The Great Alone Read Online Free PDF

Mongol features of many of the Siberian tribes, including the Aleutorski—the thick eyefolds, broad facial structure, and slightly flattened noses. Their hair was black and straight, and their eyes dark brown. Many of them had thin mustaches and spiky beards, but none had the thick, full beard growth of the Russians.
    The eager way they crowded around Luka and his small party was almost childlike. The natives were curious about everything, pointing to his garments, the knife he carried, and his boots, then jabbering unintelligibly. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his fellow promyshleniki, he managed to keep the natives at bay, alert for any change in their behavior.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chuprov offer the pipes and tobacco to the natives. They examined them curiously, obviously having no notion as to the use of either. One of the natives gave Chuprov a stick with the head of a seal carved in bone, then gestured toward a musket, indicating he wanted it.
    “No.” Chuprov was cold in his refusal.
    Luka watched the smiles disappear from the faces of the Aleuts and felt the atmosphere change. Anger darkened their expressions and in his peripheral vision he saw several natives converge on the beached dinghy.
    “The boat!” He yelled the warning to the others. They fell back around it, forming a protective arc to guard their only means of transportation back to the shitik. Immediately the natives began thrusting their spears at the boat’s wooden sides. The rest of the natives pointed the sharpened stone tips of their weapons at the beleaguered promyshleniki.
    Without being told, Luka knew they were on their own. The men aboard the shitik could give them no help. The craft was anchored out of musket range, and they had the shitik’s sole dinghy in their possession. If they were to get back to the shitik, it was plain they would have to fight their way. He could hear the clunk of the spears being deflected by the boat’s wooden sides and wondered how long it would withstand the onslaught.
    “Fire!” Chuprov shouted.
    There was no need to choose a target. There were too many, too close. Instantly Luka’s finger tightened on the trigger, and the green cliffs around the bay echoed the thunder of musketfire. Blood gushed from the hand of a native near Luka, staining the white sand. Frightened by the explosive discharge of the guns, most of the natives fell back. While three of the promyshleniki hurriedly reloaded their weapons, Luka helped the other two drag the boat into the water.
    As soon as it was afloat, he shouted to the others. When the natives saw they were getting away, they attacked, charging the men running through the surf to the boat. The muskets were discharged again, this time their thunderous report causing only a brief hesitation. There wasn’t time to reload again and the men scrambled hastily into the dinghy amidst a hail of flying spears. Luka hauled on the oar, propelling the boat through the incoming waves toward the shitik. Miraculously they reached it almost unscathed, suffering only a few minor cuts.
    Once on board the sailing craft, the order was given to hoist the anchor and raise the sails. After they were out to sea, Luka stood on deck, his feet braced against the roll of the craft, and his face damp from the salt spray. He watched the low, scudding clouds, waiting for his second look at that first island, their new destination.
    That night they anchored in one of the bays at the first island they’d sighted. The hostile encounter with the natives instilled a degree of caution, and a watch was posted.
     
     

 
    CHAPTER II
     
     
    The next morning, Chuprov went ashore with an armed party. They found tracks, confirming the presence of natives on the island, but none were encountered. Nor was any source of fresh water found in the immediate vicinity of the bay. The shitik sailed again, hugging the coast as closely as the jagged reefs and half-submerged rocks allowed, while