... I felt heartily glad to hear that we were then clearing the
Faranolles, and soon hurried up on deck, but we continued beating
about for several hours before we made the entrance to the Bay of San
Francisco. At length, however, we worked our way in between the two
high bluffs, and along a strait a couple of miles wide and nearly five
miles long, flanked on either side with bold broken hills--passing on
our right hand the ricketty-looking fortifications erected by the
Spaniards for the defence of the passage, but over which the Yankee
stars and stripes were now floating. On leaving the strait we found
ourselves on a broad sheet of rippling water looking like a great
inland lake, hemmed in on all sides by lofty hills on which innumerable
herds of cattle and horses were grazing, with green islands and clusters
of rock rising up here and there, and a little fleet of ships riding at
anchor. On our right was the town of San Francisco.

I had suffered so much from the voyage, that when the anchor was let
go I felt no inclination to hurry on shore. McPhail and Malcolm,
however, went off, but promised to return to the ship that night. I
soon after turned into my hammock, and, thanks to the stillness of the
water in which we rode, slept soundly till morning.

_April 29th_.--This morning we all rose early, and went on shore.
The little baggage we had we took in the boat. Malcolm told me that he
had heard the war was over between the United States and Mexico, and I
bitterly congratulated myself on experiencing my usual run of bad
luck. We made our way to Sweeting's hotel, which Malcolm and McPhail
had visited yesterday, and stated to be the best of the three hotels
which have sprung up here since the Americans became masters of the
place.