Traveling Onward

On Friday, October 5, at 6 p.m. we were all seated together in the train passenger car. H. Birkner gave us a few more bits of advice, a final handshake, and the train began to move — first slowly across city streets right past pedestrians, wagons and homes while a bell was constantly ringing on the locomotive. Outside the city we went somewhat faster, but often swaying so much that one was reminded of the rocking of the ship. It seemed precarious to us as we passed right next to the water or crossed unending bridges and swamps. The noise is just not to be described when we are locked in by hills or passing through a dark tunnel.

Soon the moon came up and the weather was delightful. The moon shone so brightly that one could see the countryside clearly. It was grand, even more so than along the Rhine. One could not turn away his eyes, and no sleep came over them. Only the little ones slept. At midnight we had to change. We were barely together safely with all blankets, suitcases, umbrellas and the machine began to moan. Instead of the German whistle, a steam whistle is sounded here, comparable with the lowing of an ox, only louder and more piercing. The echo from the hills sounds ever more quietly and the train hums along as fast as the wind until morning, through the most beautiful countryside.

After the moon had disappeared, we got some sleep, and now we saw the sun rise above small, green hills. It may have been about 7 a.m. when a somewhat longer stop was made. From a restaurant at the depot, I got my wife a cup of coffee. For the coffee I had to pay 25 cents and had to deposit a dollar for serving the coffee in the compartment. But when I returned the cup, the fellow gave me only 15 cents back and scolded and scolded besides, when I asked for more. I was ready to forget about my deposit, but I met a German American who had seen me advance the money. He went along immediately, and the restaurant keeper had to pull out my dollar again and give it back.

Soon people began to offer travelers various things. The local passenger cars have a door only at every end. A passageway leads through the whole train. The passengers sit on both sides, two in comfortable seats, covered with plush. Boys come with apples, pears, nuts of all kinds, grapes, popcorn, etc. Girls carry about trinkets and pretty lacework. Papers, books, announcement cards were carried about, and water — gratis. All one could do with other things was only look. Further enjoyment runs into the cents. Also other parasitic plants may be seen — representatives of life insurances, lotteries. In the passenger cars there were well-fired stoves and other conveniences, but one does not travel as fast as in Germany.

Niagara Falls

At 1 p.m. we were in Niagara Falls, a little city on the great waterfalls. Up to now, if we were getting on and off or if we had problems, we could always find at least two Germans, either travelers, trainmen or other officials, who would help us out of the difficulty. At this depot, however, we stood among a thousand English-speaking people; no one understood. When we had stood for a time trying to converse with an officer, there came along a German restaurant keeper, brought to us by a depot attendant. He freed us from our dilemma and conducted us into his house. There, above all things, we cleansed ourselves from the hotel and coal dust, refreshed our nerves with a cup of strong coffee — nerves that had been maltreated by the terrible noise of the train — and we quieted our growling stomach with bread and meat. Not as though we had suffered from hunger! Augers had provided us amply with provisions. But now that was used up.

Our host led us to Niagara Falls. What shall I say of it? No picture, no description can attain the magnificence of this natural phenomenon. The logical thing would be to keep completely quiet, for I fear that you will imagine a wholly wrong view of Niagara from my description. I myself had read descriptions — and good ones — but I had visualized everything otherwise. The reality truly surprised me; I cannot say that I found less than I had expected. From the train, we had already seen the big bridge which joins the two steep, high shores about two miles below the falls. We had also seen from afar how the foam of the falls rises like steam into the air. Take this as preface and now follow us on our way.

First our host guided us through the broad streets of the country town. Then the route led along bays with beautiful foliage toward the raging water. Soon we were at the precipice and stared down into the bed of the Niagara. We saw before us the water plunge down into the dreadful depth. I held to a knotty tree trunk and leaned over a blackberry bush which was clinging to the rock. Even the steadiest man would get dizzy. The waterfalls form a corner, since the largest part of the water flows on the Canadian side around an island. We had both — the view down along the falling water as well as the view of the endless mass of water throwing itself over the rock. We made our way over rock and briars upstream, toward a bridge which led to the afore-mentioned island. Let us halt on the bridge in order to look around. Before us lies the big island, grown over with trees and shrubs to the water’s edge. Next to this lies a smaller island, as if a piece had been torn from the larger island, also lush green and washed around by raging waters. A few steps farther there lies a tree trunk on the rock, hidden by water. The whole decaying trunk is full of evergreen bushes, which extend outward over the waters. Below us the riverflood rages and roars over the great boulders of rock so that foam and spray bubble upward. It was as if each drop wanted to overtake the other, as if each wanted to be the first to be admired in the colossal fall. And then it was as if the rocks did not want to permit the waters to roar away so wildly. But they tried to stop it in vain. Rebelliously, the water foams upward over this powerless resistance and drops from rock to rock until, having reached the depths, it flows onward more slowly, as if exhausted.

In this rage of water, three persons lost their lives some years ago. They were in a boat, but the churning of the water tore them away. One was thrown from the canoe and against the tree trunk. He held on firmly and climbed onto it. The boat was also caught hanging there. Was there hope for rescue? They spent 24 hours at this place. The whole population of the region was occupied with an attempt at rescue on the shore. Countless boats were let out on ropes, but were dashed to pieces. Thousands of people worked into the night. When they tried to renew their efforts at daybreak, all three unfortunate people had disappeared. They had been torn away into the abyss and no trace of them has ever been sighted.

Now let us take a look at the land. The shore looks romantic. Countless little tribulations come flowing quickly. Water bubbles forth out of old dilapidated buildings. Farther upward, it seems to have powered a mill — but was the power of the water too great? Everything has fallen to pieces and is gray. We went once again to the water falls. The children looked for stones over which the water had washed and stuck twigs in their hats.

The Lodging in Cleveland

The following night we were again in the train passenger car. You have traveled with us through one night and you pretty well know how we fared in it. This night passed pretty well like the previous one, only it was darker and we had to change trains more often and had to do much waiting. In addition, a person was pretty well knocked-out, and for that reason this night was much more uncomfortable.

At 9 a.m. we were in Cleveland, a very fascinating city. In the bright sunshine she lay before us in friendly Sunday stillness. After long toils and easily mistaken streets, we reached the home of Pastor Wyneken, but it was locked up. My family sat down under the veranda in the shade of a fully loaded grapevine. I went into the church. Since I was chilled by our long walk and because I was so tired having traveled for two whole nights, I got little out of the sermon. I would otherwise have quietly slept if a good man had not given me a loving jab in the ribs now and then. Here we spent several pleasant days. We also saw again our dear Pastor Schwan, no doubt remembered by you people at Würsten. Wyneken, I might way, is honored as if an apostle. He enjoys great respect among the people of Indiana. He traveled throughout the land when bears and wolves were still found in abundance. As a traveling preacher, he often sat on tree stumps in the forests or in swamps, waiting for daybreak so that he might be able to wander onward. People have related with tears how he hungered and froze with them, when no one was there to preach the Gospel to them. As missionary, he became acquainted with a good part of the land, and when he was elected president of the synod, he spent 12 years traveling about to visit the scattered congregations and their pastors. The people of Fort Wayne have presented him with a little farm and a neat little house done in the Swiss style of architecture, where they hope he will spend his last days. But the old warrior with his mustache and goatee will not rest on his laurels here below. They wait for him up above in heaven. He will close his eyes, but his name will not be wiped out in the church history of the United States.

People also arrived here who had been brought over on the ships we had wanted to take but could not get ourselves ready in time. They had left 14 days before the Eagle and had arrived 14 days after. What would we say if we had had such a voyage? They had 12 dead people aboard and various ones had died in New York as a result of the hunger and lack of water. While they were on the sea, the captain never really knew where their boat was. A young girl among those passengers had left her homeland fresh and in good health but was miserable and half starved when she reached Cleveland. Pastor Wyneken gave her Holy Communion, whereupon she passed away. What hopes she may have entertained regarding this new home, but now she has entered the land only to find her grave. It is the most beautiful thing a Christian person can find: a blessed end. But it does make the heart wonder when such a blossom drops off in her best time.

[Editor’s note: The dear narrator has here described his own life’s course and the sorrow of his friends because of his early departure.]