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Not till the fourth of June, 1741, had all preparations ripened for the
fulfilment of Czar Peter's dying wishes to extend his empire into
America. Two vessels, the _St. Peter_ and the _St. Paul_, rode at
anchor at Petropaulovsk in the Bay of Avacha on the east coast of
Kamchatka. On the shore was a little palisaded fort of some fifty
huts, a barrack, a chapel, a powder magazine. Early that morning,
solemn religious services had been held to invoke the blessing of
Heaven on the voyagers. Now, the chapel bell was set ringing. Monks
came singing down to the water's edge. Cannon were fired. Cheer on
cheer set the echoes rolling among the white domed mountains. There
was a rattling of anchor chains, a creaking of masts and yard-arms.
The sails fluttered out bellying full; and with a last, long shout, the
ships glided out before the wind to the lazy swell of the Pacific for
the discovery of new worlds.
And why not new worlds? That was the question the officers
accompanying Bering asked themselves as the white peaks of Kamchatka
faded on the offing.


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