with nothing to eat but
cactus but I think I have told you the story before and what I want to
know, is this Stanton alive. He belonged to New Bedford--his father had
been master of a whale-ship.

When we reached Guaymas, Stanton found a friend, the mate of a steamer,
the mate also belonged to New Bedford. When we parted, Stanton told me
he was going home and was going to stay there, and as he was two years
younger than me, he may still be in New Bedford, and as you are on the
ground, maybe you can help me to find out.

All the people that I know praise your descriptive power and now my dear
Mrs. Summerhayes I suppose you will have a hard time wading through my
scrawl but I know you will be generous and remember that I went to sea
when a little over nine years of age and had my pen been half as often
in my hand as a marlin spike, I would now be able to write a much
clearer hand.

I have a little bungalow on Coronado Beach, across the bay from San
Diego, and if you ever come there, you or your husband, you are welcome;
while I have a bean you can have half. I would like to see you and talk
over old times. Yuma is quite a place now; no more adobes built; it is
brick and concrete, cement sidewalks and flower gardens with electric
light and a good water system.

My home is within five minutes walk of the Pacific Ocean. I was born at
Digby, Nova Scotia, and the first music I ever heard was the surf of the
Bay of Fundy, and when I close my eyes forever I hope the surf of the
Pacific will be the last sound that will greet my ears.

I read Vanished Arizona last night until after midnight, and thought
what we both had gone through since you first came up the Colorado with
me. My acquaintance with the army was always pleasant, and like Tom
Moore I often say:

Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy Bright dreams of the past
which she cannot destroy! Which come in the night-time of sorrow and
care And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my
heart with such memories filled!

I suppose the Colonel goes down to the Ship Chandler's and gams with the
old whaling captains. When I was a boy, there was a wealthy family of
ship-owners in New Bedford by the name of Robinson. I saw one of
their ships in Bombay, India, that was in 1854, her name was the Mary
Robinson, and altho' there were over a hundred ships on the bay, she was
the handsomest there.

Well, good friend, I am afraid I will tire you out