218

CROFUTT’S NEW OVERLAND TOURIST

 

usually done on arriving is to take a drink—
water—and then, order breakfast—and such
nice little private breakfast rooms! Oh,
these Californians know how to tickle your

fancy.

Hark! “ Yci-Hot, Yot-Hot, Yot.” What
the deuce is that? Those hearing us, smite.
We do not ask, but we conclude it must
be a big herd of healthy donkeys passing,
when two gentlemen enter from the rear,
and one of them says: “Colonel, (there és
no lower grade in California) 1 will bet

you 50 shares in the Ophir or Virginia |

Consolidated, that General Grant, that big
seal on the top of the rock, will weigh
8,000 pounds.” We did not stop to hear
more, but rushed out the back door on to a
long veranda running the whole length of
the house, which is situated on a project-
ing cliff, 200 feet above, and almost over-
hanging the waters, when “ Yot-Hot, Yor-
Hoi, Yot”—and there were our donkeys,
500 yards away, laying on, scrambling up,
plunging off, fighting, and sporting around
three little rocky islands. The largest of
these islands is called “Santo Domingo.”
It is quite steep; few can climb it. A
sleek, dark-looking seal, which they call
Ben. Butler, has at times attempted it; but
away up on the very top—basking in the
sun, with an occasional “ Yot-hoz, boyt”—
lies General Grant, the biggest whopper
of them. all. We knew him at the first
sight. He had something in his mouth,
and looked wise. Often when the din of
his fellow seals below become fearful,
| who are ever quarreling in their efforts to
climb up, his “ Yot-hot, Boyi” can be
heard above them all—which,, in seal
language, means, “Let us havé peace.”
Sea fowls in large numbers are hovering
on and around these rocks. They, too, are
very chattering, but we have no time to
learn their language, as here comes a
steamer bound for China. (See illustration,
page 219.) It steams in close to the islands,
and we think we can discern some of our
fellow travelers “across the continent”
among the passengers. They are on a trip
“around the world,” and are waving their
compliments to the General on the top of
the rock.

Just around that projecting point of land
to the northwest are FARALLONES IsLANDS,
seven in number, thirty miles distant, in
the Pacific Ocean, totally barren of every-
thing but seals, sealions, and water-fowls.
These are numerous. Many of the
seals will weigh from 2,000 to 3,000 Ibs.,

and are quite tame (see illustration, page
99), as they have never been disturbed
by hunters; the birds—and they are
legion-—which inhabit these islands, la
millions of eggs every year, which, until
1871, were gathered and sold in the San
Francisco markets. The islands are all
rocks; the highest peak is surmounted
with a lighthouse of the first order, 340
feet above the water.

Breakfast is called; being fashionable,
we take another—water—and, while eating
a hearty meal, learn that these seals are
protected by the laws of the State against
capture, and something of their habits;
then pay our bill, and the ostler hizs de-
tainer, take our seat, and whirl around
over a broad winding road, which is blasted
out of the rocky bluff on our left to the
sandy beach below.

Right here we meet Old Pacific Ocean
himself—face to face—near enough to
“shake.’ Heis a good fellow when he is
himself—pac7fic—but he drinks a great
deal, perhaps too much; but certain it is
he gets very noisy at times—very turbu-
lent. In driving along the beach, we come
to one of the evidences of his fearful
wrath. Do you see that ship laying on her
side?

One night, after a big carousal, when it
was said Old Pacific had been drinking a
great deal—more than usual—and was in
a towering passion, he drove this ship
up almost high and dry on the beach,
where you see her. Notcontent with that,
he chased the escaping occupants far into
the sand hills, throwing spars, masts, and
rigging after them.

Thank you! We don’t want any of that
kind of pacéfic in ours.

We will now keep our eye on Old Pa-
cific, and drive along down the beach, by
several fine hotels, and then turn into the
sand-hills to the left, passing over a high
point, where some fine views can be had
of the surrounding country, and around to
the old Mission Dolores. Here is food for
the curious. But we cannot afford to stop
here long, as Boreas is ae waked up, |
and is sliding the sand over the blufis
after us—rather disagreeable. This Mis-
sion was founded in 1775, by Spanish mis-
sionaries, who, for over 60 years, wielded a
mighty influence among the native Cali-
fornians (Indians). In its most prosperous
days, the Mission possessed 76,000 head of
stock cattle, 2,920 horses, 820 mules,
79,000 sheep, 2,000 hogs, 456 yoke of work-