The inhabitants entertained us with a dance executed by nineteen young women and one man, all singing together, and in pretty good time.

An old man showed us the spot where Captain Cook was killed, on the 14th of February, 1779, with the cocoa-nut trees pierced by the balls from the boats which the unfortunate navigator commanded.

This old man, whether it were feigned or real sensibility, seemed extremely affected and even shed tears, in showing us these objects.

As for me, I could not help finding it a little singular to be thus, by mere chance, upon this spot, on the 14th of February, 1811; that is to say, thirty-two years after, on the anniversary of the catastrophe which has rendered it for ever celebrated.

I drew no sinister augury from the coincidence, however, and returned to the ship with my companions as gay as I left it.