Then, you'll see how much
superior bright amber is to dull black--anywhere in the world, but
especially in the light of a Californian sun."

"Nowhere, under either sun or moon. Give me the girl with the
crow-black hair!"

"For me, her whose locks are red gold!"

"Well; _cada uno a su gusto_, as my sweetheart has taught me to say in
her soft Andalusian. But now, Ned, talking seriously, do you think the
governor will give us leave to go ashore?"

"He must; I know he will."

"How do you know it?"

"Bah! _ma bohil_; as our Irish second would say. You're the son of a
poor Welsh squire--good blood, I admit. But I chance to be heir to
twice ten thousand a year, with an uncle in the Admiralty. I have asked
leave for both of us. So, don't be uneasy about our getting it.
Captain Bracebridge is no snob; but he knows his own interests, and
won't refuse such fair request. See! There he is--coming this way.
Now for his answer--affirmative, you may rely upon it."

"Gentlemen," says the captain, approaching, "you have my permission to
go ashore for the day. The gig will take you, landing wherever you
wish. You are to send the boat back, and give the coxswain orders
where, and when, he's to await you on return to the ship. Take my
advice, and abstain from drink--which might get you into difficulties.
As you know, just now San Francisco is full of all sorts of queer
characters--a very Pandemonium of a place. For the sake of the service,
and the honour of the uniform you wear, steer clear of scrapes--and
above all, give a wide berth to _women_."

After thus delivering himself, the captain turns on his heel, and
retires--leaving mate and midshipman to their meditations.

They do not meditate long; the desired leave has been granted, and the
order issued for the gig to be got ready. The boat is in the water, her
crew swarming over the side, and seating themselves upon the thwarts.

The young officers only stay to give a finishing touch to their toilet,
preparatory to appearing before eyes whose critical glances both more
fear than they would the fire of a ship's broadside.

Everything arranged, they drop down the man-ropes and seat themselves in
the stern-sheets; Crozier commanding the men to shove off.

Soon the little gig is gliding over the tranquil waters of San Francisco
Bay; not in the direction of the landing-wharf, but for a projecting
point on the shore, to the south of, and some distance outside, the
s