was captured
here by the advance party. A letter was found upon him, but the
contents of which I never learned. This being the first foot-march,
there were, of course, many galled and blistered feet in the battalion.
My servant obtained, with some difficulty, from the Indians at the
rancho, a pint-cup of _pinole_, or parched corn-meal, and a quart or
two of wheat, which, being boiled, furnished some variety in our viands
at supper, fresh beef having been our only subsistence since the
commencement of the march from San Juan. Distance 12 miles.

_December 13_.--A rainy disagreeable morning. Mr. Stanley, one of the
volunteers, and one of the gentlemen who so kindly supplied us with
provisions on Mary's River, died last night. He has been suffering from
an attack of typhoid fever since the commencement of our march, and
unable most of the time to sit upon his horse. He was buried this
morning in a small circular opening in the timber near our camp. The
battalion was formed in a hollow square surrounding the grave which had
been excavated for the final resting-place of our deceased friend and
comrade. There was neither bier, nor coffin, nor pall--

"Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note."

The cold earth was heaped upon his mortal remains in silent solemnity,
and the ashes of a braver or a better man will never repose in the
lonely hills of California.

After the funeral the battalion was marched a short distance to witness
another scene, not more mournful, but more harrowing than the last. The
Indian captured at the rancho yesterday was condemned to die. He was
brought from his place of confinement and tied to a tree. Here he stood
some fifteen or twenty minutes, until the Indians from a neighbouring
_rancheria_ could be brought to witness the execution. A file of
soldiers were then ordered to fire upon him. He fell upon his knees,
and remained in that position several minutes without uttering a groan,
and then sank upon the earth. No human being could have met his fate
with more composure, or with stronger manifestations of courage. It was
a scene such as I desire never to witness again.

A cold rain fell upon us during the entire day's march. We encamped at
four o'clock, P.M.; but the rain poured down in such torrents that it
was impossible to light our camp-fires and keep them burning. This
continued nearly the whole night, and I have rarely passed a night more
uncomfortably. A scouting party brought in two