On Tuesday, the 28th of July, we came into water colored and of a lighter shade than any we had seen. The cause of this is said to be the immense amount of mud washed down from the gold-diggings through the Sacramento River; I can not say whether this is true or not. We hoped to get into San Francisco in time to dine the next day; but a calm dissipated all such anticipations, and we lay off and on by the Farallone Islands all the night of the 29th.
We saw a great many diver birds, about the size of pigeons. While sailing along on the water, they would all at once dive and disappear, and remain under water a long while.
The Farallone Islands are a small group of rocky islets, lying in the Pacific Ocean, about thirty-five miles west of San Francisco. There are two groups of them, the North and South Farallones, about eight miles distant from each other. The southern islands are the most important. On the summit of the largest rock, which is about three hundred and fifty feet high, is a lighthouse. The only person on the island is the light-keeper. The islands are one vast menagerie. Birds of many varieties make their home here by swarms, and thousands of sea-lions and seals cover the rocks.
Sea Lion.—Page [213].
"What are sea-lions?" asked Harry.
A species of seal often as large as an ox, and weighing from two to three thousand pounds each. They make a very loud noise, a sort of moaning cry, like "yoi hoey, yoi hoey." The young seals are of a dark mouse color, but the older ones are of a light-brown. At a distance the braying of these sea-lions sounded like the rumbling of a railroad train. There is a hole in the rock on one of these islands, where the air is drawn through with a sound like the whistle of a steam-engine.
Every spot and foothold on these rocks seems to be the abode of a bird or seal; the waters around swarm with life, while large flocks of birds are coming from every direction. Vast quantities of eggs are taken from these rocks and carried to the San Francisco market every year.
We left the Farallones about three o'clock in the morning, and when we came on deck, they were fading in the dim distance.
One of the first objects noticed as we approached the coast was Fort Point, where is a massive fortification, well mounted with heavy guns. Between this point and Lime Point is the celebrated Golden Gate, which is about a mile wide and is the entrance into the bay of San Francisco. Connected with Fort Point is a lighthouse and fog-bell; the latter is always rung during foggy weather.