I could see no town in San Diego, but a beautiful harbor, and some poor looking mustard wigwams some way off seemed to contain the good people of that place.

A boat with a small crew pulled out and came alongside to get the mail and deliver theirs, and then we turned to sea again.  The country all around this beautiful little harbor looked mountainous and extremely barren, and no one wanted to go on shore.

About dark we had made sufficient offing and turned northward, plowing through large fields of kelp.  The next morning the forward watch announced land ahead, which could dimly be seen as the fog rose.  The officers rushed on deck and could see not far ahead a sandy beach, and a moment more showed that we were headed directly for it, and that it was not more than a quarter of a mile away.  Quickly the helmsman was given orders to steer almost west instead of the north course he had been following.  He was asked why he kept on his north course when he saw danger ahead, and answered:—­“It is my business to steer according to orders, even if the ship goes ashore, and I can not change course unless ordered to.”  The Captain now examined his chart and decided he was in San Pedro harbor, off Los Angeles.

The sun came out bright and clear a little later, and I got McCloud out of his bed and gave him a seat at the ship’s side where he could see the green grassy hills near the beach, and larger hills and mountains farther back.  We could see cattle feeding in the nearest pastures, and the whole scene was a pleasant one; and as we sat on the eastern side of the ship and snuffed the cool breeze which came from the north, we thought we were comparatively happy people, and hoped that, if no accident befell, we would soon be at the end of our voyage.

On the seventh day of July, 1851, we entered the Golden Gate, this being my second arrival in California.  On our trip from Panama seven or more had died and been buried at sea, but the remainder of us were quite safe and sound.  We found the heart of the city still smoking, for a fire had broken out on July fourth and burned extensively, and these broad, blackened ruins were the result.  Some said the work had been done by the Sidney “ducks” and their numerous helpers, who were really the rulers of the city.  The place now looked much worse than it did when I left in November before.  These Sidney “ducks” were English convicts from Australia, and other thieves and robbers joined them as agreeable companion, making a large class that seemed to glory in destruction and a chance for booty.

I walked around over the hills where I could see the burned district and the destruction of so much valuable property, and when I thought the civil law was not strong enough to govern, it seemed to me it would be a good place for such men as the Helms brothers of Georgetown to come down and do a little hanging business, for they could here find plenty to do, and they could carry out their plan of letting no guilty man escape.