Not a soul was stirring. As Korovin's boat
approached, bits of sail, ships' wreckage, and provisions were seen
scattered on the shore. Fearing the worst, Korovin landed. Signs of a
struggle were on every hand; and in the bath-house, still clothed but
with thongs round their necks as if they had been strangled to death,
lay twenty of Medvedeff's crew. Closer examination showed Medvedeff
himself among the slain. Not a soul was left to tell the story of the
massacre, not a word ever heard about the fate of the others in the
crew. Korovin's last hope was gone. There was no third ship to carry
him home. He was in the very act of ordering his men to construct
winter quarters, when Stephen Glottoff, a famous hunter on the way back
from Kadiak westward, appeared marching across the sands followed by
eight men. Glottoff had heard of the massacres from natives on the
north shore with whom he was friendly; and had sent out rescue parties
to seek the survivors on the south coast of whom the Indian spies told.
The poor fugitives embraced Glottoff, and went almost mad with joy.
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