We went off with a flowing
sheet, and hove-to under the lee of Catalina Island, where we lay
three days, and then returned to our anchorage.
Tuesday, February 23d. This afternoon a signal was made from the
shore, and we went off in the gig, and found the agent's clerk,
who had been up to the pueblo, waiting at the landing-place, with
a package under his arm, covered with brown paper and tied
carefully with twine. No sooner had we shoved off than he told us
there was good news from Santa Barbara. ``What's that?'' said one
of the crew; ``has the bloody agent slipped off the hooks? Has the
old bundle of bones got him at last?''-- ``No; better than that.
The California has arrived.'' Letters, papers, news, and, perhaps,--
friends, on board! Our hearts were all up in our mouths, and we
pulled away like good fellows, for the precious packet could not
be opened except by the captain. As we pulled under the stern, the
clerk held up the package, and called out to the mate, who was
leaning over the taffrail; that the California had arrived.
``Hurrah!'' said the mate, so as to be heard fore and aft;
``California come, and news from Boston!''
Instantly there was a confusion on board which no one would
understand who had not been in the same situation.
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