Monday, Jan. 25. The wash-tub mail is still further establishing its claims to confidence. Its intelligence is no bubble breaking over its rim, and evaporating into thin air; but a chain of facts carrying with them the destinies of a nation. All that has reached us through this singular mail is confirmed this morning by a California youth who has arrived from below.
He left los Angeles some fourteen days since, and states that previous to his departure, Com. Stockton had entered the town at the head of the American forces from San Diego. He says there had been some pretty hard fighting, in which the Californians had suffered severely. Col. Fremont, he states, was within two days’ march of the Pueblo, and in a position to cut off the retreat of the Californians to the north. He believes that most of them have surrendered. This intelligence is, in every essential particular, identical with that which reached us several days since through the washerwomen of this town. They must have obtained it from those who swept through to the north when the rout below first commenced.
Tuesday, Jan. 26. A Californian made me a present to-day of a wild goose which he had just killed. I value the gift for the giver, rather than any benefit it may be to me. I live mostly on mush; such a thing as a wild goose never floats within the shadows of my domestic dreams. Even the drum of the partridge is rarely heard there. Wild geese prevail here in the greatest abundance; every lagoon, lake, and river is filled with them. They fly in squadrons, which, for the moment, shut out the sun; a chance shot will often bring two or three to the ground. The boys will often lasso them in the air. This is done by fastening two lead balls, several yards from each other, to a long line, which is whirled into the air to a great height. In its descent the balls fall on opposite sides of the neck of some luckless goose, and down he comes into the hands of the urchin hunter; sometimes a pair are brought down, but one generally manages to effect his escape. The boy little heeds the domestic relation that may have subsisted between them; and yet there is something in killing the mate of even a goose that might be relieved in the thought that no other goose loved him.
CHAPTER XI.
ARRIVAL OF THE LEXINGTON.—THE MARCH TO LOS ANGELES, AND BATTLE OF SAN GABRIEL.—THE CAPITULATION.—MILITARY CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CALIFORNIANS.—BARRICADES DOWN.
Thursday, Jan. 28. Our harbor has been enlivened to-day by the arrival of the U. S. ship Lexington, commanded by Lieut. Theodorus Bailey, an officer that might well have been promoted years ago. Capt. Tompkins and his company of one hundred and forty men, and field train of artillery, are on board. She brings out also Capt. Halleck, U. S. Engineer, who is entrusted with the erection of fortifications at this place and San Francisco. The Lexington is laden with heavy battery guns, mortars, shot, shells, muskets, pistols, swords, fixed ammunition, and several hundred barrels of powder. She has also a quantity of shovels, spades, ploughs, pickaxes, saws, hammers, forges, and all the necessary utensils for building fortifications of the first class; and what is better still, she brings with her a saw-mill and a good grist-mill.
Friday, Jan. 29. The U. S. ship Dale, W. W. McKean commander, sailed to-day for Panama. She takes the mail which is to cross the isthmus, and reach the United States by the West India steamers. As soon as her destination was known, a hundred pens were at work, transferring to paper affections, fond remembrances, kind wishes, and a thousand tender, anxious inquiries. How absence melts the heart. The cold is kindled, the indifferent clothed with interest, antipathies melt away, and endearments revive with undying power. I love the very stones over which my truant footsteps ran, and could kiss the birch rod that chastised my youthful follies. What language, then, can portray the love which clings to one who throws sunlight through the shadows of this dark world, or paint the cherished hope that buds into being with—
MY INFANT BOY.
I have not seen thy face, my child;
They say each look and line,