We had
lost overboard, on the passage, one of the best of our number,
another had been taken from us and appointed clerk, and thus
weakened and reduced, instead of shipping some hands to make
our work easier, he had put another officer over us, to watch
and drive us.
We had now four officers, and only six in the
forecastle. This was bringing her too much down by the stern
for our comfort.
Leaving Santa Barbara, we coasted along down, the country
appearing level or moderately uneven, and, for the most part, sandy
and treeless; until, doubling a high, sandy point, we let go our
anchor at a distance of three or three and a half miles from shore.
It was like a vessel, bound to Halifax, coming to anchor on the
Grand Banks; for the shore being low, appeared to be at a greater
distance than it actually was, and we thought we might as well
have staid at Santa Barbara, and sent our boat down for the hides.
The land was of a clayey consistency, and, as far as the eye could
reach, entirely bare of trees and even shrubs; and there was no
sign of a town, - not even a house to be seen. What brought us
into such a place, we could not conceive. No sooner had we come
to anchor, than the slip-rope, and the other preparations for
south-easters, were got ready; and there was reason enough for it,
for we lay exposed to every wind that could blow, except the north-west,
and that came over a flat country with a range of more than a
league of water. As soon as everything was snug on board, the
boat was lowered, and we pulled ashore, our new officer, who had
been several times in the port before, taking the place of steersman.
As we drew in, we found the tide low, and the rocks and stones,
covered with kelp and sea-weed, lying bare for the distance of
nearly an eighth of a mile. Picking our way barefooted over these,
we came to what is called the landing-place, at high-water mark.
The soil was as it appeared at first, loose and clayey, and except
the stalks of the mustard plant, there was no vegetation. Just in
front of the landing, and immediately over it, was a small hill,
which, from its being not more than thirty or forty feet high, we had
not perceived from our anchorage. Over this hill we saw three men
coming down, dressed partly like sailors and partly like Californians;
one of them having on a pair of untanned leather trowsers and a red
baize shirt. When they came down to us, we found that they were
Englishmen, and they told us that they had belonged to a small
Mexican brig which had been driven ashore here in a south-easter,
and now lived in a small house just over the hill. Going up
this hill with them, we saw, just behind it, a small, low building,
with one room, containing a fire-place, cooking apparatus, etc., and
the rest of it unfinished, and used as a place to store hides and
goods. This, they told us, was built by some traders in the Pueblo,
(a town about thirty miles in the interior, to which this was the
port,) and used by them as a storehouse, and also as a lodging place
when they came down to trade with the vessels. These three men
were employed by them to keep the house in order, and to look out
for the things stored in it. They said that they had been there
nearly a year; had nothing to do most of the time, living upon beef,
hard bread, and frijoles (a peculiar kind of bean very abundant in
California). The nearest house, they told us, was a Rancho,
or cattle-farm, about three miles off; and one of them went up,
at the request of our officer, to order a horse to be sent down,
with which the agent, who was on board, might go up to the Pueblo.
From one of them, who was an intelligent English sailor, I learned
a good deal, in a few minutes' conversation, about the place, its
trade, and the news from the southern ports. San Diego, he said,
was about eighty miles to the leeward of San Pedro; that they had
heard from there, by a Mexican who came up on horseback, that
the California had sailed for Boston, and that the Lagoda, which
had been in San Pedro only a few weeks before, was taking in her
cargo for Boston. The Ayacucho was also there, loading for Callao,
and the little Loriotte, which had run directly down from Monterey,
where we left her. San Diego, he told me, was a small, snug place,
having very little trade, but decidedly the best harbor on the coast,
being completely land-locked, and the water as smooth as a duck-pond.
This was the depot for all the vessels engaged in the trade; each one
having a large house there, built of rough boards, in which they
stowed their hides, as fast as they collected them in their trips
up and down the coast, and when they had procured a full cargo,
spent a few weeks there, taking it in, smoking ship, supplying
wood and water, and making other preparations for the voyage home.
The Lagoda was now about this business. When we should be about it,
was more than I could tell; two years, at least, I thought to myself.
I also learned, to my surprise, that the desolate-looking place we
were in was the best place on the whole coast for hides. It was the
only port for a distance of eighty miles, and about thirty miles in
the interior was a fine plane country, filled with herds of cattle,
in the centre of which was the Pueblo de los Angelos - the largest
town in California - and several of the wealthiest missions; to all
of which San Pedro was the sea-port.
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