Suddenly men began to emerge from the trees into view. The first were promyshleniki, at least a dozen. Skilled woodsmen these, and dangerous fighting men. Quickly, Jean passed the word along to the Tlingits to select these targets first. In the forest they would be dangerous antagonists. The promyshleniki were an advance party and now they waited the approach of the men from the Lena’s crew. Then, quite suddenly there was a dull boom of a cannon, their own gun. The Tlingits took the signal as one to fire, and squeezed off as one man. His own shot was only an instant behind theirs. Four of the promyshleniki dropped and one seaman, but Katlecht’s men were firing, too. The Russians dissolved into the woods but not before LaBarge wounded another man with a shot from his turret rifle. Instantly the Russians began a hot and determined return fire.
The Tlingits were eager to attack, but Jean ordered them to fall back on the gun’s position. As they started to retreat, the cannon boomed again and then there was the tremendous crash of a broadside from the Lena. The shells were high, and whistled through the forest, cutting off limbs and sending down a shower of leaves.
A Tlingit near Jean, a man with a scarred face and a lean, hard body, was doing yeoman work with his rifle. As Jean watched he saw the Indian fire at what seemed to be a wall of brush and a promyshleniki fell face forward from the trees, hit the ground. He started to rise, but the scarred Tlingit nailed him to the earth with a shot through the top of the skull. Then for a time there was silence. The Tlingits needed no advice when it came to woods fighting, and his own Indians scattered out and took good positions where they could cover every approach to the gun. Jean slipped back to lower ground and ran, crouching as he moved, to the gun position. Lying flat he looked over the crest of a knoll to see the Lena, at least four hundred yards off, swung broadside across the inlet. From her position the portage was not visible; the disappearance of the schooner must have come as a tremendous surprise. One shell from his own cannon had struck her foretop and dropped a spar to the deck. Even as he sighted the patrol ship another shell struck it and sheered away a piece of the bulwark, scattering fragments in every direction. There was a scream of anguish from the ship’s deck. The landing party were, by the sound of the small-arms fire, falling back under the carefully aimed shooting of the Tlingits, who were skilled woodsmen to a man. Of the ten or twelve promyshleniki in the landing party at least five were out of action, and it had become obvious to the others that they were marked targets. To men who fought purely for money this was not an especially happy thought.
The Lena was shelling the woods now, but most of the fire was directed at the shore position of the gun with a view toward knocking it out of action. The gun’s position, well behind the hummock with only her muzzle lifted over the top, was excellent.
Returning to the schooner Jean scrambled up the rope ladder that hung from her amidships bulwark and threw his weight behind a capstan bar. Slowly, under the pull of the huge blocks, the schooner’s bow began to lift just as the bows of the river boats had lifted on the Missouri. As it lifted it moved forward, drawn toward the shears. Inch by inch, foot by foot it crept forward, then was dropped to the skid.
Holes had been dug for a new position and swiftly the big poles were transferred, and the men went to work to rig the grasshoppering at the new position. Glancing back down the portage, Jean knew their time was short. Sweat stood out on his brow despite the coolness of the day. If the Lena moved up to the head of the inlet she would have the Susquehanna at point-blank range and entirely without protection.
“Grease your skids, Barney. This hop should put it over the hump.” Moving swiftly, LaBarge gathered his crew and sent them to the schooner. He found Katlecht lying in the brush, his rifle tucked against his cheek. “You come with us? We must go now.”
Katlecht shook his head. “We go mountains. All move now so they find nobody.” Jean gathered those of the crew who were not busy on deck and they moved down the portage ready to repel any attempted landing at that point. Under cover of brush near the end of the portage they watched the patrol ship and waited. Behind them they could hear the creak of the blocks and the complaining of the heavy lines as they took the strain.
The Lena, now that no more shells had been fired, was heading toward the head of the inlet. A man in uniform moved near the.rail and Jean laid his rifle over a fallen log and took careful aim. He drew a long breath, then let it out easily, his finger tightening on the trigger. The rifle sprang in his hands, and the report laid a lash of sound across the suddenly silent morning. The man on the deck jerked, grabbed the rigging to hold himself erect, then slowly slid from sight.
Immediately, all the crew opened fire on the Lena. The man at the wheel, caught in the fire of several rifles, was knocked back and then he fell forward to the deck, the wheel spinning. Another man sprang to the wheel but the Lena yawed sharply just as she let go a broadside and the shells were wasted in empty forest.
Behind them there was a hail from Kohl, and Jean sprang to his feet. “On the double!” he yelled. “Move it!”
One man only lay still, and LaBarge ducked to his side. It was Larsen; the big Swede’s shirt under his jacket was soaked with blood. He looked up at Jean. “It was a good fight.”
Jean looked down into the usually florid features of the Swede. “You made every voyage with me, Lars. I’m taking you along on this one.” “You run … they soon come.”
LaBarge looked up, hastily taking in the situation. He could hear the boatfalls on the Lena, which meant a landing party and immediate attack. He bent to lift the Swede and saw that he was dead.
An instant he stared at the dead sailor, and then at a shout from the schooner he was up and running. As he came abreast, the men working at the shears, lowering away, allowed the ropes to slip and the shears fell, the V astride of the skids. Even as it happened, the schooner groaned and creaked as she started to slide down the ways.
The men sprang away, frightened. An instant and all hung in the balance. If the schooner struck the shears it would be thrown on its side or the runway torn and the ship would slide off into the ground.
LaBarge glimpsed it all as he ran. Dropping his rifle he grabbed an ax from the nearest man and with a leap sprang astride the skid. Swinging the ax with all his great strength he struck the wire rope that bound the two poles of the shears together. As the ax struck he heard a shout of warning. The runway creaked as it took the schooner’s weight, now only a few feet away and gaining momentum. He swung the ax again and again. Somewhere abaft the ship he heard shooting. The bow loomed above him. The ax fell for the last time and the wires parted. He fell rather than sprang aside and dropping the ax, stumbled to pick up his fallen rifle.
The last of the crew was running beside the dangling rope ladder. Scattered in a skirmish line, running toward them, were Zinnovy and his landing party. From the schooner’s deck a sporadic fire began. The schooner eased forward, moving at a speed just faster than a walk. The log of the shears was pushed easily aside and fell off the skid to the ground. Jean took a shot at the advancing men, and sprang for the rope ladder. He caught it and started to climb, pausing halfway to lay his rifle across his forearm and fire. He gripped the ladder with his left hand more tightly, leveled the rifle again, felt a smashing blow in his side, then fired.
He felt suddenly weak. He grabbed a rung higher and pulled himself up. Hands that seemed desperately far away reached for him. Now the schooner was moving fast. He gathered his strength and pulled himself a rung higher. Somebody caught at his rifle, to which he had clung, held insecurely in front of his body. The hands grabbed at him, caught his sleeve and pulled. Above him the sun was shining, and then it faded out and he heard rifle fire mingled with a sound as of rushing water. He felt himself lowered to the deck, and then he remembered nothing at all for a long time.