After a few hours' sail, we came to a deep creek opening to the right, and on its shores we perceived the mission of St. Francisco rising among wooded hills. The tide by this time had ebbed, the wind had died away, and we proceeded slowly by the aid of oars: this induced us, after rowing about fifteen miles, to land, at noon, on a pleasant little island. We made a blazing fire; and as every sailor understands something of cookery, a dinner was soon dressed, which eaten in the open air in beautiful weather, under the shade of spreading oaks, appeared excellent. While the sailors were reposing, we examined the island. Its northern shore was tolerably high, and rose almost perpendicularly from the sea. Its soil, as that of all the country about the bay of St. Francisco, consists, under the upper mould, of a variegated slate; probably the foot of man had never before trodden it. But a short time since, no boat was to be found in the neighbourhood, and now each mission possesses only one large barge in which the reverend Fathers pass up and down the rivers that discharge themselves into the northern half of the bay, to seek among the Indians who are occasionally seen on their banks, for proselytes to recruit the ranks of their laborious subjects. The only canoes of the Indians are made of plaited reeds, in which they sit up to their hips in water. That no one has yet attempted to build even the simplest canoe in a country which produces a super-abundance of the finest wood for the purpose, is a striking proof of the indolence of the Spaniards, and the stupidity of the Indians. Our island was surrounded by wild ducks and other sea-fowl; the white-headed eagle hovered too over the oaks, and seemed to be pursuing a very small species of hare, and a pretty partridge, of which there are great numbers. We enjoyed for a few hours the recreation of the land, so welcome to sailors, and then continued our voyage with a favourable wind.