Journey of the sloop Good Intent to explore the Asiatic and American shores of Bering Strait, 1819 to 1822. Part one

--66--

about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the sloop, "Discovery," hoisting all possible sail, disappeared from view, setting its course more toward the NW. At the same time, we took leave of the inhabitants of the warm regions--the bonito and the flying fish. We especially regretted the latter. It often entertained us by its flight and furnished us with excellent fish chowder. This fish, in size no longer than a foot, jumping from the water to save itself from persecution by the bonitos, always follows an air current and cannot give its flight an independent direction. In general, one must suppose that they sustain themselves in the air only with the wind, moving in it at the speed of the wind, and for a distance of not more than two hundred to three hundred sazhens. Very often, rising with the wind and flying in its direction, it struck the rigging and fell on the deck, and only in this way fell into our hands. Often 30 or more fell on the quarterdeck.

At latitude 32⁰ the trade winds left us, and the winds became changeable, blowing mostly from the W and SW with unequal strength, and we reached latitude 43⁰ only on the 18th. At this place we were in a calm and had to remain there until the 20th. At dawn of that day, a slight SW breeze sprang up, and for that reason we hoisted all possible sail. At about eight o'clock, the lieutenant on duty noticed from windward a small nebulous cloud, which expanded over all the horizon with indcredible speed. This frightening omen was immediately

--67--

reported to the captain. Knowing that all our sails were up, and noting the unusually fast falling of the mercury in the barometer, he ordered us to hasten their removal as he immediately followed his informant to the quarterdack, but he had not gone half way up the ladder when the storm broke upon us with a horrible ferocity. The roaring of the wind drowned out the orders shouted by the lieutenant. No one knew what to do, and all stood as if numb from terror, looking at the raging elements. Luckily for us, the suit of sails that was up at that time was the oldest, and they did not withstand the sudden air pressure, otherwise we would inevitably have lost the topmasts and perhaps even the masts themselves. One mizzen, newly put up that day, resisted and pitched the sloop windward [?], tipping it over on its side so that the men had to hang onto the rigging.

Meanwhile, the storm increased by the hour, and turned into a most horrible hurricane, which our captain called a typhoon. The violence of the air was so great that at first it prevented the waves from rising by tearing off their tops.

Although there was no rain, in a half hour all of us were drenched. The foam torn off from the breaking waves flew in the air like thick fog and penetrated one's body in no time. It was impossible to face the wind. The pressure of the air impeded free breathing and salty drops hit the eyes with such strength they produced insufferable pain and swelling. The mizzen still held up, and the sloop, battered by the waves,

-- 68 --

could not sail close hauled and remain on a course close to the wind. The waves tossed it to such an extent that the leeward cannons were submurged in water at every surge. The listing of the sloop impeded all work, and attempts to put up a foresail to incline it leeward [sic] were unsuccessful. The masts creaked in their steps, the topmasts bent into arcs, and we waited with trepidation that all of them would topple over, which, during such a hurricane, would mean out certain destruction.

But, thank God, the shrouds held up; the breaking of the main and fore topmasts reduced the weight above; and meanwhile, we succeded in cutting a hole in the mizzen, whereupon, in one minute, all that remained of it was in shreds. The sloop straightened up, we put up the foresail, and it inclined to leeward. Removing so far as possible the topsails and yards hanging in the rigging, we put the storm mizzen up again, hoisted the foresail, and lay to under it. The raging hurricane continued for almost 24 hours and created a most awful turbulence. Our poor sloop groaned in all its structure. It was tossed so violently that it took water from both sides. Never, either before or after, in storms of seven or nine days, did we suffer so much, or fear so much as in these 24 hours. But the excellent construction of our sloop saved us. Tossed by most terribly heavy seas, and despite the fact that the heavy waves, breaking along the sides, often fell on the deck with all their ponderous mass, the water on it increased possibly only an inch or two higher than in normal seas.

- 69 -

To the Aleutian Islands

Toward noon of the 21st, the wind gradually started to abate, and toward evening, completely died down. Immense heavy seas continued to rock the sloop and did not permit us to begin the necessary repairs, which we could start only in the evening of the next day. Hoisting new topsails and attaching a brand-new suit of sails, we directed our course with a steady SW toward a group of small islets. The usual passage from the ocean into the Kamchatka Sea [i.e. the Bering Sea] for ships sailing to Unalashka, goes through Umnak Pass, in the middle of which stands a tremendous rock resembling a ship under sail [Polivnoi Rock?] for which it is was so named. For this reason, and because of the narrowness of the pass in which the current sometimes is very strong; also because the captain intended to examine John the Theologian Island [Bogoslof Island], which lay more to the west and which had surfaced at the end of the last century, we directed our course toward the pass near Amchitka Island.

At dawn of the 27th we saw the whole northern horizon bordered by a long chain of high wild islands, and directly in front of us Amchitka. Toward midday we approached this island, and toward three o'clock, safely sailed through the pass and entered the Kamchatka Sea. Amchitka Island is lower than all the rest of the Fox Chain [Aleutian Islands]. Its length from E to W is about 1 1/2 miles and its width from N to S is about 3/4 of a mile. [Amchitka Island is 35 miles long and about three miles wide.] It consists of bare red

-- 70 --

rock on which is seen not the slightest vegetation. On its low banks lay thousands of sea lion-seals and sea otters, which at our approach, with noise and roaring plunged into the water, crowding each other. Toward the northwest at a distance of six miles from Amchitka, Semisopochnoi Island present itself to sight, a sight unique in the world. It received its name from seven conically-shaped volcanoes of almost the same height, called sopki in these regions. Three of these volcanoes smoke constantly, and according to the Aleuts on Unalashka only recently had strong eruptions.

With our entrance into the Kamchatka Sea, the constant SW winds left us, and changeable weak ones blew more from the SE and E instead of them, which slowed down our sailing considerably, and we were able to approach Bogoslof Island only on the first of June.

This island appeared from the water and rose to its present height of about 250 feet above the surface during a violent earthquake and eruption of the Umnak and Unalaskan volcanoes in 1797 [1796]. Since it had not been more closely explored by anyone as yet, and the weather was quiet and clear, the captain ordered us to lower the tender for a trip there by our naturalist. The management of the tender was entrusted to Lieutenant Lazarev, who was assisted by the junior pilot, Vedeneev. Stocking up with provisions and water for seven days in the event of fog or other unforeseen events preventing his