“The warrior blood of the North will always conquer.  They are the stronger, bolder, more alert, more keen.  The snows and the ice of their country make swifter pulse than the sleepy suns of the South can awake in a man; their muscles are of sterner stuff, their endurance greater.  Yes, the northern tribes will always be victors.* But the craft and the strategy of the southern tribes are hard things to battle against.  While those of the North followed the medicine-men farther out to sea to make sure of their banishment, those from the South returned under cover of night and seized the women and children and the old, enfeebled men in their enemy’s camp, transported them all to the Island of Dead Men, and there held them as captives.  Their war-canoes circled the island like a fortification, through which drifted the sobs of the imprisoned women, the mutterings of the aged men, the wail of little children.

* Note.—­It would almost seem that the chief knew that wonderful poem of “The Khan’s,” “The Men of the Northern Zone,” wherein he says: 

  If ever a Northman lost a throne
  Did the conqueror come from the South? 
  Nay, the North shall ever be free ... etc.

“Again and again the men of the North assailed that circle of canoes, and again and again were repulsed.  The air was thick with poisoned arrows, the water stained with blood.  But day by day the circle of southern canoes grew thinner and thinner; the northern arrows were telling, and truer of aim.  Canoes drifted everywhere, empty, or, worse still, manned only by dead men.  The pick of the southern warriors had already fallen, when their greatest Tyee mounted a large rock on the eastern shore.  Brave and unmindful of a thousand weapons aimed at his heart, he uplifted his hand, palm outward—­the signal for conference.  Instantly every northern arrow was lowered, and every northern ear listened for his words.

“‘Oh! men of the upper coast,’ he said, ’you are more numerous than we are; your tribe is larger, your endurance greater.  We are growing hungry, we are growing less in numbers.  Our captives—­your women and children and old men—­have lessened, too, our stores of food.  If you refuse our terms we will yet fight to the finish.  To-morrow we will kill all our captives before your eyes, for we can feed them no longer, or you can have your wives, your mothers, your fathers, your children, by giving us for each and every one of them one of your best and bravest young warriors, who will consent to suffer death in their stead.  Speak!  You have your choice.’

“In the northern canoes scores and scores of young warriors leapt to their feet.  The air was filled with glad cries, with exultant shouts.  The whole world seemed to ring with the voices of those young men who called loudly, with glorious courage: 

“‘Take me, but give me back my old father.’

“‘Take me, but spare to my tribe my little sister.’