Sometimes we would be rushing down a steep hill, when, to keep the horses out of the way of the waggon they were drawing, the driver would stand up on his box, and fling the "silk" at them with all the energy he could command. On such occasions there would be moments when not a wheel could be seen touching the ground; and not unfrequently the vehicle would bound through the air, to a distance equalling its own length! We were fortunate enough to reach Stockton, without breaking either the wheels of the waggon, or the bones of any of the passengers, which to me at the time seemed something miraculous. I do not relish describing scenes of a sanguinary character; but, to give the reader some idea of the state of society in California, at the time I write of, I shall mention a circumstance that transpired during my twenty minutes' sojourn in Stockton--while waiting for the starting of the steamer. Just as we were getting out of the stage waggon, several pistol-shots were heard, close to the spot where we had stopped. They had been fired inside the gambling room of a public-house, on the opposite side of the street; and several men were seen rushing out of the house, apparently to escape the chances of being hit by a stray bullet. As soon as the firing had ceased, the retreating tide turned back again; and re-entered the house--along with a crowd of others, who had been idling outside. I walked over; and went in with the rest. On entering the large saloon, in which the shots had been fired, I saw two men lying stretched upon separate tables--each attended by a surgeon, who was examining his wounds. I could see that both were badly--in fact mortally--wounded; and yet each was cursing the other with the most horrible imprecations I had ever heard! One of the surgeons, addressing himself to the man upon whom he was attending, said:-- "Do not talk in that profane manner. You had better turn your thoughts to something else: you have not many hours to live." Neither this rebuke, nor the unpleasant information conveyed by it, seemed to produce the slightest effect on the wretch to whom it was addressed. Instead of becoming silent, he poured forth a fresh storm of blasphemy; and continued cursing all the time I remained within hearing. I was told that the two men had quarrelled about a horse, that one of them first fired at the other, who fell instantly to the shot; and that the latter, while lying on the floor, had returned the fire of the assailant, sending three bullets into his body. I heard afterwards that the shots had proved fatal to both. The man who had fired the first shot died that same night--the other surviving the sanguinary encounter only a few hours longer. I had no desire to linger among the spectators of that tragical tableau; and I was but too glad to find a cue for escaping from it: in the tolling of the steam-boat bell, as it summoned the passengers aboard.