n Cook's very face. He fires blank shot. The
harmlessness of the shot only emboldens the savages. Women are seen
hurrying off to the hills; men don their war mats. There is a rush of
the white men to get positions along the water edge free for striking
room; of the savages to prevent the whites' escape. A stone hits Cook.
"What man did that?" thunders Cook; and he shoots the culprit dead.
Then the men in the boats lose their heads, and are pouring volleys of
musketry into the crowds.

"It is hopeless," mutters Cook to Phillips; but amid a shower of stones
above the whooping of the savages, he turns with his back to the crowd,
and shouts for the two small boats to cease firing and pull in for the
marines. His caution came too late.

His back is to his assailants. An arm reached out--a hand with a
dagger; and the dagger rips quick as a flash under Cook's
shoulder-blade. He fell without a groan, face in the water, and was
hacked to pieces {205} before the eyes of his men. Four marines had
already fallen. Phillips and Ledyard and the rest jumped into the sea
and swam for their lives. The small boats were twenty yards out.
Scarcely was Phillips in the nearest, when a wounded sailor, swimming
for refuge, fainted and sank to the bottom. Though half stunned from a
stone blow on his head and bleeding from a stab in the back, Phillips
leaped to the rescue, dived to bottom, caught the exhausted sailor by
the hair of the head and so snatched him into the boat. The dead and
the arms of the fugitives had been deserted in the wild scramble for
life.

[Illustration: The Death of Cook.]

Meanwhile the masts of the _Resolution_, guarded by {206} only six
marines, were exposed to the warriors of the other village at the
cocoanut grove. Protected by the guns of the two ships under the
direction of Clerke, who now became commander, masts and men were got
aboard by noon. At four that afternoon, Captain King rowed toward
shore for Cook's body. He was met by the little leprous priest Koah,
swimming halfway out. Though tears of sorrow were in Koah's
treacherous red-rimmed eyes as he begged that Clerke and King might
come ashore to parley. King judged it prudent to hold tightly on the
priest's spear handle while the two embraced.

Night after night for a week, the conch-shells blew their challenge of
defiance to the white men. Fires rallying to war danced on the
hillsides. Howls and shouts of derision echoed from the sh