my small stock of medicines, but they lingered on for some weeks, till on June
26th poor Jumaat died. He was about eighteen years of age, a native, I believe,
of Bouton, and a quiet lad, not very active, but doing his work pretty steadily,
and as well as he was able. As my men were all Mahometans, I let them bury
him in their own fashion, giving them some new cotton cloth for a shroud.
On July 6th the steamer returned from the eastward. The weather was still
terribly wet, when, according to rule, it should have been fine and dry. We had
scarcely anything to eat, and were all of us ill. Fevers, colds, and dysentery were
continually attacking us, and made me long I-o get away from New Guinea, as
much as ever I had longed to come there. The captain of the Etna paid me a visit,
and gave me a very interesting account of his trip. They had stayed at Humboldt
Bay several days, and found it a much more beautiful and more interesting place
than Dorey, as well as a better harbour. The natives were quite unsophisticated,
being rarely visited except by stray whalers, and they were superior to the Dorey
people, morally and physically. They went quite naked. Their houses were some
in the water and some inland, and were all neatly and well built; their fields were
well cultivated, and the paths to them kept clear and open, in which respects
Dorey is abominable. They were shy at first, and opposed the boats with hostile
demonstrations, beading their bows, and intimating that they would shoot if an
attempt was made to land. Very judiciously the captain gave way, but threw on
shore a few presents, and after two or three trials they were permitted to land,
and to go about and see the country, and were supplied with fruits and
vegetables. All communication was carried on with them by signs—the Dorey
interpreter, who accompanied the steamer, being unable to understand a word of
their language. No new birds or animals were obtained, but in their ornaments
the feathers of Paradise birds were seen, showing, as might be expected, that
these birds range far in this direction, and probably all over New Guinea.
It is curious that a rudimental love of art should co-exist with such a very low
state of civilization. The people of Dorey are great carvers and painters. The
outsides of the houses, wherever there is a plank, are covered with rude yet
characteristic figures. The high-peaked prows of their boats are ornamented with
masses of open filagree work, cut out of solid blocks of wood, and often of very
tasteful design, As a figurehead, or pinnacle, there is often a human figure, with
a head of cassowary feathers to imitate the Papuan "mop." The floats of their
fishing-lines, the wooden beaters used in tempering the clay for their pottery,
their tobacco-boxes, and other household articles, are covered with carving of
tasteful and often elegant design. Did we not already know that such taste and
skill are compatible with utter barbarism, we could hardly believe that the same