mouth of San Francisco the land recedes, and passing through
the narrow jaws of the Straits, which are framed in by bold,
precipitous, and rocky cliffs, where violent currents are sweeping and
foaming in eddying whirls around their base, you soon debouch into the
outer bay. It is like a great lake, stretching away right and left, far
into the heart of California. To the north another aperture, and still
another, leads into the Bays of San Pablo and Sosun, washing the valleys
of Sinoma and Tulares, and fed by the rivers Sacramento and San Joaquin,
after passing over the golden sands of the rich mines beyond. To the
southward the waters are not so extended, and the bay laves the garden
of California in the beautiful vale of Santa Clara. Green islands adorn
the bosom of these vast estuaries, and everywhere are found safe and
commodious harbors.

Our anchorage was near the little village of Yerbabuena, five miles from
the ocean, and within a short distance from the Franciscan Mission and
Presidio of the old royalists. The site seems badly chosen, for although
it reposes in partial shelter, beneath the high bluffs of the coast, yet
a great portion of the year it is enveloped in chilling fogs; and
invariably, during the afternoon, strong sea breezes are drawn through
the straits like a funnel, and playing with fitful violence around the
hills, the sand is swept in blinding clouds over the town and the
adjacent shores of the bay. Yet with all these drawbacks the place was
rapidly thriving under the indomitable energy of our countrymen.
Tenements, large and small, were running up, like card-built houses, in
all directions. The population was composed of Mormons, backwoodsmen,
and a few very respectable traders from the eastern cities of the
United States. Very rare it was to see a native: our brethren had played
the porcupine so sharply as to oblige them to seek their homes among
more congenial kindred. On Sunday, however, it was not uncommon to
encounter gay cavalcades of young paisanos, jingling in silver chains
and finery, dashing into town, half-a-dozen abreast; having left their
sweethearts at the Mission, or some neighboring rancho, for the evening
fandango. Towards afternoon, when these frolicsome _caballeros_ became a
trifle elevated with their potations, they were wont to indulge in a
variety of capricious feats on horseback--leaping and wheeling--throwing
the lasso over each other;--or if by chance a bullock appeared,