from the Savile Club to this; I sleep with a man from Pennsylvania who has been in the Navy Yard, and mess with him and the Missouri bird already alluded to.  We have a tin wash-bowl among four, I wear nothing but a shirt and a pair of trousers and never button my shirt.  When I land for a meal, I pass my coat and feel dressed.  This life is to last until Friday, Saturday or Sunday next.  It is a strange affair to be an emigrant, as I hope you shall see in a future work.  I wonder if this will be legible; my present station on the wagon roof, though airy, compared to the cars, is both dirty and insecure.  I can see the track straight before and straight behind me to either horizon....

“Our journey is through ghostly deserts, sage brush and alkali, and rocks without form or color, a sad corner of the world.  I confess I am not jolly, but mighty calm, in my distresses.  My illness is a subject of great mirth to some of my fellow travellers, and I smile rather sickly at their jests.

“We are going along Bitter Creek just now, a place infamous in the history of emigration, a place I shall remember myself among the blackest.—­R.L.S.”

When California was finally reached he decided to rest and recover strength by camping out for a few days in the Coast Range Mountains beyond Monterey, but the anxiety and strain of the long journey had been greater than he realized, and he broke down and became very ill.  For two nights he lay out under the trees in a kind of stupor and at length was rescued by two frontiersmen in charge of a goat-ranch, who took him to their cabin and cared for him until he partly recovered.

“Here is another curious start in my life,” he wrote to Sidney Colvin.  “I am living at an Angora goat-ranch, in the Coast Line Mountains, eighteen miles from Monterey.  I was camping out, but got so sick that the two rancheros took me in and tended me.  One is an old bear hunter, seventy-two years old, and a captain from the Mexican War; the other a pilgrim, and one who was out with the bear flag and under Fremont when California was taken by the States.  They are both true frontiersmen, and most kind and pleasant.  Captain Smith, the bear hunter, is my physician, and I obey him like an oracle....

“I am now lying in an upper chamber, with the clinking of goat bells in my ears, which proves to me that the goats are come home and it will soon be time to eat.  The old bear hunter is doubtless now infusing tea; and Tom the Indian will come in with his gun in a few moments....

“The business of my life stands pretty nigh still.  I work at my notes of the voyage.  It will not be very like a book of mine; but perhaps none the less successful for that.  I will not deny that I feel lonely to-day....  I have not yet had a word from England, partly, I suppose, because I have not yet written for my letters to New York; do not blame me for this neglect, if you knew all I have been through, you would wonder I had done as much as I have.  I teach the ranch children reading in the morning, for the mother is from home sick.