Without warning, contrary to his
custom of consulting the other officers, Bering appeared on deck pallid
and ashen from disease, and peremptorily ordered anchors up.
In vain Steller stormed and swore, accusing the chief of pusillanimous
homesickness, "of reducing his explorations to a six hours' anchorage
on an island shore," "of coming from Asia to carry home American
water." The commander had had enough of {28} vacillation, delay,
interference. One-third of the crew was ailing. Provisions for only
three months were in the hold. The ship was off any known course more
than two thousand miles from any known port; and contrary winds might
cause delay or drive the vessel on the countless reefs that lined this
strange coast, like a ploughed field.
Dense clouds and a sleety rain settled over the sea, washing out every
outline, as the _St. Peter_ began her westward course. But what
baffled both Bering and the officers was the fact that the coast
trended, not north, but south. They were coasting that long peninsula
of Alaska that projects an arm for a thousand miles southwestward into
the Pacific.
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