His wife having died since we left the island, on our return we found all the chiefs living on his place. They feast every day. We called on our old friend Zegrah, who seemed very much pleased to see us, gave us a hearty welcome, and accompanied us to our “hotel,” where we regaled ourselves on fruit, fresh fish, etc. Upon mentioning the circumstances of the death of Mr. S. to him, he remarked, “Canker _bloody rascal_!” The next day, Tuesday, April 1st, we called upon Canker. We found him remarkably sociable, and his first question was, “Where Mr. Smith?” We told him he was dead; whereat he raised his hands with horror, and exclaimed, “How long ship sail, he die?” We told him “three days,” when he replied that he was very sorry, as Mr.S. was a good man. Now the scamp had been made acquainted with all these particulars before. We asked him if he had not heard of his death, and he replied “no,” but we knew he lied. After some farther conversation, he asked us, “What make Mr. S. die?” We told him plainly that he was poisoned, but said nothing of our suspicions as to the guilty person. He immediately commenced denying that he had poisoned him, and said, “Strong’s Island no got poison.” As no one had hinted or charged him with doing it, we regarded his denials as very suspicious. After remaining in deep thought, apparently, for some time, he again asked, “How long he been make sick, he die?” meaning, how long after he was taken sick before he died. We thought this suspicious also, as we had but just informed him that he died three days after the ship sailed, and we determined to try him on another tack, and see what he was driving at. We replied to him, therefore, “One week.” His countenance immediately brightened, as though a happy thought had suggested itself, and he said, “S’pose me make poison carva he drink, he no live _one_ day, he die too quick.” We asked him how he made poison carva. He replied that he put in the juice of a certain plant. We reminded him that he had said but a few moments before that “Strong’s Island no got poison.” This seemed to completely stagger him, and he appeared lost in deep study. We now left, well convinced that his highness, Mr. Canker, was a consummate villain, and that he had poisoned Mr. S. Our fourth mate, Mr. F., concluded to try his luck gunning one pleasant day on the large island. After climbing stone walls, rambling over mountains, and wading marshes, he thought, as game was scarce, he would take a short nap. He was hardly asleep before he felt some one about his person, and sprang to his feet just in time to see a Kanaka running off with his sheath-knife in his hand. He instantly raised his gun and fired at the black rascal, but his shot did not take effect; so the native only ran the faster, and got clear with the knife.