A Trip to the Farallones, 



We went supperless to bed, our 

 stomachs not admitting of experiments 

 with the coarse fare of the fishermen, 

 and lay in our close, damp quarters in 

 an uneasy sleep. At daybreak next 

 morning the dark, lead-colored water 

 and foggy air looked cheerless enough, 

 but we were consoled by the informa- 

 tion that we were sailing under a good 

 breeze directly toward our destination. 

 Soon the North Farallones loomed up 

 through the fog — little bare rocks vis- 

 ible only as we rose on the crest of a 

 wave, with the surf dashing against 

 their sides. Presently Midway Rock 

 was passed and at last we were in 

 sight of South Farallone. Almost be- 

 fore we knew it the mainsail had 

 been lowered. As we rounded a pro- 

 jecting rock the jib was taken in and 

 we slipped past Sugar Loaf Rock into 

 Fisherman's Bay, where the anchor was 

 dropped and the fog-horn blown to 

 summon the eggers on shore to send 

 us a skiff in which to land. Drawing 



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