box; six feet square, during the frightful contortions and vibrations of the immense iron snake, was little less than a miracle.
At noon we were clear of the harbor, and as the sun went down, he gave us a last glimpse of the Bell of Quillota, and his tall companion, Tupongati. The wind was fair, we murmured that beautiful saline sentiment, "The ship that goes, the wind that blows, and lass that loves a sailor." I sighed adieu to Carmencita, ordered my valet of the bedchamber, Giacomo, to arrange my four poster of a hammock, and then in dreams forgot the past.
The fourth day out we passed near to a cluster of desolate, uninhabited islands—St. Ambrose and Felix—the first about two miles in length, and rising abruptly from the ocean, to the height of fifteen hundred feet. Numbers of queer-shaped, pointed, rocky islets, white with guano, were grouped along the base of the island, and through one was cut, by some action of the water, a well-defined arch, open to the sea, like a telescope.
Pursuing an undeviating track, with glorious seas, skies and winds, on the last day of the year we crossed the equator, in a longitude of 110°. During this period there were two deaths; one a good old man from Deutschland, named Jerry Wilson. On being asked an hour before he expired, how he felt—"First rate," said Jerry, and no doubt he is now, if not then. The other was a youth named Tildon, caused by a spasmodic affection of the throat, so as to prevent swallowing food, until he absolutely starved to death. He made his last plunge as the sun went down. The stately frigate, careless of all, went flying with wide-stretched pinions, towards her destination, at a speed of Jack the Giant-killer's boots. On the 20th of January, land ho! Alta California! For forty-eight hours, we sailed lightly along the base of a compact ridge of mountains that rose like a sea wall, seamed into ten thousand furrows, the summits fringed with lofty forest trees, and not a cloud visible in high heaven, then appeared a green, shelving point, of waving pines and verdure, terminated by a reef of fearful, black rocks. Giving this a wide birth, we shortly entered a wide, sweeping indentation of the coast, in shape of a fish hook, with the barb at the southern end, furled our sails, and moored ship in the Bay of Monterey, forty days from Valparaiso.
CHAPTER VII.
Before resuming the thread of this narrative, it may be as well to give a brief summary of events that had transpired previously to our arrival.
Pending disturbances between the United States and Mexico, when the quarrel had not reached an open rupture, much excitement prevailed in Upper California, through the agency of a few foreigners, who wished to revolutionize the country. At this epoch, Mr. Fremont, of the U. S. Topographical Engineers, was in the heart of California, engaged upon scientific explorations, ostensibly in relation to the practicability of the best route for emigration to Oregon. There is reason to believe, also, that he was instructed to feel the geographical pulse of the natives, as well as the mountain passes. Be this as it may, Mr. Fremont was encamped near Monterey, with sixty followers, when José Castro, a Mexican officer in command of the province, issued a proclamation, ordering Fremont to leave the territory immediately, and at the same time threatened to drive every foreigner away also. Fremont and his party, after holding Castro's bombast in contempt, and his troops at bay, at last began to march, quite leisurely, towards the northern route for Oregon: these occurrences happened early in the spring of 1846. On the 13th of June the first movement began, on the river Sacramento, near Sutler's Fort, and one of the tributaries to the head waters of San Francisco. This attack was composed of a few lawless vagabonds, who, carrying a banner of white, with a red border and grizzly bear, styled themselves the "Bear Party:" they were of all nations, though claiming citizenship in the United States. After stealing a drove of horses, belonging to the Californians, their numbers were increased by other marauding gentry to forty, when moving rapidly around the northern shores of the Bay of San Pablo, they surprised and captured the little garrison of Sonoma, under charge of General Guadalupe Valléjo. Then they committed excesses, without the slightest recognized authority, but purely, it appears, from love of a little independent fighting and thieving on their own private accounts. Meanwhile a large naval force had been hovering on the Mexican coast for a year previously, awaiting the first blow to be dealt on the other side. Intelligence of the battles on the Rio Grande reached Mazatlan in June, and Commodore Sloat, who was there at the time, sailed for Monterey with the squadron, arrived in July, and on the 7th hoisted the American flag, and took formal and legitimate possession of the territory. The same course was pursued at San Francisco. A week afterwards the frigate Congress arrived, and Sloat, transferring his pennant to Commodore Stockton, returned home. The new Commander-in-Chief then sailed for San Pedro, three hundred miles down the coast; where disembarking a force of three hundred seamen and marines, he marched towards the capital of Upper California, Pueblo de los Angeles, a town some thirty miles inland. On the route, he found a body of five hundred men, under Pico, and Castro, the military governor of the territory. The Californians broke up their camp and dispersed, before getting a glance of the sailors' bayonets. Stockton occupied Los Angeles, received the submission of the native authorities and citizens, placed a small garrison, returned to San Pedro, where he re-embarked for San Francisco; in the interim the settlements of the valleys of Santa Clara and Sonoma were occupied by American forces.
Fremont overtaken on his way through Oregon by Lieut. Gillespie, retraced his steps to California, and learning the U. S. flag had been hoisted in Monterey, proceeded with a battalion of settlers to the lower country, where they were duly enrolled. At San Francisco news reached Stockton that the natives, six hundred strong, had risen after his departure. The Savannah sailed to aid the small garrison, which, however, had been obliged to capitulate, and Captain Mervine, with three hundred men, was beaten by a much smaller force.
The Commodore sailed again in the beginning of November, and landed at San Diego with about 500 men. While at this place, General Kearny with 100 dragoons arrived from a toilsome march of nearly three months from Santa Fé. At the Pass of San Pascual, he fell in with a Californian force under Andreas Pico, and after a severe skirmish, beat them off, though with great loss to himself—eighteen of his saddles were emptied, including three officers, and as many more badly wounded. Forming a junction with Commodore Stockton, they left San Diego for San Angelos. After a toilsome march of 150 miles, through a broken and mountainous country, on the 8th and 9th of January, their passage was opposed by Governor Pico and Castro, at the river San Gabriel and plains of La Mesa, heading a body of 500 cavalry and four field guns; after an obstinate resistance, the Californians were put to flight. Subsequently, they fell back upon Colonel Fremont, who, with the volunteers, were en route to unite with the naval forces from San Siego. The Californian leaders again capitulated and signed an armistice. This was the position of affairs on our arrival at Monterey—a few days later General Kearny arrived, after his difficulties with Commodore Stockton and Fremont, in relation to the governorship of the territory.
The news we received was by no means inspiriting, nor even the perspective view of matters becoming better. Among minor details, the wreck of the schooner Shark, at Columbia river—the drowning of a launch load of sailors and two officers, in San Francisco, and a host of more trivial misfortunes. The vessels of the squadron were dispersed up and down the coast, necessarily scattering men and officers at different posts, for the purpose of retaining and subjugating the country; but of course rendering the ships generally inefficient, from the great diminution of their complements. The natives had been confounded and bewildered by speeches and proclamations—relays of fresh commanders-in-chief, who, amid their own official bickerings, never ceased forming new governments, organizing armies, appointing officers, civil and military—but what served in a great degree to urge matters to a crisis, was the banding together of a few mongrel bodies of volunteers, who enhanced the pleasure of their otherwise agreeable society, by pillaging the natives of horses, cattle, saddles, household utensils, and the like, in quite a maraudering, buccaneering, independent way; all of course under the apparent legal sanction of the United States' government, and not a doubt but demanded by the imperative necessity of their patriotic plunderers themselves. The result was easily foretold. These miserable Californians, who at first were not averse to subscribe to our laws, and to come under the flag peacefully and properly, were soon screwed up to such a maze of fear, uncertainty,