From early dawn wild excitement had prevailed in the great native village on the shores of Port Lele, and on board two ships which were anchored on the placid waters of the land-locked harbour. As the fleecy, cloud-like mist which, during the night, had enveloped the forest-clad spurs and summit of Mont Buache, was dispelled by the first airs of the awakened trade wind and the yellow shafts of sunrise, a fleet or canoes crowded with natives put off from the sandy beach in front of the king's house, and paddled swiftly over towards the ships, the captains of which only awaited their arrival to weigh and tow out through the passage.
As the mist lifted, Cayse, the master of the Iroquois of Sagharbour, stepped briskly up on the poop, and hailed the skipper of the other vessel, a small, yellow-painted barque of less than two hundred tons.
"Are you ready, Captain Ross?"
"All ready," was the answer; "only waiting for the military," and then followed a hoarse laugh.
Cayse, a little, grizzled, and leathern-faced man of fifty, replied by an angry snarl, then turned to his mate, who stood beside him awaiting his orders.
"Get these natives settled down as quickly as possible, Mr. North, then start to heave-up and loose sails. I reckon we'll tow out in an hour. The king will be here presently in his own boat. Hoist it aboard."
North nodded in silence, and was just moving on to the main deck, when Cayse stopped him.
"You don't seem too ragin' pleased this mornin', Mr. North, over this business. Naow, as I told you yesterday, I admire your feelin's on the subject, but I can't afford—"
The mate's eyes blazed with anger.
"And I tell you again that I won't have anything to do with it. I know my duty, and mean to stick to it. I shipped for a whaling voyage, and not to help savages to fight. Take my advice and give it up. Money got in this way will do you no good."