f this fact they named it, for their
leader, Gregg's Point.

After two days' feasting on mussels and dried salmon obtained from the
Indians, they kept on south. Soon after crossing a small stream, now
named Little River, they came to one by no means so little. Dr. Gregg
insisted on getting out his instruments and ascertaining the latitude,
but the others had no scientific interest and were in a hurry to go on.
They hired Indians to row them across in canoes, and all except the
doctor bundled in. Finding himself about to be left, he grabbed up his
instruments and waded out into the stream to reach the canoe, which had
no intention of leaving him. He got in, wet and very angry, nursing his
wrath till shore was reached; then he treated his companions to some
vigorous language. They responded in kind, and the altercation became so
violent that the row gave the stream its name, Mad River.

They continued down the beach, camping when night overtook them. Wood,
the chronicler of the expedition, [Footnote: "The Narrative of L.K.
Wood," published many years after, and largely incorporated in Bledsoe's
"History of the Indian Wars of Northern California," is the source of
most of the incidents relating to Gregg's party embraced in this
chapter.] and Buck went in different directions to find water. Wood
returned first with a bucketful, brackish and poor. Buck soon after
arrived with a supply that looked much better, but when Gregg sampled it
he made a wry face and asked Buck where he found it. He replied that he
dipped it out of a smooth lake about a half mile distant. It was good
plain salt water; they had discovered the mythical bay--or supposed they
had. They credulously named it Trinity, expecting to come to the river
later. The next day they proceeded down the narrow sand strip that now
bounds the west side of Humboldt Bay, but when they reached the harbor
entrance from the ocean they were compelled to retrace their steps and
try the east shore. The following day they headed the bay, camping at a
beautiful plateau on the edge of the redwood belt, giving a fine view
of a noble landlocked harbor and a rich stretch of bottom land reaching
to Mad River. Here they found an abundant spring, and narrowly missed a
good supper; for they shot a large elk, which, to their great
disappointment, took to the brush. It was found dead the next morning,
and its head, roasted in ashes, constituted a happy Christmas
dinner--for December 25th ha