em we came upon a drove of
horses grazing at large, some of which had saddle-marks. At about
two miles from the beach we found a corral; and thence, following
one of the strongest-marked paths, in about a mile more we
descended into a valley, and, on turning a sharp point, reached a
board shanty, with a horse picketed near by. Four men were inside
eating a meal. I inquired if any of the Lewis's people had been
there; they did not seem to understand what I meant when I
explained to them that about three miles from them, and beyond the
old corral, the steamer Lewis was wrecked, and her passengers were
on the beach. I inquired where we were, and they answered, "At
Baulinas Creek;" that they were employed at a saw-mill just above,
and were engaged in shipping lumber to San Francisco; that a
schooner loaded with lumber was then about two miles down the
creek, waiting for the tide to get out, and doubtless if we would
walk down they would take us on board.

I wrote a few words back to the captain, telling him where he was,
and that I would hurry to the city to send him help. My companion
and I their went on down the creek, and soon descried the schooner
anchored out in the stream. On being hailed, a small boat came in
and took us on board. The "captain" willingly agreed for a small
sum to carry us down to San Francisco; and, as his whole crew
consisted of a small boy about twelve years old, we helped him to
get up his anchor and pole the schooner down the creek and out over
the bar on a high tide. This must have been about 2 P.M. Once over
the bar, the sails were hoisted, and we glided along rapidly with a
strong, fair, northwest wind. The fog had lifted, so we could see
the shores plainly, and the entrance to the bay. In a couple of
hours we were entering the bay, and running "wing-and-wing."
Outside the wind was simply the usual strong breeze; but, as it
passes through the head of the Golden Gate, it increases, and
there, too, we met a strong ebb-tide.

The schooner was loaded with lumber, much of which was on deck,
lashed down to ring bolts with raw-hide thongs. The captain was
steering, and I was reclining on the lumber, looking at the
familiar shore, as we approached Fort Point, when I heard a sort of
cry, and felt the schooner going over. As we got into the throat
of the "Heads," the force of the wind, meeting a strong ebb-tide,
drove the nose of the schooner under water; she dove like a duck,
went over