About seven in the evening we anchored in seven fathom, a little within the south entrance of the bay: to this place we were accompanied by several canoes and people like those we had seen last, and for some time they behaved very civilly. While they were hovering about us, a bird was shot from the ship, as it was swimming upon the water: at this they showed less surprise than we expected, and taking up the bird, they tied it to a fishing line that was towing astern; as an acknowledgment for this favour, we gave them a piece of cloth: but notwithstanding this effect of our fire-arms, and this interchange of civilities, as soon as it grew dark, they sung their war-song, and attempted to tow away the buoy of the anchor. Two or three muskets were then fired over them, but this seemed rather to make them angry than afraid, and they went away, threatening that to-morrow they would return with more force, and be the death of us all; at the same time sending off a boat, which they told us was going to another part of the bay for assistance. There was some appearance of generosity, as well as courage, in acquainting us with the time when they intended to make their attack, but they forfeited all credit which this procured them, by coming secretly upon us in the night, when they certainly hoped to find us asleep: upon approaching the ship, they found themselves mistaken, and therefore retired without speaking a word, supposing that they were too early; after some time, they came a second time, and being again disappointed, they retired as silently as before.