s, an English
sailor and an American. I inquired of the captain about the history of
the vessel. He said she had been built at Quavqiel, down the coast, and
had belonged to a Mexican general, and was built partially of an
American whaler that had been wrecked on the coast, so I got American
timbers in her. They wanted to sell the vessel. I told him I might buy
her. I would let them know in a day or two. So I went to Colonel
Stevenson and gave him a history of it, and asked him if he would see
Collier, the collector of the port, and see if I could not get her
papers as an American vessel, which he did, and informed me the next day
that it was all right. I went at once and bought the brig. As soon as I
got its American papers it was worth twice what I had to pay for it. I
kept the same captain, as he knew the navigation of the rivers, which
few did at that time. I gave him $250 per month and put a supercargo at
$150 per month, and kept the same crew. I had it put up for Stockton,
the head depot for the Southern lines. The first month it made two
trips. Its receipts were $3,100; its expenses, $1,100; so it earned me
$2,000 clear.

There was a friend of mine named R., who owned a third interest in a
factory that belonged to a relative of mine who got the gold fever when
I did, and got me to negotiate the sale of his interest in it to him,
which I did for $8,000, so he could go to California with me. When he
arrived there he proposed to build a brewery. His father had been a
brewer in Scotland. He bought a lot, a part of the city called Happy
Valley, and started to build the first brewery on the Pacific coast. He
commenced to build one that would cost $30,000 with that capital, which
was his mistake. If he had commenced in a small way he would have made
his fortune. (In my personal narrative he had much to do with my
affairs.)

At this point in writing my manuscript, I have just heard of the death
of Colonel Jonathan Stevenson, aged ninety-four, in California, to whom
I had a letter of introduction from Governor William L. Marcy. I found
him the warmest, the truest and most generous friend. He was a little
unpopular when I first met him, for what I conceived the most noble
action of his life. There were in his regiment roughs from the city of
New York, where it was organized, who, when the war was over with
Mexico, would go into saloons and places and help them selves to what
they wanted and refused to pay. They were terme