He was as sick as ever, and had been so for more than a month while lying at anchor in the bay.

I remember him well, seated with his elbows on the table in front of him, his chin between his hands, and looking the picture of despair.

At last he broke out, "I wish I had taken my father's advice; he wanted me to go into the navy; if I had done so, I should not have had to go to sea so much." Poor Slaughter! it was his last sea voyage.

He was killed by Indians in Oregon.
By the last of August the cholera had so abated that it was deemed safe to start.

The disease did not break out again on the way to California, and we reached San Francisco early in September..