They said that they had been there nearly a year; had nothing
to do most of the time, living upon beef, hard bread, and
frijoles, a peculiar kind of bean, very abundant in California.
The nearest house, they told us, was a Rancho, or cattle-farm,
about three miles off; and one of them went there, at the request
of our officer, to order a horse to be sent down, with which the
agent, who was on board, might go up to the Pueblo. From one of
them, who was an intelligent English sailor, I learned a good
deal, in a few minutes' conversation, about the place, its trade,
and the news from the southern ports. San Diego, he said, was
about eighty miles to the leeward of San Pedro; that they had
heard from there, by a Mexican who came up on horseback, that the
California had sailed for Boston, and that the Lagoda, which had
been in San Pedro only a few weeks before, was taking in her cargo
for Boston. The Ayacucho was also there, loading for Callao; and
the little Loriotte, which had run directly down from Monterey,
where we left her. San Diego, he told me, was a small, snug place,
having very little trade, but decidedly the best harbor on the
coast, being completely land-locked, and the water as smooth as a
duck-pond.
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