I went as far as Omaha, and then was asked if I were not going West.  The reason for this charming reception was that it was a novelty then to hear a young woman talk in a lively way on striking themes which had been most carefully prepared, and a light touch added, with frequent glints of humour.  Byron declared that easy writing was very hard reading.  I reversed that method, always working hard over each lecture.  For instance, I spent two months in preparing “Bachelor Authors,” cramming and condensing, and passing quickly over dangerous ground.  With my vocal training I could easily be heard by an audience of five hundred.

A friend was eager to go to Alaska by Seattle; then, after our return, visit Yellowstone Park and San Francisco.  She urged me so eloquently to accompany her, that I left my home in Metcalf, Massachusetts, taking great risks in many ways, but wonderful to relate, nothing disastrous occurred.

We scurried by fastest trains across the country to Seattle, just in time to take the Steamer Topeka from Seattle on August 8, 1899, the last boat of the season, and the last chance tourists ever had to see the Muir Glacier in its marvellous glory, as it was broken badly before the next summer.

My friend advised me kindly to ask no questions of the captain, as she knew well what a bore that was.  I promised to be exceedingly careful.  So, next morning, when that tall and handsome Captain Thompson came around the deck, with a smiling “Good morning,” and bowing right and left, I was deeply absorbed in a book; the next time I was looking at a view; another time I played I was fast asleep.  He never spoke to me, only stopped an instant before me and walked on.  At last, a bow-legged pilot came directly from the captain’s office to my open window, bringing to Miss Sanborn a bowl of extra large and luscious strawberries from Douglas Island, quite famous on account of the size and sweetness of this berry.  With this gift came a note running thus: 

     DEAR MISS SANBORN: 

I am a little puzzled by your frigid manner.  Have you any personal prejudice against me?  Walter Raymond wrote me before he sailed, to look you up, and do what I could for you, as you were quite a favourite on the Eastern coast, and any kindness shown to you would be considered a personal favour to him, and that he only wished he could take the trip with us.

I was amazed and mortified.  I had obeyed my directions too literally, and must and did explain and apologize.  After that, such pleasant attentions from him!  Invited to call at his office with my friends, to meet desirable passengers, something nice provided for refreshment, and these gentlemen were always ready for cards or conversation.  But the great occasion was when I had no idea of such an honour, that the captain said: 

“We are soon to pass through the Wrangel Narrows, a dangerous place, and the steering through zigzag lines must be most careful.  I am going to smuggle you on to the bridge to see me steer and hear me give my orders that will be repeated below.  But as it is against the rule to take a woman up there at such a time, promise me to keep perfectly silent.  If you make one remark you lose your life.”