“I hope not,” she said. “You’ll get your sea legs in a couple of days and be back up on deck in no time.”
D.L., it turned out, was right. He spent the entire fourteen-day voyage from New York to Liverpool flat on his back in the cabin fighting nausea. Sometimes he was barely aware of Emma coming and going from the cabin, bringing him a little food, and telling him what was going on above deck.
When the City of Washington arrived in Liverpool, D.L. was anxious to have his feet on something solid that did not pitch and roll beneath him. He and Emma spent a night in Liverpool. The next morning they took the train to London, where they stayed with Emma’s younger sister, Mary. When the Revell family immigrated to the United States eighteen years before, they had left two-year-old Mary behind with an aunt, hoping that once they had settled in America, Mary would be sent to join them. Regrettably, that did not happen, and Mary grew up an English girl with no memories of her American sisters. Two years before, she had traveled to the United States to see her family but had returned to England after the visit. Now it was Emma’s turn to visit her twenty-year-old sister in the environment in which she had grown up. D.L. watched as the two sisters enjoyed a wonderful reunion and then introduced him to many of their relatives.
The weather in England was especially miserable at the time of the Moodys’ arrival in March. It snowed most of the first week, and D.L. wrote to his mother, saying, “I do not like the old country as well as our own. I must tell you how glad I am I was born and brought up in America. I shall be glad when I get back. I am not sorry I came, for I very much value the information I am gaining here. But it is a horrible place to live in.”
On their first Sunday in London, D.L. and Emma made their way to the Metropolitan Tabernacle in South London. This large, stone building was a Baptist church whose pastor was Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Nicknamed the “Prince of Preachers,” Spurgeon was also a prolific writer, having published a number of books, all of which D.L. had read. D.L. and Emma arrived early for the morning service to get a seat and quickly discovered that they were not the only ones to do so. They joined the throng of people waiting outside the church to get in and made their way to seats in the gallery.
Inside, the church was cavernous. The main floor was packed with row upon row of pews, and two balconies above with inclined seating ran completely around the inside of the hall. D.L. learned from a member of the congregation that the church could seat five thousand people, with standing room for another thousand. It wasn’t long before every seat was taken. At the appointed time for the service to begin, the hall became silent, and Charles Haddon Spurgeon walked out onto the platform. D.L. was staring at the man he had admired greatly for so long. At thirty-three years of age, Spurgeon was only three years older than D.L., who noted that like himself, Charles Spurgeon was a heavyset man with a beard.
D.L. marveled at the acoustics inside the Metropolitan Tabernacle. When the congregation sang a hymn together, it sounded like angels singing. And when Spurgeon began to speak, even in the gallery his voice was crisp and clear. Spurgeon’s sermon was eloquent, simple, and engaging. D.L. could see firsthand why this man had been dubbed the Prince of Preachers. Spurgeon had an extraordinary gift for presenting his message clearly. As D.L. listened to the sermon that morning, he found himself praying a silent prayer: “Lord, help me to preach and minister like Charles Spurgeon.” After the service, D.L. confided to Emma that seeing Spurgeon and hearing him preach was like a dream come true for him.
Several days later D.L. enjoyed another treat as he visited George Williams, the London draper who had founded the YMCA movement. Williams explained how he had felt led to start the organization. He then invited D.L. to speak at the original Aldersgate Street YMCA in London. D.L. was delighted to be asked. He spoke on the text “To every man his work.” He challenged the hundred men present at the meeting to find some work he could do for God and then faithfully do it. He also urged the group to begin a daily noon prayer meeting, as the men at the Chicago YMCA had done. The men followed D.L.’s urging, and soon several noon prayer groups were meeting throughout London.
While in London, D.L. contacted Fountain Hartley, secretary of the London Sunday School Union. Hartley had visited D.L. in Chicago to see his Sunday school work firsthand. When he learned that D.L. was in England, he invited him to speak at the Sunday School Union anniversary meeting in Exeter Hall in London. At the meeting D.L. was introduced by the vice chairman, who said, “We are glad to welcome our American cousin, the Reverend Mr. Moody of Chicago, and I forward a vote of thanks to the noble earl for being our chairman this evening.”
D.L. shot out of his seat and walked to the podium. He cleared his throat and said, “The chairman has made two mistakes. To begin with, I’m not the ‘Reverend’ Mr. Moody at all. I’m plain Dwight L. Moody, a Sabbath-school worker. And I’m not your American cousin. By the grace of God, I’m your brother, who is interested with you in our Father’s work for His children. And now, about this vote of thanks to the ‘noble earl.’ I don’t see why we should thank him any more than he should thank us. When at one time they offered to thank our Mr. Lincoln for presiding over a meeting in Illinois, he stopped it. He said he had tried to do his duty, and they had tried to do theirs. He thought it was an even thing all around.”
The room went completely quiet. No one moved. All eyes were on the Earl of Shaftsbury, chief patron of the Sunday School Union. When the earl laughed, the crowd relaxed. D.L. certainly had their attention.
Later in the week D.L. learned that the Earl of Shaftsbury was one of the most tireless advocates for children’s rights in England and had given his life to helping and teaching the poorest children. D.L. wished that he had spent more time talking with him.
Next, D.L. and Emma headed for Bristol, determined to see firsthand the work of George Müller. D.L. was not disappointed. As the train pulled into the station at Bristol, the large orphanage buildings on Ashley Down Hill dominated the landscape. D.L. recalled reading about orphaned children who were sent to Bristol by train from various parts of England. Sometimes the young boys and girls arrived at the station with nothing but the phrase, “Bound for Müller’s Orphanage, Bristol,” scribbled on a card pinned to their clothing.
From the train station the Moodys made their way to the orphanage, where they were introduced to George Müller, a tall, thin man with graying hair and thick, bushy sideburns. In his German accent, Müller warmly welcomed D.L. and Emma to the orphanage and took them on a tour of the facility. Three large buildings were in use, and work was well under way on a fourth. Müller was housing, feeding, and clothing over twelve hundred orphans, and the number kept growing. As they walked around the expansive facility and saw the orphans, D.L. had to remind himself that Müller had asked no one except God for the money to build and run the orphanage, and God had supplied his need—abundantly. For a few minutes D.L. got to talk in a missions class for boys being held at the orphanage, and after praying with Müller, he and Emma headed back to London.
After a brief stay in London, the Moodys headed for Ireland, where D.L. had been invited to speak in several Plymouth Brethren Assemblies. After one of these meetings in Dublin, a young man came up to him. “My name is Harry Moorehouse,” the young man said in a thick Lancashire accent, “and I want to come to America to preach in your church.”
D.L. took a deep breath. He had read about Harry Moorehouse, dubbed the “Boy Preacher from Lancashire.” In person, Harry looked even younger than D.L. had imagined. “So you would like to preach at my church,” D.L. said, stalling in a response to the young man’s request.
“Yes, I would, and I should like to travel on the same ship back to America with you. When are you departing?”
D.L. was flabbergasted by the young man in front of him. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for him in America. “We haven’t booked passage back yet, but if you are ever in America, do write to me and let me know you are there,” he said as he hurriedly turned to talk to the next person. He supposed that he would never hear from young Moorehouse again.
From Ireland D.L. and Emma traveled on to Edinburgh, Scotland, for a fleeting visit to see the Christian work being done there by Dr. Duff and Dr. Guthrie. D.L. found the trip to Scotland very worthwhile, and he was encouraged by the local efforts to preach the gospel in and around Edinburgh.
D.L. and Emma then set out on the long train ride south back to London. By now the biting winter had given way to the first signs of spring, and the couple were delighted by the green countryside sprinkled with old castles and fortifications that passed their window. At last D.L. was beginning to enjoy England. And he was certainly appreciating travel on English trains, which not only went twice as fast as trains in the United States but were also not constantly stopping for long periods so the steam engine could take on more water. D.L. was fascinated by the way English steam locomotives ingeniously scooped up water from a ditch beside the tracks as they moved along.
After several days of rest in London, D.L. and Emma headed across the English Channel to Paris for ten days. They attended prayer meetings and visited the Exposition Universelle Paris. This “world’s fair” was the greatest to be held so far, with 50,226 exhibitors from around the world. The show attracted the wealthy and the leaders of many countries. D.L. was greatly taken with the exposition. It was the world in miniature, squeezed into exhibit halls along the River Seine, where one could see princes, viceroys, even sultans dressed in their national garb.
When the Moodys returned to England, it was almost time for them to go back to the United States. Before they left, D.L. spoke once again at the YMCA in London. In the course of his talk, he said:
It has been my privilege to be in your city two months…. I have longed to see the founder of the Young Men’s Christian Association. Far away in the western part of America I have often prayed for this Association, and my heart has been full this morning as I sat here listening to my friends and looking them in the face. I do not know that I shall ever have this privilege again; it is not likely that I shall; next month I return to my home, but I shall always remember this morning. It is said that Napoleon, after his army had accomplished a great victory, ordered a medal to be struck with these words: “I was there”—that was all. In after years when I am far away in the western prairies of America, and when May comes, I shall think that in 1867 “I was there,” and as the years roll on, if it shall be my privilege to meet in yonder City any that are here this morning, we may there sit down by the banks of the beautiful river of the water of life that flows from the throne of God and talk of this morning. It will give us pleasure then to think that we were together in the fight.
On July 1, 1867, the eve of D.L. and Emma’s departure from England, a farewell reception was arranged in London. One of D.L.’s new English friends stood to speak. He addressed D.L. as a brother rather than a cousin and went on to add, “Few men who have visited a foreign shore have endeared themselves to so many hearts in so short a time, or with an unknown name and without letters of commendation won their way so deeply into the affections of a multitude of Christian brethren as has Mr. Moody. Few had ever heard of him before, but having talked with him or heard him speak of Jesus, asked for no other warrant to yield him a large measure of their love.”
