I did what I could for them with 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.