We sailed from Monterey on the 16th of October—rounded Point PiÑos, and, bidding a final adieu to Upper California, bore away to the southward. On the 25th, we found ourselves near Cape San Lucas, where, for three blessed days, we lay becalmed, all hands existing, as it were, in a warm bath of their own providing. The morning of the fourth, there came a breeze, and with it, under a cloud of canvas, one of our frigates, with the intelligence that she had bombarded Guaymas, and blown up the fortifications. No resistance had been made, and a corvette was left to guard a deserted town. It was certainly a severe instance of patriotism, where the Mexicans left their homes and property, choosing a precarious existence among the sterile mountains, rather than cry peccavi! to the Yankee banner.

Anchoring at San JosÉ, we learned that trouble was brewing on the Peninsula, and that some hundreds of men in arms were assembled at Todos Santos, a place on the seaside of Lower California, fifty miles distant. Nothing, certainly, was more preposterous than the forgetful policy of our Government, in expecting to hold two thousand miles of coast with a handful of men. The principal points on the Peninsula had already been occupied transiently by our forces; but notwithstanding proclamations had been issued, declaring the "Californias unalterably" annexed to the United States, and that very many of the natives had warmly espoused our protection; yet the very moment the ships or force were withdrawn from a place, the disaffected patriots—and they were patriots—immediately sprang up, issued pronunciamentos, threatened foreign residents, and their own countrymen, who had befriended the invaders. As a consequence, the whole lower portion of the territory and the Peninsula were kept in a constant state of excitement and inquietude. Nor could we have reasonably expected aught else, without a respectable force to overawe them.

The second evening after our arrival, a small mounted party, of thirty muskets, from the flag ship, was ordered into the interior, to disperse the insurrectionists at Todos Santos. They had not been absent half a dozen hours, when a report was circulated, that a body of the enemy were lying in ambuscade on the route, to attack them. A great commotion ensued, and I was selected to proceed to the Mission and inquire into the truth of the rumor. Attended by our marine postmaster Richie, we procured horses on the beach, and after sliding over loose stones, winding around precipices, until quite dizzy at the narrow bridle paths, running full as much risk in losing our eyes by thorns of aloe or cactus, as our necks, in the darkness, by the precarious foothold of the beasts, we reached San JosÉ at midnight, and presented ourselves before the alcaldes. We found these worthies and their wives deeply immersed in montÉ and cigarillos. They were ignorant, as alcaldes universally are, of any treasonable rumors; but, on citing an old Indian woman and her son, who were the divining magicians of the place, we learned that, in truth, a number of evil-minded persons had been in town, tampering with those more peaceably disposed, in hopes of raising a sufficient force to cut our little band to pieces. Upon concluding our inquisitorial proceedings, we returned to the ship. The next morning, news was brought from La Paz, a post some distance up the Gulf, and recently occupied by a company of the New York regiment under Lt. Col. Burton, that the disaffection had extended in every direction, and the Mexicans were resolved to make a last struggle for lost ground on the Peninsula. The same night we received more violente extraordinarios—break-neck expresses—stating that the little town near us was about to be invaded by the insurgents. There was so much truth in this, that a number of officers from the ships took to the road, "accoutred as they were," and a very flimsy toilet some of them appeared in, on their five mile flight to the watering beach. Boats were armed, and companies detailed for service; but another violent extraordinary arrived, and for the time we remained passive. The next evening, a detachment of five-and-twenty marines left the ship for shore. We were a long time disembarking, as the surf was breaking ten feet high upon the open beach. Skirting along thickets around the town, we marched up a valley, through a deep sandy road, for more than two leagues, before reaching our destination. It was a little hamlet, called cerrillos, of miserable ranchos, lying upon the side of a hill, where we had hopes of meeting a party of guerrillas. Our arrangements were quickly made—men posted—pieces cocked—the houses summoned successively—but, alas! for our anticipations of a skrimmage, the birds had flown some hours before, leaving but a few old people and children in the place. I was sadly disappointed, for I had an extremely perilous path to explore in getting to my station—no more nor less than charging, full leap, through a large corral of sheep and cattle—with half a dozen fixed bayonets close at my heels—the bullocks jumping right and left, in great affright, and I expecting every instant some rampant bull ahead to toss me into the air, or a sharp bayonet to stick me in the rear; nor did I feel relieved, until the muzzle of my carbine struck the door of the rancho, and I found breath to cry, halt! to the party. After a deal of praying and screeching, from the shrill throats of women and children, the door fell, and, by the glare of a flickering torch, an old lady tremblingly approached, with a baby in each arm, crying, Somas pobres, seÑor, ave purissima! no hay mas que esos! tome ad un niÑo, por el amor de Dios?—we are poor, but take a baby, for the love of God. We generously declined the good woman's kindness, and succeeded in allaying her alarm, by the assurance that we were in search of men, and not infants. Truly, it has a tendency to jar one's nerves, this storming a person's house with armed men in the dead of the night.

We had a dreadfully fatiguing march back, and had there not been many rivulets to quench thirst, some of us would have been thoroughly exhausted. Entering the town at eight o'clock, we learned with surprise, that the friends whom we went in search of had been making night hideous in the village itself, and only decamped towards daylight on our approach.

A few days succeeding our arrival, the ships were busily employed watering. In the southern arm of the bay is a small cove, partially sheltered from heavy surf by a jutting reef of rocks, where, during the rainy season, is the mouth of a mountain-torrent; then, the stream was not visible, but on digging a little way below the sandy bed, pure delightful water bubbled up, filtered through miles of coarse gravel. The large boats anchored a few yards from the strand, and the men amused themselves by swimming the casks off when filled. Nearly the whole population of the Mission assembled there at daylight, offering fruit, vegetables, and other articles for traffic. Lots of girls and women were there, all far better dressed, and more comely than those we had been gazing upon so long in Upper California. I devoted my time to an old lady and two daughters, who had pitched a tent near by, and opened a shop for the sale of milk and eggs. Of the two damsels my adoration was the younger—Eugenia—a charming little brunette, who shared my dinner, and, by way of a frolic, cunningly squeezed lime-juice in my month when asleep. This style of existence quite enchanted us; and what with sucking oranges, dozing in the welcome shade, and bathing half the time in the water,—we fancied it somewhat resembled the pleasant life in the South Sea Islands.

One of the roads, from the watering ravine to San JosÉ, had much the appearance of an alley through a flower-garden: the foliage blazing in bloom, with a plentiful display of blossoming aloes and cactus, shooting up into the air like Grecian columns; many of the latter twenty inches in diameter. The town stands in a pretty valley, with red, sterile mountains toppling around it. One broad street courses between two rows of cane and mud-built dwellings, thatched with straw, having shady verandahs in front, constructed of frameworks of canes and leaves, answering very well to screen the burning rays of the sun, which sheds light and heat, with the force of a compound blow-pipe. At the upper end of the avenue, standing on a slight, though abrupt, elevation from the valley behind, was the cuartel, a small building, which at a later period was the scene of a gallant stand and siege, where a mere handful of our sailors and marines bravely repulsed twenty times their number of Mexicans.

Within sight of the village is a shallow, rapid brook, which serves to irrigate many well-tilled plantations about the suburbs. The people were kind, and particularly hospitable, always welcoming us with the utmost cordiality. We usually dined at the house of an old Chinaman, who was a miracle of a cook, and dished us up beneath the shade—plover, curlew, wild ducks, and olives without stint—with which, and chatting, smoking, lounging from house to house, and siesta, we got through the hours pleasantly. On one afternoon, having somewhat soiled my outer man, in leaping into a puddle instead of over it, my newly-discovered sweetheart washed my trowsers and shirt, whilst I dozed away on a low cot frame, upon which was tightly drawn a tanned sheet of leather—and a capital, cool, comfortable apparatus it is in warm weather. We generally returned to the ships by night, as the unsettled state of the neighboring country rendered it impossible to remain; so, after rewarding pretty Eugenia with my handkerchief for her trouble, I turned my steps for the last time on San JosÉ.

The expedition that started for Todos Santos on our arrival, and for which serious uneasiness was beginning to be entertained, got safely back on the seventh day. They found a dull, barren region to traverse, and were not repaid by a sight of the guerrillas, who had all decamped for a rallying point near La Paz.

In consequence of the earnest solicitations made by the simple inhabitants of San JosÉ, for a small force to protect them from their brethren in arms, who were not so favorably disposed towards the North Americans, it was deemed advisable to comply with the request, and a detachment of twenty marines, a nine-pounder carronade, with four officers, under command of Lieut. Charles Heywood, U.S.N., were detailed for the service, and the next day occupied the town.