It was about nine in the morning. Old Terreeoboo--peace
lover and lazy--was just awake and only too willing to go aboard with
Cook as the easiest way out {204} of the trouble about the stolen boat.
But just here the high-handedness of Cook frustrated itself. That line
of small boats stretched across the harbor began firing at an escaping
canoe. A favorite chief was killed. Word of the killing came as the
old king was at the water's edge to follow Cook; and a wife caught him
by the arm to drag him back. Suddenly a throng of a thousand
surrounded the white men. Some one stabs at Phillips of the marines.
Phillips's musket comes down butt-end on the head of the assailant. A
spear is thrust in 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.
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