The sea cows were first described by the German naturalist Georg Steller in the 18th century. Steller was part of an expedition organized led by the Danish explorer Vitus Bering. Financed by the Imperial Russian government, its mission was to chart the waters between Siberia and North America, and find a workable route between the two if possible.

The expedition set sail from Kamchatka in June of 1741. A few weeks later, they had reached Alaska. Bering allowed Steller a single day to search for new species. In that brief time, his only visit to the North American continent, Steller managed to name several species of bird, including Steller’s Jay, ubiquitous in the hills behind my Berkeley apartment. By the beginning of winter, the two ships that made up the expedition had become separated, two landing parties had vanished, and so many sailors on Bering’s flagship had scurvy that they could barely man the sails.

In November, the St. Peter ran aground on an uninhabited island. Many of members of the expedition thought that it was attached to the Siberian mainland and that they would eventually be able to walk to safety, but they were soon proven wrong. A short time after reaching land, the ship broke apart in a storm, and the captain died of scurvy. Steller, who knew how to combat the Vitamin C–deficiency by foraging for herbs, was one of the few crew members still in good health.

Steller quickly realized that the landmass they were on was an island, and one that likely had never been visited by human beings before. Everywhere he went, he was followed by foxes, which showed no fear but eagerly stole any implements or food they could grab in their jaws. One day, walking along the beach searching for firewood, he saw a huge, black shape moving slowly about in the shallows like an overturned boat. Every few minutes a snout would surface for a moment and draw breath with a noise like a horse’s snort. This was the sea cow, seen by the human eyes for the first time in thousands of years. Steller was shocked to realize that this creature was a type of manatee, thousands of miles from its nearest relatives in the tropics. He describes the sea cows as gentle giants, whose only real defense against being harpooned was their incredibly thick hides. He also notes that they seem to have been unusually loyal to one another, which proved to be more of a liability than an asset when the Russians began hunting them for food. They had, in his words, “an uncommon love for one another, which even extended so far that, when one of them was hooked, all the others were intent upon saving him.” When the Russians harpooned one of the sea cows, others would come to its defense, making a circle around their wounded comrade. When they killed a female, they were astonished to see its mate visit the beach where its body lay day after day, “as if he would inform himself about her condition.”