Summary

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Twenty Four Years Later…

When I awoke in the morning, and looked from my windows over the city of San Francisco, with its store-houses, towers, and steeples; its court-houses, theatres, and hospitals; its daily journals; its well-filled learned professions; its fortresses and light-houses; its wharves and harbor, with their thousand-ton clipper ships, more in number than London or Liverpool sheltered that day, itself one of the capitals of the American Republic, and the sole emporium of a new world, the awakened Pacific
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Twenty Four Years Later…

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.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Richard Henry Dana Richard Henry Dana Two Years Before the Mast — Twenty Four Years Later…

I hardly walk out without meeting or making acquaintances. I have already been invited to deliver the anniversary oration before the Pioneer Society, to celebrate the settlement of San Francisco. Any man is qualified for election into the society who came to California before 1853. What moderns they are! I tell them of the time when Richardson’s shanty of 1835—not his adobe house of 1836—was the only human habitation between the Mission and the Presidio, and when the vast bay, with all its tributaries and recesses, was a solitude,—and yet I am but little past forty years of age.
Source: Wikisource

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