We took our departure from Mazatlan on May 4th, having spent two weeks in litigation respecting the schooner, which resulted in favor of the passengers, and made us, the first time in our lives, _ship-owners_. The whole had been an unfortunate operation, and we had already paid more for our passage than the schooner was worth. The owners had _lost_ the money which had been advanced to them, and were unable to comply with the terms of the contract, by putting the schooner in sailing order in Mazatlan. Papers were accordingly made out, giving us undisputed possession of twenty-three tons burden of shipping. Our captain, a very old man, had not been to sea for twenty years before this memorable voyage. I shall presently have to relate an account of the _adroit_ manner in which he upset a boat-load of us to pass half an hour among the sharks and waves before we could get to land. Our mate was a Frenchman, and the only skillful sailor among us. He knew that we were proceeding on a wrong course, and as it was mutiny to put the vessel on a right course by daylight, as soon as it was dark enough he would put the “ship about,” so that what we lost in the day we gained in the night. The rest of the crew were sailors drafted from the passengers. We were again short of water, and having been unable to procure a supply along the coast, we anchored off San José, a small town near the cape. The captain requested me to accompany him on shore. The waves ran very high, and it was dangerous to attempt a landing, unless under the guidance of one who understood “surfing a boat.” After every third wave which breaks upon the shore, there is a lull, short indeed, but of sufficient length to permit a boat which follows instantaneously upon it to get beyond the reach of the first wave of the next series. The only method is to row nearly to the line where the waves show a long white crest before they break upon the shore, and then to rest upon the oars. As soon as the third wave has passed, the rowers must urge the boat promptly and vigorously in. If this one rule is neglected, the “swamping” of the boat must inevitably be the result. The captain explained this so accurately that we could not doubt his skill. We had four stout rowers, breathlessly awaiting the signal upon the brink of the breakers. But, unfortunately, the signal came between the second and third waves. We were a hundred yards from the landing. Suddenly we heard the warning roar, like the low tone of the distant thunder. I looked behind, and the wave was moving toward us like an impending wall, six feet above the boat. Suddenly it broke, showing the white crest rapidly extending itself along as far as the eye could reach. Its first approach tossed the boat, like a straw, on one side, and instantly the whole wave came toppling down upon us, burying the boat and three of those who were in it beneath the rushing tides. I had risen from my