was over he descended the long
flight of steps leading from the Commandant's quarters and strode across
the parade ground with the dignity becoming to the hereditary chief of
the Chilkats, the proudest kwan of the Thlingits. For some reason he
crossed the part reserved for officers, was challenged by the sentry,
and, not heeding, when he reached the stockade gate was kicked by the
sentry stationed there. He was furious.

"Me, Colcheka, Chief of the Chilkats, kicked!"

He turned in a rage, seized the musket of the sentry, wrenched it from
his hands, then carried it to his house in the Ranche.

The guard was turned out for his arrest and a skirmish ensued in which
the guard was worsted and retreated to the barracks. The Sitkas were
neutral. The Chilkats were too few in number to fight the troops, so
next day Colcheka surrendered, was kept in the guardhouse for a few days
and then released.

Meantime orders that no Indians be permitted to leave the Ranche were
issued which were revoked upon Colcheka's surrender. Through some
mistake in revoking the orders the sentries were not notified. A canoe
load of Indians left the Ranche to get wood. The sentries fired on the
canoe and killed two of the occupants, a Chilkat and a Kake. It was an
unfortunate mistake. Those shots rang from Lynn Canal to Kuiu Island and
the echoes vibrated for more than twenty years. By listening intently
one might yet hear the vibrations. Two white men died and three Indian
villages burned directly as a result, but it happened in places distant
from Sitka, and, as they say, it is another story.

On a June day of 1877 the troops of the United States army embarked on a
ship for the States and sailed away from Sitka. The buildings and
property were left in charge of the Collector of Customs, who, with the
Postmaster, constituted the only officials in the Territory. The
presence of the military had guaranteed safety from attack by the
Indians to the people of the town, and the officers had been a pleasant
addition to the social life; with their departure both were lost.

The animosity of the Thlingits had been kindled by many wrongs, some
real and others fancied. They saw in the new order of things an
opportunity to recompense themselves for past grievances. All the old
stories of the killing of their countrymen by the troops, the burning of
old Kake and other villages, the loss of five Keeksitties, in the
Schooner "San Diego" in Bering Sea and other