Sometime between the 16th and 20th, the fog lifted
like a curtain. Such a vision met the gaze of the stolid seamen as
stirred the blood of those phlegmatic Russians. It was the
consummation of all their labor, what they had toiled across Siberia to
see, what they had hoped against hope in spite of the learned jargon of
the geographers. There loomed above the far horizon of the north sea
what might have been an immense opal dome suspended in mid-heaven. One
can guess how the lookout strained keen eyes at this grand, crumpled
apex of snow jagged through the clouds like the celestial tent peak of
some giant race; how the shout of "land" went up, how officers and
underlings flocked round Bering with cries and congratulations. "We
knew it was land beyond a doubt on the sixteenth," says Steller.
"Though I have been in Kamchatka, I have never seen more lofty
mountains." The shore was broken everywhere, showing inlets and
harbors. {26} Everybody congratulated the commander, but he only
shrugged shoulders, saying: "We think we've done big things, eh? but
who knows? Nobody realizes where this is, or the distance we must sail
back.
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