During the
conversation, somebody spoke of some ancient ruins, fifteen miles north,
at the entrance of a small creek. The missionary was anxious to see
them, and we agreed that our companions should return to Monterey while
he and I would pass the night where we were, and proceed the next
morning on an exploring expedition to the ruins. We obtained from
another boat a large stone jug of water, two blankets, and a
double-barrelled gun. As soon as our companions quitted us, we pulled
the boat round to the northern point of the bay, and having selected
proper quarters for the night, we made a kind of shelter on the beach
with the oars, mast and sail, and lighted a fire to make ourselves more
comfortable. It was one of those beautiful mild evenings which can be
found only in the Bay of Monterey; the gentle and perfumed breeze softly
agitated the foliage around and above us, and as night came on, with its
myriads of stars and its silvery moon, the missionary having, for some
time, raised his eyes above in silent contemplation, reverted to scenes
of the past, and of other climes.
He spoke of Hurdwar, a far distant mission in the north of India, close
to the Himalayas. The Hindoos call It the "City of a Thousand Palaces;"
they say it was built by the genii on the very spot where Vishnu had
reposed himself for a few weeks, after one of his mystic transmutations,
in which he had conquered Siva, or Sahavedra, the spirit of evil.
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