All the ships had been cleaned of the marine growth which prevented them from sailing at their best speed, and on each a fair share of other work had been done. Captain Porter had given out that the name of the bay was to be "Massachusetts" instead of Nukuheva; but otherwise than that, and the fact that we had grown fast friends with the natives, particularly the girls and young fellows, all was as when we first arrived. Then came the day when we found that our commander meant all he promised, so far as taking a hand in the war was concerned. The Typees, having danced and shaken their clubs without being disturbed, probably came to believe that we wouldn't attempt to do them any harm if they cut capers with the Happars, so they began operations by coming into the valley one dark night, tearing down houses, trampling over gardens, and killing bread-fruit trees. The scoundrels did a big lot of mischief, and having grown bolder by action, even had the cheek to send a messenger to Captain Porter with the announcement that he was a coward who didn't dare come on the mountains. Master Hackett was near by when the Typee boy arrived, and heard Mr. Maury translate the message. This is the old sailor's story:-- "The captain kept his face straight when the lad begun, and then Mr. Maury tried to back down from repeatin' all that was said; but our commander wouldn't have any such sneakin' as that. 'Repeat every word, sir!' he cried, an' the little midshipman went at it lookin' as if he counted on bein' kicked after it was finished. When all was said, the captain sent his message back, which was this: 'Tell him who sent you that I will be on the mountain before the sun has risen three times, an' then it will be seen which of us is the coward.' The boy went off, though some of the Happars claimed he ought 'er be killed jest for the sake of keepin' their hand in at such work; an' I reckon we'll know mighty soon what it's like to be standin' up against a lot of niggers with nothin' but a musket an' a cutlass to help out." The island war was to be begun, and I felt very uncomfortable in the region of my spine, for there was good reason to believe I would soon succeed in proving myself an arrant coward. FOOTNOTE: [1] Herman Melville. CHAPTER IX. AN OLD ENEMY. Phil and I were not the only ones who felt disturbed in mind by the knowledge that within a few hours we should be waging war against the natives. Many an old shellback shook his head ominously on hearing of the message sent by Captain Porter, and more than one predicted that the "luck of the _Essex_" would desert her immediately we began to "fool 'round on shore, sticking our noses into other people's business." It was not for a couple of lads like Phil and me to criticise the movements of our commander, and yet we did venture to do so when certain there was no one within earshot to repeat our words where trouble might be brewed for us.