CALIFORNIA. 
213 
we dismounted, tied our horses, and began to search for inhabitants. 
All the houses were unfinished: to the doors of some there were no 
steps, and no floors to the rooms of others; the adobes were bare, and 
destitute of plaster or whitewash; and what was more disheartening, 
no inhabitants made their appearance. At last a slave was seen crawl¬ 
ing from a wretched hole, whom we followed to the only place which 
yet remained unsearched, a distant corner of the premises, where we 
found the family, consisting of a mother and daughter. The latter was 
a nice-looking girl, to whom our note was handed, and who read it 
aloud to her mother, who did not recognise the name of Don Miguel. 
Whether this arose from design or ignorance, I know not; but the note 
produced no apparent effect: however, after a few compliments, and a 
little persuasion, through our servant, (who spoke Spanish well,) the 
mother was somewhat softened, and we procured a tumbler of milk 
and a tortilla; but we could not induce her to allow us to take from 
the fifty horses that were then in the coural, the few we required. Her 
constant answer was, that her husband was not at home, and she could 
not do it. We strayed about the kitchen, which was the only apart¬ 
ment fit for occupation, and warmed ourselves over the small fire that 
had been lighted, for the air was becoming chilly and damp. This 
apartment was lighted from the door and a small window; it was 
furnished with numerous stew-holes and ovens, which appeared very 
convenient for cooking; and above them were placed shelves, on which 
the pans of milk were resting. In the centre was a large mortar, and 
beyond it, at the far end, quite in the dark, the rude grist-mill of the 
country. To the long shaft of the mill a small donkey was harnessed. 
This place apparently answered also as a stable. The whole had quite 
a primitive look, and showed, at least, some comfort and forethought. 
During our examinations, in came the husband, very unexpectedly to 
his wife and daughter, as well as to ourselves. He had the face of a 
ruffian. After many suspicious looks and questions, he gave his con 
sent, though very unwillingly, to supply us with horses. Lest it should 
be supposed that this man was the owner of the estancia, I must here 
say that Senor Sanchez was not at home; although I am not prepared 
to vouch, from what I heard afterwards, that our treatment at his hands 
would have been any better. We were told that it was but a short 
two hours’ ride to Yerba Buena, and we hoped to reach it before dark. 
We therefore made haste to secure fresh horses, and soon took our 
departure. The horses were but sorry-looking animals, and I must own 
that the thanks for them were very difficult to utter. 
We had scarcely gone beyond the “ a dios” of our ill-looking friend, 
when the steed of Captain Hudson came to a stand, and no persua- 
