While remaining there I had rather a perilous adventure.  I had gone with some of my friends to a great fishing party at the entrance of the bay, which, by-the-bye, is one of the finest in the world, being twenty-four miles in length and eighteen in breadth.  The missionary, Padre Marini, not being very well, had an idea that the sea-air would do him good, and joined our company.  We had many boats; the one in which the Padre and I embarked was a well-shaped little thing, which had belonged to some American vessel.  It was pulled with two oars, and had a small mast and sail.

Our fishing being successful, we were all in high glee, and we went on shore to fry some of our victims for our afternoon’s meal.  During the conversation, somebody spoke of some ancient ruins, fifteen miles north, at the entrance of a small creek.  The missionary was anxious to see them, and we agreed that our companions should return to Monterey while he and I would pass the night where we were, and proceed the next morning on an exploring expedition to the ruins.  We obtained from another boat a large stone jug of water, two blankets, and a double-barrelled gun.  As soon as our companions quitted us, we pulled the boat round to the northern point of the bay, and having selected proper quarters for the night, we made a kind of shelter on the beach with the oars, mast and sail, and lighted a fire to make ourselves more comfortable.  It was one of those beautiful mild evenings which can be found only in the Bay of Monterey; the gentle and perfumed breeze softly agitated the foliage around and above us, and as night came on, with its myriads of stars and its silvery moon, the missionary having, for some time, raised his eyes above in silent contemplation, reverted to scenes of the past, and of other climes.

He spoke of Hurdwar, a far distant mission in the north of India, close to the Himalayas.  The Hindoos call It the “City of a Thousand Palaces;” they say it was built by the genii on the very spot where Vishnu had reposed himself for a few weeks, after one of his mystic transmutations, in which he had conquered Siva, or Sahavedra, the spirit of evil.  Though not so well known, Hurdwar is a place still more sacred than Benares; people assemble there once a year from all parts, and consecrate several days to their ablutions in the purifying waters of the Ganges.  In this noble city is also held one of the greatest fairs of India, indeed of all the world; and as its time is fixed upon the same month as that in which the Hindoo devotees arrive at the city, numerous caravans from Persia, Arabia, Cashmere, and Lahore, repair to the spot, and erect their bazaars along the banks of the river, forming a street of many miles.  The concourse collected at these times has been ascertained to number more than one million of souls.