ands on made-land. The water along the shore, here at
Montgomery street, was very shallow, and at the time of the gold rush,
when seven or eight hundred vessels were waiting in the bay to discharge
their freight and passengers, a corporation of energetic Americans built
a long wharf from here to the deep water, where the ships were anchored.
Look down Commercial Street to the Ferry Building and, instead of the
houses on either side, imagine it open to the water. Then you will see
Central Wharf as it was in 'forty-nine.'"

"Central Wharf!" The name had caught his interest.

"Yes, it was called that from the one you have in Bost."

"Bost?" he repeated, mystified. "Bost?"

"Yes, Bost!" I answered. "You called our, city 'Frisco, not five minutes
ago, so why shouldn't I--"

"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I will never offend in that way
again."

"But the building of the wharves and the filling in of the waterfront
belong to a later time and we are back in Spanish days. When Vancouver
landed he tells us that he cast anchor within a small inlet surrounded
by green hills, on which herds and cattle were grazing. Historians say
that his ship lay about where the Ferry Building now stands and that the
crew put off for the shore in small boats. This place was a waste of
sand-dunes and chaparral but the Englishmen were refreshed by the cool
waters of the arroyo and spent a pleasant morning shooting quail and
grouse."

"Quail, grouse and chaparral," he repeated, as his eyes traveled up and
down the solidly built blocks and rested on the pedestrians hurrying in
and out of the buildings. "Let's take a look at the bed of the arroyo."

We paused at the corner and for a moment watched the car laboriously
climb the Sacramento Street hill and disappear over the crest; then we
turned for another look at the mass of buildings now resting on the
solid ground which had taken the place of the shining waters of Yerba
Buena Cove.

"It was about here," I announced, "that the arroyo opened out into the
Laguna Dulce, a little fresh water pool where Richardson's Indians
delighted to take a cold plunge on leaving their steaming temescal."

"Richardson? Hardly a Spanish name!"

"No, but a Spaniard by naturalization and marriage. He was an Englishman
who had come to the coast in the whaler 'Orion,' and being fascinated by
the country and the carefree Spanish life, had married a lovely little
senorita, the daughter of Lieutenant Martinez