On the 18th August, a party landed on the coast of New Guinea, and paid a friendly visit to some of the Papuans who had been off to the ship, and found them less fierce and distrustful than those of the islands.  Some of them thought the muskets were water-vessels, and others were afraid of a knife:  it was too sharp.  They are excellent mimics; and one of them imitated the English drummer so cleverly on an old tin-can, as to excite roars of laughter among all who witnessed the performance.  Some of their dances are extraordinary, more resembling a fencing-match than movements of the light fantastic toe; and the following description of a dance after nightfall is curious:—­’On seeing a number of lights along the beach, we at first thought they proceeded from a fishing-party, but on looking through a night-glass, the group was seen to consist of above a dozen people, each carrying a blazing torch, and going through the movements of a dance.  At one time, they extended rapidly into line; at another, closed, dividing into two parties, advancing and retreating, crossing and recrossing, and mixing up with each other.  This continued for half an hour; and having apparently been got up for our amusement, a rocket was sent up for theirs, and a blue-light burned; but the dancing had ceased, and the lights disappeared.’

On the 1st October, the Rattlesnake was again at Cape York.  About the middle of the month, an incident occurred which relieved the dulness of a period of inactivity—­the discovery and rescue of a white woman, who had been for some time a prisoner among the natives.  We shall abridge Mr Macgillivray’s narrative of her story.  Her name is Barbara Thomson; she was born at Aberdeen, and emigrated to New South Wales with her parents.  About four and a half years prior to the event, she had accompanied her husband in a small cutter, to try to save some part of the cargo of a whaler that had been wrecked on the Bampton shoal.  The pilot missed his route, two of the crew were drowned by accident, another was left on a desert island, and at last the little vessel, caught by a gale in Torres Strait, struck upon a reef on Prince of Wales Island.  The only two men left on board were drowned in attempting to swim to shore; but the woman was saved by a party of natives, one of whom, Boroto by name, forced her to live with him as his wife, in which position she for a time was exposed to much cruelty, owing to the jealousy of the women of the tribe.  She eventually was saved from persecution by a singular belief prevalent among the natives—­that white people are the ghosts of departed aborigines—­one of the principal among the blacks having persuaded himself that he had found in her his long-lost daughter, after whom Barbara was named Giom.  The head-quarters of the tribe were on an island, and the captive frequently saw vessels pass on their way to Torres Strait, but without any opportunity of making her case known.  She had heard of the first arrival of the Rattlesnake