d the exploration was now in its eleventh year.
Spanberg, the other Dane, with his brutal tongue and constant recourse
to the knout, who had gone to St. Petersburg to report on Japan, they
cordially hated. Chirikoff, the Russian, was a universal favorite, and
Bering, the supreme commander, was loved for his {22} kindness; but
Bering's commands were subject to veto by the Russian underlings; and
the Russian underling officers kept up a constant brawl of duels and
gaming and drink. No wonder the bluff Dane sailed out from the
snow-rimmed peaks of Avacha Bay with dark forebodings. He had carried
a load of petty instructions issued by ignoramus savants for eight
years. He had borne eight years of nagging from court and senate and
academy. He had been criticised for blunders of others' making. He
had been set to accomplish a Herculean task with tied hands. He had
been threatened with fines and court martial for the delay caused by
the quarrels of his under officers to whom he was subject. He had been
deprived of salary for three years and accused of pilfering from public
funds. His wife, who had by this time returned with the wives of the
other officers to Russia, had actually been searched for hidden
booty.[12] And now, after toils and hardships untold, only five
months' provisions were left for the ships sailing from Kamchatka; and
the blockhead underlings were compelling a waste of those provisions by
sailing in the wrong direction. If the worst came, could Bering hold
his men with those tied hands of his?

The commander shrugged his shoulders and signalled Chirikoff, the
Russian, on the _St. Paul_, to lead the way. They must find out there
was no Gamaland {23} for themselves, those obstinate Russians! The
long swell of the Pacific meets them as they sheer out from the
mountain-girt harbor. A dip of the sails to the swell of the rising
wind, and the snowy heights of Avacha Bay are left on the offing. The
thunder of the surf against the rocky caves of Kamchatka coast fades
fainter. The myriad birds become fewer. Steller, the scientist, leans
over the rail to listen if the huge sperm whale, there, "hums" as it
"blows." The white rollers come from the north, rolling--rolling down
to the tropics. A gray thing hangs over the northern offing, a grayish
brown thing called "fog" of which they will know more anon. The
grayish brown thing means storm; and the "porps" tumbling, floundering,
somerseting round th