The People Of This Region Are Giving Attention To Sheep-Raising,
Wine-Making, And The Raising Of Olives, Just Enough To Keep The
Town From Going Backwards.
But evening is drawing on, and our boat sails to-night. So,
refusing a horse or carriage, I walk down, not unwilling to be a
little early, that I may pace up and down the beach, looking off
to the islands and the points, and watching the roaring, tumbling
billows. How softening is the effect of time! It touches us
through the affections. I almost feel as if I were lamenting the
passing away of something loved and dear, - the boats, the Kanakas,
the hides, my old shipmates. Death, change, distance, lend them
a character which makes them quite another thing from the vulgar,
wearisome toil of uninteresting, forced manual labour.
The breeze freshened as we stood out to sea, and the wild waves
rolled over the red sun, on the broad horizon of the Pacific;
but it is summer, and in summer there can be no bad weather in
California. Every day is pleasant. Nature forbids a drop of
rain to fall by day or night, or a wind to excite itself beyond
a fresh summer breeze.
The next morning we found ourselves at anchor in the Bay of
San Pedro. Here was this hated, this thoroughly detested spot.
Although we lay near, I could scarce recognize the hill up which
we rolled and dragged and pushed and carried our heavy loads,
and down which we pitched the hides, to carry them barefooted
over the rocks to the floating long-boat.
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