At the summit of the pass, there
was a clear-running brook, where we rested an hour, and bathed
Lizzie in its sweet waters. We then continued to the end of our
journey, and, without going to the tavern at San Juan del Sur, we
passed directly to the vessel, then at anchor about two miles out.
To reach her we engaged a native boat, which had to be kept outside
the surf. Mrs. Sherman was first taken in the arms of two stout
natives; Mary Lynch, carrying Lizzie, was carried by two others;
and I followed, mounted on the back of a strapping fellow, while
fifty or a hundred others were running to and fro, cackling like
geese.
Mary Lynch got scared at the surf, and began screaming like a fool,
when Lizzie became convulsed with fear, and one of the natives
rushed to her, caught her out of Mary's arms, and carried her
swiftly to Mrs. Sherman, who, by that time, was in the boat, but
Lizzie had fainted with fear, and for a long time sobbed as though
permanently injured. For years she showed symptoms that made us
believe she had never entirely recovered from the effects of the
scare. In due time we reached the steamer Sierra Nevada, and got a
good state-room. Our passage up the coast was pleasant enough; we
reached San Francisco; on the 15th of October, and took quarters at
an hotel on Stockton Street, near Broadway.
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