The Lagoda was
now about this business. When we should be about it, was more than I
could tell; two years, at least, I thought to myself.
I also learned, to my surprise, that the desolate-looking place we
were in was the best place on the whole coast for hides. It was the
only port for a distance of eighty miles, and about thirty miles in
the interior was a fine plane country, filled with herds of cattle, in
the centre of which was the Pueblo de les Angelos- the largest town
in California- and several of the wealthiest missions; to all of
which San Pedro was the sea-port.
Having made our arrangements for a horse to take the agent to the
Pueblo the next day, we picked our way again over the green,
slippery rocks, and pulled aboard. By the time we reached the
vessel, which was so far off that we could hardly see her, in the
increasing darkness, the boats were hoisted up, and the crew at
supper. Going down into the forecastle, eating our supper, and
lighting our cigars and pipes, we had, as usual, to tell all we had
seen or heard ashore. We all agreed that it was the worst place we had
seen yet, especially for getting off hides, and our lying off at so
great a distance looked as though it was bad for south-easters.
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