Here, too, we bade farewell to Jim Hart, Van Haltren and others of the party who had accompanied us on our trip across the country, and who were now either going to return to their homes or spend the winter in San Francisco.

Hardly had we left the narrow entrance to the harbor, known as the Golden Gate, and entered the deep blue waters of the Pacific before a heavy fog came down upon the surface of the deep, shutting out from our gaze the land that we were fast leaving, and that we were not again destined to see for many months.

The steamer was now rising and falling on the long swells of the Pacific Ocean, but so gently as to be scarcely perceptible, except to those who were predisposed to seasickness, and to whom the prospects of a long voyage were anything but pleasant.

I am a fairly good sailor myself, and, though I have been seasick at times, this swell that we now encountered bothered me not in the least.

Some ten miles from the harbor entrance, the steamer stopped to let the pilot off, and with his departure the last link that bound us to America was broken.
Our party on board the steamer numbered thirty-five people, and besides these there were some twenty-five other passengers, among them being Prof.Wm.Miller, the wrestler, whose name and fame are well known to athletes the world over, and who in company with his wife was bound for Australia.