About sunset we resumed our voyage.  The Wind having lulled, we attempted to stem the adverse tide by the use of oars, but the ebb of the tide was stronger than the propelling force of our oars.  Soon, in spite of all our exertions, we found ourselves drifting rapidly backwards, and, after two or three hours of hard labour in the dark, we were at last so fortunate as to effect a landing in a cove on the southern side of the straits, having retrograded several miles.  In the cove there is a small sandy beach, upon which the waves have drifted, and deposited a large quantity of oat-straw, and feathers shed by the millions of water-fowls which sport upon the bay.  On this downy deposit furnished by nature we spread our blankets, and slept soundly.

October 24.—­We proceeded on our voyage at daylight, coasting along the southern shore of the Soeson.  About nine o’clock we landed on a marshy plain, and cooked breakfast.  A range of mountains bounds this plain, the base of which is several miles from the shore of the bay.  These mountains, although of considerable elevation, exhibit signs of fertility to their summits.  On the plain, numerous herds of wild cattle were grazing.  About two o’clock, P.M., we entered the mouth of the Sacramento.  The Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers empty into the Bay of San Francisco at the same point, about sixty miles from the Pacific, and by numerous mouths or sloughs as they are here called.  These sloughs wind through an immense timbered swamp, and constitute a terraqueous labyrinth of such intricacy, that unskilful and inexperienced navigators have been lost for many days in it, and some, I have been told, have perished, never finding their way out.  A range of low sloping hills approach the Sacramento a short distance above its mouth, on the left-hand side as you ascend, and run parallel with the stream several miles.  The banks of the river, and several large islands which we passed during the day, are timbered with sycamore, oak, and a variety of smaller trees and shrubbery.  Numerous grape-vines, climbing over the trees, and loaded down with a small and very acid fruit, give to the forest a tangled appearance.  The islands of the Sacramento are all low, and subject to overflow in the spring of the year.  The soil of the river bottom, including the islands, is covered with rank vegetation, a certain evidence of its fertility.  The water, at this season, is perfectly limpid, and, although the tide ebbs and flows more than a hundred miles above the mouth of the river, it is fresh and sweet.  The channel of the Sacramento is remarkably free from snags and other obstructions to navigation.  A more beautiful and placid stream of water I never saw.

At twelve o’clock at night, the ebb-tide being so strong that we found ourselves drifting backwards, with some difficulty we effected a landing on one of the islands, clearing a way through the tangled brush and vines with our hatchets and knives.  Lighting a fire, we bivouacked until daylight.