A New Voyage Round the World, in the years 1823, 24, 25, and 26, Vol. 2

In Short

This volume serves as a detailed report of a Russian imperial expedition between 1823 and 1826, encompassing stops in Kamtschatka, California, the Sandwich Islands, and the Philippines. Beyond its role as a log of hydrographic and zoological discovery, the book functions as a cultural commentary. It captures a transitional moment in global exploration, where the romanticism of the sea meets the hard realities of colonial administration, missionary work, and the rapid, often tragic, transformation of island societies under the influence of European commerce and religion.

The Story

The narrative begins in the frigid waters of Kamtschatka, where the crew faces the monotonous dangers of a long voyage. The tone is set by a brief, poignant episode involving a pair of swallows that nested on the frigate, only to perish despite the sailors' best efforts to save them—a small, failed mercy that highlights the isolation of the men at sea. From there, the voyage proceeds to New Archangel, where the crew encounters the Kalush people. The author’s descriptions are stark and unflinching; he catalogs the physical appearance and customs of these populations with the detached, sometimes harsh eye of a nineteenth-century observer, focusing on cultural practices he finds incomprehensible or grotesque.

The ship eventually reaches California, which the author portrays as a land of immense potential currently stifled by ineffective Spanish governance and restrictive religious missions. He argues that the indigenous populations have been degraded rather than enlightened by their contact with the missions, suggesting that a more pragmatic approach—teaching trade and land ownership—would have better served them. He visits the Russian settlement of Ross, a palisaded fortress that underscores the geopolitical jockeying between Russia and Spain for control of the North American coast.

The expedition then moves into the Pacific, reaching the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii) during a time of profound cultural upheaval. The author documents the legacy of King Tameamea (Kamehameha), whose death left a power vacuum filled by regents and Western influences. He records the mourning rituals of the populace, who struck out their own teeth in grief, and describes the adoption of European dress and governance, which he views with a mixture of fascination and cynicism. The narrative follows the arrival of the remains of the young King Tameamea II and his Queen, who died in London, and details the lavish, alien spectacle of their funeral, which was orchestrated by the British but performed by a mourning nation.

The final leg of the journey takes the crew to the Philippines, where the author observes the fervent, theatrical loyalty displayed by the colonial subjects toward the Spanish crown. The story concludes not with a dramatic discovery, but with the quiet completion of the scientific mission. The volume ends with a comprehensive zoological appendix by Professor Eschscholtz, providing a clinical, exhaustive inventory of the thousands of species collected—mammals, insects, and marine life—a testament to the scientific rigor that underpinned the entire endeavor.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins through the doldrums and across the Pacific, where the crew occupies themselves with the study of marine life and the observation of atmospheric phenomena. These early passages establish the daily rhythms of a nineteenth-century frigate, governed by wind, current, and the unpredictable temper of the sea.

The northern outposts are reached as the ship docks at Kamtschatka and New Archangel. The author shifts from navigation to ethnography, documenting the harsh living conditions of the local tribes and the precarious nature of Russian colonial influence in these remote territories.

The Californian coast provides a lens into the competition between imperial powers. The text examines the Spanish mission system and the Russian fort at Ross, questioning the long-term viability of their respective colonial models.

The Sandwich Islands occupy the heart of the narrative, serving as a site of intense cultural friction. The author details the rapid transition from traditional Hawaiian governance to a Western-influenced state, highlighting the personal grief of the queen and the displacement of old customs.

The final ports of call in the Philippines and Brazil mark the conclusion of the survey. The narrative rounds off with a focus on administrative stability and the massive biological collection that serves as the final, enduring record of the voyage.

The People

Otto von Kotzebue acts as the central consciousness—a man of order, discipline, and strong opinions, who views the world through the lens of a professional naval officer. He is guided by a belief in the necessity of progress and efficiency, yet he remains deeply skeptical of how those ideals are applied by missionaries and colonial governors.

Tameamea, the late King of the Sandwich Islands, looms over the narrative as an absent, legendary figure. He is presented as the architect of a unified, modernizing nation, whose death marks the end of an era of indigenous strength. Karemaku, the Regent, serves as his successor, described as the "Pitt of the Sandwich Islands"—a pragmatic, Western-dressed statesman who navigates the delicate balance between his traditional duties and the demands of foreign powers.

Nomahanna, the Queen, represents the emotional weight of this transition. Her mourning for the old ways and her fascination with the new technology of writing highlight the personal cost of cultural change. Beside them, figures like the Spanish commandant Don Joseph Sanchez or the various Russian governors represent the bureaucratic machinery of the age, each attempting to manage vast, untamed territories with limited resources.

In Its Own Voice

"This despised and desolate country may perhaps one day become a Russian Mexico."

Reflecting on the untapped potential of Kamtschatka, the author considers the future of imperial expansion.

"The women whom I have seen were either dressed in linen shifts reaching to their feet, or in plaited mats."

While documenting the resilient nature of the Kalush people in New Archangel, the author notes the stark simplicity of their attire.

"The Christian religion, or what the monks are pleased to call by that name, has given no beneficial spur to their minds."

In his critique of the mission system in California, the author expresses deep doubt regarding the efficacy of the religious instruction being forced upon the indigenous inhabitants.

What It's Really About

The book interrogates the costs and consequences of imperial contact. It is less a story of heroic exploration and more a study of the friction between Western ambition and the existing realities of distant lands. The author constantly weighs the promise of "civilization" against its visible failures—the degradation of indigenous peoples, the hollow mimicry of European customs, and the environmental impact of colonial resource extraction. It asks whether the introduction of new religions, technologies, and governance systems truly improves the societies they touch or merely breaks the structures that once held them together.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of science, maritime exploration, or the shifting geopolitics of the 1820s will find this volume a treasure. It offers a rare, ground-level view of how a professional observer from the Russian Empire processed the rapidly shrinking world of the nineteenth century.

However, the reader must be prepared for the author's period-specific attitudes. His descriptions of indigenous peoples are often jarringly dismissive and reflect the racial prejudices of his time. He does not sugarcoat the "hideousness" or "stupidity" he perceives in those he encounters, and his clinical detachment can feel cold to modern sensibilities. Yet, it is precisely this lack of modern filter that makes the work authentic; it is an unvarnished document of its moment. If you can move past the dated colonial rhetoric, you will find a narrative that is remarkably detailed, observant, and evocative of a world that was being mapped, categorized, and irrevocably altered by the ships of the era. The zoological appendix, in particular, rewards the patient reader with a sense of the sheer scale of the discovery that was taking place.