s caravans, stampeded the pack
horses, scuttled the goods, and Baranof was a bankrupt. The rival fur
companies on the west coast of America were now engaged in the merry
game of cutting each other's throats--literally and without restraint.
A strong hand was needed--a hand that could weld the warring elements
into one, and push Russian trade far down from Alaska to New Spain,
driving off the field those foreigners whose relentless
methods--liquor, bludgeon, musket--were demoralizing the Indian
sea-otter hunters.

Destitute and bankrupt, Baranof was offered one-sixth of the profits to
become governor of the chief Russian company. On August 10, 1790,
about the same time that John Jacob Astor also embarked in the fur
trade that was to bring him in contact with the Russians, Baranof
sailed to America.

Fifty-two men the ragamuffin crew numbered, exiles, convicts, branded
criminals, raggedly clad and ill-fed, sleeping wherever they could on
the littered and vermin-infested decks; for what did the lives of a
convict crew matter? Below decks was crammed to the waterline with
goods for trade. All thought for furs, small care for men; and a few
days out from port, the water-casks were found to be leaking so badly
that allowance {319} of drinking water was reduced; and before the
equinoctial gales, scurvy had already disabled the crew. Baranof did
not turn back, nor allow the strong hand of authority to relax over his
men as poor Bering had. He ordered all press of sail, and with the
winds whistling through the rigging and the little ship straining to
the smashing seas, did his best to outspeed disease, sighting the long
line of surf-washed Aleutian Islands in September, coasting from
headland to headland, keeping well offshore for fear of reefs till the
end of the month, when compelled to turn in to the mid-bay of Oonalaska
for water. There was no ignoring the danger of the landing. A shore
like the walls of a giant rampart with reefs in the teeth of a saw,
lashed to a fury by beach combers, offered poor escape from death by
scurvy. Nevertheless, Baranof effected anchorage at Koshigin Bay, sent
the small boats ashore for water, watched his chance of a seaward
breeze, and ran out to sea again in one desperate effort to reach
Kadiak, the headquarters of the fur traders, before winter. Outside
the shelter of the harbor, wind and seas met the ship. She was driven
helpless as a chip in a whirlpool straight for the gran