I am taken down to the wharves, by antiquaries of a
ten or twelve years' range, to identify the two points, now known as
Clark's and Rincon, which formed the little cove of Yerba Buena, where
we used to beach our boats,- now filled up and built upon. The island
we called "Wood Island," where we spent the cold days and nights of
December, in our launch, getting wood for our year's supply, is
clean shorn of trees; and the bare rocks of Alcatraz Island, an entire
fortress. I have looked at the city from the water and islands from
the city, but I can see nothing that recalls the times gone by, except
the venerable Mission, the ruinous Presidio, the high hills in the
rear of the town, and the great stretches of the bay in all
directions.
To-day I took a California horse of the old style,- the run, the
loping gait,- and visited the Presidio. The walls stand as they did,
with some changes made to accommodate a small garrison of United
States troops. It has a noble situation, and I saw from it a clipper
ship of the very largest class, coming through the Gate, under her
fore-and-aft sails. Thence I rode to the Fort, now nearly finished, on
the southern shore of the Gate, and made an inspection of it.
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