At this place our ship’s company was divided, a part being determined to proceed on their journey by sea, while another part intended to walk up to San Francisco, a distance of twelve hundred miles, over a barren country, and uninhabited except by Indians. Of these latter, a portion started by an almost imperceptible path, which led them toward the Atlantic coast, while the remaining four of us expected to proceed up the gulf coast. As we ascended the hills behind the village, we caught a last look of the schooner, already out some distance at sea. When we reached San José, to our joy we found the Scottish barque Collooney, Capt. Livingston, for San Francisco, anchored there, having put in for water. We were received on board, and on May 25th weighed anchor and were again on our way. The Collooney was from Panama, having on board two hundred passengers, with accommodations for twenty. At the time for meals, two assistant stewards, mounted upon the long boat near the two galleys, called over the names of the passengers belonging to their divisions. As his name was called, each one walked up if it was calm, and reeled up if it was rough, to the galleys, and received in a tin plate and dipper his allowance. It was a tedious voyage of thirty-five days from the cape to San Francisco. On several Sundays I was invited to preach upon the quarter-deck. On these occasions we were sometimes favored with original hymns from the pen of T. G. Spear, of Philadelphia, who was a passenger on board. I shall give a part of one of these as very appropriate. “Our path is on the mighty deep, But God is with us there, To guard us in the night, asleep, And in the noonday’s glare. Our barque, a speck beneath the sky, His hand conveys along; He makes the winds around her fly, Be gentle or be strong. Here let us pause, and praise, and pray, And seek that boon sublime, That opens up a brighter day, And smooths the storms of time.” Much of the time was passed in vexatious calms. We were such a picture as Coleridge had in his mind when he wrote, “Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion, As idly as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean.”