A party of us visited it, and, from a rather extraordinary sight we there beheld, it was called Turtle Point.
DEAD TURTLES ON THE SHORE.
Behind some very low scattered sandhills that form it, fronting a mangrove flat, we beheld great numbers of dead turtles, that seemed to have repaired thither of their own accord to die.

They were lying on their bellies, with their shells for the most part uninjured, though some were turned over, and showed other signs of visits from the natives.

A few skeletons of a large bustard* were also seen there, so that the place had quite the appearance of a cemetery, and reminded me of a spot on the River Gallegos in Patagonia, where the guanacos (a kind of llama) assemble to pay the debt of nature, and leave their bones to whiten the surface of the plain.

Never before, on any occasion, had we seen dead turtles in any similar position; how they could have got there was a mystery, unless we suppose them to have been thrown up by some earthquake wave.

They had evidently not been transported thither by the hand of man, though, as I have observed, some of the natives who thinly inhabit this district, finding them there, ready to their hand, had availed themselves of the gifts of fortune.