Bennett had a nice Whitehall boat and we had a genuine happy time
hunting, fishing and gathering clams, and also in social visits among
the neighbors and old acquaintances, among them one Jacob Rhodehouse of
Wisconsin.

While here I rode my horse around to Monterey and to Carmel Mission,
where I staid two or three days, with Mr. Gourley, a brother of Mrs.
William M. Stockton, who was here engaged in raising potatoes. I walked
along the beach near some rocky islands near the shore, and on these
rocks were more sea lions and seals than I supposed the whole ocean
contained--the most wonderful show of sea life on the California coast.
Returning I staid all night at the crossing of the Salinas with a
colored family who gave me good accommodations for self and horse. I
heard afterward that this family was attacked by robbers and all but one
murdered.

Mrs. Bennett's father D.J. Dilley lived near here also, and I had not
seen him since the time in Wisconsin, when he hauled my canoe over to
the river in 1849. One day while fishing on the beach we found the body
of a man, which we carried above the tide and buried in the sand.

I gave one of my horses to Geo. Bennett, and went over to Santa Cruz,
where I found Mr. and Mrs. J.B. Arcane and son Charles in a comfortable
home, well situated, and overjoyed to see me.

He knew everyone in town, and as we went about he never missed to
introduce me to every one we met, as the man who helped himself and
family out of Death Valley, and saved their lives. Arcane was a very
polite Frenchman and knew how to manage such things very gracefully, but
with all his grace and heartiness it made me feel quite a little
embarrassed to be made so much of publicly and among strangers. He took
me in his buggy and we drove along the beach, and to the lime-kiln of
Cowel & Jordan, also to the court house when court was in session.

Upon the hill I met Judge Watson, the father of Watsonville, and a Mr.
Graham, an old settler and land owner, and on this occasion he pulled a
sheet of ancient, smoky looking paper from beneath his arm, pointed to a
dozen or so of written lines in Spanish and then with a flourish of the
precious document in Watson's face dared him to beat that, or get him
off his land. I must say that never in my life was I better entertained
than here.

From Santa Cruz I crossed the mountain on a lonely and romantic trail to
San Jose again, finding very few houses on the road. Here I went