honor and freedom, and under a sense of wrong.  It was soon over.  Nat gave in,—­ apparently not much hurt,—­ and never afterwards tried to act the bully over the boy.  We took George forward, washed him in the deck-tub, complimented his pluck, and from this time he became somebody on board, having fought himself into notice.  Mr. Brown’s plan had a good effect, for there was no more quarrelling among the boys for the rest of the voyage.

Wednesday, January 6th, 1836.  Set sail from Monterey, with a number of Mexicans as passengers, and shaped our course for Santa Barbara.  The Diana went out of the bay in company with us, but parted from us off Point Pinos, being bound to the Sandwich Islands.  We had a smacking breeze for several hours, and went along at a great rate until night, when it died away, as usual, and the land-breeze set in, which brought us upon a taut bowline.  Among our passengers was a young man who was a good representation of a decayed gentleman.  He reminded me much of some of the characters in Gil Blas.  He was of the aristocracy of the country, his family being of pure Spanish blood, and once of considerable importance in Mexico.  His father had been governor of the province, and, having amassed a large property, settled at San Diego, where he built a large house with a court-yard in front, kept a retinue of Indians, and set up for the grandee of that part of the country.  His son was sent to Mexico, where he received an education, and went into the first society of the capital.  Misfortune, extravagance, and the want of any manner of getting interest on money, soon ate the estate up, and Don Juan Bandini returned from Mexico accomplished, poor, and proud, and without any office or occupation, to lead the life of most young men of the better families,—­ dissipated and extravagant when the means are at hand; ambitious at heart, and impotent in act; often pinched for bread; keeping up an appearance of style, when their poverty is known to each half-naked Indian boy in the street, and standing in dread of every small trader and shopkeeper in the place.  He had a slight and elegant figure, moved gracefully, danced and waltzed beautifully, spoke good Castilian, with a pleasant and refined voice and accent, and had, throughout, the bearing of a man of birth and figure.  Yet here he was, with his passage given him (as I afterwards learned), for he had not the means of paying for it, and living upon the charity of our agent.  He was polite to every one, spoke to the sailors, and gave four reals—­ I dare say the last he had in his pocket—­ to the steward, who waited upon him.  I could not but feel a pity for him, especially when I saw him by the side of his fellow-passenger and townsman, a fat, coarse, vulgar, pretentious fellow of a Yankee trader, who had made money in San Diego, and was eating out the vitals of the Bandinis, fattening upon their extravagance, grinding them in their poverty; having mortgages on their lands, forestalling their cattle, and already making an inroad upon their jewels, which were their last hope.