outh of the Society
Islands called the Austral Islands, but it would take up too much time
to visit them, and so we shape a course for the Tonga or Friendly
Islands. Rumours have reached us that the people do not quite deserve
the character given of them by Captain Cook.

Steeling west, we again sight land. We stand in, and heave-to off the
coast. It is Savage Island, justly so-called by Captain Cook. Several
canoes, with uncouth, fierce-looking savages, come off to us, with
painted faces and long hair, even more brutal than those of Aitutaki.
Taro ascertains from them that another vessel with two masts has just
called there, but gone away,--undoubtedly the brig which carried off the
poor people from Raratonga, the unknown island. We may therefore
overtake her. A calm comes on,--the savages surround the vessel, and
contemplate an attack on us, it seems. The guns are loaded with
langrage, and Captain Fuller issues orders to prepare for our defence.
Their numbers increase. Taro warns us that they are about to commence
an assault on the vessel. He signs to them that they had better not
make the attempt; but by their gestures they show their contempt and
boldness. Again with loud shouts they come on, shooting their arrows,
and hurling darts, and spears, and stones.

"Depress the guns, and fire," cries Captain Fuller.

The order is obeyed. In an instant the sea is covered with the forms of
human beings, some swimming from their canoes cut in two, others having
jumped overboard through terror. The sea is red with the blood of those
wounded. The captain orders that the guns be again loaded. Shrieks,
and groans, and cries rise from the water. It is fear, I feel sure,
prevents the poor wretches moving. I wish that I might beg the captain
not again to fire; but he would not listen. He is about to lift his
hand when I see the topsails fill, and the vessel glides out from among
the crowd of canoes.

"Hold," cries the captain; "they have had enough of it."

Away we sail, following the setting sun. "A pretty day's work," I think
to myself, as I get into my berth. "Yet how is it to be avoided?"

I drop asleep. I know that I am asleep, and yet I fancy that I am
looking over the side of a vessel,--not the _Mary Rose_, though,--and I
see the ocean covered with the forms of men, their skins brown, and
white, and black, swimming towards all points of the compass. They swim
strongly and boldly; each on his head we