A flaw of wind had
caught the mountain billows; the sixty hunters went under. From where
he was, Baranof saw the disaster, saw the terror of the other two
hundred men, saw the rising storm, and at a glance measured that it was
farther back to the sloops than on towards the dangerous shore. The
sea-otter hunt was forgotten in the impending catastrophe to the entire
brigade. Signal and shout confused in the thunder of the surf ordered
the men to paddle for their lives inshore. Night was coming on. The
distance was longer than Baranof had thought, and it was dark before
the brigades landed, and the men flung themselves down, totally
exhausted, to sleep on the drenched sands.
Barely were the hunters asleep when the shout of Kolosh Indians from
the forests behind told of ambush. The mainland hostiles resenting
this invasion of their hunting-fields, had watched the storm drive the
canoes to land. On one side was the tempest, on the other the forest
thronged with warriors. The Aleuts lost their heads and dashed for
hiding in the woods, only to find certain death.
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