Gradually the meaning dawned on Chirikoff. His two crews had been
destroyed. His small boats were lost. His supply of fresh water was
running low. The fire that he had observed had been a fire of orgies
over mutilated men. The _St. Paul_ was on a hostile shore with such a
gale blowing as threatened destruction on the rocks. There Was nothing
to do but scud for open sea. When the gale abated, Chirikoff returned to
Sitka and cruised {50} the shore for some sign of the sailors: but not a
trace of the lost men could be descried. By this time water was so
scarce, the men were wringing rain moisture out of the sails and
distilling sea-water. A council was called. All agreed it would be
worse than folly to risk the entire crew for the twelve men, who were
probably already dead. There was no small boat to land for more water;
and the _St. Paul_ was headed about with all speed for the northwest.[3]
Slant rain settled over the sea. The wind increased and grew more
violent. The _St. Paul_ drove ahead like a ghost form pursued through a
realm of mist. Toward the end of July, when the weather cleared,
stupendous mountains covered with snow were seen on the northwestward
horizon like walls of ice with the base awash in thundering sea.
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