This trip over, we return to our train and find dinner awaiting us, after which our train is run to the steamboat landing and we are taken aboard the “City of Kingston,” belonging to the Northern Pacific Railway, for a trip of 28 miles to Seattle. We can hardly realize as the boat leaves the wharf that our visit to Tacoma is over, so rapidly were we hustled along; but we are highly pleased with the treatment we received and feel that Tacoma is a wonderful place and her people will make her still more wonderful by their thrift, their push, and activity. They have our best wishes for their future progress and advancement.
The “City of Kingston” is a splendid boat and rides like a feather over the waters of the sound, and from the expressions of delight on every hand it is evident our people are enjoying the trip. The boat is in charge of Engineer G. H. Lent and a gentlemanly purser, who have won the goodwill of our party by kindly allowing us the freedom of the boat and showing us through many of the elegantly-furnished state rooms with which the boat is equipped. Arriving at Seattle, we are loaded in a large cable car and taken through the city for about four miles and back again. It is so dark we cannot see the town and can only enjoy the ride. We are taken to the station, where we wait for half an hour for our train to arrive, which has been sent from Tacoma to overtake us. We are all pretty thoroughly tired out, and are glad when at about eleven o’clock our train arrives, and we are soon making ourselves comfortable inside. M. M. Davis, Esq., a press representative of Seattle, and Conductor Thomas Doyle in search of an “item” gave us a short call just after our train came over from Tacoma. Brother Reagan and “Alfalfa” are the only ones I see as
[Illustration: LATOURELLE FALLS, OREGON.]
I leave the “refreshment corner” in the “combined” to seek repose in the “Marco.” Our train is still standing at Seattle and the hour is close to midnight.
Getting up this morning about 7.30, I find we are crossing another desert--at least it has that appearance. We have left Ellensburg and are running through a dry, sandy country along the Yakima River. Here and there we pass a ranch where plots of land under irrigation are being cultivated, and from the fertile appearance of these irrigated tracts it would seem that this country needs but plenty of water to make it a blooming paradise. This much I discover by looking out the window while waiting my turn to wash and comb, for Brothers Terry, Brown, and Horner are ahead of me this morning. We work on the principle “first come first served,” and all good naturedly wait when there is nothing else to do. Completing my toilet, I go to the smoker and find the genial conductor who is running the train, and learn that he is a member of Mt. Hood Division No. 91; name, W. B. Hale.