k in the evening, and to send heavy baggage before that hour.
The vessel which was to receive us, lay two or three hundred yards
from the wharf, in order to prevent the possible desertion of the
crew. Punctual to the hour, I left the hotel and drove to the place of
embarkation. My trunk, valise, and sundry boxes had gone in the
forenoon, so that my only remaining effects were a satchel, a bundle
of newspapers, a dog, and a bouquet. The weight of these combined
articles was of little consequence, but I positively declare that I
never handled a more inconvenient lot of baggage. While I was
descending a perpendicular ladder to a small boat, some one abruptly
asked if that lot of baggage had been cleared at the custom house.
Think of walking through a custom house with my portable property!
Happily the question did not come from an official.

It required at least an hour to get everything in readiness after we
were on board. Then followed the leave taking of friends who had come
to see us off and utter their wishes for a prosperous voyage and safe
return. The anchor rose slowly from the muddy bottom; steam was put
upon the engines, and the propeller whirling in the water, set us in
motion. The gang-way steps were raised and the rail severed our
connection with America.

It was night as we glided past the hills of San Francisco, spangled
with a thousand lights, and left them growing fainter in the distance.
Steaming through the Golden Gate we were soon on the open Pacific
commencing a voyage of nearly four thousand miles. We felt the motion
of the waves and became fully aware that we were at sea. The shore
grew indistinct and then disappeared; the last visible objects being
the lights at the entrance of the bay. Gradually their rays grew dim,
and when daylight came, there were only sky and water around us.

"Far upon the unknown deep,
With the billows circling round
Where the tireless sea-birds sweep;
Outward bound.

"Nothing but a speck we seem,
In the waste of waters round,
Floating, floating like a dream;
Outward bound."

CHAPTER II.

The G.S. Wright, on which we were embarked, was a screw steamer of two
hundred tons burthen, a sort of pocket edition of the new boats of the
Cunard line. She carried the flag and the person of Colonel Charles S.
Bulkley, Engineer in Chief of the Russo-American Telegraph Expedition.
She could sail or steam at the pleasure of her captain, provided
circumstances were f