They sailed bravely across the Sea of Okhotsk, rounded the southern tip of Kamchatka, and put in at the recently established seaport town of Petropavlovsk, which would become so crucially important in the next century and a half. It lay at the head of a remarkable bay, protected on all sides and facing south away from storms. Long arms of land safeguarded ships at anchor and comfortable houses for officers and bunks for crew lined the shore. No civilians lived here yet, but it was a splendid maritime installation and in time would be an important place. Here Bering and Zhdanko settled down for their eighth winter, 1734 through 1741.
Among the men stationed in the houses hugging the shore was a thirty-two-year-old German naturalist of unusual ability, Georg Steller, who had been brought along with astronomers, interpreters and other scientists to lend the expedition intellectual dignity, and he better than any of the others was prepared to do just this. Avid for learning, he had attended four German universities Wittenberg, Leipzig, Jena, Hall leaving with a determination to extend human knowledge, so during the land part of the trip he had studied whatever materials were available on the geography, astronomy and natural life of Russia all the way from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean, and at the end of this tedious journey and its protracted delays, he was hungry to get to sea, to visit unknown islands and set foot on the unexplored shores of North America. In his unflagging enthusiasm he told Zhdanko: 'With luck, I will be able to find a hundred new animals and trees and flowers and grasses.'
'I thought all grass was alike.'
'Oh no!' and the German enthusiast, using broken Russian, explained to Zhdanko some two dozen varieties of grass, where they flourished, how animals used them, and the great good that could be accomplished if men cultivated them intelligently.
Eager to turn the conversation away from a subject in which he had little interest, Zhdanko pointed out: 'Sometimes you speak of birds and fishes as if they were animals.'
"Well, Trofim, they are!' And here came another lecture that lasted the better part of a morning. At one point the other man interrupted: 'To me a bird is a bird and a cow is an animal,' at which Steller applauded, crying almost joyously: 'And so it should be, Trofim! And to you an eagle is a bird. And a halibut is a fish. But a scientist sees that all such creatures, including man, are animals.'
Zhdanko, drawing himself erect, thundered: 'I am not a fish. I am a man.'
Steller, reacting as if the huge man were a bright child in a beginner's class, leaned forward and asked gently: 'Well then, Scholar Trofim, what would you call a chicken?
In some ways it looks like a bird, but it runs on the ground.'
'If it has feathers, it's a bird.'
'But it also has blood. It reproduces sexually. So, to the scientist it is an animal.'
'What new animals do you propose finding?'
'That's a silly question, Trofim. How do I know what I'll find until I find it?'
He laughed at himself, then added: 'But I have heard of a remarkable beast, the sea otter.'
'I once had two sea-otter pelts.'
Steller was eager to learn all that he could about this legendary animal, so Trofim related all he remembered about his two otter pelts and how he had given them to the tsar of blessed memory and how splendid the fur had looked on Peter's robes.
Steller leaned back, studied the cossack, and said admiringly: 'Trofim, you should be a scientist. You noticed everything. That's quite wonderful, really.' And then he became a teacher of children again: 'Now, what would you call a sea otter? He swims like a fish, that you know. But he is clearly not a fish, that you also know.'
'If he swims, he's a fish.'
'But if I pitched you overboard right now, you'd swim too. Would that make you a fish?'
'I can't swim, so I'm still a man.'
THE TWO SHIPS REMAINED TIED UP IN PETROPAVLOVSK harbor, delayed by frustrating accidents.
To use the summer to advantage they should have sailed before the middle of April; they planned to depart the first of May, but at the end of that month workmen were still making repairs and alterations. Also, word was received that the expedition's supply of ship's biscuit, on which sailors lived, had become completely spoiled, so that sailing really should be delayed for one more winter. Since they had to wait for adequate provisions, they convened an emergency meeting in which a plan of action was proposed and ratified by the senior staff.
And now science, which the German Steller praised so highly, intervened to hamper the whole adventure. Some learned man, a century earlier or more, had acquired through rumor the idea that a vast land lay between Asia and North America. It had been discovered, legend said, by the indomitable Portuguese navigator Dom Joao da Gama in 1589 and was reputed to contain great riches. It had been named Terra da Gama, and since the nation which first laid hold on it would stand to gain enormously, the Russians hoped that Bering would find the island, map it, allow Steller to explore it for ores, and hide the facts from other nations.
Since the ships would not be able to leave harbor before June, and since the sailing season would be short, it was obvious that a majority of the good days would have to be spent in searching for Terra da Gama, with only a few reserved for the search for America, but nevertheless, on 4 May 1741 the wise men of this expedition, and there were many, agreed that their first duty was to find Terra da Gama, and to this decision they signed their names: Comandeur Vitus Bering, Captain Alexei Chirikov, Astronomer Louis De Lisle de la Croyere and seven others. Tragically belated, on 4 June 1741 they began their futile search for land that did not exist, named after a legendary Portuguese who had never sailed anywhere, for the substantial reason that he, too, never existed.
After having satisfied themselves that there was no Terra da Gama and could never have been, the ships headed eastward, but had the ill fortune to become separated during a blow, and despite the fact that each captain behaved properly during a frantic two-day search, the ships never saw each other again. Chirikov's St. Paul had not sunk; it sailed on ahead and Bering's St. Peter was not able to catch up. After thrashing about futilely, Bering resumed his sail to the east, and in this tandem formation the Russian ships approached North America.
Should Fleet Captain Bering, to use the title to which he had been temporarily promoted at the start of this unfortunate expedition, be blamed for the parting of his two ships? No. Before sailing, he had laid out the most minute instructions for maintaining contact, and he, at least, followed his rules. As in so many instances during his long probing of the eastern seas, he was plagued by bad luck; storms pushed the ships apart and heavy fogs made their reunion impossible. Misfortune, not malfeasance, was to blame, and the fact that both ships did proceed to the shores of North America proved that his orders were clear and obeyed.
And then, on 6 July, Bering's luck changed, and at half after twelve in the afternoon a light drizzle ended and out of the clearing mists rose a congregation of the grandest snow-covered mountains in America. They perched on what would be the corner of the future boundary between Alaska and Canada and they soared in white splendor sixteen and eighteen and nineteen thousand feet into the blue skies, with a score of lower peaks clustered about. It was a magnificent sight, a justification for the entire voyage, and it excited the Russians with a promise of what might come to pass if they ever attained sovereignty over this majestic land. It was an awesome moment when the mountain Bering named St. Elias, more than eighteen thousand feet high, soared into view. Europeans had discovered Alaska.
But the seas that guard this northern wonderland rarely permit prolonged investigation, and a few hours later the log of the St. Peter read: 'Passing clouds, air thick, impossible to get a bearing because the shore is hidden by heavy clouds.' And early next day it read: 'Heavy clouds, rain,' and later the familiar entry for any ship attempting to navigate in these waters: 'Heavy clouds, rain.'
On the third day, when exploration of the newfound land might have been expected to begin, the log read: 'Wind, fog, rain. Though t
he land is not far away, yet because of heavy fog and rain we could not see it.' So Bering, who discovered Alaska for Europe, never set foot upon the continent; however, four days after sighting Mount St. Elias he did come upon a long, skinny island which he also named St. Elias because it was the saint for this day. Later Russians would rename it Kayak Island because of its shape.
And now one of the unbelievable debacles of the Bering expeditions occurred. Bering, concerned primarily with the safety of his ship and getting back to Petropavlovsk, decided to inspect the island only casually, but Adjunct Steller, perhaps the most luminous intellect on either voyage, protested almost to the point of insubordination that his life for the past decade had been dedicated exclusively to this supreme moment when he would step upon a new land, and he made such a childish commotion that Bering grudgingly allowed him a brief visit ashore. But as he left the ship a trumpeter sounded a sardonic flourish as if some great man were departing, and the sailors jeered in derision.
Steller took with him as his only helper Trofim Zhdanko, whom he had convinced of the importance of science. Upon landing, the two men initiated a frenzy of running about, grabbing rocks, staring at trees, and listening for birds. They tried to study everything at once, for they realized that the St. Peter might have to put out to sea at any moment, and they had spent only seven or eight hours collecting when a signal from the ship alerted Zhdanko to the fact that it was about to sail.
'Herr Doktor Steller! You must hurry.'
'I've just begun.'
'The ship is signaling.'
'Let it signal.'
'Herr Doktor, frantic signals.'
'I'm frantic.' And he had cause to be, for he had studied in Germany long years in preparation for an opportunity like this, and he had traipsed for eight years across Russia to get to Kamchatka, and lately he had been at sea for weeks, and finally he had landed on the American continent, or one of its islands less than three miles offshore, and he was being allowed less than a day to carry out his work. It was infuriating, inconsiderate and insane, and he told Zhdanko so, but the cossack, an officer of the ship in a manner of speaking, had learned to obey orders, and Fleet Captain Bering was signaling that the longboat must return immediately and fetch Steller with it.
Actually, what Bering said to those about him was: 'Signal him to come aboard at once or we sail without him.' He had his ship to consider, and although he could easily have given the German scientist two or even three days ashore, he was a nervous Dane and he kept always in mind the agreement reached prior to sailing: 'Regardless of what happens, the St. Peter and the St. Paul will return to Petropavlovsk on or before the last day of September 1741.'
'Adjunct Steller,' Zhdanko said sternly as he moved close to the sweating scientist whose arms were laden with samples of this and that, 'I'm going to the longboat, and you're going with me,' and he began to drag and push the protesting German off the island. That night, the following remarks were entered in the log:
The yawl returned with water, and the crew reported having come across a fireplace, human tracks, and a fox on the run. Adjunct Steller brought various grasses.
Later, as Bering was preparing to sail for home, he sent Zhdanko and a few crew members back to St. Elias Island on a mission which symbolized his personal interest in doing a good job for his Russian masters, but this time he did not allow Steller to go, for he had learned of the German's refusal to quit his collecting at the termination of the first trip:
The men who returned on the small yawl announced the finding of an underground hut, something like a cellar, but no people. In this hut they discovered dried fish, bows and arrows. The Captain Commander ordered Trofim Zhdanko to take to that hut a number of government things: 13 yards of green material, 2 knives, Chinese tobacco and pipes.
In this quiet and generous way began the lucrative trade that Russia would soon be conducting with the natives of Alaska. Georg Steller's summary of his day was more acerbic: 'I spent ten years of preparation to perform a task of some importance and was allowed ten hours to complete it.'
But if Bering did not appreciate what Steller had accomplished during the time allotted him, history does, for in those brief hours ashore he perceived the significance of North America, the character of its western ramparts and their potential importance to Russia. His work that day constitutes one of the finest applications of human intelligence within restricted confines.
VITUS BERING WAS NOT THE FIRST RUSSIAN TO SEE Alaska, for when his ship, the St. Peter, lost contact with the St. Paul, the captain of the latter, Alexei Chirikov, spent nearly three full days searching for his missing partner, and then entered in his log:
At the fifth hour in the morning we gave up looking for the St. Peter and with the assent of all the officers of the St. Paul we went on our way.
In shipshape fashion the younger captain proceeded with his exploration, and on July 1741, a day earlier than Bering had sighted the cluster of great mountains, Chirikov sighted land some five hundred miles to the southeast. Coasting northward, he passed close to the beautiful island which would later be occupied by Russians, Baranof, and the exquisite bay which would house their capital, Sitka. In doing so, they saw a snow-covered volcano of near-perfection, to be named by a later explorer of far greater reputation Mount Edgecumbe, but they did not tarry to investigate one of the choice areas of the region.
However, a short distance to the north Captain Chirikov did dispatch a longboat to another island, under the direction of Fleet Master Dementiev, who had ten armed men to assist him. The boat ducked in among a nest of small islands and was never heard from again. After six anxious days of being immobilized by bad weather, Captain Chirikov put three technical men in a second small boat Bosun Savelev, Carpenter Polkovnikov, Caulker Gorinand sent them to find the first crew. At the last minute Sailor Fadiev cried: 'I want to go along,' and he was allowed to do so.
This boat also vanished, and now the men of the St. Paul had to make fearful decisions. With no small boat of any kind by which food or water could be brought aboard, and only forty-five casks of water left, they faced disaster:
At the first hour of the afternoon the officers reached the following decision, which they put in writing: go straight to the harbor of Petropavlovsk in eastern Kamchatka.
Ordered the crew to catch rain water and commanded that it be rationed out.
Thus the great expedition proposed by Vitus Bering staggered to an inconclusive ending.
No officer had set foot on Alaska proper; the scientific excursions had been aborted; no useful charting was done; and fifteen men had already been lost. The adventure which Bering had said could be completed for ten thousand rubles would ultimately consume the two million predicted by the accountants, and all that would have been proved which was not already known was that Alaska existed and Terra da Gama did not.
NOW CAME THE WORST. WHEN BERING'S SHIP, THE St. Peter, headed west from its encounter with the great mountains, it followed more or less the lovely curve of the Aleutian Islands, but the ship was now so sluggish that it could make only sixteen or seventeen miles a day against the wind. From time to time the lookouts sighted one of the islands, and several of the grand volcanoes that dotted the chain were also visible, soaring perfectly into the sky and covered at their peaks with snow.
The sailors found little comfort in this beauty, for scurvy of the most virulent kind attacked them. Without fresh food and with inadequate water to accompany what biscuits they did have, their legs began to swell and their eyes to glaze over. They suffered violent pangs of hunger and unsteadiness in gait. Each day their plight worsened, until the entries in the log became monotonous and mournful:
Frightful storm and great waves ... all day waves from both sides washed over the deck ... terrific storm ... 21 men on sick list ... by the will of God, Alexei Kiselev died of scurvy ... 29 men on the sick list ...
During the last days when ordinary activity was possible, the St. Peter hove to off the shore of Lapak I
sland, the one to which the Great Shaman Azazruk had led his emigrants twelve thousand years earlier, and here they encountered islanders who provided them with water and seal meat which helped sustain them during the month of September.
Since most of the junior officers were now incapacitated by scurvy, the yawl which went ashore was captained by Trofim Zhdanko, who requested that Adjunct Georg Steller assist him, and this was a fortunate choice, because the German had been ashore only a few minutes when he began scampering about and grabbing grasses. 'This is no time for such nonsense!' Zhdanko protested, but Steller waved a handful of grass in his face, shouting with glee: 'Trofim! This is an antiscorbutic! It can save all our men who are ill!' And off he went, enlisting three Aleutian children in his search for the acid-tasting grasses which he knew would combat the dreadful scurvy. Had he been given time, he might even have saved those members of the crew on whom death had already fastened his gaze.
But the man on whom this brief visit was to have the most lasting influence was Trofim Zhdanko, for when late in the day he came upon a hut dug deep into the ground in the old style but faced with stones carefully placed and covered with a solid roof made of whalebone and stout driftwood beams, he wanted to know more about the man who had built so carefully, and when finally the frightened fellow came tentatively forward, black hair down in his eyes, a big walrus bone stuck through his septum, Zhdanko handed him some of the goods Captain Bering had given him to appease the natives: 'Here, this Chinese tobacco, this hand mirror.