The Flowers Ran Riot In Our Garden, Fresh Fruits And Vegetables,
Fresh Fish, And All The Luxuries Of That Marvellous Climate, Were
Brought To Our Door.
A comfortable Government steamboat plied between San Francisco
and its harbor posts, and the distance was not great - only three
quarters of an hour.
So we had a taste of the social life of that
fascinating city, and could enjoy the theatres also.
On the Island, we had music and dancing, as it was the
headquarters of the regiment. Mrs. Kautz, so brilliant and gay,
held grand court here - receptions, military functions, lawn
tennis, bright uniforms, were the order of the day. And that
incomparable climate! How I revelled in it! When the fog rolled
in from the Golden Gate, and enveloped the great city of Saint
Francis in its cold vapors, the Island of the Angels lay warm and
bright in the sunshine.
The old Spaniards named it well, and the old Nantucket whalers
who sailed around Cape Horn on their way to the Ar'tic, away back
in the eighteen twenties, used to put in near there for water,
and were well familiar with its bright shores, before it was
touched by man's handiwork.
Was there ever such an emerald green as adorned those hills which
sloped down to the bay? Could anything equal the fields of golden
escholzchia which lay there in the sunshine? Or the blue masses
of "baby-eye," which opened in the mornings and held up their
pretty cups to catch the dew?
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