Bay of San Francisco came in view, separated from us by a broad and
fertile plain, some ten or twelve miles in width, sloping gradually
down to the shore of the bay, and watered by several small creeks and
estuaries.

We soon entered through a narrow street the mission of San José, or St.
Joseph. Passing the squares of one-story adobe buildings once inhabited
by thousands of busy Indians, but now deserted, roofless, and crumbling
into ruins, we reached the plaza in front of the church, and the
massive two-story edifices occupied by the _padres_ during the
flourishing epoch of the establishment. These were in good repair; but
the doors and windows, with the exception of one, were closed, and
nothing of moving life was visible except a donkey or two, standing
near a fountain which gushed its waters into a capacious stone trough.
Dismounting from our mules, we entered the open door, and here we found
two Frenchmen dressed in sailor costume, with a quantity of coarse
shirts, pantaloons, stockings, and other small articles, together with
_aguardiénte_, which they designed retailing to such of the natives in
the vicinity as chose to become their customers. They were itinerant
merchants, or pedlars, and had opened their wares here for a day or two
only, or so long as they could find purchasers.

Having determined to remain here the residue of the day and the night,
we inquired of the Frenchmen if there was any family in the place that
could furnish us with food. They directed us to a house on the opposite
side of the plaza, to which we immediately repaired. The senora, a
dark-skinned and rather shrivelled and filthy specimen of the fair sex,
but with a black, sparkling, and intelligent eye, met us at the door of
the miserable hovel, and invited us in. In one corner of this wretched
and foul abode was a pile of raw hides, and in another a heap of wheat.