After We Had Been Here Some Time, He Started Off
One Morning, In Fine Spirits, Well Dressed, To Carry The Clothes
Which He Had Been Making To The Pueblo, And Saying He Would Bring
Back His Money And Some Fresh Orders The Next Day.
The next day
came, and a week passed, and nearly a fortnight, when, one day,
going ashore, we saw a tall man, who looked like our friend the
tailor, getting out of the back of an Indian's cart, which had
just come down from the pueblo.
He stood for the house, but we bore
up after him; when finding that we were overhauling him, he hove-to
and spoke us. Such a sight I never saw before. Barefooted, with an
old pair of trowsers tied round his waist by a piece of green hide,
a soiled cotton shirt, and a torn Indian hat; "cleaned out," to the
last reál, and completely "used up." He confessed the whole matter;
acknowledged that he was on his back; and now he had a prospect of a
fit of the horrors for a week, and of being worse than useless for
months. This is a specimen of the life of half of the Americans
and English who are adrift over the whole of California. One of
the same stamp was Russell, who was master of the hide-house
at San Diego, while I was there, and afterwards turned away
for his misconduct. He spent his own money and nearly all
the stores among the half-bloods upon the beach, and being
turned away, went up to the Presidio, where he lived the life
of a desperate "loafer," until some rascally deed sent him off
"between two days," with men on horseback, dogs, and Indians in
full cry after him, among the hills.
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