25th December 1770. There was not, I believe, a man in the ship but gave his utmost aid to getting up the anchor, so completely tired was every one of the unhealthy air of this place. We had buried here eight people. In general, however, the crew were in rather better health than they had been a fortnight before.

While we were at work a man was missed, and as it was supposed that he did not intend to stay ashore, a boat was sent after him; its return delayed us so long that we entirely lost the sea breeze, and were obliged to come to again a few cables' lengths only from where we lay before.

1st January 1771. Worked all night, and to-day likewise: at night anchored under a high island, called in the draughts Cracatoa and by the Indians Pulo Racatta. I had been unaccountably troubled with mosquitos ever since we left Batavia, and still imagined that they increased instead of decreasing, although my opinion was universally thought improbable. To-day, however, the mystery was discovered, for on getting up water Dr. Solander, who happened to stand near the scuttle-cask, observed an infinite number of them in their water-state, which, as soon as the sun had a little effect upon the water, began to come out in real effective mosquitos incredibly fast.

2nd. We saw that there were many houses and much cultivation upon Cracatoa, so that probably a ship which chose to touch here in preference to Prince's Island might meet with refreshments.