The Great Alone (25 page)

But the arrival of the second Cossack vessel created a concern among the leaders. They had learned they could defeat the Cossack with a combination of surprise and superior force. Now they were unsure of the number they would be facing in an attack. The sheeting rain had made it impossible to determine if the Cossacks on board had landed. Twice, men had been seen in a small boat near the beach.

Because of Walks Straight’s ability to speak and understand the Cossack tongue, he was chosen, along with Killer Whale, to visit the enemy encampment on a pretext of trade to assess their strength. Walks Straight carried the bundle of a half dozen sea otter pelts under his arm and, together with Killer Whale, set out from the temporary camp where the warriors had massed preparatory to the attack on the Cossacks. As was always the case, the women and children, including Tasha and her son, had been sent to a fortified village elsewhere on the island.

As they approached the camp, still out of musket range, Walks Straight heard the shout of the Cossack guard alerting the others to their presence. Several times in the past they’d made excuses to meet with the Cossacks, so this occasion would not seem unusual to them, Walks Straight knew. Continuing forward at the same pace, he observed the quickened activity in the camp and the sharpness with which the Cossacks scanned the other sides.

“We have come to trade!” Walks Straight called in their language and held up the bundle of pelts for the guard to see.

Motioning with his musket barrel, the Cossack gestured for them to come ahead. He waited until they were several steps past him, then fell in behind them while another man took his place. Walks Straight saw no unfamiliar faces among the men stationed outside as he and Killer Whale approached the hut. Solovey stood by the door, waiting for them.

Walks Straight halted a man’s length from him. “We have come to trade,” he repeated.

Solovey’s glance briefly dropped to the otter skins he carried, then lifted to the pair of them. “We will go inside out of this wind.” He pushed the door open and walked into the hut ahead of them.

All previous meetings had been held outside. Never before had they been allowed within the structure. Walks Straight moved quickly to take this opportunity to count the Cossacks inside and gauge the stoutness of the dwelling.

Conscious of so many eyes watching him with distrust, Walks Straight glanced swiftly around the long, dimly lit room, scanning the bearded faces turned toward him for that of a stranger. There was no unfamiliar face among the more than three score men in the room. The door was swung shut behind him, closing out the gray light of the rainy day. Walks Straight half turned, feeling trapped, then forced his muscles to relax as Solovey approached him.

“Show me what you have.” Solovey nodded at the skins tied in a bundle. When Walks Straight started to offer it to him, the Cossack shook his head. “You untie it.” Walks Straight knew Solovey was remembering the stories told him about the cutting of a Cossack’s throat while he was busy untying bundled furs. It gave him satisfaction to know Solovey felt this need for caution when he and Killer Whale were the only Aleuts in the camp.

After unfastening the leather string, Walks Straight laid the pelts on a nearby barrel and stepped back so Solovey could examine the skins. The dank room smelled strongly of tobacco and the peculiar odor of Cossack bodies. Muddy water dripped from the sod-thatched roof of the structure. Walks Straight listened to the whistling wind, using the sound it made to help him locate the board-covered slots along the shadowed walls through which muskets could be fired.

“These pelts are worth very little. Look at the scars,” Solovey stated.

Although he knew the skins were of inferior quality, Walks Straight argued with Solovey over their value so Killer Whale could have more time to study their enemy. “You should give me what I ask, Solovey. These pelts may be the only fur you will see. You are afraid to send your hunters after the sea otter.” He watched the Cossack redden at his taunt.

“You ask too much for them.”

“Where are the Cossacks from the other boat in the bay?” Walks Straight stacked the skins in a pile and wrapped the rawhide string around them. “Maybe they will be more willing to trade for them.”

“Go out to their boat and ask them.”

“Are none of them here?” Walks Straight studied the men in the room, this time making no attempt to conceal his interest. All of them he’d seen before or recognized from descriptions.

“No. Our quarters are barely large enough for ourselves.” Solovey tilted his head at an inquiring angle. “How many live together in your barabara?”

“Forty-two.” He picked up the furs and tucked them under his arm.

“Counting women and children?”

“Yes.” He heard voices coming from outside the hut and the sound of footsteps slogging through the mud approaching the door. Briefly, the daylight made a black silhouette of the man who entered, then he stepped through the opening and pushed the door shut. Suddenly Walks Straight saw the distinctive wings of white hair at the man’s temples and stiffened in shock. The blue eyes that stared back at him unmistakably belonged to Tolstykh. For so long Tasha had feared he would come here searching for them, but Walks Straight had never believed Tolstykh would look for them here.

The blood started to pound in his head. He had to get away and warn Tasha. Quickly he shifted his grip on the furs, then hurled the bundle at Tolstykh’s head, and bolted for the door. “Stop him!” Tolstykh shouted. Walks Straight managed to pull the door open just as someone grabbed him from behind. While he struggled to break loose, Killer Whale darted past him to freedom.

More arms closed around him, and Walks Straight strained under the weight of so many more hanging on him. Desperately he fought against them, even after he knew there was no hope of escaping. Finally he stopped struggling.

“Bind his hands.” Andrei looked on from the side, satisfied now that Tasha’s brother was well and truly caught. The search was almost over. He could nearly taste the moment of victory when he would reclaim his son. Andrei waited until the savage’s wrists were tied tightly behind his back, then issued an order to the promyshleniki surrounding the native: “Step away from him.”

After a momentary hesitation, they shifted to flank their prisoner. Andrei moved forward to confront him. “Where are they?” His demand was met with silent defiance. “You will tell me,” Andrei vowed.

A mud-splattered promyshlenik appeared at the doorway. “The other one got away,” he reported to Solovey. “He’s wounded. Should we go after him?”

“No,” Solovey said, looking at their prisoner. “This one will tell us all we need to know.”

“Put him in the boat,” Andrei ordered. “I’m taking him out to the
Andreian
.” Anticipating a protest from Solovey, he faced him. “This Aleut is my hostage. You are welcome to be present while I question him.”

For a moment, Solovey appeared to be on the verge of challenging him, then he thought better of it. Tolstykh was a wealthy merchant, wielding considerable power and influence in Siberia and sailing under an imperial ukase. Solovey grudgingly yielded.

Heavily guarded, the tall Aleut was led by a rope around his neck to the beached yawl from the
Andreian i Natalia.
Few words were spoken as the boat was launched and they set out across the sullen waters of the bay to the vessel anchored near the
Sv Petr i Sv Pavel.
There were few sounds beyond the occasional screech of a seabird and the rubbing of the oars in their fulcrums.

From his aft seat in the yawl, Andrei stared at the black head of Tasha’s Aleut brother sitting so erectly in front of him. His shoulders were pulled back by the rope binding his hands and wrists together behind his back, emphasizing the straightness of his posture. The pride and dignity in his bearing galled Andrei.

In all his dealings with the Aleuts, he’d been fair. Every time he recalled how concerned he had been about Tasha’s feelings, he became angry and bitter. What an old fool he’d been to think she cared for him. For too long he had forgotten that she was half savage. It was plain that she resented him, as all the Aleuts resented the Russians. Her brother had never masked his feelings. His very presence on Unalaska proved to Andrei that he was involved in fomenting this uprising by the natives.

Even if it weren’t for his son living somewhere on this island, Andrei would have remained at Unalaska to quell this revolt before it spread along the chain. No Russian, promyshlenik or merchant, considered abandoning any part of the archipelago to the control of the native population. Too many fortunes could be made in these waters to let ignorant savages stand in their way. They had conquered two continents and a half dozen races and had learned to silence local protests with the sword.

Once they were aboard the vessel, the interrogation began. Andrei concentrated his questioning on the size and strength of the resistance, the location of villages, their number of warriors, and the quantity of Russian firepower that had fallen into Aleut hands. The whereabouts of his son, he saved for later.

Not a single question was answered. A part of Andrei was glad Walks Straight had refused to talk—the part of him that was going to enjoy loosening Tasha’s brother’s tongue. He studied those flat black eyes for a moment, then smiled.

“You will tell me what I want to know. You will tell me
everything
I want to know,” Andrei murmured, then swung his attention to the flanking guards. “Strip him and tie him to the mast, then bring the knout.”

The knout was a deadly whip. Its dried and hardened thongs of rawhide were interwoven with sharp wires, hooked to tear the flesh of its victim. In Russia, it was an instrument of corporal punishment. Few survived a sentence of a hundred and twenty lashes.

The promyshleniki tied their naked prisoner to the forward mast, stretching his arms high above his head. His long, pale torso and wide, thickly muscled shoulders provided an unmarred surface to test the cruel efficiency of the Russian whip.

“Gag him,” Andrei instructed. “Sound carries a considerable distance over water. There is no need for his friends to hear his screams.”

When the kerchief was in place, Andrei signaled his Cossack officer to begin the flogging. At the first lash of the whip, the Aleut’s body jerked convulsively. The hardened thongs left crisscrossing streaks of red on the broad back. Blood ran from the furrows gouged in the skin. Again the Cossack brought the whip down hard, its many tails splaying across the shoulder muscles, its sharp hooks ripping open more flesh. Walks Straight writhed under it.

By the time a half dozen lashes were administered, his back was coated with blood. Andrei watched the way Tasha’s brother cringed close to the mast when he heard the faint whooshing sound of the knout slicing through the air before it struck him. His arm muscles bunched, his wrists strained against the knotted ropes that bound him in place. Then the flesh-shredding thongs landed, splattering blood and bits of skin. The kerchief gag choked off the scream, turning it into an inhuman groan.

Andrei’s attention was centered on that back, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the whip upon it. He watched the brutal knout come down again and again, the rawhide strips darkened with blood.

Then the body ceased to convulse in pain. Walks Straight slumped against the mast, his head lolling to the side, knees bent, the knotted ropes around his wrists holding his full weight while blood trickled down his arms where the ropes had rubbed his skin raw.

In sudden panic, Andrei realized Walks Straight was unconscious. He couldn’t remember how many strokes of the lash had been administered. A dozen? Twice that? He’d lost count. Swiftly he moved to grab the arm of the Cossack before he could bring the bloodied knout down again.

“If you have killed him, yours will be the next blood the knout tastes.” Andrei trembled with anger. The Cossack nervously retreated a step, the excited flush draining from his face.

“He lives,” Solovey announced after checking out the flogged native and then removing the dirty kerchief that gagged him.

“Water will revive him,” Andrei stated, masking his relief. He glared at the Cossack. “Fetch a pail.”

“Of sea water,” Solovey inserted, smiling with animal cunning.

Glancing at the raw, red flesh the whip had exposed, Andrei nodded slowly. “Yes, fill the pail with sea water.”

After the Cossack lowered the wooden bucket over the vessel’s side and filled it with the cold brine of the bay, he carried it over to the motionless body and heaved the contents onto the masticated flesh. A deep-throated groan of agony rent the air as the Aleut arched rigidly.

“Cut him down,” Andrei ordered.

Two promyshleniki from Solovey’s camp sliced the ropes that bound him to the mast. Another moan came from him as he sagged to his knees. Gripping his arms, the Russian hunters hauled him to his feet and dragged him around to face their leader, who had come to stand beside Andrei. But Walks Straight was only half conscious, his head hanging low, his chin nearly touching his chest.

Andrei grabbed a handful of black hair and pulled his head up so he could see the Aleut’s face. He gazed indifferently at the tears streaming from glazed eyes. “How many warriors are on this island?”

“Four”—he rasped hoarsely—“maybe five … hundred.”

“Where?” Andrei demanded.