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October 28, 1861: Suscol

October 28, 2011

Camp 63

[Today] was another magnificent day, clear as the previous one, harbinger of the fall rains they say. Myriads of wild geese flew over our camp, as they have for several days, their numbers incredible. At this season of the year they come from the north to winter in this state. They congregate on the plains, and at times hundreds of acres will be literally covered with them. I believe I wrote last winter of the immense numbers we saw near Los Angeles.

We raised our camp and moved up the Napa Valley to Suscol Ferry, five miles from Napa. The roads were dusty almost beyond endurance. There is much travel, and every team moved in such a cloud that it was impossible to see it at any distance—you only saw its cloud of dust.

We camped by a pretty brook, near the Suscol House. On our way we passed the pretty little village of Vallejo (pronounced here in the Spanish style Val-lay´-ho), where the United States has a navy yard. We passed through a fertile region, fine farmhouses at frequent intervals, farms fenced, young orchards growing, everything with an American look.

After camping, Peter shot a fine wild goose near camp. A flock came down in a stubble field, and he stole up and killed one.

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