Friday, May 8th, 1835. Arrived at San Diego. Here we found the little harbor deserted. The Lagoda, Ayacucho, Loriotte, and all, had left the coast, and we were nearly alone. All the hide-houses on the beach, but ours, were shut up, and the Sandwich Islanders, a dozen or twenty in number, who had worked for the other vessels and been paid off when they sailed, were living on the beach, keeping up a grand carnival. A Russian discovery-ship which had been in this port a few years before, had built a large oven for baking bread, and went away, leaving it standing. This, the Sandwich Islanders took possession of, and had kept, ever since, undisturbed. It was big enough to hold six or eight men--that is, it was as large as a ship's forecastle; had a door at the side, and a vent-hole at top. They covered it with Oahu mats, for a carpet; stopped up the vent-hole in bad weather, and made it their head-quarters. It was now inhabited by as many as a dozen or twenty men, who lived there in complete idleness--drinking, playing cards, and carousing in every way. They bought a bullock once a week, which kept them in meat, and one of them went up to the town every day to get fruit, liquor, and provisions. Besides this, they had bought a cask of ship-bread, and a barrel of flour from the Lagoda, before she sailed. There they lived, having a grand time, and caring for nobody. Captain T---- was anxious to get three or four of them to come on board the Pilgrim, as we were so much diminished in numbers; and went up to the oven and spent an hour or two trying to negotiate with them. One of them,--a finely built, active, strong and intelligent fellow,-- who was a sort of king among them, acted as spokesman. He was called Mannini,--or rather, out of compliment to his known importance and influence, Mr. Mannini--and was known all over California. Through him, the captain offered them fifteen dollars a month, and one month's pay in advance; but it was like throwing pearls before swine, or rather, carrying coals to Newcastle. So long as they had money, they would not work for fifty dollars a month, and when their money was gone, they would work for ten. "What do you do here, Mr. Mannini?"[1] said the captain. "Oh, we play cards, get drunk, smoke--do anything we're a mind to." "Don't you want to come aboard and work?" "Aole! aole make make makou i ka hana. Now, got plenty money; no good, work. Mamule, money pau--all gone. Ah! very good, work!--maikai, hana hana nui!" "But you'll spend all your money in this way," said the captain. "Aye! me know that. By-'em-by money pau--all gone; then Kanaka work plenty." This was a hopeless case, and the captain left them, to wait patiently until their money was gone.