FRIDAY, OCT. 9. The trouble of young and old here is the flea. The native who is thoroughly inured to his habits may little heed him, but he keeps the stranger in a constant nettle. One would suppose, from his indiscriminate and unmitigated hostility, he considered himself the proprietor of all California. Indeed, he does seem to be the genuine owner of the soil, instead of a tenant at will. It is true he may construct no dwellings, but he will plant himself in every nook and corner of the one which you may construct. He jumps into your cradle, jumps with you all along through life, and well would it be for those who remain if he jumped with you out of it. But no, he remains still; and grief for your loss will half forget its bereavement in parrying his assaults. SATURDAY, OCT. 10. We are waiting with some anxiety for news from the Pueblo de los Angeles. A rumor reached here yesterday, that the small American force there would not be able to hold out much longer against the overwhelming odds of the insurgents. But the Savannah must by this time have reached San Pedro, and her crew be on their march to the scene of action. They are a body of brave, unflinching men, and are commanded by officers of great firmness and force. A sailor on land never thinks of running more than he would at sea. He is trained to stand to his post, and will do so on the field as well as the deck. The last man who left the ground in that disreputable retreat from Bladensburg was a sailor. When the rest were far out of sight he remained at his gun, and was wadding home to give the enemy another shot. In the fight of the Essex many threw themselves out of the ports, determined to drown sooner than surrender. SUNDAY, OCT. 11. Another bright and beautiful Sabbath has dawned; but there is little here to remind one of its sacredness. A few of the larger stores are closed, but the smaller shops are all open. More liquors are retailed on this day than any other three. I have the power to close these shops, and shall do it. CHAPTER V. FIRE ON THE MOUNTAINS.—EMIGRANTS.—PISTOLS AND PILLOWS.—LEADERS OF THE INSURRECTION.—CALIFORNIA PLOUGH.—DEFEAT AT SAN PEDRO.—COL. FREMONT’S BAND.—THE MALEK ADHEL.—MONTEREY THREATENED.—SOLDIER OUTWITTED.—RAISING MEN.—BRIDEGROOM.—CULPRITS. MONDAY, OCT. 12. A wide conflagration is sweeping over the hills which encircle the bay of Monterey. The forests, and the grass with which they are feathered, are as dry as tinder, and the flame rolls on with its line of fire clearly and fearfully defined. This has become still more grand and awful since the night set in. The clouds seem to float in an atmosphere of fire; and the billows, as they roll to the rock-bound shore, are crested with flame. The birds are flying from their crackling covert, and the wolves go howling over the hills. It is a type of that final conflagration in which the great frame of nature will at last sink.