“This is what we see about two kilometers ahead of us — a great city in the making.”

-Ernest de Massey, 1849

“Let’s give it a shot,” you tell Strauss, and you shake hands.

When the sun mercifully sets, Strauss takes you back to his San Francisco warehouse by riverboat.  He talk ceaselessly — about business, about California, about his brother back in New York.

COTTON DUCK CLOTH

“That reminds me,” Strauss says, interrupting himself yet again, “we have to meet a steamer tonight at the docks.  Should arrive around midnight.  They’re bringing more duck cloth for wagon covers.”

Back in the city, you wait for the freighter to arrive, asleep on your feet, nearly two in the morning.  Even Strauss, fatigued, has grown quiet.  The eerie quiet of the San Francisco harbor is pierced by a low steam whistle, and the steamship California glides slowly into view.

“Strauss?” a man calls in a hoarse rumble.  “Levi Strauss?”

Strauss approaches the ship, helps to tie it down, and gestures to you.  The three of you start unloading bolts of absurdly heavy, rough canvas cloth into Strauss’s riverboat.

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