It was one of those mellow San Francisco afternoons where by three o’clock the sun is already starting to dim in preparation for going down in the Pacific three hours later. In doing so, the colors of the sky, sea, hills, trees, and flowers take on richer hues peculiar to that maritime atmosphere and in combination with the soft, shirtsleeve air you think “Boy, it is good to be alive!â€
Our ship had just passed under the Golden Gate bridge, outward bound once again for the Far East. In keeping with the pleasant afternoon, the ocean was calm with only long low swells rolling in. We came to a stop perhaps a half mile out, to wait for the arrival of the
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