n our side to
compel them to do so. Finding there was no intention of molesting them,
the alarm excited by our arrival soon subsided, and with the exception
of exchanging a few musket shots occasionally, between the boats and
shore, everything went on as quietly and peacefully as if no hostile
force was at their gates. The commandante of Mazatlan was Colonel
Telles, an Habanero by birth, and withal a brave man. He had pronounced
against Vegas, the President of the province, and the troops of the town
being devoted to him, he, of course, like all other disaffected persons
in Mexico, assumed supreme direction of affairs, and laid violent hands
on all moneys in the custom-house. He was described as a pleasant
convivial person, keeping quite a seraglio of his own, and altogether an
eligible acquaintance; a character, of which at a later date, when there
was better means of judging, we found no cause to change our opinion.
Just previous to our arrival a messenger reached Mazatlan with
instructions for Telles to resign his authority to General Bustamente,
who was en route, and charged with full powers from the Mexican
government, to direct the province of Sinaloa. Colonel Telles very
discreetly incarcerated the emmissary in the cabildo, and begged him to
inform his master, the General, that there was no necessity for
disorganizing his ideas about the government of the port, as he, Telles,
would retain authority so long as he deemed proper. It had the desired
effect, for there was nothing afterwards heard of Bustamente.

Leaving Mazatlan to be guarded by our consort, we sailed on the morning
of the third of June, bound once more to Upper California. Long before
dark, Creston had disappeared below the horizon, and the ship went
calmly pushing her way towards the broad ocean. At meridian of the
twelfth, the sun measured an altitude nearly vertical, our shadows
vanished, and we resembled that facetious Dutchman, Mr. Peter Schemmell,
who, it is said, disposed of his to the devil; at the same time while
throwing the log, a voracious monster snapped up the log-chip, swallowed
some fathoms of line, broke it, and went on his way unconcernedly, thus
verifying the old song:

"A shark being on our starboard, boys!
For sharks d'ye see don't stand,
But grapple all they get at, boys!
Like sharks they do on land."

Without any other incident worthy of remark, we continued hugging the
wind, and describing a great s