Fourth of July was another attractive novelty. Cheap John auctions and
frequent fires afforded amusement and excitement, and we learned to
drink muddy water without protest.

On the 15th the diary records: "Last night about 12 o'clock I woke, and
who should I behold, standing by me, but my father! Is it possible that
after a separation of nearly six years I have at last met my father? It
is even so. This form above me is, indeed, my father's." The day's entry
concludes: "I have really enjoyed myself today. I like the idea of a
father very well."

We were compelled to await an upcoast steamer till August, when that
adventurous craft, the steamer "McKim," now newly named the "Humboldt,"
resumed sea-voyages. The Pacific does not uniformly justify the name,
but this time it completely succeeded. The ocean was as smooth as the
deadest mill-pond--not a breath of wind or a ripple of the placid
surface. Treacherous Humboldt Bar, sometimes a mountain of danger, did
not even disclose its location. The tar from the ancient seams of the
Humboldt's decks responded to the glowing sun until pacing the deck was
impossible, but sea-sickness was no less so. We lazily steamed into the
beautiful harbor, up past Eureka, her streets still occupied by stumps,
and on to the ambitious pier stretching nearly two miles from Uniontown
to deep water.

And now that the surroundings may be better understood, let me digress
from the story of my boyhood and touch on the early romance of Humboldt
Bay--its discovery and settlement.