The next
day came, and a week passed, and nearly a fortnight, when one day,
going ashore, we saw a tall man, who looked like our friend the
tailor, getting out of the back of an Indian's cart, which had
just come down from the pueblo. He stood for the house, but we
bore up after him; when, finding that we were overhauling him, he
hove-to and spoke us. Such a sight! Barefooted, with an old pair
of trousers tied round his waist by a piece of green hide, a
soiled cotton shirt, and a torn Indian hat; ``cleaned out'' to the
last real, and completely ``used up.'' He confessed the whole
matter; acknowledged that he was on his back; and now he had a
prospect of a fit of the horrors for a week, and of being worse
than useless for months. This is a specimen of the life of half of
the Americans and English who are adrift along the coasts of the
Pacific and its islands,-- commonly called ``beach-combers.'' One
of the same stamp was Russell, who was master of the hide-house at
San Diego while I was there, but had been afterwards dismissed for
his misconduct. He spent his own money, and nearly all the stores
among the half-bloods upon the beach, and went up to the presidio,
where he lived the life of a desperate ``loafer,'' until some
rascally deed sent him off ``between two days,'' with men on
horseback, dogs, and Indians in full cry after him, among the
hills.
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