"I'll go to Davy Jones's locker first," cried Gale, spreading his sheets to the wind.
Gale had a quadrant epitome and a nautical almanac that some one had brought to the country. He set out with his crew of four and a little Indian boy, not one of whom knew the compass. After giving his men a few lessons in steering in a seaway and by compass, they crossed the bar, and just at sunset, September 12, 1842, turned their faces to the south. The wind freshened to a tempest, the little barque skipped like a stormy petrel on the surface of the sea, the crew fell seasick, and for thirty-six hours the dauntless captain stood at the helm and steered his flying ship.
On the fifth day the little "Star "shot through the portals of the Golden Gate, and just as the sun went down dropped anchor abreast of the old Presidio. Not the Spaniards when they found the new world felt prouder than the youthful crew of the little ship.
"Oregon, Oregon," mused an officer in port when the little "Star "touched Yerba Buena the next day. " I'll be hanged if there 's any port by that name on any of our charts."
"Are there letters for me?" asked Rae, amazed at the sight of the little craft.
"No letters," said Gale; "they'll come creeping in by and by on the ' CadboroV This delivery is a trifle too swift."
The boys sold the little "Star" for three hundred and fifty cows. They trimmed up a cottonwood tree and ran up the stars and stripes. Under it fortytwo Americans gathered to emigrate to Oregon. The next season the boys came back, bringing with their settlers three thousand head of sheep, six hundred head of horses, and twelve hundred and fifty head
