The Long Ride Across the Country

*A retelling for children, based on **Mahmúd's Diary**, from the long train journeys of September and October 1912.*

1 / 15

If you have ever taken a very long trip — the kind where the morning you left feels like days ago, and the window keeps showing new country you have never seen before — then you can begin to picture this story.

2 / 15

In the autumn of 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá was traveling across America by train. People remember the great gatherings of that tour: the crowded halls, the speeches, the cheering crowds in the big cities. But between all those famous days were long, quiet stretches of riding — Chicago out toward the Pacific Ocean, then south down the coast to California, then all the way back east again. Day after day after day of motion.

3 / 15

Mírzá Maḥmúd was one of the small group traveling with Him, and he wrote down what those quiet days were like. They are easy to overlook. There were no crowds to see them. And that is exactly why they are worth telling — because they show what 'Abdu'l-Bahá was like when no audience was watching at all.

4 / 15

Each day began before the sun. While the land outside the windows was still dark, 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose and said the dawn prayer in His own small compartment. Then breakfast — usually just tea and a piece of bread at the little folding table. After that He turned to His letters. People had been writing to Him from everywhere, and the letters caught up with Him at each station stop. He would answer them, speaking the words aloud for Mírzá Maḥmúd to write down, and signing each one Himself in careful Persian script.

5 / 15

By the middle of the morning, the dark windows had filled with daylight, and the whole wide country came into view. 'Abdu'l-Bahá would stand at the window of the parlour car for a long, long time, simply watching the land go by. Mírzá Maḥmúd noticed that the flat prairies seemed to hold Him most of all — the great open plains of Nebraska and Kansas, where the horizon runs on and on with nothing to break it. He did not say much about what He saw out there. He seemed to be deep in thought, deep in prayer.

6 / 15

At midday the little travelling group ate together — 'Abdu'l-Bahá, Mírzá Maḥmúd, and the others, and sometimes a friend who had climbed aboard to ride along for part of the way. They talked easily over the meal. Often 'Abdu'l-Bahá would ask about the next town coming up, and about the people there He was going to meet, as if He were already thinking of them.

7 / 15

The afternoon brought more letters, a little rest, and the afternoon prayer. And here is the part of the day that Mírzá Maḥmúd remembered most warmly.

8 / 15

On those trains, there were men who worked hard to take care of the travellers — the porters and the attendants in the sleeping cars. In 1912 these were almost always African American men, and their job was a difficult one. Many passengers barely looked at them. Many never bothered to learn their names at all.

9 / 15

'Abdu'l-Bahá was not like that. He called for these men, and He spoke with them. He asked each one his name. He asked about their families waiting for them back home. And when a journey ended, He would press a gift or a generous tip into a man's hand to thank him for his care.

10 / 15

But the most wonderful thing came later. As 'Abdu'l-Bahá rode the long route west and then back again, the same porters kept appearing on the trains. And by then He knew them. He greeted them by name, like old friends — and they greeted Him the same way, happy to see Him again. Think of how that must have felt: to be the man everyone else walked past, and then to have this kind Visitor remember your name across all those miles.

11 / 15

When the country darkened again outside the windows, 'Abdu'l-Bahá said the evening prayer. Supper was light. He went to rest early. And the train rolled on through the night, carrying Him on toward the next city and the next crowd.

12 / 15

Mírzá Maḥmúd did not have to write any of this down. None of it was a big event. But he wrote it anyway, and we are lucky he did — because the quiet days tell us something the famous days cannot. Anyone can be their best self when a crowd is watching. 'Abdu'l-Bahá was His same loving, prayerful, patient self on an ordinary afternoon on a moving train, with no one to impress.

13 / 15

That is the kind of goodness that is real all the way through — the kind that remembers a tired man's name, and keeps its prayers even when the whole world is just rolling by the window.

14 / 15

*This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see ["Across the Continent by Rail: A Long Quiet Crossing"](/stories/md-train-westward-1912).*

15 / 15