danger was from the mother of the little Aleut, who reported that sixty
hostiles were advancing on the ship under pretence of trading
sea-otter. Between the barracks and the sea front flowed a stream.
Here the Cossack guard took their stand, armed head to foot, permitting
only ten Indians at a time to enter the huts for trade. The Aleuts
exchanged their sea-otter for what iron they could get, and departed
without any sign. Korovin had almost concluded it was a false {100}
alarm, when three Indian servants of Drusenin's ship came dashing
breathless across country with news that the ship and all the Russians
on the east end of Oonalaska had been destroyed.

Including the three newcomers, Korovin had only nineteen men; and his
hostages numbered almost as strong. The panic-stricken sailors were
for burning huts and ship, and escaping overland to the twenty-three
hunters somewhere southwest.

It was the 10th of December--the very night when Drusenin's fugitives
had taken to hiding in the north mountains. While Korovin was still
debating what to do, an alarm came from beneath the keel of the ship.
In the darkness, the sea was suddenly alive with hundreds of skin
skiffs each carrying from eight to twenty Indian warriors. One can
well believe that lanterns swinging from bow and stern, and lights
behind the talc windows of the huts, were put suddenly out to avoid
giving targets for the hurricane of lances and darts and javelins that
came hurtling through the air. Two Russians fell dead, reducing
Korovin's defence to fourteen; but a quick swing of musketry exacted
five Indian lives for the two dead whites. At the end of four days,
the Russians were completely exhausted. The besiegers withdrew to a
cave on the mountain side, perhaps to tempt Korovin on land.

Quick as thought, Korovin buried his iron deep under the barracks, set
fire to the huts, and concentrated all his forces on the vessel, where
he wisely carried the {101} hostages with him and sheered fifty yards
farther off shore. Had the riot of winter winds not been driving
mountain billows along the outer coast, he might have put to sea; but
he had no proof the twenty-three men gone inland hunting to the south
might not be yet alive, and a winter gale would have dashed his ship to
kindling wood outside the sheltered harbor.

Food was short, water was short, and the ship over-crowded with
hostages. To make matters worse, scurvy broke out among the crew; and