dollar-mad America where the citizens disinterestedly beautify the public streets for the enjoyment of each passer-by.
Owing to the hilly surface of Sausalito, driving is rather a precarious enjoyment but there is one drive which, with its superb marine vistas, amply compensates for the apparent lack of level roads. With the intention of taking this drive we procured a team and were soon driven rapidly along the boulevard shirting the water front, past the San Francisco Yacht Club, with its medley of white sailboats and smaller
A WIND-BLOWN TREE.
craft bobbing about in the water, and then through old
Sausalito nestled in the gulch. Thence ascending the hill,
the road wound around bend after bend with the Bay ever
below us at a distance of a few hundred feet.
Beyond the Barracks, at the base of a cliff, we spied some small, white buildings clustered on the rocks extending out into the water. This proved to be Lime Point, and the buildings we were approaching belong to the Government, constituting a lighthouse- and fog-signal station. We found it to be one of the many smaller stations that are distributed along the Coast. There is a diminutive white light, and a steam fog whistle is kept ever ready to send out its note of warning at the slightest approach of the milky vapor which is a terror to the seamen.
Lime Point is directly opposite Fort Point, the distance being but seven-eighths of a mile, and forms the Northern point of Golden Gate Strait. While the view from these rocks is expansive, still it could not be called commanding, as the Point is too near the sea level to give the height and majesty requisite for an enchanting ocean vista.
As a pass is required before one can go through the reservation we retraced our steps to the Barracks and upon receiving the passport from the Sergeant Major, proceeded on our way up the steep, winding road which leads out of the Valley. Reaching the summit, the road continues its circuitous route; now in sight of the Bay and City, and again in among the bare, rolling hills.
While descending into a little valley we were
FISSURES OF THE
stopped by a number of heavily laden teams, lined up in the middle of the road. Before we could question as to the delay, a volley of shots rang out, resounding again and again in the silent canyons, and a flapping red flag near by plainly denoted that the soldiers were engaged in target practice.
In reply to our query as to the length of time we should be required to halt, a soldier on the team in front informed us that sometimes one had to wait an hour or an hour and a half. Other teams having lined up behind, a retreat was impossible, and the prospect of a long wait in the hot sun was not very agreeable. We learned that a new barracks was in the course of construction below, in the valley at the head of the Rodeo Lagoon, and these teams were laden with provisions for the men stationed there.
Just as we had composed ourselves for the inevitable, a brisk waving of red flags was seen in the Valley, followed by the moving of the cavalcade in front; and much to our satis-