one man. Old Tsosieten was of another
caste. His day of greatness was before the
advent of the whites, and his warfare was
wholly directed against the neighbouring
aboriginal tribes. The hey-day of his
grandeur was nearly past before I knew
him, but in old times his prowess in war
was sung along the coast for many a league,
and still lives in the memory of the
neighbouring tribes whose terror he was. His
hereditary rank was only war chief of Taitka,
but so steady was he in extending his
conquests, that before long the whole coast
paid tribute to him, and he really did not
know his wealth in slaves and blankets.
The Hudson's Bay Company—the only
civilised power at that period—did not care
to interfere with this powerful customer of
theirs, and coast traders found it to their
interest to ally themselves with him by
espousing his handsome daughters. Like
some other great men, Tsosieten was not
deficient in vanity, and courted applause in
a curious way. Sometimes he would buy
slaves from distant tribes—the more
distant the better—give them canoes and
provisions, and send them off to their homes.
Then, everybody would gather around
them and eagerly ask, "Who bought you
and set you free?" "Oh, Tsosieten bought
me and set me free!" Then great was the
name of Tsosieten. So wealthy and powerful
did he get by-and-bye, that he sailed as far
north as Sitka, in Russian-America, and
bought a number of guns from the Imperial
Fur Company, which he mounted on the
bastions of a fort which he built on an
island, in imitation of the Hudson's Bay
Company's posts. Within this enclosure
was the village of his own particular
retainers; and here in piping times of peace
he lived in state. Blind, helpless, and
last of his name, he remained in his ruined
fort, with only the recollection of his
former greatness to console him.

"They all call themselves chiefs now-a-days,"
he said, bitterly, to me the last time
I saw him. "I am the only chief!"

Tsosieten even in his own day had his
rival among his people, and for long years
the thought made his life bitter. This
was Tsohailum, chief of Quamichan.
Tsohailum was a slave's son. Gradually the boy
distinguished himself, and was allowed to
join Tsosieten's great war parties, where he
did such doughty deeds, that on the death of
the chief of Quamichan, the tribe elected him
in his stead—the heir being but a sickly
boy. Tsohailum was never seen to smile,
and carried a huge knife in his breast day
and night. So afraid was he of treachery
that he never slept in the same part of his
lodge two nights in succession, and would
often get up and lie down in another part,
afraid of the midnight assassin. He grew
so powerful that when he wanted a wife
he didn't go begging like common people,
but sent an envoy, and he was rarely
unsuccessful, for all men feared Tsohailum,
and were anxious to get connected with
him. If a refusal did come war was
declared. Many stories are still told of his
daring. Once when visiting some of his
relations on the British Columbian shore,
there was much talk of the bravery of
his rivals, the Nuchaltaws, of whom he
affected to speak lightly. His brothers-in-law
rather sneered at him, until at last to
show his daring he offered to cross with a
single companion in a little canoe to the
Nuchaltaw village in broad daylight, and
bring back a head or die. The offer was
accepted, and after paddling for half a day
they approached the village. Nobody
appeared about except two men on the beach,
who ran to the lodge for arms, scared at
the sight of strange warriors. Tsohailum
followed and soon brought one down, and
seizing his other musket he shot the other
just at his lodge door. In a trice their
heads were cut off, and Tsohailum back to
his canoe, before the affrighted village
could recover from its surprise. Shouting
his dreaded name, he and his companion
sprang to their paddles and shot out of
sight. Pursuit was soon given, but in vain,
and before night the daring pair regained
their village in triumph.

On one occasion he went to attack the
Classet village, near Cape Flattery. It was
dark when they arrived, and nobody was
about. Tsohailum, tired of waiting for a
head (for he had only one canoe), against
the remonstrances of his people climbed on
to the flat roof of one of the lodges, pushed
the boards aside, and dropped in among
his sleeping enemies. Listening for the
breathing, he approached and severed a
head, and escaped out as he had entered,
just as the village was alarmed and the
men poured out in affright. Men still talk
of the feast which Tsohailum gave when he
built his great lodge, and erected the huge
pillars—the greatest ever seen. They are
still standing. His poor old father—once
a slave—stood by and looked on, half in pride,
half in amazement, at the wondrous change
of fortune he had encountered. "Now," said
Tsohailum to him, "I am a great man just
now, and so are you; but some day or
other I will get killed, and then you will
be nobody. Better let me kill you! Then