. On my boat we will sail to my big ship, which is called "Hope"! Malu, you're mine - Hope from today! And tomorrow, together with you, we may sail to Paradise!
      Malu laughed happily and only nodded in response, without telling this amazing gentleman from a distant, completely unfamiliar, and therefore a little frightening northern country.
       And now, the agitated girl now stands on this deserted beach and with a feeling of some sudden growing alarm watches as the rowers, with each stroke, desperately draw her Fate to the fatal line! The sailors moored to the shore, briskly dragged the boat onto the dazzling white sand, and Rezanov, like the most real golden Deity, descended, finally, from heaven to this sinful land. Yes, Nikolai Petrovich always knew how to make people, especially the senile and wretched, produce a stunning effect, presenting the girl in all his glory to the old peacock. Embroidered with a gold coat, completely covered with medals for "outstanding" services to the Fatherland, glittering in the sun as the most expensive diamonds in the world; a luxurious hat with a feather like that of a Spanish conquistador, embroidered with gold threads (according to contemporaries, Rezanov always adored such posturing and shock); gold dagger commander, just adopted by the decree of Emperor Alexander the First into the arsenal of the Russian fleet in 1803 - all this, undoubtedly, made an indelible impression on the unsophisticated Malu! The poor, naive Portuguese girl was now completely defeated, overwhelmed by all this masculine costumed magnificence. It was at this moment, dear reader, that the fate of the unfortunate little girl for Rezanov was solved! It is solved once and for all!
      Soon the boat brought Rezanov and Malu on board the ship. To start a romantic meeting, the Earl decided to conduct a tour of "Hope." For the first time, Mala was on a ship of this class. With childlike ecstasy she looked at everything that surrounded her around.
       The "Hope" boat, with a displacement of 450 tons, had a length of 117 feet (35 meters) and a width of 28 feet 4 inches (8.5 meters). The ship was not even new by sea standards, but, as the forthcoming expedition will show, it coped with all the tasks set before the expedition, unlike the relatively new "Neva", which for the whole way ended up in the situation of repair work without end.
        Three-masted sloop "Hope" consisted of a crew of 84 people. At the same time, Count Rezanov, in his story, Malu about the ship, delicately ignored that 14 people are his personal retinue. This was the second cause of the acute conflict between Captain Kruzenstern and Count Rezanov (the first reason, as you remember, the reader, was the credentials of Emperor Alexander 1, who equalized the two highest ranks of the expedition, and are on the same ship). The fact is that both ships were up to the top loaded with provisions (carried even by livestock) for 2 years, tools and goods from Russian concessions. "Hope" with all its belongings and livestock on board was very much like the real Noah's Ark of the 19th century. The situation with the living space on the ship was so critical that even for the two main leaders of the expedition Kruzenshtern and Rezanov, only a small cabin with an area of ??6 square meters was allocated with a minimum ceiling height. One can only imagine, to the reader, to what degree of bitterness these men have come to the end of the campaign, possessing entirely different characters and outlook, day after day compelled to share the meager space of a sailing ship!
      14 people of Rezanov's personal retinue (and in the performance of a seasoned sailor-the most complete loafers on the ship), eventually filled the cup of patience of the normally cold-blooded German Kruzenstern. He began to write a report to the Admiralty - one after another, one after another. Rezanov, of course, did not remain in debt. And they began a grand paper "sea" battle - literally from the very moment when the ships gave up the mooring lines. In this war, the sympathies of all the officers of the expedition, of course, were on the side of Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenshtern. The fact is that Count Rezanov, in the view of military seamen, was a despicable "shpak" (that is, civilian). "Shpakov" in the Russian army, and especially in the Russian fleet, was always hated by fierce hatred. Therefore, Rezanov's actions, especially those relating to the life of the ship, were immediately perceived as hostile and hostile to the whole crew - from the officer to the ordinary sailor. "What, Rezanov - chief of the expedition? Ivan Krusenstern angrily exclaimed, having familiarized himself with the emperor's credentials. - Yes, I do not trust him to fix the sails - not that my crew! He's a scoundrel, I'll have a gazebo looking! He works there enough for the whole trip - there are as many as 3 galleys! "Indeed, on" Hope "there were three galleys, which, nevertheless, were sorely lacking for the needs of 84 people.
      However, we are completely distracted from Malu and her first romantic visit to the ship in her life. After the tour, Rezanov led the girl to his cabin, the good that Kruzenshtern was at that time in the Brazilian city of Destero, where, along with Lieutenant Lisyansky, was engaged in the repair of the Neva. He ordered to place in the "room" expensive French wine and snacks. Malu was drunk already from the first glass. From the wine drunk, Nikolai Petrovich became too talkative - and, as is always the case with slightly tipsy people, they began to understand each other without language. On a terrible mixture of Russian, Spanish and French, the Count explained to Malu that he had a desire to take her back to Russia.
     "You'll be the Countess, girl!" Certainly you will! Russian Countess, Malu! You will shine on the imperial balls! And then you will give birth to a bunch of children! I need to hurry! I'm already 40 years old, baby! Soon I will appear with a report before God! - Rezanov spoke with a tear in his voice, embracing and caressing Malu in her tender feminine charm, as an experienced connoisseur of the Kamasutra. And the girl swam ... swam completely and irrevocably! Already in half an hour after a light meal, the passionate count-lover made Malu perform the clockwork Brazilian "Lambada" in this wretched little room !!!! And then ... then they lay for a long time in silence, with a blissful smile on their lips .... and everything was repeated again and again until, finally, well-fed lovers fell asleep on one bunk in gentle embraces - by no means the righteous dream of happy marital adulterers.
       Inspired by carnal happiness and wine, they closed in the cabin for three whole days, losing count of time, not noticing anyone and nothing around. As suggested by Count Rezanov, Malu turned out to be a virgin. 40-year-old Nikolai Petrovich was the first man in the life of this small, defenseless Portuguese girl. She, of course, felt the power and energy emanating from this strong Russian man, and, like all the women of the Earth, she instinctively pressed her gentle creature to his wide, hairy chest.
      But there was one problem ... one very serious problem that they will inevitably face in the foreseeable future! This problem was the 24-year-old Spaniard Jose Rodriguez, since being born engaged to Malu.
      Noticing the disappearance of Malu in the village, Jose went to find his frivolous bride. Soon the traces led him to that ill-fated beach of the sea. Vile haggling fish with great pleasure and in bright colors gave him the content of the conversation Rezanov and Malu in the market. When he came ashore, Jose decided to wait here for Malu to return from the ship. Blood was boiling in the veins of a jealous Spaniard. He fiercely held in his hand the Spanish knife "navah" (a folding combat knife of Spanish commoners), muttering a curse against the Russian captain and this brutal, heartless bride.
      Three days later, our happy lovers finally returned to the rough earthly reality. Malu hastily zasobiralas home. After a few kisses and hugs Rezanov equipped a boat, which soon brought the girl ashore.
       As soon as Mala left the ship's board, the tired and weary Earl "planted" a full glass of "Porto" with a tired tongue and fell into the grasp of Morpheus for the whole day.
      Malu walked quickly, almost ran along the forest path towards the big mountain. She literally soared above the ground! Her step was easy and serene, like an angel. Mulu's neck was decorated with multicolored glass beads - a gift from the "generous" Count for the days and nights of magic Love spent on the ship. These beads, as well as other cheap costume jewelery, Count Count Rezanov was given in a huge amount to Russian merchants greedy for easy profit to organize a "mutually beneficial" trade with the natives during the round-the-world expedition.
       The girl was completely at the mercy of her new, hitherto unexperienced sensual experiences and sweet girl's dreams. Suddenly, Jose Rodriguez blocked her way. Oh, and terrible, what was so terrible about this always seemingly attractive 24-year-old Spaniard at the moment! He looked like a werewolf now, really like: disheveled hair on his head, devilish smile on his lips, sweat hail in the face! He held his right hand, for some reason, behind his back.
      - Well, hello, bird! Do you want to tell me, girl: where were you these three days and three nights?
       Right now, Malu has become really scary! So scary, that darkened in the eyes!
      - Jose, I am guilty before you, very much to blame! Forgive me, please, but I fell in love with another man!
      Is this not the Russian captain?
      "It's him, darling!" I do not know how it happened! I was like an eclipse!
      - And what, dear! Do you think he will take you with him to Russia? The naive girl! He is a rich man! He is a Russian Count! Why do you need him, fishing litter?
      "Darling, do not say that, I beg you!" This is beyond my strength!
      "I'm not nice to you, after he fucked you for three days where he wanted to, like the last whore!" I do not need such a fucking bride now! You have dishonored me and my Spanish family for the whole district and for ever! Furious with his own words, Jose pounced on Malu and struck her with a terrible blow in the heart with a knife, literally cutting the ribcage in half. "What have you done, dear?" - whispered Malu and immediately emitted a spirit.
   Jose for a long time stood in the woods above the corpse of the bride he had defeated - pale, with an empty gaze of a dead man. Soon, the instinct of self-preservation, however, prevailed over him. Suddenly, a plan of escape has matured. He decided to run on a boat from this island! There, on the mainland, among people, he will be able to hide from his relatives and friends Malu, who, of course, will now take revenge on him all their lives! There, on the mainland, he can finally forget Malu and this damned island, which caused him so much pain, brought him so much suffering!
   Nikolai Petrovich Rezanov for all his life did not learn anything about this terrible tragedy on the island of Santa Catarina. For two days, to no avail, he waited for Malu on the shore, and then, without waiting for her return, even rejoiced at this unexpected ending of their beautiful romantic history. The earl always loved the merry adultery without any obligations and consequences! Everything turned out as best as possible! As they say, the Moor has done his work, the Moor can go!
  
  
   Childhood of Vanya Kruzenstern
    
  
       Three days after the tragic death of Malu on "Hope", finally, the long-awaited commander Ivan Fyodorovich Krusenstern arrived. He climbed aboard the ship and was well aware of how incredibly angry the expedition leader was. And this is not tricky. The expedition had been idle for a month and a half idling off the coast of Brazil, getting out of all possible traffic patterns. They had to reach, at all costs, even before the onset of severe January storms, Cape Horn - the tip of the South American continent. This ruinous place has always been the curse and nightmare of sailors around the world since the days of Fernand Magellan. The protracted repair of the mainmast of the sloop "Neva" in the port of Destero made this task almost impossible.
      "Damned, dirty city, a world cesspool, to her God!" - angrily expressed in the address of the Brazilian Destero Ivan Fedorovich. - City of idlers and drunkards. For a whole month, the unfortunate mainmast can not be built. It looks like we will spend the winter here, gentlemen!
      Glancing into his captain's cabin, Kruzenshtern discovered with astonishment the sleeping, as usual, drunk Rezanov. With a disgusted slamming of the cabin door, the captain demanded to himself a watch officer.
      Watch on the sloop "Hope" was held in a very tough mode. The officer in charge carried 3 watches during the day: during the day 2 times for 3 hours and at night 1 time for 4 hours. The sailors had only 4 watches: 3 watches for 4 hours and 1 watch for 2 hours from 12 to 16 hours.
      Soon a watch officer arrived. "Midshipman Bellingshausen arrived at your order, monsieur captain!" - the brave, bearded officer of 25 years of age reported. Yes, you did not misinterpret the dear reader! This is the same Thaddeus Fadtevich Bellingshausen, who in 1819 will become the head of the round-the-world Antarctic expedition in the southern polar seas, opening Antarctica. But in 1803 he was just starting his brilliant career as an outstanding seafarer in the rank of midshipman on the first Russian "circumnavigation" under the command of Captain-Lieutenant Kruzenstern. "Good afternoon, Thaddeus Faddeyevich! - greeted the midshipman Krusenstern. In the Russian fleet from the beginning of the 19th century and until the beginning of the 20th century, officers were treated by name and patronymic.
      - What's new in our sea kingdom - the state?
      "I dare say, Ivan Fedorovich!" The watch passed without incident. However, our "historical" character (in the sense of getting into bad stories) again surprised the whole crew!
      "What did Count Rezanov do again?" Krusenstern asked irritably.
      "It's a bad story, Ivan Fedorovich!" Out of the box, I tell you the Truth! The woman on the ship! More precisely, the local girl is a fisherman. The Count closed with her in the cabin for 3 days and fiercely read the Bible with her!
     - What? Fornication on my ship? Cried Ivan fervently. "Yes, I'll fuck him in a penal servitude!" The Lord has sent me this noble freak! Well, all right, you drink on the ship from morning till night! That's your business! Benefits still from you no at all! But I will not allow anyone to create this kind of bestiality on my "Hope"! Today I will send a report to the Admiralty. Let them deal with their protege!
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Angry Kruzenshtern began to walk excitedly through the cabins - the company, where, in fact, this very unpleasant conversation with the watch officer took place. Do not go to the drunken Rezanov's cabin, in the end! Ivan Fedorovich looked a bit comical in this situation. He was in 1803 only 33 years old - the age of Christ. In fact, he was not much different than the midshipman Bellingshausen, who was only eight years older. He was a very bald young man with wheat hair, very much like the poet Sergei Yesenin.
    - Ivan Fyodorovich, maybe you should be serious again, to talk to Rezanov in a masculine way? Well, he's not an idiot, really !?
    "It's all useless, Thaddeus Faddeyevich!" The captain waved his hand hopelessly. "How many soul-saving conversations have you had!" I'll tell you what, mister midshipman! Never sit down to play chess with a pigeon! This is a very bad idea! In the end, he wipes off all your and his figures, from the heart he shits on the chessboard, and then proudly retires with the appearance of the winner! Gather me better than all the officers for a meeting in the wardroom!
     "Yes, Ivan Fedorovich!"
    

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      Now Kruzenshtern was completely alone in the wardroom. Waiting for his officers, he wearily sat down in an armchair from an expensive mahogany tree and pondered. Ivan Fedorovich Krusenstern (at birth Adam Johann von Kruzenstern) was born on November 19 (old style November 8) in 1770 on the estate of Haghudis in the territory of modern Estonia. The family of Russified German nobleman Johann Friedrich von Kruzenstern had a rich marine history. Every second ancestor of Ivan Fedorovich, one way or another, was connected with the sea and sea travel. The Krusenstern family gave Russia several generations of outstanding travelers and sailors.
      Thus, the ancestor of Krusenstern, the German diplomat Philippe Cruzius (1597-1676) in 1633-1635. headed two embassies of the Schleswig-Holstein Duke Friedrich III to the Moscow Tsar Mikhail Fyodorovich and the Persian Shah Sefi. Collected by Philip Cruise and secretary of the embassy Adam Olearius (1599-1671), travel notes formed the basis for the most famous encyclopedic work on Russia in the 17th century. - "Descriptions of the journey to Muscovy and through Muscovy to Persia and back", soon become the famous historian and writer Adam Olearius.
       Returning from Muscovy, Philip Cruzius went to the service of the Swedish Queen Christine and in 1648 received the name Kruzenstern and a new coat of arms, crowned in memory of his journey by the Persian turban. In 1659, he became governor of the whole of Estland (she then belonged to the Swedes). His grandson, Swedish lieutenant-colonel Evert Philippe von Kruzenstern (1676-1748), a participant in the Northern War, was captured by Narva in 1704 and lived in exile in Tobolsk for 20 years, and on return bought back the patrimonial patrimonial estates of Khagudis and Ahagfer. The landowner of the estates Khagudis, Vahast and Perisaar was Judge Johann Friedrich von Kruzenstern (1724-1791), the father of the future admiral.
      In the large family of Johann Krusenstern there were 5 daughters and 2 sons. Vanya Krusenstern was the youngest child in the family. As it usually happens, all the fullness of love and family tenderness is poured out on the last child; especially when it comes to the son. Spoiled by parental love, Vanya grew up as a big tomboy from an early age. He was always at the center of all boyish fights, often provoking them and skilfully guiding the course of all battles. The main rival, sworn enemy of 10-year-old Vanya was an Estonian boy named Axel. He lived in the neighboring estate of a retired naval officer; created a "powerful" teenage group, which from time to time raided the estate of the Khagudis of the Kruzenshtern family and their rich apple gardens. To protect his possessions, Vanya was also forced to create a group of 12 boys, which was already a fully combat-ready unit and could successfully resist the "wild barbarians" from the neighboring estate.
       However, the permanent, sluggish war of the two opposing sides, however, sometimes ended in a temporary truce. And the reason was always the same - it's the retired boatswain of the Baltic Fleet Peter Maksimovich Demyanov, who lives in the estate of Axel as a gardener. This one-legged military sailor of 60 years literally hypnotized all his boys with his sea stories, without exception, like the legendary boa constrictor Koa from Kipling's stories about Mowgli. It is thanks to the amazing stories of Peter Maksimovich Vanya and fell in love with the sea ... fell in love with a loss of memory! And indeed: Uncle Petya, as his boys called him, on his wooden leg with an immovable smoking pipe in his mouth was very similar to the pirate of the Caribbean Sea from the island of Barbados.
       Petr Maksimovich Demyanov served in the Baltic Fleet as the boatswain of the 40-gun frigate "Saint Peter". During the war with the King of Sweden, Gustav the Third Swedish Core, he was torn off by his right leg. It happened on July 15, 1789 in a sea battle, which was named in the Military History as the battle of еland.
       Demyanov did not like to talk about this sea battle, because there was really nothing to brag about. The usual positional battle - as they say, the Russians and Swedes stood by, made noise, shot at their pleasure and the contented ones dispersed, and the man was forever without a foot and a sea, without which he could not even imagine and thought of his life. The boys with their special beastly instincts always felt this unceasing pain and sorrow, so they never asked the old sailor about this more than a strange battle on the outskirts of the Gulf of Finland.
      But there was one story that Petr Maksimovich could tell, and the boys listened for hours, sitting right on the ground around their adored guru, Uncle Petit. This is the story of the first round-the-world trip under the command of Fernand Magellan. Demyanov was a very educated and well-read man for his rather low class (he himself came from the peasants of the Tambov province, where he successfully graduated from the parochial school), while others were not taken into the boatswain. Remember, the reader: the author of the famous historical novel Tsushima Alexei Silych Novikov - Surf was also a boatswain of the Baltic Fleet. Excellent memory, rich original speech made Petr Maksimovich an incomparable storyteller. Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenshtern in his old age often remembered Demyanov a warm word and was very sorry that at that time, in his distant adolescence, he did not record all of his remarkable naval stories. They could become today a worthy decoration of contemporary fiction devoted to the marine theme.
   "Do you know, guys, what kind of person was Fernand Magellan?" Ooooo! He was a great man, a great warrior, who dared to challenge the most powerful element on Earth - the Ocean! Go around the world in five fragile boats ... and this is in the 16th century something !!! Just think about it, guys!
   Fernand Magellan was a very poor Portuguese in origin. And Portugal and Spain in the early 16th century lived like a cat and a dog. They could not divide the sea and the sea routes in any way. Especially the brutal battle at sea was due to the spices that were supplied at that time from distant India. They were then worth more than gold. You can not even imagine it now. To pepper or cloves were worth more than gold! But it was so. I tell you the truth.
   In order to feed himself somehow, Magellan was forced to join the army of Spain, which throughout the world then waged aggressive wars. All his youth, he fought fiercely for the Spanish crown, and when it came time to retire, he and this ripe plan is ripe - to make a round-the-world sea voyage. That is, of course, he did not know that it would turn out around the world. In his then view, the Earth was flat. Initially, the task was to find the shortest way to India and get an early access to its spices. At that time, the Mariners knew only the way through Africa, discovered by Vasco da Gama, also a Portuguese, by the way. The Portuguese, nevertheless, whatever one may say - the greatest navigators of all times and peoples, children!
   And then one day Fernand Magellan went to the Spanish king to ask for money for the expedition!
   "Uncle Peter, how is it?" After all, you said that Portugal and Spain then lived like a cat with a dog. And he, a Portuguese, went to the Spanish king to ask for money? Asked Axel.
   "You're right, Axel, absolutely right! It was very difficult to do at that time. But Fernand, after all, did it! I do not know how he persuaded the king there, but I think that Magellan's main trump cards were oriental spices. And now, children, he finally manages to equip a squadron of 5 good ships, which in the distant 1519 went to their great historical voyage from the Spanish port with the outlandish name of San Lucar de Barrameda.
   Yes, guys, many terrible trials fell to the team of Magellan. It's endless storms and hunger; and scurvy, who mowed half of the personnel, and a mutiny raised by a group of officers on three ships. But Magellan is a man of terrible will! He brutally suppressed the insurgency by executing the rebels in the harsh maritime laws of a long voyage. And, finally, the squadron across the Atlantic Ocean was able to make its way to the shores of Brazil. The main goal of Magellan was to find the strait between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. "
   Here Pyotr Maksimovich made a picture pause, lighting his famous sea pipe.
     - Uncle Petya, and what happened next? - Vanya Krusenstern asked in childish impatience. The old boatswain smiled cunningly at his lush gray mustache and continued his amusing story: "Further? And then ships sail along the coast of Brazil, under the misty sky. The desert becomes ever more threatening, the days are shorter, longer than the night. The ships no longer slide along the blue waves, driven by a passing breeze; Now the ice storms furiously yank the sails, the snow and hail are sprinkled with white dregs, the gray shafts are threateningly rising. Two months it took a flotilla to win from the hostile elements a small distance from the mouth of La Plata to the Bay of San Julian. Almost every day the team has to deal with hurricanes; scary "pamperos", children - this is the nightmare of all the sailors of the world! They were forced to fight every day with terrible gusts of wind, splitting the masts and tearing off the sails; day by day it becomes colder and gloomier all around, but the strait, as before, is not shown. Cruelly revenge now for themselves the lost weeks. While the flotilla surveyed all the nooks and bays, the winter cold ahead of her: now he stood in front of her, the most cruel, the most dangerous of all enemies, and blocked her by storms. Half a year has gone in vain, and Magellan is not closer to the coveted goal than the day he left Sevilla.
   Little by little, the team begins to show unconcealed anxiety: the instinct tells them that something is amiss. Did they not assure them in Seville, when recruiting, that the flotilla would go to the Moluccas Islands, to the radiant south, to the paradise lands? Did the slave Enrique, the constant companion and servant of Magellan, not describe to them his homeland, as a country of blissful bliss, where people with their bare hands select spilled precious spices on earth? Did not they promise wealth and a speedy return? Instead, a gloomy silence (Magellan, the lads, was a very reserved and silent person) leading them through increasingly cold and meager deserts.
     Radiating a weak, unsteady light, sometimes the yellow, stunted sun is visible through the clouds, but usually the sky is completely covered by clouds, the air is saturated with snow; the wind, with a frosty touch, burns his cheeks painfully, pierces through the torn clothes; The hands of the sailors become numb when they try to grasp the icy ropes; breathing a white cloud floats at the mouth. And what emptiness around, what ominous despondency! Even the cannibals chased the cold out of these places. On the banks there are neither animals nor plants - some seals and shells. In these parts, living beings prefer to huddle in icy water, rather than on stormy storms, dull coast. Where did this devilish Portuguese entice them? Where does he go after them? Does he want to bring them to the land of eternal ice or to the Antarctic pole?
   Magellan tries in vain to calm a loud murmur. "Is it worth it to be afraid of such a trifling cold? He persuades them. - Is it worth it to lose courage because of this? After all, the coasts of Iceland and Norway lie in even higher latitudes, but meanwhile, it is not more difficult to swim in these waters in spring than in Spain: you still need only hold out for a few days. In extreme cases, it will be possible to winter and continue the path already under more favorable weather conditions. "
   But the team does not let them calm themselves with empty words. No, what comparisons can there be! It can not be that their king contemplated a voyage to these ice regions, and if the admiral talks about Norway and Iceland, then things are quite different there. There, people from childhood are accustomed to cold, and, in addition, they are not removed more than a week, two weeks away from their native places. And they were enticed into the desert, where the Christian's foot had not yet set foot, where even pagans and cannibals, even bears and wolves, did not live. What are they going to do here? Why choose this roundabout way when another, East India, leads directly to the "Spice Islands", bypassing these icy expanses, these destructive edges? That's what the command to the admiral's entreaties loudly and, without hiding, answers. And among their own, under the canopy of the cockpit, the sailors, no doubt, complain even more. Again, the old, still in Seville, whispered suspicion transmitted by word of mouth comes to life: does the cursed Portuguese lead a double game? Was he planning, with the intent of regaining the favor of the Portuguese king, the villainously killing five good Spanish ships with the whole crew?
   They themselves do not interfere in this matter, they avoid talking with Magellan and only become more and more silent and restrained. But their silence is more dangerous than the disagreeable discontent of the team. They have more sense in the navigation business and can not hide from them that Magellan was misled by wrong cards and has long been unsure of his "secret". After all, if this person really knew exactly what degree of longitude and latitude the notorious paso is located, why would he, in that case, force the ships to sail in vain for two whole weeks along the Rio de La Plata? Why does he now again and again lose valuable time for the inspection of each small bay? Or Magellan deceived the king, or he deceives himself, claiming that he knows the location of the strait, for it is now clear: he is only looking for a way, he does not yet know him. With a poorly concealed gloating, they observe how, at each gyrus, he gazes tensely at the torn outlines of the shore. Well, let Magellan continue to lead the flotilla into the ice and into obscurity. They do not need to argue with him anymore, to complain to him about complaints. Soon the hour will come when he will have to admit: "I can not go any further, I do not know where to go." And then the time will come for them to take command in their own hands and break the might of the arrogant silence.
   A more terrible state of mind, boys, than the state of Magellan in those days, it is impossible to imagine. After all, since his hope to find the strait was twice cruelly deceived, for the first time - near the mouth of La Plata, in the second - at the Gulf of San Matias, he can no longer hide from himself that an unshakable belief in the secret map of Beheim and rashly accepted for the truth stories of Portuguese pilots led him astray. In the most favorable case, if the legendary strait does exist, it can be located only farther to the south, that is, closer to the Antarctic zone; but in this favorable case the opportunity to go through it this year is already lost. Winter outstripped Magellan and overturned all his calculations: until spring, the flotilla, with its battered ships and the disgruntled crew, can not use the strait, even if they now find it. Nine months spent in swimming, and Magellan has not yet cast anchor off the Moluccas Islands, as he had the imprudence to promise. His flotilla, as before, wanders and stubbornly fights for life with cruel storms.
   The most reasonable thing now would be to tell the whole truth. Summon the captains, confess to them that the maps and messages of the pilots misled him, that it will be possible to resume the search for the strait only with the onset of spring, and now it is better to turn back, hide from the storms, again head along the coast upwards, to Brazil, to the friendly, warm country, spend there in a blessed climate of winter, tidy up ships and give a rest to the crew, before heading south in the spring. It would be the easiest way, the most humane way of action. But Magellan went too far to turn back. For too long he, deceived himself, deceived others, assuring them that he knew a new, shortest way to the Moluccas Islands. Too severely he dealt with those who dared to at least slightly question his secret; he insulted the Spanish officers, he removed from the post of the noble royal officer in the open sea and treated him like a criminal. All this can be justified only by a huge, decisive success. After all, the captains and the crew would not have agreed to obey even a single hour or a minute longer, if he had not admitted something like that-there can be no question about it-and even hinted at them that he was not so sure of a successful outcome of the matter, as there, at home, when he made promises to their king; the last boy would refuse to take off his hat before him.
   For Magellan, there is no return: the moment he ordered to turn the steering wheel and take a course on Brazil, he would turn from a superior of his officers to their prisoner. That's why he takes a brave decision. Like the great Spanish navigator Cortez, who in the same year burned all the ships of his fleet, in order to deprive his soldiers of the opportunity to return, Magellan decides to detain ships and crew in such a remote place that, even if they wanted, they would no longer have opportunities to force him to return. If then, in the spring, he finds a strait - the matter is won. He will not find it - everything is lost: there is no middle way for Magellan. Only persistence can give him strength, only courage - to save him. And again this incomprehensible, but all-inclusive person prepares in silence for a decisive blow! " 0x01 graphic
   Pyotr Maksimovich lit his pipe again and said: "Well, let's finish this for today, because I have to do the garden and the farm. Tomorrow at the same time and at the same place! I'm waiting for you, guys! "
   Returning to the estate, Vanya Kruzenshtern for a long time could not fall asleep, overwhelmed by thoughts. In his imagination there was a tall, bearded man who, walking over inhuman difficulties, walks - wanders to his cherished goal, no matter what. Listening to the noise of the sea, and the Khagudis estate was located exactly on the Baltic Sea, Vanya represented himself at the helm of the flagship sailboat Victoria. Breaking through severe storms and hurricanes, he seeks and searches for the legendary paso - the strait between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. With these thoughts and fantasies, Vanya finally fell asleep.
   Waking up in the morning, Vanya did gymnasticsЈ poured cold water from the well and went for breakfast. At the table was already sitting his whole large family, which began the meal, as soon as they waited for Vanya. The whole day passed in anticipation of another meeting with Peter Maksimovich Demyanov. Finally, this long awaited moment has come. The old boatswain continued his story.
   "So where were we, kids?"
   - And the fact that the ships are floating and floating, and the long-awaited strait is all there and no! - reminded Vanya the end of yesterday's history.
   "Yes! - immediately remembered the old boatswain, continuing his narrative. "Meanwhile, the storms are fiercer day by day, they are already attacking the ships in winter. The flotilla is barely moving forward. For two whole months it took me to make my way some twelve degrees farther to the south. Finally, on March 31, a bay opens on a deserted coast. The first glance of the admiral is fraught with his last hope. Does not this bay go deep, is not it the coveted strait? No, it's a closed bay. Nevertheless, Magellan orders us to enter it. And since already from a cursory inspection it appears that there is no shortage of key water and fish, he gives the order to lower the anchors. And to their great astonishment, and maybe even to fright, the captains and the team learn that their admiral (without warning anyone without consulting) decided to settle for a winter here in the bay of San Julian, in this nobody knows, uninhabited bay, lying on the forty-ninth degree of the southern latitude, in one of the darkest and most desolate places on the globe, where no other seafarer ever visited.
   In the frosty dungeon, in the distant, clouded by the low-hanging clouds of the Bay of San Julian, aggravated relations inevitably had to lead to even more violent collisions than on the high seas. And nothing more reveals Magellan's unshakeable firmness, like the fact that he was not afraid of an event in the face of such a troubling mood of the team that inevitably had to strengthen the already existing discontent. Magellan is one of all knows that in the fertile tropical countries the flotilla will at best get in many months; so he gives the order to spend more economically on food supplies and reduce the daily diet. A fantastically bold act: there, on the edge of the world, on the very first day, an already annoyed crew annoyed with an order to reduce the delivery of bread and wine.
   And really, only this energetic measure saved the flotilla afterwards. Never would she have stood the famous one-hundred-day voyage across the Pacific Ocean, if the well-stocked provision had not been preserved intact. But the team, deeply indifferent to the idea unknown to it, is not at all willing to accept this restriction. The instinct - and sound enough - tells the exhausted sailors that even if this sail floats to the skies of their admiral, at least three-quarters of them will pay for his triumph of inglorious death from frost and hunger, overwork and hardship. If there is not enough food, they murmur, we must turn back; and so they moved further south than anyone else. Nobody can reproach them at home, that they have not fulfilled their duty. Several people have already died from the cold, and after all they were hired on an expedition to the Moluccas Islands, and not to the Arctic Ocean. To these seditious words, the chronicles of the time compel Magellan to respond with a speech that does not tally well with the restrained, devoid of pathos of this man, and too giving Plutarch and Thucydides to be authentic. He is amazed that they, Castilians, show such weakness, forgetting that they took this swim solely to serve their king and their homeland. When, he says further, he was instructed by the command, he expected to find in his companions the spirit of courage that had inspired the Spanish people from time immemorial. As for himself, he decided to die better than to go back to Spain with disgrace. So, let them wait patiently until the winter passes; The greater their deprivation, the more generous will the King then repay.
   But never had the beautiful words tamed the hungry stomach. Not eloquence saves Magellan at that critical hour, and the firmness of the decision he made does not succumb, not to make the slightest concession. He deliberately causes opposition to immediately break his iron hand: it is better to immediately go to a decisive explanation than the painfully long postpone it! It's better to rush towards the secret enemies than wait until they pull you to the wall!
   What is the decisive explanation should follow, and besides in the near future, Magellan does not hide from himself. The tension created by silent, close mutual supervision, gloomy silence of Magellan and captains has increased too much in recent weeks; This mutual cold alienation is too unbearable, day after day, hour after hour, aboard the same close vessel. Someday this silence must finally be discharged in stormy indignation or in violence.
   Guilt in this dangerous situation rather Magellan than the Spanish captains, and too cheap usual device - to portray the recalcitrant Magellan officers of dishonest traitors, always envious and enemies of genius. At that critical moment the captains of the flotilla were not only entitled, but were obliged to demand from him the disclosure of his future intentions, for it was not only about their own lives, but also about the lives of the people entrusted to them by the king. If Charles V appointed Juan de Cartagena, Luis de Mendoza and Antonio de Cock to oversee the flotilla of officials, then, along with their high rank, he placed a certain responsibility on them. Their business is to monitor the safety of the royal property, the five ships of the flotilla, and protect them if they are endangered. And now they are really in danger, a deadly danger. Many months passed - Magellan did not find the promised way, did not reach the Moluccas Islands. Consequently, there is nothing insulting, if, in the face of Magellan's apparent confusion, the royal officials who took oath and receiving their salaries require, finally, that he at least partially entrust their great secret to them, open their cards to them. What the captains demanded was in the order of things: the chief of the expedition had to finish this game of hide and seek, it's time to sit down with them at the table and jointly discuss the question of further course. But the ill-fated Magellan - in this and his guilt, and his suffering - can not reveal his cards, not being quite sure that the trump card is really in his hands. It can not, after he has removed from the post of Juan de Cartagena, to admit: "I was deceived by false reports, and I deceived you." Can not admit questions about the whereabouts of the notorious strait, because he still does not know the answer. He must pretend to be blind, deaf, have to bite his lips and only hold a tightly clenched fist at the ready in case this intrusive curiosity becomes threatening to him. In general, the situation is as follows: the royal officials decided, by all means, to get an explanation from the stubbornly silent admiral and demand from him a report in his future intentions. And Magellan, whose accounts do not converge, as long as the strait is not found, can not allow him to be forced to answer and explain, otherwise his credibility and authority have perished.
   So, the children, it was clear: on the side of the officers - right, on the side of Magellan - a necessity. If they are now pushing him so aggressively, their pressure is not idle curiosity, but duty. To make amends for the offense inflicted on the captains by his autocratic order, Magellan decides to make a courteous gesture: he formally invites them to listen to him with the Easter matinee and then dine on the flagship. But the Spanish nobility can not buy such a cheap price, one can not get rid of them. Senor FernЦo de Magelhaes, the only one who had won the title of Knight of the Order of St. Iago, for nine months never gave experienced seamen and royal officials a talk about the situation of the flotilla; now they, politely thanking, give up this unexpected grace - a festive meal. Rather, they do not even thank, considering and this more than restrained expression of politeness is superfluous. Without giving up the effort to refuse, three captains - Gaspar Quesada, Luis de Mendoza, Antonio de Coca - simply missed the invitation of the admiral. Uneaten are cooked chairs, untouched dishes. In a gloomy solitude, Magellan sits at a set table with his cousin Alvaro de Mesquita, whom he appointed as his captain by his own authority, and, surely, he is not very happy with this Easter feast planned as a world holiday. By their absence, all three captains were openly challenged. They loudly declared to him: "The bowstring is tight! Be careful - or rethink! "To their credit, it must be said that not because of the corner, they did not treacherously attack Magellan. The last time they let him know that their patience was exhausted, and if Magellan wanted it, it was not difficult to understand this hint.
   Magellan understood the warning. But nothing can embarrass this man with iron nerves. Quietly, without showing offense, he sits at the table with Alvaro de Mesquita, quietly gives on board the usual orders, calmly, stretching his large, heavy body, preparing to retire to sleep. Soon all the lights go out; motionless, like huge black dozing animals, there are five ships in a foggy bay; from the side of one of them, it is only with difficulty that one can distinguish the outlines of the other, so deep is the gloom of this long winter night, under a cloud of sky. In the impenetrable darkness it is not visible, behind the murmur of the surf, one can not hear how, at about midnight, from one of the ships, the boat quietly separates and, with noiseless swings of oars, advances towards the "San Antonio". No one suspects that in this cautiously, like a smuggler's canoe, the captains gliding along the waves - Juan de Cartagena, Gaspar Quesada and Antonio de Coca. The plan of the three acting officers together is clever and bold. They know that in order to overcome such a courageous opponent as Magellan, one must secure a significant superiority of forces. And this numerical superiority was wisely foreseen by Charles V: when sailing only one of the ships - the flagman ship of Magellan - was entrusted to the Portuguese, and in contrast to this the Spanish court wisely commanded the remaining four ships to the Spanish captains. True, Magellan arbitrarily overturned this ratio, established by the Emperor's desire, having deprived, under the pretext of "insecurity", first from Juan de Cartagena, and then from Antonio de Coke, the command of San Antonio and transferring command of this vessel, first in importance after the flagship, to his cousin Alvaro de Mesquite.
   Firmly holding the two largest ships, in critical circumstances and militarily, it will dominate the flotilla. There is, therefore, only one opportunity to break his resistance and restore the order established by the emperor: as soon as possible to capture the "San Antonio" and in some bloodless way to neutralize the de facto captain de Mesquita. Then the ratio will be restored and they will be able to block Magellan's way out of the bay, until he deigns to give all the necessary explanations to the royal officials.
   Well thought out this plan and no less carefully executed by the Spanish captains. The boat with thirty armed men silently chooses to the slumbered "San Antonio" on which - who here in the bay is thinking about the enemy? - No night watch.
   On the rope ladder, conspirators, led by Juan de Cartagena and Antonio de Coca, are on board. Former commanders of the "San Antonio" and in the darkness find their way to the captain's cabin; Before Alvaro de Mesquita manages to jump out of bed, armed men surround him from all sides; a moment - he was in shackles and already thrown into the closet of the ship's clerk. Only now a few people wake up; one of them - the helmsman Juan de Elor yaga - senses treason. Roughly he asks Quesada what he needed at night on someone else's ship. But Quesada responds with six lightning dagger blows, and Eloriyaga falls, sweating with blood. All the Portuguese on the "San Antonio" are chained in chains; thus robbed the most reliable adherents of Magellan, and to win over the others, Quesada orders to unlock the storerooms and allow the sailors to finally eat and drink. So, except for the unfortunate incident - a blow with a dagger, which gave this raid the character of a bloody mutiny - the daring venture of the Spanish captains was completely successful. Juan de Cartagena, Quesada and de Coca can safely return to their ships, in order to bring them to combat readiness in extreme cases; The command of "San Antonio" is entrusted to the man whose name appears here for the first time, - Sebastian del Cano. At this hour, he is called upon to prevent Magellan from carrying out his cherished thought; there will be another hour when he, it is his fate will choose to complete the great cause of Magellan.
   Ships motionless, like huge black dormant beasts, rest in a foggy bay. No sound, no light; guess what happened, it is impossible.
   In the winter, late and unwillingly dawns in this gloomy region. Still, five vessels of the flotilla are still motionless on the same spot in the frosty dungeon of the bay. On no external grounds Magellan can guess that his true friend and relative is that all the Portuguese aboard the San Antonio are chained, and instead of Mesquita, the rebel captain commands the ship. The same pennant fluttered on the mast as it had the day before, from a distance everything looks as before, and Magellan orders to start the usual work: as always in the mornings, he sends a boat from Trinidad to the shore to deliver from there the daily ration of firewood and water for everyone ships. As always, the boat first goes to the "San Antonio", where regularly every day a few sailors are sent to work. But it's strange: this time, when the boat is approaching the San Antonio, the rope ladder is not dropped from the side, no sailor is shown, and when the oarsmen shout angrily to be moved on the deck, they are told a stunning message: on this ship do not obey the orders of Magellan, but obey only Captain Gaspard Quesada. The answer is too unusual, and the sailors row back to report everything to the admiral.
   He immediately understands the situation: "San Antonio" in the hands of the rebels. Magellan outwitted. But even this suicidal news is not able to speed up the pulse of his pulse even for a minute, obscure the soundness of his judgments. First of all, it is necessary to take into account the size of the danger: how many ships are still behind it, how many against it? Without delay, he sends the same boat from the ship to the ship. With the exception of the insignificant "Sant-Iago", all three ships - San Antonio, Concepcion, Victoria - are on the side of the rebels. So, three against two or, more correctly, three against one - "Sant-Iago" can not be considered a fighting unit. It would seem that the game must be considered lost, everyone else would stop the game. For one night, the cause that Magellan devoted several years of his life to was lost. With only one flagship vessel, he is not able to continue sailing to an unknown distance, and from other ships he can neither refuse nor force them to obey. In these waters, which have never before touched the keel of a European vessel, there is nowhere to wait for help. Only two possibilities remain for Magellan in this appalling situation: the first is logical and, in view of the numerical superiority of the enemy, in essence, taken for granted, to overcome one's persistence and go to reconciliation with the Spanish captains; and then the second - completely absurd, but heroic: put everything on one card and, in spite of complete hopelessness, try to strike a powerful counterblow that will force the rebels to accept.
   Everything speaks for the first decision - for making concessions. After all, the rebel captains have not yet encroached on the life of the admiral, did not show him certain requirements. Their ships are immovable, so far they do not have to wait for an armed attack. The Spanish captains, despite their numerical superiority, also do not want to begin a senseless fratricidal war for many thousands of miles from their homeland. Too memorable for them in the oath of the Seville Cathedral, too well known shameful punishment for the mutiny and desertion. The nobles Juan de Cartagena, Luis de Mendoza, Gaspard Qesada, Antonio de Coca, wielded by royal trust, want to return to Spain with honor, and not with the stigma of betrayal, so they do not emphasize their preponderance, but from the very beginning declare their readiness to enter into negotiations. It's not bloody feud that they want to start capturing the San Antonio, but only to put pressure on the admiral, to force a stubborn silence to tell them the way to follow the royal flotilla.
   That is why the letter that the commissioner of the rebel captains Gaspar Quesada sends to Magellan is by no means a challenge, but, on the contrary, humbly entitled "Request"; composed in courteous terms, it begins with the justification of a night-time attack. Only Magellan's evil treatment, this letter says, led them to seize the ship, whose chiefs were appointed by the king himself. But let the admiral not interpret this act as a refusal to recognize the sovereign authority granted him by the king over the flotilla. They only require better communication in the future, and if he agrees to fulfill this just wish, they will serve him not only obediently, as required by duty, but with the deepest respect. Sly Portuguese; an experienced fighter who was baptized in Africa in the war against the brutal Moors, Magellan was very soon able to easily replay the mutinous officers tactically, pretending that he agreed with their proposals. And soon the mutiny was successfully suppressed, and almost all the traitors were beheaded. Two rebels were decided to remain alive and land on shore. The squadron continued its further dull traffic along the coast of Brazil.
   For five months the cold flotilla is kept in the dreary, ill-fated bay of San Julian. The time is dragging along in this terrible solitude for a long time, but the admiral, knowing that he has the strongest disposition to idleness, takes the sailors from the very beginning to continuous, hard work. He orders to inspect from the keel to the masts and repair the worn-out ships, cut woods, and cut boards. He devises, perhaps even unnecessary work, just to keep people deceptive hope that soon the sailing will resume, that, having left the desolate frosty desert, they will go to the fertile islands of the South Sea.
   Finally, the first signs of spring appear. In these long, gloomy, hazy days, the sailors felt like they were lost in a desert that was not inhabited by humans or animals, and a perfectly understandable sense of fear - to vegetate here, far from all human, like cave dwellers, even more obscured them spirit. And suddenly, one morning, on a coastal hill, a strange figure appears - a man in which they initially do not recognize this, for in the first minute of fright and amazement he seems to them twice as tall as normal human growth. "
   "Uncle Petya, who is this?" Asked Axel, intrigued.
   Pyotr Maksimovich only smiled with his invariable sly smile and continued: "Patience, my little friend! Soon you will know everything. He was well built, his face was wide, painted with red stripes, yellow circles around his eyes, and two spots in the form of a heart on his cheeks. Short hair was whitened, clothes consisted of skilfully sewn skins of some animal. Especially surprised by the Spaniards incredibly large legs of this gigantic anthropoid monster, in honor of this "great" they began to call the natives Patagonians, and their country - Patagonia.
   Dressed in animal skins, the creature smiles affably, widely arranging hands, dances and sings, and at the same time continuously sprinkles hair with sand. Magellan, even in his earlier travels somewhat familiar with the mores of primitive peoples, correctly interprets these actions as attempts at peaceful rapprochement and orders one of the sailors to dance the same way and also sprinkle his head with sand. In the fun of the tired sailors, the savage really takes this pantomime for a friendly greeting and trustfully approaches.
   For the first time in a long time, the poor senorious sailors seem to have a chance to have a good time and have a good laugh. For when a good-natured giant suddenly pops a metal mirror under his nose, he sees for the first time his own face in him, with astonishment, the four sailors jump off and knock four of them off their feet. His appetite is such that the sailors, looking at him, forget about the poverty of their own diet with astonishment. Staring eyes, they observe how he gulps down a bucket of water and eats half a crock of crackers on a snack. And what kind of noise rises, when in front of the amazed and slightly frightened spectators alive, without even ripping off the skins, eats up several rats brought by the sailors as a sacrifice to his insatiable appetite. On both sides - between the glutton and the sailors - sincere sympathy arises, and when Magellan also gives him two or three rattles, he hastens to bring a few more giants and even giantesses.
   Magellan, like Columbus and all other conquistadors, was given the task of bringing several copies of not only plants and minerals to his homeland, but also of all unknown human breeds he would have to meet. Catching such a giant alive, at first, seems to the sailors to be as dangerous as grabbing the whale's fin. They walk fearfully around the Patagonians, but at the last minute they each have not enough courage. Finally they embark on a heinous trick. Two giants are put into the hands of so many gifts that they have to keep all the ten fingers with their prey. And then, to the blissfully grinning natives, they are shown some more shining, ringing squeaky things-leg shackles-and they ask if they want to put them on their feet. The faces of the poor Patagonians blur into a broad smile; they nod assiduously, admiring with delight how these strange things will ring and rattle at every step. Strongly holding in hand donated trinkets, savages, bending over, watch with curiosity how their glittering cold rings are pinned to their feet, so merrily strumming; but suddenly - jin, and they are in chains. Now giants can be without fear, like sandbags, to fall to the ground, they are no longer afraid in shackles. Deceived natives growl, roll on the ground, kicking and calling for the help of their native God. However, God does not hurry to help them. And now, like stunned bulls, they drag the defenseless giants to the ships, where they, for lack of food, are destined to soon die and die.
   As to the natives and the Spaniards, the ill-fated Bay of San Julian brings only misfortunes. Nothing is possible here Magellan, in anything to it there is no happiness, as if the curse gravitates over the bloodbaked coast. "If only we would rather get out of here, if only sooner," the team groans. "Farther, farther, forward," Magellan dreams, and the general impatience grows as the days grow longer. As soon as the rage of winter storms subsides, Magellan is already making an attempt to move forward. The smallest, the fastest of all its ships, the "Sant-Iago", ruled by the reliable captain of Serrano, he sends out for reconnaissance, like Noah's dove's dove. Serrano is entrusted, sailing south, to survey all the coves and after a certain period return with a report. Time passes quickly, and Magellan starts restlessly and impatiently to peer into the watery distance. But not from the sea comes the news of the fate of the ship, and from the land: one day from one of the coastal hills, staggering and barely keeping to the feet, two strange figures come down; First sailors take them for Patagonians and are already pulling the string of crossbows. But the naked, frozen, hungry, emaciated, wild ghost people shouting something to them in Spanish - these are two sailors from the "Sant-Iago". They brought the bad news: Serrano reached a large, fish-rich river with a wide and convenient mouth, Rio de Santa Cruz, but during further reconnaissance the ship was thrown by the storm on the shore. It broke into chips. With the exception of one Negro, the whole team was saved and waiting for help from the Rio de Santa Cruz. Together they decided to get along the coast to the Bay of San Julian and in these eleven terrible days they fed exclusively on grass and roots.
   Magellan immediately sends a boat. The wrecked return to the bay. But what's the use of people? After all, the ship, fast, better than the others, adapted for reconnaissance! This is the first loss, and like every loss incurred here on the other side of the world, it is irreplaceable.
   Finally, Magellan orders to prepare for sailing, and, casting a last look at the two rebels left on the shore, leaves the bay of San Julian, in the shower, probably cursing the day that caused him to drop anchor here. One of his ships died, three captains said goodbye to life, and most importantly - a whole year gone irrevocably, and nothing has been done, nothing has been found, nothing has been achieved.
   These days must have been the darkest in the life of Magellan, perhaps the only ones when he, who so unshakably believed in his work, was secretly discouraged. One thing is that when sailing from the Bay of San Julian, he with determined hardness declares his decision to follow, if necessary, along the Patagonian coast even to the seventy-fifth degree of the southern latitude, and only if and when the two straits connecting the two seas will not be found, the usual way, past the Cape of Good Hope. Magellan clearly lost his inner conviction, and the inspired foreboding that made him strive to find the strait, now, at the decisive moment, leaves him. It is unlikely that the story ever devised a more mocking, more ridiculous position, in which Magellan found himself, when, after a two-day voyage, he again had to stop, this time at Captain Serrano's open mouth of the Santa Cruz River, and again order the courts two months of hibernation.
   Before us, guys, a man driven by a grand design, but misled by vague and in addition misleading messages, which set the goal of his life to find a waterway from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific and, thus, for the first time to circumnavigate the globe. Thanks to his iron will, he crushed the opposition of matter, he found helpers to implement his, almost impossible, plan; the conquering force of his plan, he induced the foreign monarch to entrust him to the flotilla and safely conducted this flotilla along the coast of South America to places that no other seafarer had previously reached. He coped with the sea and the rebellion. No obstacles, no disappointments could crush his fantastic belief that he was already very close to this strait, from this goal of all his aspirations.
   And suddenly, before the victory itself, the prophetic glance of this inspired man turned in a fog. Like the gods, who disliked him, deliberately put on his eyes a bandage. For that day - August 26, 1520, - when Magellan orders the flotilla to again lie down in a drift for two whole months, it is, in effect, already at the end. Only by two degrees of latitude should he still move south, only two days to stay on the road after more than 300 days of voyage, only a few miles to pass after he had already left them behind him thousands - and his troubled soul would be filled with rejoicing. But - the evil mockery of fate! The unfortunate does not know and does not feel how close he is to the goal. In the course of two dreary months, full of worries and doubts, he waits for the spring, waiting near the mouth of the Santa Cruz River, at the deserted, forgotten by the people shore, resembling a man in a furious blizzard stopped, stiff from the cold, at the very doors of his hut and unsuspecting that he should grope one step only - and he was saved. For two months, Magellan spent two long months in this desert, tormented by the thought of whether he will find the strait or not, and just two days' journey he will have a strait that will glorify his name in the centuries.
   But the more beautiful the happy outcome! The ultimate heights are reached only by the bliss that has risen from the depths of despair. October 18, 1520, after two months of dreary and unnecessary waiting, Magellan gives the order to disengage from the anchor. The solemn mass is celebrated, the team takes communion, and ships sail to the south on all sails. The wind again fiercely confronts them, they fend forehead by a hostile element.
   Soft greenery still does not caress the eye. Deserted, flat, sullen and unfriendly stretches before them an uninhabited coast: sand and bare rocks, bare rocks and sand ... On the third day of voyage, on October 21, 1520, a cape is finally outlined; the white rocks rise out on an unusually winding shore, and behind this ledge, in honor of the martyrs, whose memory was celebrated that day, called Magellan - Cape Dev, a deep bay with dark, gloomy waters opens up to the gaze. The ships are coming closer.
   A peculiar, severe and majestic landscape! The precipitous hills with bizarre, broken lines, and in the distance - an unprecedented sight for more than a year! - mountains with snow-capped peaks. But how lifeless everything is around! Not a single human being, here and there rare trees and bushes, and only the incessant howling and whistling of the wind disturb the dead silence of this ghostly deserted bay. Sullenly glances sailors into the dark depths. It seems absurd to them that this clamped mountain, dark as the waters of the underworld, can lead to a green coast or even to a bright, sunny South Sea. The pilots unanimously affirm that this deep vyem is nothing but a fjord, the same as the northern countries abound, and that exploring this closed bay with a lot or plowing it in all directions is a waste of time, an unnecessary waste of time. And without that, too many weeks spent on the study of all these Patagonian bays, and in fact in none of them was there a way out into the desired strait.
   But Magellan, subject to his obsession with the existence of an unknown path, orders to fence this strange bay along and across it. Without diligence, his order is being fulfilled: wherever they would rather go further, they all thought and said that it was a closed bay on all sides. Two ships remain in place - the flagship and Victoria, to survey the part of the bay adjacent to the open sea. The other two - "San Antonio" and "Concepcion" - given the order: as far as possible to penetrate into the depths of the bay, but return no later than five days. Time has now become expensive, and the food is coming to an end. Magellan is no longer able to give two weeks to the term, as before, near the mouth of La Plata. Five days for reconnaissance is the last bet, all he can risk for this last attempt.
   And then came a great, dramatic moment. Two ships Magellan - "Trinidad" and "Victoria" - start circling the front of the bay, waiting until the "San Antonio" and "Concepcion" will return from the investigation. But the whole of nature, as if outraged by the fact that she wants to wrest her last secret, once again renders desperate resistance. The wind grows stronger, goes into a storm, then into a violent hurricane, often rampant in these parts. In an instant the bay foams in a wild, wild whirlwind, the first squall pulls all the anchors off the chains; defenseless ships with harnessed sails are devoted to the power of the elements.
   Happiness is still that an unrelenting whirlwind does not drive them to the coastal rocks. Day, two days this terrible disaster lasts. But Magellan is not worried about his own fate: both his ships, although the storm is fluttering and hurling them, are still in the open part of the bay, where they can be kept some distance from the shore. But those two - "San Antonio" and "Concepcion"! They are captured by a storm in the inner part of the bay, a formidable hurricane flew over them in a gorge, in a narrow passage where there is no possibility of maneuvering or dropping anchor to hide. If a miracle has not happened, they have long been thrown out on land and thousands of pieces have crashed against the coastal rocks.
   A feverish, terrible, impatient expectation fills these days, the fatal days of Magellan. On the first day - no news. Second, they did not return. The third, the fourth - they are all gone. And Magellan knows: if they both crashed and died with the team, then everything is lost. With two ships, he can not go on. His cause, his dream, broke about these rocks.
   Finally, a cry from Mars. But - horror! - not the ships returning to the parking lot, saw the sentinel, but a column of smoke in the distance. A terrible moment! This signal can only mean one thing: wrecked sailors cry for help. It means that the San Antonio and Concepcion, his best ships, perished in this still uncharted bay. Magellan already orders to lower the boat to move into the depths of the bay to help those people who can still be saved. But here there is a fracture. This is the moment of such a great celebration for sailors, children! Sail! A ship is visible!
   Ship! Praise be to the Most High, though one ship is saved! No, both, both! And the "San Antonio" and "Concepcion", here they come back, unharmed. But what is this? On the banks of floating ships, lights flash - once, twice, three times, and the mountain echo echoes the thunder of the guns. What happened? Why do these people, usually guarding every pinch of gunpowder, spend it on multiple salutes? Why - Magellan hardly believes his eyes - raised all the pennants, all the flags? Why are the captains and sailors shouting and waving their hands? What worries them so much, what are they shouting about? At a distance, he can not yet separate the individual words, no one has yet clear their meaning. But everyone - and first of all Magellan - feel: these words proclaim victory.
   And, the truth - the ships carry the blessed message. With a joyously beating heart, Magellan listens to Serrano's report. First, both ships had to be cool. They had already gone far into the depths of the bay, when this terrible hurricane struck. All the sails were immediately removed, but the stormy course of the court carried further and further, drove into the very depths of the bay; already they were preparing for an ignominious death at the rocky coast. But suddenly, at the last minute, they noticed that the rock ridge that preceded them was not tightly closed, that behind one of the cliffs, which protruded forward, a narrow channel, a kind of canal, opens.
   "Uncle Peter, did they find this damned strait?" - Vanya exclaimed.
   "Yes, they found it, Vanya, at last, they found him! With this channel, where the storm did not rage so much, they passed into another bay, like the first, initially tapering, and then again greatly expanding. Three days they sailed, and there was no end to this strange waterway. They did not reach the exit from it, but this extraordinary flow can in no case be a river; the water in it is everywhere brackish, the tide and tide alternate at the shore. This mysterious stream does not narrow, like La Plata, as it moves away from the mouth, but, on the contrary, it expands. The farther, the wider the wide open space, the depth of it remains constant.
   Therefore, it is more than likely that this channel leads to the coveted South Sea (the so-called contemporaries of Magellan), whose banks were opened several years ago from the Panamanian heights of Nunez de Balboa, the first European to reach these places.
   The happier to lead so many suffered Magellan did not receive for the entire last year. One can only imagine how his gloomy, fierce heart rejoiced at this encouraging news! After all, he began to hesitate, was already considering the possibility of returning through the Cape of Good Hope, and no one knows what secret entreaties and vows he offered, kneeling, to God and his holy saints. And now, just at the moment when his faith began to fade away, the cherished intention becomes a reality, the dream is put into practice! Now not a minute of delay! Lift the anchors! Dissolve the sails! The last volley in honor of the king, the last prayer to the patron sailors! And then - courageously forward, into the labyrinth! If from these damned waters he finds an outlet to another sea - he will be the first to find a way around the Earth! And with all four ships Magellan bravely rushes into this strait, which the succeeding generations will thankfully rename the Strait of Magellan! "
   The boatswain, at last, finished his exhilarating story, wiped away the tear of emotion, again puffing up his famous pipe. There was a depressing silence in the air. The boys were silent, shocked by the story of a great man named Fernand Magellan.

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   Finally, Axel decided to break this protracted pause: "And what happened next, Uncle Peter?" - he timidly asked the old boatswain. "And then, guys, everything was very sad! A terrible famine waited in front of the squadron; so terrible that the sailors ate all the ship's rats. In the end, they reached the Philippine Islands, where a real miracle happened - the slave Enrique, who traveled with Magellan on the flagship "Victoria", himself from these places, unexpectedly learned the native language! This meant that the Earth was round, and Magellan made a round-the-world sea voyage! The world's first circumnavigation of the ocean, guys! And in April 1521 the great Magellan fell at the hands of the natives on the Philippine island of Lapu-Lapu. Killed ineptly, ingloriously from the arrow of a Filipino warrior, got involved in a stupid conflict between local leaders! That's the story of this great feat, guys! "
   Returning to his native estate, Vanya went for a long time, worried, about the room back and forth. Then he resolutely approached the globe on the table and penciled the route of the world's first round-the-world voyage of the great seafarer Fernand Magellan! Now, at this very moment, he decided for himself - he decided once and for all: he will become the same famous seafarer as Fernand Magellan!
  
   Whitewash "San Francisco"
    
   Remembering now this remarkable story of the old boatswain Demyanov, Krusenstern did not cease to be surprised: oh, and to what amazing pirouettes, sometimes, our destiny is doing - fate! Almost 300 years ago, off the coast of Brazil, only much further south, also for 2 months stuck in these inhospitable places the great seafarer Fernand Magellan, completely dislodged from the planned schedule of the trek. That's Kruzenshtern's expedition was now under the threat of failure because of the breakdown of the mainmast of the three-masted sloop "Neva". For the squadron, the same frightening prospect of entering the area of ??the Magellanic Strait in the season of the harshest winter storms (I remind you, that in the Southern Hemisphere December, January and February are the summer months most favorable for navigation) is really looming for the squadron. And what, as a result, is there waiting for the expedition - only God knows!
   For a month and a half the long-suffering "Neva" stood idle in the Brazilian port of Destera, where it unsuccessfully tried to repair its mainmast, broken as a result of the strongest storm in the Atlantic on the outskirts of Brazil. To somehow speed up repairs, Ivan Fedorovich Krusenstern left the flagship ship "Hope" and moved to the "Neva", which was commanded by Lieutenant Captain Lieutenant Yury Lisyansky. At the time of the start of the expedition, he turned 30 years old. Lisyansky got a very good ship - even newer than the flagship "Hope". The Neva sloop, with a displacement of 370 tons, had a crew of 54 people, which, in itself, was already a boon, in the sense that there were no strangers on board, as on the flagship Nadezhda.
   However, the stay of Kruzenshtern on the "Neva" and his endless visits to the authorities of the city of Destero, nevertheless, did little to repair the mainmast. Ivan Fedorovich gradually began to despair of the current desperate situation.
   A gentle man by nature, Yuri Fedorovich Lisyansky completely disbanded the crew of the ship. Waving from forced idleness, the sailors wandered day after day through the port taverns, endlessly falling into bad stories. On one of the December days of 1803, an agitated officer of the watch officer, 16-year-old boy Otto Kotzebue, rushed into Kruzenstern's cabin. In 1823-1826, the 24-gun schooner "Enterprise" will make another round-the-world trip under the command of Captain 3rd Rank Otto Evstafievich Kotzebue.
   "Mister captain!" We have an emergency! Our sailors were mating with the Irish in a tavern! There are wounded!
   - Well, that's what the guys got! And all your softness, Yuri Fedorovich! angrily threw Krusenstern Lisyansky. "The crew was completely disbanded!" Form a team immediately! We need to get our guys out of this cloaca!
   Arriving at the place, the sailors saw an eerie picture of a drunken carnage. The furniture was overturned and the dishes were broken, there were traces of blood. Wounded Russian and Irish sailors writhing on the floor.
      "What happened here, you sons of bitches?" Angrily shouted the boatswain Solovyov. It turned out that the sailors from the whaling schooner "San Francisco", anchored in the port of Destro, as well as the "Neva", did not divide the port whores. To the credit of the Russian sailors, we must say that they adhered to the rules of gentleman's fistfights. Irish, however, feeling a significant superiority of the enemy, were the first to seize the knives, and bloody fun ensued! Fortunately, there were no serious victims, except for minor cuts, bruises and abrasions. That's really, really drunk and the sea knee-deep!
        The whaling schooner "San Francisco" left the port of the same name on June 4, 1803. The vessel had a motley crew of all stripes and nationalities. The core of the team was traditionally Irish. The Irishman was also the captain of the schooner John McGregor. However, there were also Frenchmen, Spaniards and even Chinese Lee Lee Wang Zhou. The latter, of course, deserves special attention in our narrative.
   Li Wang Zhou was a vivid representative of the Chinese emigration of the first wave. In the early 19th century, the riots of rich and ubiquitous Chinese merchants and industrialists rushed to California, which in a matter of months opened a lot of manufactories and concessions here. To work enterprises, they, naturally, very soon needed a large number of Chinese workers. This caused real panic among the owners of California at that time - the Spaniards. After carrying out simple mathematical calculations in the mind, the Spaniards came to the disappointing conclusion that if the Chinese begin to multiply actively and multiply, the entire San Francisco will already speak Chinese in just 5 years. And the owners of the state found a very original solution to this demographic issue: they banned the importation of Chinese women into the territory of California.
      Given that the proud Spanish Catholics would never have agreed to a marriage with a Chinese, Chinese men were guaranteed to be without sex for long and long years. Such was the stiff payment for the opportunity to work and develop business in California. This ban lasted almost 50 years. Probably, this was the main reason for such a disgusting nature of the Chinese "coolies", which grabbed the knife for any trifling matter.
      Li Wang Zhou was not a pleasant exception to this rule. He grumbled from morning till night, could push any bored sailor or even pour out boiling water. However, everything was always forgiven him, because he was from God! Really!
      The whaling ship "San Francisco" has recently been followed by terrible setbacks. For 2 months they did not get a single whale. It was a catastrophe of universal scale! The discouraged sailors in the cockpit whispered for hours trying to find the cause of such a prolonged failure in the hunt. And soon superstitious, poorly educated whalers found it. It was Bob Hunter.
      The thing is that on the eve of the sailing of the ship, the harpooner Patrick Murray fell seriously ill. All the sailors considered this a bad omen, as Patrick was considered the best in his craft and his participation in the hunt always promised luck. Captain McGregor was simply in despair and was already ready to abandon the voyage when this gloomy type was drawn, which presented itself simply and without undue formalities: "Bob Hunter. Harpooner! "This 33-year-old Irishman in a strange robe that made a roar and crackle at every step, immediately disliked the captain and the whole team of the schooner. But there was nowhere to go! McGregor decided, after all, to take a chance - Bob Hunter boarded the ship.
      And a slow war began between the newcomer and a close-knit team of experienced whalers - like-minded people. For his strange look and noisy clothes, sailors called Bob Hunter "The Devil in a rattling robe". He, of course, knew about this insulting nickname, but not a single muscle on his bronze face-colored face ever betrayed his true feelings. This especially infuriated Li Wang Zhou, who feverishly sought an excuse to cling, finally, to the accursed Irishman. And soon this opportunity presented itself to him.
      One day, Bob Hunter turned awkwardly during lunch, and overturned a plate of soup standing on the table. Kok boiled instantly.
    "Well, you, Irish pig, quickly took this shit with you!"
    "You'll clean it up yourself, dirty chinoise!" - Coolly retorted Bob.
    - What? I'm dirty? You look at yourself! When did you last wash your clothes?
    - None of your business! You would do better than your smelly kitchen. Your Chinese grub is simply impossible! What kind of carrion do you make it, eh? The Irishman muttered morosely.
      It is difficult to imagine, the reader, a more insulting statement about the Chinese chef, who always considers himself the best of the best. The stunned Lee immediately grabbed the knife to cut the meat carcasses and rushed to the Irishman. Bob Hunter stood imperturbably in front of the cook, waiting for an attack. Not a single muscle on his face twitched. With a virtuosic movement of his hand, he repulsed the blow with a knife, flinging the Chinese hand aside, while striking the coca with an accurate kick in the groin. Li Wang Zhou roared like a wounded beast and collapsed to the floor. Bob Hunter without a word left the galley on the deck. No one saw him again that day.

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   It was clear that only a big, very large work would be able to reconcile these fierce enemies. Fortunately, luck soon returned to the San Francisco - they found a large sperm whale on the horizon. At last, work has begun.
      On the first day, two mothers were killed, of which ninety barrels of fat were prepared. To the third sperm whale, Captain McGregor could not fit the ship so far as to land a boat with a harpooner. The fact is that in the early 19th century whaling schooners did not yet have harpoon cannons. The hunt was in the old grandfather's way - the boat with the oarsmen came close to the animal. On the nose was a harpooner, waiting for a convenient moment to throw. In the event of a miss, the team of oarsmen again leaned on the oars, trying to catch up with the giant animal. This could last for hours, until finally the exhausted rowers fell dead to the bottom of the boat.
          About noon on the horizon was seen a large fountain. This was an undeniable success! They met a giant humpback whale. As close as possible to the whale, Captain McGregor ordered the boat to be launched onto the water. The chase began. Eight oarsmen and Bob Hunter with a harpoon on the prow of the boat began a tedious barbaric hunt for a noble animal - the master of the seas.
      Hunter's first roll was unsuccessful - the harpoon passed casually, slightly catching the fin of the whale. With quiet curses, the oarsmen piled on the oars again, trying to catch up with the whale. The second attempt failed as well as the first - during the throw the boat swung and Hunter missed again. This time the rowers viciously kept silent - they no longer had the strength to swear. Sweat streamed down their faces. The last desperate attempt to catch up with the whale was crowned with success - the boat came close to the animal. And then ... .. it happened unimaginable! Bob Hunter unexpectedly pushed himself off the side of the boat and with a harpoon was on the back of a humpback whale. Due to a powerful throw and the entire mass of his body, he drove the harpoon into the animal's body by almost one-third. The animal plunged into the sea, carrying the harpooner into the sea abyss. The water around the whale began to boil. Fal pulled to the limit and dragged the boat after the whale. People were stunned and overwhelmed by the act of the Irishman. This no one expected from Bob Hunter. About 2 minutes they feverishly peered into the sea abyss, trying to catch at least some of its signs. Soon the head of the Irish appeared above the surface. Then the whale came up. The sailors dragged Bob into the boat and began to give him artificial respiration. Finally, the harpooner breathed, began to cough water, noisily sneezing at the same time. All the people in the boat laughed happily.
      This act of Bob Hunter forever changed the attitude of the team to him. People have a desire to know this person better, just come up and tell him simple, pleasant words. As Captain McGregor learned, fate is very cruel to the Irishman. On the eve of the voyage, Hari's wife died at the birth, taking with her to the grave an unborn baby. This story deeply touched every member of the crew. Now the strange behavior of the Irishman became clear. Everyone suddenly wanted to somehow express sympathy for this great, handsome man!
   For almost two months, the infernal, inhuman work of cutting off the humpback whale carcass continued, when it was necessary to forget about rest and normal sleep. If the exhausted sailors fell from their feet, Captain McGregor maintained their energy with the help of alcohol. Beneath the ears splashed with blood, grease and blubber, they took their stinking hands with a pot of potions, skipped a breath of fiery moisture and continued their slave labor. Especially to force people was not necessary. After all, they have a lump-sum work - the sooner they gain a full load, the sooner they will get ashore, and the earnings will be the same regardless of how long they spent on the fishery. No, there was no need to urge them, but if McGregor did not do this, he would not be MacGregor. Therefore, for days on end, his voice thundered on the deck or in the holds, he scolded and raved about like an angry prophet, sometimes he beat the slow-witted on the ear, and sometimes even in the snout.

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   The humpback whale was a feeding female. In her body were deciliters of whale milk - fat, like sour cream! This milk is very healthy, on land only very rich people can afford. And here, in the sea, ordinary sailors drank this divine fluid with handfuls, splashed and frolicked in it like small children, while copiously staining all the face, hands and clothes.
   The ship's winch lowered huge layers of fat into the ship's hold, where they were cut into oblong pieces, then they were again thrown onto the deck and cut. Now it was possible to lay chunks in boilers and to heat up fat.
       Boilers were located below, under the upper deck. Only the first laying was used to fire wood, and then the fire was supported with fat-free cracklings. The resulting blubber was cooled and poured into barrels. From one sperm whale came from forty to a hundred barrels of blubber, depending on the size of the animal, not counting whale fat and amber.
       On fishing days there was such dirt on the ship, there was such a stench that people could breath. The sailors worked half-naked, and Captain MacGregor thanked God for the quiet weather, which allowed him to work continuously.
      The barrel behind the barrel filled with precious liquid, they were lined up in close rows in the hold, and when one row was completed, another began to be filled. The San Francisco corps sank deeper, and the soft trade wind waved on the ocean waves the remains of dead giants, around which deep-seated predators crowded, sharing what was unfit for people.
      Frozen later, fattened sailors brightened up the hours of work with all sorts of stories related to their current occupation. The main hero of these stories was the sperm whale, the legendary colossus, who, enraged, could sink even a ship. Experienced sailor Willie Matheson said that in his youth he knew an old whaler, who saw with his own eyes the famous "kusaku" - New Zealand's Tom. Songs and legends were composed of New Zealand Tom. No one could catch this dandy sperm whale. His back was dabbled with harpoons and resembled the back of a hedgehog. Once, several ships tried to overcome him, but in the blink of an eye he broke and threw nine boats into pieces, killed four people, and turned the others to flight. Such is the legend, and, perhaps, the truth - who knows!
      Finally, the whale was finished, and Captain McGregor decided to give his team a break. Dropping anchor in the Brazilian port of Destero, the entire San Francisco team went ashore and went to the nearest port tavern, where they had this "wonderful" "zubodrobitelnaya" (idiom of Russian) meeting with the crew of the "Neva". Wishing to at least somehow smooth the fault of his fellow countrymen and subordinates, and also get to know the Russian captain, John McGregor, with a bottle of good Irish whiskey, went to the Neva. There he was greeted very warmly by Kruzenstern and Lisyansky. After drinking a bottle of whiskey, the captains got fraternized and came to a unanimous and categorical opinion that the Russians and the Irish were brothers forever!
  
  
   The war continues
  
      In February 1804, the expedition Kruzenstern, nevertheless, managed, finally, to escape from the Brazilian "captivity" and go to the covetous promontory of Horn. Behind him was the Strait of Magellan, which, of course, was not planned for them to pass. The point is that from the point of view of practical navigation this strait is the most useless discovery of Fernand Magellan. The Strait of Magellan is a natural wind tunnel, in which the squally wind blows all year round. A narrow tunnel formed by gloomy, inaccessible rocks of black granite; numerous small reefs, sticking out from under the water, like sharp teeth of a shark, make this strait absolutely unsuitable for navigation. Therefore, since Magellan's time, there were very few brave souls who ventured to enter the Pacific Ocean through this deadly strait. Therefore, the Krusenstern team did not even consider this option initially.
      Cape Horn squadron came February 20, 1804, and already on February 21, the expedition, finally, was in the Pacific Ocean. Once again, the monotonous daily routine of a prolonged round-the-world trip stretched.
      The conflict between Rezanov and Kruzenshtern at this phase of the expedition reached its apogee. Men were forced to share the narrow living space for months, silently hating each other. They have not talked to each other for more than 3 months, preferring to communicate only through assistants. And for that there were very good reasons.
      First, Rezanov's endless drunken debauchery on the ship, which cooperated with Count Fyodor Tolstoy, known in narrow aristocratic circles as Tolstoy - "American." It was an outstanding brawler and duelist; brawling, what other lights did not see. 0x01 graphic
  
                                             
        Certainly, they and Rezanov quite successfully found each other in this expedition. The pedantic German Krusenstern, who always loves exemplary order and discipline on the ship, is already tired of scribbling daily reports and reports on the unworthy behavior of Count Rezanov and his noble companion. Procurement from this was very small!
       And, then, Rezanov was convicted several times in "rats" - in an attempt to assign state property transferred to him for operational management to conduct trade with foreigners. This finally overwhelmed the cup of patience Kruzenstern, who decided at the end of the campaign to return Rezanov to court. But even here, who had become better at palace intrigues, Nikolai Petrovich was able to outplay the captain. On his return home, Kruzenstern, from the position of the prosecutor, was himself in the position of the accused, forced to defend himself for a whole month at the Admiralty for allegedly inept and unskilled squadron management.
   Finally, in October 1804, the expedition approached the long-awaited shores of Japan, entering the harbor of the port of Nagasaki. Curious Japanese on their numerous boats swam to the "Nadezhda" and "Neve", they clothed them like fleas, taking in an original, I'd like to think, honorable "box". On board, the Russians had several Japanese who once came to Russians as a result of shipwreck, and which the expedition carried with them as interpreters.
      The Japanese representative came to the ship, asked about the purpose of the visit: they say, from where and why they arrived. Then the Japanese pilot helped Nadezhda enter the harbor, where they anchored. In the harbor of Nagasaki, then only Japanese, Chinese and Dutch ships were stationed.
       The Japanese treated the navigators quite amicably: the official ambassador of Russia, Rezanov and his numerous retinue, was given a house on the shore (finally, Kruzenshtern could breathe a sigh of relief), and a warehouse for gifts to the Japanese emperor, the embassy and the crew of the ship carried fresh food daily. And a long and painful negotiation process began, which dragged on until April 18, 1805.
    
    
      The first visit of Count Rezanov to the Japanese emperor, as always, was furnished with great pomp. In his golden coat, surrounded by his retinue, Nikolai Petrovich was very much like the King of France, Louis 14, known in History as the "sun king". The count, in fact, shone like the sun, proudly pacing the imperial palace. However, this "radiance" of his emperor had absolutely no effect on the emperor. He listened indifferently to the Russian ambassador; slightly aroused only when Rezanov said how great and strong Russia is in comparison with a small Japan (of course, he could not think up anything better then) and said dryly: "Well! I ask you to settle here, to feel at home! We will be thinking! We will make a decision! "
   0x01 graphic
   The Japanese emperor "paused" for a long time, then answered through his officials that there would be no contracts with the Russians, and he could not accept the gifts of the Russian emperor-several huge mirrors in expensive rim. Say, Japan is not in a position to repay the emperor of the Russians by virtue of its poverty. Laughter, and only! Either the Dutch worked here well, or the Japanese themselves did not want any contacts with Russia. After all, the policy of absolute isolationism of the Japanese shogun at that time excluded any options for contact with foreign countries.
      "How he tired me! The Japanese monkey! Am I supposed to be hanging out here all my life? "Rezanov shouted in hysterics, sending terrible curses against the shogun. Drunk Tolstoy only nodded sympathetically to his head. He, the Epicurean, was always well, until the bottom of the bottle was visible.
      Noticeably nervous and Kruzenstern. In fact, the Japanese kept his squadron captive, preventing him from making a survey of the Japanese coast, necessary for compiling a sailing ship. This almost deprived hopes of a safe return to Russia through strange, unknown seas.
       "We must do something, Ivan Fedorovich!" - Lisyansky said with deep sorrow. "It can not go on like this for so long." I do not see any way out of the situation!
      - There is always a way out, dear Yuri Fedorovich! As the Chinese say, there is even a way out of the ass. We are waiting for a few more days and then we are anchored. Personally, I do not see any prospect of hanging around here. It's rotten, especially if you take into account the personality of the plenipotentiary ambassador of Russia!
      Rezanov's diplomatic mission in Japan was completely, with a terrible crash, failed. For the sake of justice, it should be said that the Japanese administration, in the course of the ship's stay at the port, conscientiously supplied it with food. And loaded on the way back food, water and plenty of salt for free. At the same time, Kruzenshtern was categorically forbidden to return along the western coast of Japan. And the inhabitants of the islands of the rising sun were strictly forbidden to contact foreigners. Perhaps this forced self-isolation saved Japan from the possible colonization and trade expansion on the part of Europeans, and also contributed to the preservation of its identity. Only merchants of the Dutch East India Company were allowed to trade in the port of Nagasaki - the southernmost point of the country. The Dutch at that time solely conducted trade with Japan and did not let competitors into their possessions, carefully hiding any naval maps with coordinates. Therefore, Kruzenstern had to lead the "Hope" to Nagasaki almost at random, simultaneously taking pictures of the Japanese coast.
  
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   Having finally freed himself from the Japanese "captivity" on April 18, 1805, Kruzenstern decided to disregard the Japanese ban and went along the western shore, scrupulously putting it on the map. In the sea he was his own master and no one was afraid - the past combat experience gave him every reason for this. He several times still pestered the shore and as far as he could get to know this mysterious country. I managed to establish contacts with the Ainu - the inhabitants of the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido.
      May 14, 1805, the Hope of Aniva in the south of Sakhalin came in. The Ainu lived here, and the Japanese administration was in charge. Krusenstern was determined to explore Sakhalin in more detail, but Count Rezanov insisted on an early return to Kamchatka to report to St. Petersburg on the results of his "embassy." Kruzenshtern did not mind, as all the fibers of the soul wanted to get rid of the bored fellow traveler as quickly as possible.
       On June 5th, 1805, Nadezhda returned to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. Rezanov went ashore, sent a report to the capital, and himself on a merchant ship departed for Russian America to Alaska. Here, the ways of the two commanders, finally, parted completely and irrevocably.
      July 5, 1805 "Hope" again went to sea and headed for Sakhalin. But Krusenstern then, unfortunately, did not manage to bypass Sakhalin "around" and determine whether the island is a peninsula. This can be done for him after 40 years by Admiral Gennady Ivanovich Nevelskoy, who in the summer of 1849 will open the strait between the mainland and Sakhalin, thus proving that it is the most that neither is a real island.
       On August 30, the Nadezhda team entered the Avachinskaya Bay of Petropavlovsk for the third time. Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenstern began to prepare for a great campaign in Macau (the game Mecca of modern China - so to speak, "southeastern Monte Carlo") - a strong point for the return home.
         From Kamchatka, the chamberlain Rezanov and the naturalist Langsdorf on the "Maria" galiot went to Russian America, and then to the "Juno" and "Avos" to California, where the chamberlain met his last, perhaps fatal love, of his whole disreputable life - a young beautiful girl Conchitu (Conception of Arguello). This beautiful story of great, selfless love for many years surrounded the name of Nikolai Petrovich Rezanov with a romantic halo, inspiring many writers and musicians to create wonderful works of art. But that, gentlemen, is a completely different story!
   Final of trip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adRuqdbusj0
   Ship of Magellan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFmxJlExGh8&t=35s
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

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