Our stay, however, was but short, for on the morning of March 15th we bade them all adieu, and set off for New Orleans, Louisiana, 141 miles distant, where, after stopping at 25 stations, travelling through inlets of the Mississippi Sound, much swamp and water, and crossing the Bay of St. Louis (a portion of the Gulf of Mexico) by a railway bridge two miles in length, we arrived at a quarter before nine, on the evening of the same day.
At New Orleans my husband held many meetings, including services at the Canal Street Presbyterian, Carondelet Street, and Methodist Churches; he preached also in German, at three different places of worship, and gave two addresses, one to the 250 coloured students of Leeland College, and the other to the coloured students of Straight University, 215 in number. New Orleans, which is the chief cotton mart of the world, contains a large Roman Catholic, French, and Spanish population, and is said to be the most wicked city in the United States. During our visit, Popish processions frequently passed along the streets, and little or no regard was shown for the Lord's Day, when business was carried on as usual. Before our departure we visited the Orange Groves and Lake Pontchartrain; but with this exception, saw very little of the neighbourhood.
On the afternoon of March 29th we went on board the "John Scudder," a large river steamer, and at 6 p.m. left New Orleans, and started on a voyage up the Mississippi, for Memphis, Tennessee. The room we occupied was rather large, and was one of a great number of cabins ranged along the sides of a very long saloon, used as a general sitting and dining-room by the passengers. It had two berths, six little windows—or ventilators—close to the ceiling, and two doors, one of which opened into the saloon. The food provided for the passengers was excellent, but no drinking water was to be had on board, except the unfiltered water of the Mississippi; and this was so full of impurities, and muddy sediment, which formed a thick deposit on the bottom of any vessel where it was allowed to stand, that we could neither make up our minds to drink it cold, nor in the form of tea or coffee, particularly as it was said to have an injurious effect upon the health. We therefore obtained a jug filled with ice, allowed the ice to melt, and after mixing a little wine with the water, to take off the coldness of it, procured a wholesome palatable draught. On the evening of March 31st, Mr. Müller (by permission) held a meeting in the saloon, when he addressed the passengers, coloured servants, and as many of the ship's company as were able to attend; but though there were a few Christians on board who appreciated the service, the passengers were chiefly worldly people, who amused themselves every evening in the saloon with music, singing, dancing, and card-playing, from which there was no escape, as in our cabin, we could distinctly hear, even if we did not see, all that was going on. The voyage, however, though slow, was a pleasant one upon the whole. The Mississippi, or "Father of Waters," from its source in Minnesota, to its mouth in the Gulf of Mexico, is 3160 miles in length; but the Upper Mississippi is considered much more beautiful than the lower portion of the river. Whilst on board, Mr. Müller was occupied a few hours every day in writing the new Report, and on April 3rd, at 6 p.m., we landed at Memphis—situated on one of the Chickasaw Bluffs of the Mississippi—after a voyage of about 800 miles. There we passed the night at an hotel in very uncomfortable quarters, and, at 11.15 on the morning of the next day, left by rail for St. Louis, Missouri, a city of more than half a million of inhabitants, where, after a journey of 327 miles, we arrived at 7.15 a.m. on April 5th, and went immediately to the Planters' House.
On Sunday, April 7th, Mr. Müller began his work by preaching in the morning at the Second Presbyterian Church, and in the evening at the Pilgrim Congregational, when, upon each occasion, the audience was immense. On the 8th, he gave an address on prayer at the Methodist Episcopal Church, to crowds of hearers, and preached at Pine Street Presbyterian Church on the evening of the 9th. On the 10th and 11th, he held meetings at the Second Baptist and at Lafayette Park Presbyterian Churches, and on the 12th addressed an assembly of at least 2,500 at the Centenary Methodist Episcopal Church, the largest in the city. On the 13th, at the German Protestant Orphan Home, nine miles from our hotel, he spoke to 161 orphans in German, in the presence of their teachers and other persons; on Sunday morning the 14th preached at Dr. Brookes's Church, Walnut Street, on the second coming of Christ, and on the evening of that day, at the Mercantile Library Hall, addressed a mass meeting of Germans, about 2,000 in number. On the morning of the 15th, he attended a meeting for pastors—when he spoke to 150 for an hour and 20 minutes—and in the evening preached at a German Church, at the corner of Autumn and Tenth Streets. On the 16th, a meeting for Christian Workers was held at the First Presbyterian Church, when he addressed a congregation of 1,200, and on Wednesday evening, April 17th, preached a farewell sermon at Dr. Brookes's Church, from the Epistle of Jude, verses 20-21, with great power and solemnity. Throughout the whole of our stay at St. Louis the meetings were exceedingly large, on week evenings as well as on Sundays; and the interest and attention manifested throughout the whole series of services were most encouraging.
On April 18th we rose at half past 5, and commended ourselves to the Lord in prayer for the long journey to San Francisco—undertaken after much waiting upon God—before us; and at half past 8 left St. Louis in a Pullman's car. In the course of the morning we crossed the Missouri, and, the weather being lovely, with vegetation in perfection, the journey was delightful. In the evening we alighted at the supper station to partake of some refreshment, and at 9 o'clock retired to rest. The little room we occupied was comfortable, and the sleeping arrangements were excellent. Our windows remained shut, but as the six ventilators above them were left open, there was thorough ventilation; and, after passing a good night, at 9 o'clock the next morning we reached Council Bluffs. There, after breakfast, at half past 9, we got into the same train; but, having to take seats in one of the other carriages until the Pullman cars were unlocked, a multitude of emigrants—who were pouring into California at the rate of 1,000 per day—soon surrounded us, amongst whom we distributed some tracts. At Omaha, Nebraska (476 miles from St. Louis, where the Union Pacific Railway begins), we arrived in half an hour; and, after waiting three hours at the station, got into another train, without emigrants, and there engaged a second little private room. At 1 o'clock our journey was resumed, and soon after leaving Omaha we entered upon the prairies, which consist of millions of acres of wild, barren, uncultivated land, stretching away for hundreds of miles in all directions, with scarcely a bush, tree, or plant of any size upon them, and covered only with dry, short, stunted grass. Throughout this district (appropriately called the "American Desert") the cold must often be intense, for there is no shelter for many miles, and nothing to break the force and severity of winter gales. During this portion of our journey the train advanced only at the rate of 15 miles an hour; for, though travelling apparently over immense level plains, we were gradually ascending some thousands of feet above the level of the sea. On April 20th, at noon, the engine got out of order, and as we and all the other passengers alighted from the train, there was further opportunity of distributing tracts and of surveying the immense plains around. Some idea could be formed also of the wilderness through which the Children of Israel passed, on their way to Canaan, the promised land. Soon after continuing our journey, the elevation became greater, and quantities of snow in large patches were seen lying on the ground. Just before reaching Archer, distant ranges of the Rocky Mountains became visible, having peaks covered with perpetual snow; but, in consequence of defective power in our locomotive, Cheyenne, the dinner station (a town 5,931 feet above the level of the sea, consisting chiefly of detached wooden houses,) was not reached until 4 p.m., when the train drew up at a short distance from the Inter-Ocean Hotel. After leaving Cheyenne, numerous snow sheds were passed, erected at intervals to protect the railway from great snow drifts in heavy winter storms; and during the night we ascended to Sherman, (8,235 feet above the level of the sea, a point more elevated than the summit of the Rigi, and the highest railway station in the world) where the cold became severe, and the snow in places was several feet deep.
On April 21st all through the day we continued to travel in the midst of a wild, barren, desolate region, with long ranges of lofty, snow-capped mountains in the distance, and snow in great abundance everywhere. There was neither foliage nor vegetation, and though the railway carriages were warmed, the cold outside was piercing. For several hours we passed repeatedly under snow sheds, of which there were considerable numbers; and, in consequence of our detention on the previous day, arrived at the breakfast station very late. In the afternoon, at 3 o'clock, Evanstone, 6,870 feet above the level of the sea, was reached, and towards the evening we descended gradually towards the valleys, where the wild and desolate character of the scenery gave way to grandeur and magnificence. At Ogden (35 miles only from Salt Lake City, where the Union Pacific Railway terminates and the Central Pacific begins) we arrived at 7 o'clock, and after waiting there an hour and a quarter, changed trains; but were obliged to be satisfied then merely with a "section," as the only little private room in the next train had been engaged. On April 22nd we rose at half past 5, at 9 a.m. reached Elko, Nevada, 5,650 feet above the level of the sea, and afterwards travelled across the American alkali desert, consisting of vast plains covered with sage brush, bounded by long, snowy mountain ranges. At Wells, an elevation of only 5,030 feet above the level of the sea, where the train stopped for half an hour, we observed groups of Indians, wrapped either in scarlet blankets or in striped woollen mantles dyed with brilliant colours. They wore curious looking hats, trimmed with feathers and wide ribbons, and had their faces painted with patches of vermilion. At some of the stations a few Chinese also were standing about, with their hair plaited in long tails, reaching nearly to the heels. At Bewawe and Battle Mountain there were more Indians, and towards evening we reached Winnemucca, where several copper-coloured men and women gathered round the train. On the morning of April 23rd, at a very early hour, we entered California, and then the ascent of the Sierra Nevada Mountains became so steep that two locomotives were employed to draw the train up hill. At short intervals strong wooden snow sheds, like tunnels, had been erected, as a protection to the railway against injury from heavy snow drifts; but they could be regarded only as necessary evils, on account of the interruption they occasioned to the possibility of seeing everything around. At 6 o'clock we reached Summit Station, 7,042 feet above the level of the sea, an elevation to which the train had been gradually mounting in the night, and here a magnificent prospect of indescribable grandeur suddenly burst upon our view. Far above the station innumerable mountain peaks were towering towards the sky; the sun, which shone brilliantly, lighted up the snow to a whiteness that was dazzling; deep abysses, chasms, and ravines surrounded us; millions of pine and fir-trees were growing up the mountains' sides; and thousands of feet far down below, valleys clothed with the richest verdure, added beauty to the scene.
During the construction of this wonderful mountain railway, it is said that the sum spent upon blasting-powder alone amounted to a million dollars. At 8 o'clock, the door of our compartment was thrown open, and the conductor called out, "Cape Horn!" when all the passengers jumped up immediately and looked intently out of window, for the train was travelling slowly along the very edge of a precipice, 2,450 feet in height; a point from which an extensive landscape of great beauty could be seen extending far and wide. After leaving "Cape Horn," we crossed a timber bridge, erected over a portion of the valley, proceeded to "Emigrant's Gap," thence to Colfax, and afterwards descended the mountain with a rush, further on into California, where the weather was warm, and the country looked most beautiful, the trees being covered with foliage, and the ground highly cultivated everywhere. For many miles we passed rich meadow land, and numbers of large trees; the fields were covered with grass, intermingled with brilliant masses of wild flowers; lupines, eschcoltzias, wild roses, geraniums, etc., were flourishing in many places, and millions of Californian poppies of an intense yellow, deepening into orange colour, outshone all the rest. An American gentleman once said: "I never saw flowers till I saw them in California." At half past 10 we arrived at Sacramento, and, after remaining there an hour, travelled all day through a beautiful part of the country, favoured with fine summer weather. In the course of the afternoon Livermore and Niles were reached, the train stopped a few minutes at San José, and finally we arrived at Oakland, a suburb of San Francisco, where two gentlemen entered the carriage who welcomed us cordially, and earnestly invited my husband to preach there. At 5.35 we alighted at the station, where two brethren were kindly waiting to receive us, with whom we went on board the "El Capitan," a large ferry steamer; and, after crossing the Bay, landed at San Francisco, where our friends conducted us to the rooms they had engaged at the Palace Hotel.
Thus ended our journey of 2,390 miles (from St. Louis), accomplished in six days and five nights, the longest railway journey we had ever taken at one time; and truly thankful to the Lord were we for His protecting care during our travels, and for the comforts of the resting place now provided for us.
On the evening of Friday, April 26th, at the lecture room of the Calvary Presbyterian Church, Mr. Müller gave his first address at San Francisco; and, after the meeting was over, James Wilkinson, an orphan formerly on Ashley Down, came up to speak to him. He had been living in the United States for fifteen years, and was not only converted himself, but had been used by the Lord as an instrument of great blessing to the souls of others. On Sunday morning, April 28th, Mr. Müller preached at the Tabernacle Presbyterian Church, Tyler Street, to about 1,800 people; in the evening he addressed nearly 2,000 at the same church; and on the 29th preached at the Metropolitan Temple to a congregation of 800.
On the 30th, a gentleman called in his carriage and took us for a drive to Cliff House, seven miles distant, near the Golden Gate, a strait two miles wide, which leads from the Bay into the Pacific Ocean. Many years ago the spot on which San Francisco now stands was covered with hills formed of sand, blown there in immense quantities from the shores of the Pacific by the strong winds which constantly prevail; but now a "magnificent city" (as some call it) has been erected upon the site that formerly was nothing but a barren waste. Upon arriving at the coast of the Pacific, we took a walk upon the beach, a vast region composed entirely of sand, which, as no rain falls in California from the middle of April until October, becomes extremely troublesome, because it is blown inland in prodigious quantities for miles by the trade winds, for which that locality is noted. During the winter rain falls every day; but frost, except in the mountains and northern portions of the State (generally speaking), is unknown. During our walk the tide was nearly high; but when low, beautiful shells in great variety are found upon these shores. After walking some time upon the sands, our friend conducted us to Cliff House, an hotel built upon a high rock overlooking the ocean, where, from a balcony, we had an opportunity of observing the sea-lions, by which the rocks that stand out in the sea are frequented. Hundreds of these curious, amphibious creatures were there, with their pointed heads, and bodies shining with salt water. Some were basking in the sunshine on dry portions of the cliffs, others were plunging into the sea, several were climbing up sloping places on the rocks, and others were barking discordantly. Soon after our arrival at Cliff House, a young waiter introduced himself as the brother of Emma Evans, one of the orphans formerly on Ashley Down. He knew we were in the United States, and having often heard Mr. Müller preach in Bristol years ago, recognized him with great delight, and before our departure presented us with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, as a little token of his gratitude.