Backfiring had already been started to meet the oncoming conflagration,
but everything, including the elements, seemed to favor destruction and,
as time passed, the worry and fear increased. Owing to inability to
combat the fire, through the lack of water, doubt began to creep in as
to whether the width of Van Ness avenue and the puny attempts at fire
fighting would check the march of the flames.
About this time the question dawned upon myself and neighbors as to what
we should do with the more precious of our personal belongings. Mr.
Joseph Weisbein, a friendly neighbor, since dead, and myself evolved a
scheme to bury our belongings in the garden at the rear of my house. We
assembled four trunks, packed these with silverware and wearing apparel,
and some of the hardest physical work I have ever done was in burying
these trunks, digging the hole with a worn out shovel and a broken
spade. Then, with the help of our Chinese cook, I brought out of the
cellar a baby's buggy which had lain forgotten and unused for several
years. We loaded it with bedding and other things and trundled it down
the hill to Lobos Park near the bay shore. Trip after trip we made
before we decided that we had all that was necessary or, rather,
absolutely needful for a camp existence.
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