The Great Alone Read Online Free Page A

the air—the men waiting to see what the decision would be this time.
    The second island appeared smaller than the first, but the boat’s approach to it was the same, sailing parallel to the ragged coastline. As they neared the entrance to a horse-shoe-shaped cove, the sides marked with jagged fingers of rocks thrust out of the water and the center arc a curving beach of white sand, Luka saw Chuprov speak briefly to the navigator. Seconds later, the order was given to lower one of the square mainsails.
    When the shitik swung toward the green cliffs beyond the white beach, the tension of the crew eased perceptibly, with smiles and murmurs of satisfaction. A man was ordered to the bow to take soundings and keep a lookout for submerged rocks.
    “We’ll anchor here for the night.” Nevodchikov lifted his voice to make the announcement to the entire company.
    “Will we be going ashore?” one of the men shouted.
    “Not until morning. Then Chuprov will take a party ashore to look for water. We’ll use the daylight hours to explore the area and select safe anchorages for the night until we find the best location for wintering.”
    Luka saw Shekhurdin stiffen and his face grow cold with anger that he had not been chosen to lead the shore detail. Luka approved of both the decision and the choice of leaders; he respected Chuprov’s experience and judgment more than he did the Cossack’s.
    After the shitik was maneuvered into the cove, the sails were furled and the wooden anchor weighted with stones was thrown over the side. The inviting stretch of beach gave no sign of native habitation. The afternoon hours were not wasted in idleness or land watching. In anticipation of the next morning’s shore party, the dinghy was checked, muskets were broken out and cleaned, and the empty water casks were set out in readiness. Meanwhile, the boat rocked at anchor beneath clotting clouds, the waves slapping at its sides as the surf rolled toward the beach and crashed on the rocky borders of the bay.
     
    With the coming of first light, men stirred on deck. Luka joined the short line of men waiting for their morning ration of water, eager to rid his mouth of the cottony taste of sleep. There was much yawning and stretching and scratching of beards, but little talking to interrupt the sound of the wind and waves.
    When it was Luka’s turn at the water cask, he dipped the cup in to fill it, then lifted it to his mouth. After the first swallow of the stale water, he paused and glanced idly toward shore, where he’d soon be landing with the morning party enlisted yesterday by Chuprov. The beach was no longer deserted.
    “Where’s Chuprov?” He snapped the question while his attention remained riveted to the beach.
    “Why?” someone growled.
    “Get him. We have visitors.” Luka gestured with the cup toward the large gathering of natives on the beach.
    Forgetting the dryness of his mouth, he shoved the half-full cup into the hand of the next man waiting in line and moved to the railing. The rest of the startled company stared, too stunned to move for several seconds. Somebody shouted to alert the promyshleniki as others crowded around the rail by Luka.
    “How many’s there?” one asked.
    “Looks like nearly a hundred,” another guessed.
    The natives wore strangely styled coats and odd-shaped hats on their heads. At this distance, it was difficult to judge, but the coats appeared to be made of feathers and hung to their ankles. Their feet were bare. Their hats were shaped like asymmetrical cones with the long side projecting in front to shade their eyes.
    Upon seeing all the men on the shitik’s deck, the natives began shouting in some unintelligible language and moving about, waving spears and bows and arrows over their heads. About the same time, Luka caught the sound of beating drums. It ran up his back, bristling the hairs on his neck.
    “Where did they come from?” the man beside him wondered aloud.
    No one ventured a guess.