And I will take the liberty, on
parting with my reader, who has gone down with us to the ocean, and
"laid his hand upon its mane," to commend to his kind wishes, and to
the benefit of his efforts, that class of men with whom, for a time,
my lot was cast. I wish the rather to do this, since I feel that
whatever attention this book may gain, and whatever favor it may find,
I shall owe almost entirely to that interest in the sea, and those who
follow it, which is so easily excited in us all.
TWENTY FOUR YEARS LATER
It was in the winter of 1835-6 that the ship Alert, in the
prosecution of her voyage for hides on the remote and almost unknown
coast of California, floated into the vast solitude of the Bay of
San Francisco. All around was the stillness of nature. One vessel, a
Russian, lay at anchor there, but during our whole stay not a sail
came or went. Our trade was with remote Missions, which sent hides
to us in launches manned by their Indians. Our anchorage was between a
small island, called Yerba Buena, and a gravel beach in a little bight
or cove of the same name, formed by two small projecting points.
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