“On the 10th of November, from information received of the sickness of my family in San Francisco, where they had gone to escape the expected revolutionary troubles in Monterey, and from letters from Captain Montgomery requesting my presence respecting some stores for the Portsmouth, I, with one servant, left Monterey for San Francisco, knowing that for one month no Californian forces had been within 100 miles of us.  That night I put up at the house of Don Joaquin Gomez, sending my servant to San Juan, six miles beyond, to request Mr. J. Thompson to wait for me, as he was on the road for San Francisco.  About midnight I was aroused from my bed by the noise made by ten Californians (unshaved and unwashed for months, being in the mountains) rushing into my chamber with guns, swords, pistols, and torches in their hands.  I needed but a moment to be fully awake and know my exact situation; the first cry was, ‘Como estamos, Senor Consul.’  ’Vamos, Senor Larkin.’  At my bedside were several letters that I had re-read before going to bed.  On dressing myself, while my captors were saddling my horse, I assorted these letters, and put them into different pockets.  After taking my own time to dress and arrange my valise, we started, and rode to a camp of seventy or eighty men on the banks of the Monterey River; there each officer and principal person passed the time of night with me, and a remark or two.  The commandante took me on one side, and informed me that his people demanded that I should write to San Juan, to the American captain of volunteers, saying that I had left Monterey to visit the distressed families of the river, and request or demand that twenty men should meet me before daylight, that I could station them, before my return to town, in a manner to protect these families.  The natives, he said, were determined on the act being accomplished.  I at first endeavoured to reason with him on the infamy and the impossibility of the deed, but to no avail; he said my life depended on the letter; that he was willing, nay, anxious to preserve my life as an old acquaintance, but could not control his people in this affair.  From argument I came to a refusal; he advised, urged, and demanded.  At this period an officer called out * * * * (Come here, those who are named.) I then said, ’In this manner you may act and threaten night by night; my life on such condition is of no value or pleasure to me.  I am by accident your prisoner—­make the most of me—­write, I will not; shoot as you see fit, and I am done talking on the subject.’  I left him, and went to the camp fire.  For a half-hour or more there was some commotion around me, when all disturbance subsided.