Whales—Sunshine—The Pacific Ocean and Tom Moore—Wormy Bread and Impure Water—A Pilot—Arrival in the Harbor of San Francisco—The City—Dismantled Ships—My last Visit to the Bark—Statement and Counter Statement—Angry Remonstrance—Mr. Spring and his two Journals—Final Adieu to the James W. Paige.

We beat all day to the north against a head wind, and made but slow progress. We strove to wear away the tedium of the day by looking at the land, and watching the birds and the whales, of which last a considerable number were seen near the ship, sometimes three or four together. We saw one of these monstrous animals plunge down into the water, throwing his tail above the surface as he made his plunge, and in a moment after, come up again with such force and rapidity as to carry his ponderous body entirely into the air. Such an immense body, as it came down again into the water, could not fail to produce a great commotion. This act of leaping out of the water seemed to be performed in a similar manner to that of the sturgeon and smaller fish in our rivers and lakes. They frequently came close to the ship, playing by its sides, plunging down on one side, and coming up on the other. Among the birds, were a number I had not seen before, and several Brown Pelicans.

The weather was cold, but after a dark, foggy morning, the sun came out, and the sky continued unclouded during the day. This was very cheering, for we had had scarcely an hour's sunshine during many weeks. What a contrast between the Pacific Ocean as I find it, and the picture I had formed of it. I had even associated it with unclouded skies and genial warmth, with mild breezes and gently undulating waters. I had dreamed of it as "The Blue Summer Ocean," in which Moore might have found "The Bright Little Isle," of which he so sweetly sings in one of his sweetest songs. And there is many an isle scattered over this great waste of waters, which would almost answer to Moore's description,

many a spot, which air, climate, soil, vegetable productions, and beautiful scenery have rendered as perfect elysiums, as nature, unassisted by art, can produce.

But leaving Moore, poetry, sunshine, and every pleasant thought, let us once more come back to the unwholesome realities of the bark. In addition to the many luxuries with which our palates had been regaled during the voyage, we had for several weeks past been feasting on wormy bread—not myself, but my fellow-passengers. My disgust at hard-bread had become so intense, that I could not swallow it, good or bad. I think I must have starved had I been confined to it. But being on good terms with the stewards and cooks, I had found means to obtain an extra allowance of soft-tack, sufficient for my urgent wants. Few of the passengers were so fortunate. One of them, finding no escape from the wormy hard-bread, strove to make a little sport out of it, by declaring that these living vermin had imparted to the bread a peculiar lively flavor, which was very palatable.

Then, again, as the supply of water we had taken in at Talcahuana, became exhausted, we were obliged to resort to the old stock from Frankfort. Some of this was so excessively filthy, and had acquired such a nauseous, such a putrid taste and smell, that several of the passengers who were far from being troubled with weak stomachs, actually vomited on drinking it. Even boiling it, and making tea or coffee with it would not purify it. But we had better water on board, and after many remonstrances and altercations with the captain, we got it.

September 7. We took a pilot on board in the morning. He brought a paper or two, which we read with great interest, and it will be readily believed that we were most eager in our inquiries for news.

Among other objects that attracted our attention as we approached the harbor, was a great sand bank stretching a mile along the coast, and extending a considerable distance inland. It was the largest bed of sand I had ever seen, and was a very fair specimen of a miniature desert. Several large rocks scattered along the coast presented a lively appearance, from the multitude of sea birds that covered them; and one of them attracted our particular notice, being perforated with a hole, sufficiently large, I thought, to admit the passage of a boat through it.

We now ascertained that the place where we so narrowly escaped shipwreck, was near Monterey, about sixty miles south of San Francisco.

We entered the harbor in the afternoon, and anchored about a mile from the city. And thus ended the voyage of the James W. Paige, one hundred and fifty-eight days from the day we set sail from Frankfort.

A large fleet of boats surrounded the ship as soon as we anchored, and I took passage in one of them in company with several others, and after passing through a wilderness of ships, steamers, and dismantled hulks, we landed in the city. Our first business on landing was at the Post-Office, where I was made happy by the reception of a package of letters informing me that all my friends were alive and well.

We then sought a hotel, and, what we least expected in California, the first one we tried was a temperance house, the "United States Temperance House." After tea I took a walk with J. Tyler up Telegraph Hill, whence we had a fine view of the city and harbor. On our return we went into several gambling-saloons. These were large rooms, richly furnished, and supplied with large tables, loaded with heaps of glittering gold and silver, to be staked in the various games, for which each table was appropriated. Hundreds of people crowded into these saloons, many of them with no other motive than mere curiosity, but others with the foolish hope of filling their pockets from those tempting heaps of coins.

A peculiar feature in the harbor of San Francisco at this time, and one that struck me very forcibly on our first approach, was the great number of dismantled ships that lay thickly scattered around it. These ships had a very old, ruinous, antiquated appearance, and at first sight, gave me an impression, that this new-born city had been inhabited for ages, and was now going to ruin. Most of them have their lower masts standing, and supported by a few ropes and chains. A large portion of them had been deserted by their crews on the first outbreak of the gold excitement, and were recklessly left to their destruction, while men and officers rushed blindly and wildly to the mines. These ships have, however, been made subservient to a valuable purpose, having been converted into store-ships by the merchants. Some of them had doors cut in their sides, with short flights of steps from the water. Some were run aground near the shore, and wharfs and streets were built around them, where, with houses erected on them they could scarcely be distinguished from the surrounding stores.

September 8. I went on board the bark for my baggage. The captain, mate, and a large portion of the passengers were ashore. On going into the after house, my eye accidentally caught a letter which was addressed to Captain Jackson, expressing great thankfulness for his kind and gentlemanly treatment of the passengers, and charging the blame of disputes and quarrels to the passengers. It was written by Mr. Johnson and signed by Mr. Spring and several others, who were well aware of its utter falsity. Knowing that it was intended to counteract the numerous statements, which would be made at home prejudicial to Captain Jackson, I seized a pen and wrote a certificate, as near as I can remember, in the following words:

Bark James W. Paige, Sept. 8, 1852.

Whereas, a paper highly laudatory of Captain Jackson has been circulated for signatures on board this bark, a regard for truth impels us to say, that the conduct if Captain Jackson during the voyage just ended has been highly arbitrary, ungentlemanly, insulting and abusive, and that even the female passengers have, in many instances, been subjected to the grossest abuse from him." During the few moments I was engaged in getting signatures to this paper, Mr. Spring, who was standing near, overheard me read it. It gave him great offense, and he remonstrated very strongly with me against the terms in which it was expressed. He said I had virtually charged him and others with falsehood, and urged me to withdraw or modify my statement. I refused to do either; and this good man, with whom I had had the most friendly relations during the voyage, now quivered with passion, while he intimated that a prosecution for libel would be instituted against me. Mr. Spring was liable to the charge of duplicity in signing that paper, so full of flattery and falsehood; and his chief occupation during the voyage was marked by a singularity, to say the least of it, not quite compatible with a strict regard for truth. He had kept a journal of the voyage, and noted the occurrences of each day much more carefully and minutely than I did. He often read passages from his journal to the passengers, and it was well known that his opinion of the captain coincided with that of a large majority of the company. He had been several times chosen on committees to remonstrate with Captain J. on our treatment and fare. But towards the latter part of the voyage it was observed that a friendly understanding had grown up between him and the captain, which gave rise to many conjectures as to the cause. But whatever may have been the cause, the effect of this newly formed friendship was a revision of Mr. Spring's journal, or, more properly speaking, a rejection of it, and the writing of a new one, in which every thing offensive to Captain Jackson, and all occurrences of an unpleasant nature, in which the captain had acted a part, were omitted, and only the more agreeable transactions and events were recorded; in fact, changing the true and unvarnished record of the voyage, which he had made with so much labor, for a smooth and sunny picture, which, though it might not be chargeable with actual falsehood in its details, would, nevertheless, convey to the reader a grossly false impression of the character of Captain Jackson, and the annoyances and vexations attending the voyage. This revision of his journal cost him much time, though not so much as might, on first thought, have been expected. So many occurrences were necessarily omitted, that for every sheet he had at first written, a page now sufficed. His original journal, which I would have given a dollar to possess, he threw overboard. His new one was to be forwarded to a paper in Calais, Me., for publication.

I obtained twenty-five signatures to my paper in a few minutes, and then, gathering up my baggage, I bade a final adieu to the James W. Paige with a regret, which I think was remarkable only for its minuteness.

Our voyage is ended, but not quite our book. Many incidents of an unpleasant nature, which had occurred on the voyage, have been omitted, and the omission has somewhat shortened the book. The following extracts from the continuation of my journal through a long sojourn on the Pacific Coast, are appended as a substitute for the rejected passages.