ot springs.

By February they had succeeded in making a skin skiff of the leather
sacks. They launched this on the harbor and, stealing away unseen,
rounded the northwest coast of Oonalaska's hand projecting into the
sea, travelling at night southwestward, seeking the ships of Korovin,
or Medvedeff, or Glottoff. Now the majority of voyagers don't care to
coast this part of Oonalaska at night during the winter in a safe ship;
and these men had nothing between them and the abyss of the sea but the
thickness of a leather sack badly oiled to keep out water. Their one
hope was--a trader's vessel.

All night, for a week, they coasted within the shadow of the shore
rocks, hiding by day, passing three Indian villages undiscovered.
Distance gave them courage. They now paddled by day, and just as they
rounded Makushin Volcano, lying like a great white corpse five thousand
feet above Bering Sea, they came on five {97} Indians, who at once
landed and running alongshore gave the alarm. The refugees for the
second time sought safety on a rock; but the rising tide drove them
off. Seizing the light boat, they ran for shelter in a famous cave of
the volcanic mountain. Here, for five weeks, they resisted constant
siege, not a Russian of the four daring to appear within twenty yards
of the cave entrance before a shower of arrows fell inside. Their only
food now was the shell-fish gathered at night; their only water, snow
scooped from gutters of the cave. Each night one watched by turn while
the others slept; and each night one must make a dash to gather the
shell-fish. Five weeks at last tired the Indians' vigilance out. One
dark night the Russians succeeded in launching out undetected. That
day they hid, but daybreak of the next long pull showed them a ship in
the folds of the mountain coast--Korovin's vessel. They reached the
ship on the 30th of March. Poor Shevyrin soon after died from his
wounds in the underground hut, but Korovin's troubles had only begun.

Ivan Korovin's vessel had sailed out of Avacha Bay, Kamchatka, just two
weeks before Pushkareff's crew of criminals came home. It had become
customary for the hunting vessels to sail to the Commander
Islands--Bering and Copper--nearest Kamchatka, and winter there, laying
up a store of sea-cow meat, the huge bovine of the sea, which was soon
to be exterminated by the hunters. Here Korovin met Denis Medvedeff's
{98} crew, also securing a year's supply of meat for t