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.
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