They ran up a flag sufficiently significant of their intentions,—a white field, red border, with a grizzly bear eyeing a single star, which threw its light on the motto, “The Republic of California.” To this flag and its fortunes they pledged themselves in mutual confidence, and though a band of only two hundred, pushed their measures so vigorously that Gen. Castro, with a force of three times their numbers, retreated before their resolute positions. They are now within the department of Monterey, and their arrival is looked for hourly. Such in brief is the history of the Bear flag, and of that courageous organization which set the ball of Anglo-Saxon supremacy rolling in California.
Sunday, July 19. We had divine service at the usual hour. The object of the sermon was a plain illustration of the text, “The way of transgressors is hard.” The every-day life of the sailor is a living commentary on the truth of this significant proverb. The hardships of his lot have generally been entailed upon him by a career of folly. The recitals of his errors, which are often poured into my ears, are full of painful interest. I greatly fear the novelties of the shore, and the excitements which reach us every day from all quarters, will dissipate that religious concern which has prevailed of late among our crew.
Monday, July 20. Captain Fremont and his armed band, with Lieut. Gillespie of the marine corps, arrived last evening from their pursuit of Gen. Castro. They are two hundred strong, all well mounted, and have some three hundred extra horses in their train. They defiled, two abreast, through the principal street of the town. The ground seemed to tremble under their heavy tramp. The citizens glanced at them through their grated windows. Their rifles, revolving pistols, and long knives, glittered over the dusky buckskin which enveloped their sinewy limbs, while their untrimmed locks, flowing out from under their foraging caps, and their black beards, with white teeth glittering through, gave them a wild savage aspect. They encamped in the skirts of the woods which overhang the town. The blaze of their watch-fires, as night came on, threw its quivering light into the forest glades, and far out at sea. Their sentinels were posted at every exposed point; they sleep in their blankets under the trees, with their arms at their side, ready for the signal shot or stir of the crackling leaf.
For let a footstep, scarce as loud
As falls the winter’s flake,
Approach their tents, they wake,
And spring like lightning from the cloud.
Tuesday, July 21. The Levant has been ordered to be ready for sea with all dispatch. She is to take Commodore Sloat to Panama, where he crosses the Isthmus for the United States. His measures here involve some responsibility, as no authentic intelligence of a declaration of war has reached us. But his motives have been high and patriotic, and his action opportune in the event of national hostilities. The command will now devolve on Commodore Stockton; what he will do with the California question, remains to be seen. Among the persons whose influence is felt in these affairs, stands T. O. Larkin, Esq., U. S. Consul for many years in this province, and of whose services I shall have occasion to speak hereafter.
Wednesday, July 22. Captain Fremont’s band of riflemen visited our ship to-day, and lunched with us. Many of them are trappers from the interior wilds, who have never seen a man-of-war before. They looked at our frowning battery with a wonder for which their trap dialect had no expression. The Indians connected with the body, wanted to know how such an immense mass could be put on the trail. We pointed to our sails, clewed to the yards; they shook their heads in incredulity. They seemed to think there must be some invisible monster in the hold, whose terrific energies caused the ship to go. Our band played some of their most spirit-stirring airs, but they had as little effect on these children of the wild as the song of the grasshopper. The article which seemed to interest them most, was the rifle of Commodore Stockton; they handled it with that yearning fondness which a mother feels clasping her first-born.
Thursday, July 23. The Collingwood sailed to-day for the Sandwich Islands. Many of her officers had clothes on shore in the hands of washerwomen; they were hurried off, some half ironed, some half dry, and some in the suds. Such are the accidents which await the linen of one connected with a national ship. He may think himself fortunate if he recovers his clothes at all; they are often left as contingent remainders in a man’s will.