The roar of the rollers came from the reefs. Through the blanketing
fog they could discern, on the north, island after island, ghostlike
through the mist, rocky, towering, majestic, with a thunder of surf
among the caves, a dim outline of mountains above, like Loki, Spirit of
Evil, smiling stonily at the dark forces closing round these puny men.
All along Kadiak, the roily waters told of reefs. The air was heavy
with fogs thick to the touch; and violent winds constantly threatened a
sudden shift that might drive the vessel on the rocks. At midnight on
August 1, they suddenly found themselves with only three feet of water
below the keel. Fortunately there was no wind, but the fog was like
ink. By swinging into a current, that ran a mill-race, they were
carried out to eighteen fathoms {29} of water, where they anchored till
daybreak. They called this place Foggy Island. To-day it is known as
Ukamok.
[Illustration: The _St. Peter_ and _St. Paul_, from a rough sketch by
Bering's comrade, Steller, the scientist.]
The underlings now came sharply to their senses and, at the repeatedly
convened and distracted councils between July 25 and August 10, decided
that there was only one thing to do--sail at once for the home port of
Kamchatka.
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