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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 DOWN IN WATER STREET
 
 ON THE BOWERY. 
 
 " For the Son of Man is come to seek and save that which 
 was lost." — St. Luke, 19. 10.
 
 Down in Water Street 
 
 A StOi-y of Sixteen Years Life and 
 Work inWater Street Mission 
 A sequel to the Life of Jerry McAuley 
 
 By 
 
 Samuel H. Hadley 
 
 of the Old Jerry McAuley Mission 
 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 London ^ Edinburgh
 
 {SIXTH EDITION) 
 
 Copyright 1902 
 
 BY 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 (August)
 
 /V ^/ H I z 
 
 To Her 
 
 who loved me and stood by me 
 
 when I was a helpless drunkard, 
 
 who stands by me now in Christian workf 
 
 my beloved and faithful wife, 
 
 this volume is 
 
 affectionately dedicated 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introductions 
 
 Preface 
 
 I. Jerry McAuley . 
 II. The First Rescue Mission 
 
 III. My Call to Water Street 
 
 IV. My Life Story . 
 V. Meeting Jesus . 
 
 VI. Bringing My Brother to Jesus 
 VII. Love the Drawing Power . 
 VIII. The Devil's Castaways . 
 IX. The Refuge of Crooks . 
 X. Old Uncle Reub. 
 XL Old Pop Lloyd . 
 XII. Bowery Ike's Career . 
 
 XIII. Billy Kelly, the Ex-barkeeper 
 
 XIV. John Jaeger, the Anarchist . 
 XV. Woman's Love and Faithfulness 
 
 3 
 
 PAGE 
 
 7 
 13 
 19 
 39 
 SI 
 59 
 75 
 8S 
 99 
 113 
 125 
 135 
 143 
 149 
 161 
 171 
 177
 
 Contents 
 
 XVI. John M. Wood, thu Drunken Sailor 
 XVII. Underwood, Newman and Roberts 
 XIX. My Brother 
 
 XVIII. A Plea for the Drunkard 
 XX. A Glimpse of the Work . 
 Certificate of Incorporation 
 Form of Bequest .... 
 
 PAOB 
 185 
 191 
 307 
 
 199 
 225 
 239 
 343
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 FAaNG 
 PAGE 
 
 Oa the Bowery Title 
 
 For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that 
 which was lost. — St. Luke, 19: 10. 
 
 Jerry McAuley 32 
 
 Mrs. Bradford L. Gilbert 42 
 
 Mrs. E. M. Whittemore 44 
 
 James C. Edwards 54 
 
 Mrs. James C. Edwards 54 
 
 Samuel Hopkins Hadley 60 
 
 Interior of Mission 76 
 
 A Group of Forty-six Redeemed Ones 90 
 
 Mrs. S. H. Hadley 94 
 
 The Old Colonel 108 
 
 The New Colonel 108 
 
 Philip McGuire 130 
 
 J. D, Underwood 138 
 
 Uncle Reub Johnston 138 
 
 Rummy 146 
 
 Old Pop Lloyd 146 
 
 Ira B. Snyder 154 
 
 Mr. Walter M. Smith 156 
 
 John Jaeger 172 
 
 5
 
 6 List of Illustrations 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 John R. McConica i8o 
 
 John M. Wood i86 
 
 Billy Kelly i86 
 
 C W. Roberts 194 
 
 Henry C. Newman 194 
 
 Col. H. H. Hadley 218 
 
 Mrs. Lida M. Lamont 226 
 
 Mrs. Sarah Sherwood 226 
 
 John H. Wyburn 234 
 
 J. S. Huyler 238 
 
 Waiting for a Christmas Dinner 240
 
 INTRODUCTIONS 
 
 J, WILBUR CHAPMAN 
 
 TRAVELLING across the country a few 
 weeks ago I had the great pleasure given 
 to me by the author of this book of 
 reading in manuscript the thoughts which are 
 here presented, and I count it not only a pleas- 
 ure to have read what I am sure will be inspir- 
 ing to Christian people everywhere, but a very 
 great privilege to write this word of introduc- 
 tion, and for the following reasons : 
 
 First of all because I have known the author 
 most intimately for thirteen years. I have 
 studied him in his work, been closely asso- 
 ciated with him in his social life and have no 
 hesitation in saying that I am quite sure it 
 would be difficult to find one who has more of 
 the spirit of Christ in his words and work than 
 the Superintendent of the Water Street Mis- 
 sion. 
 
 Secondly, because I have known in some 
 cases intimately, and in every case I believe 
 
 7
 
 8 Introductions 
 
 with more or less of intimacy, each one whose 
 name is mentioned on the pages of this book. 
 They are miracles of grace indeed. I have heard 
 them testify and seen them live, and it would 
 be difficult for one to have sufficient command 
 of language to give to the public any conception 
 of the marvellous work of God which has been 
 wrought in their lives. If to read this story 
 is interesting, as I am sure it will be, what shall 
 I say of the privilege of hearing these men 
 speak who have been redeemed from such great 
 depths of iniquity and so wonderfully kept, 
 many of them in places of temptation and 
 sorest trial. 
 
 Dr. Arthur T. Pierson once said, " If you 
 would like to feel as if you were reading a new 
 chapter of the Acts of the Apostles it would be 
 well for you to visit the old Jerry McAuley 
 Water Street Mission," and to this sentiment 
 expressed by this great Bible teacher I breathe 
 a hearty amen. I do not believe it is sacrile- 
 gious for me to say that if Jesus were here upon 
 earth in the flesh, he would do first the work 
 which the Superintendent of this Mission and his 
 co-labourers are striving to do with such emi- 
 nent success, for the outcast and down-trodden 
 members of society. Neither can I be misun-
 
 Introductions 9 
 
 derstood when I say that if Jesus were here I 
 could quite imagine him walking the streets of 
 New York by day and by night going down into 
 subcellars and climbing rickety stairs into high 
 attics, making his way into dens of iniquity and 
 reaching down into the depths to save the lost, 
 much as S. H. Hadley goes about our city 
 streets not only but into every other city where 
 time and opportunity are given to him to 
 labour. 
 
 It has been my privilege to know many true 
 men of God, but without any hesitation I can 
 say in this introductory note, that of all the 
 men I have known no one has ever moved me 
 more strangely and inspired me more truly 
 wath the spirit of the Master whom he serves 
 than S. H. Hadley, the author of this book. 
 May God's best blessing speed his message to a 
 countless number of souls. 
 
 J. Wilbur Chapman. 
 
 Fourth Presbyterian Church, 
 New York.
 
 lo Introductions 
 
 JOHN WESLEY JOHNSTON 
 
 A BOOK written by the Superintendent of 
 the Jerry McAuley Mission in Water 
 street, needs no introduction from me; 
 for the fame of this mission is world-wide, and 
 its honoured and successful Superintendent is 
 known to all Christian people. But as it has 
 been my great privilege to attend many of the 
 meetings in the McAuley Mission, and to know 
 by direct personal acquaintance, a number of 
 those whom it has rescued from drunkenness 
 and degradation, perhaps I may be permitted 
 to add a word by way of simple testimony. 
 
 Soon after my coming to New York in 1888 
 to assume the pastorate of the Sixty-first Street 
 Methodist Episcopal Church, I became ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Hadley, and the Mission on 
 Water street. When in St. John's, Brooklyn, 
 I enjoyed visiting the Mission, and took occa- 
 sion in every possible way to commend it to 
 Christians of all denominations. But since 
 coming to " Old John Street," and finding in 
 that church, among the most honoured and re- 
 liable in its membership, converts from Water 
 street, and hearing from their lips stories of re-
 
 Introductions 1 1 
 
 deeming grace similar to many in this book, 
 my interest in the Jerry McAuley Mission has 
 so deepened that it is only second to that I have 
 for the church of which I am now Pastor. 
 
 Most cordially do I commend this hook and 
 pray for it the largest possible circulation. I 
 have read it with profound interest. It has 
 stirred my soul most strangely. Many times 
 in the reading I have been moved to tears and 
 then again my heart has throbbed in praise and 
 thankfulness. The simple, artless way in 
 which these incidents are told, gives to the 
 book one of its highest charms, and yet adds 
 all the more to its effectiveness. There is no 
 attempt at the dramatic or the tragic, yet both 
 are here; just as there are touches of fine hu- 
 mour and delicate pathos. May God bless this 
 book ! And may He bless its writer and spare 
 him for many years to the work which he is 
 conducting with such success! 
 
 J. Wesley Johnston. 
 
 Old John Street Methodist Episcopal Church, 
 New York.
 
 Introduction to British Readers 
 
 BY REV. F. B. MEYER 
 
 HERE is a book after my heart ! It has 
 stirred me as much as "Westward 
 Ho ! " used to do years ago, when one 
 longed to be one of those who discovered the 
 New World. But here is a new world close 
 to our doors ; and I shall be surprised if this 
 book does not set twenty devoted servants 
 doing on this side of the Atlantic, the same 
 kind of work as my dear friend, S. H. 
 Hadley, is doing in Water Street, New York. 
 It is unusual for me to visit the United 
 States without finding my way to this sacred 
 spot; hallowed of the thousands of souls, who 
 have there been rescued from almost inde- 
 scribable depths of sin. To me it is a Cathe- 
 dral, whose Consecration has been spoken 
 of the lips of the Chief Shepherd and Bishop 
 of souls ; whose music is yielded by lips 
 which are filled with the praise of their 
 Deliverer, and whose memorial tablets are 
 not those which tell of Senators, Knights or 
 Orators who have died, but of servants of 
 Satan who have suddenly been changed into
 
 Introduction to British Readers 
 
 true Soldiers of the Cross, their Hves telling 
 of the marvels of redeeming grace. Blessed 
 spot, as I have visited there before, I hope to 
 visit there again, always to derive new inspi- 
 ration and blessing to my soul, and new faith 
 in the Gospel. 
 
 Let those who say that the Gospel is 
 played out read this book. It abounds with 
 the most extraordinary and thrilling narra- 
 tives — not the least being those of the 
 founder, Jerry McAuley, and of Mr. Hadley 
 himself. These pages tell marvels of Love — 
 Divine and Human. Only love could stand 
 the strain ; only the love of God in Jesus 
 Christ could win such triumphs. 
 
 May the book have a wide circulation in 
 England, and lead many to go and do like- 
 wise ; and if only I could get all this preach- 
 ing, journeying, and authorship done, I could 
 not wish anything better for myself than to 
 have a chance of winning a little of that 
 blessing which such work as this must win 
 from our Master. 
 
 F. B. Meyer. 
 London, January^ igoj.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 N setting forth the following pages, I must 
 confess to a sense of fear and weakness, for 
 I am full}^ aware of the radical character of 
 the book, and also of the suspicion and doubt 
 with which it will be read by many. But [ 
 have made no statement which cannot be veri- 
 fied. It is all about hideous, ravaging, soul- 
 destroying sin, also of the power of God to 
 destroy sin. Some may say: " How is it that 
 such monstrous cases come to Water street, and 
 after being redeemed make such remarkable 
 soul winners?" Well, sin is the only thing 
 which separates man from God; yet had we 
 not sinned, the Lamb of God would never have 
 come into this world to save us from our sins. 
 By Him we have access to the Father. 
 
 I wish I could persuade godly men who read 
 this book to help rescue work along! It is the 
 connecting link between the lost, godless world 
 and the Church of Christ. There are thousands 
 of splendid men and women to-day in the 
 saloons of New York alone, who are only wait- 
 
 13
 
 H 
 
 Preface 
 
 ing for some kind, friendly hand and heart to 
 help them out into God's sunshine, and who 
 would make their mark, and would make better 
 soul winners for the awful lesson they have 
 learned. The writer does not advocate this 
 schooling, however, as a part of a theological 
 training, but God can take the base things of 
 the world, and the things which are despised — 
 yea, and the things which are not, to bring to 
 naught the things that are. 
 
 It is the purpose of the writer, after having 
 worked among the drunkards and criminal 
 classes for sixteen years in the famous old Mc- 
 Auley Mission of Water Street, to place before 
 the world some of his experiences, with the 
 view of encouraging those who are engaged in 
 similar work and others who have the burden 
 of this lost and dying world upon their souls. 
 A great history might be written of the happen- 
 ings in this w^ork during these sixteen years, 
 but a detailed account is impossible. We want 
 to show, however, how some success has been 
 achieved, and also mention some of our de- 
 feats; for we found long years ago that we 
 often learn more in defeat than in victory. 
 
 I have not written much about rescuing 
 women : it is too large a subject to bring into
 
 Preface 1 5 
 
 this book. We have been most marvellously 
 blessed, however, in saving lost women. I 
 have seen many such raised from the very pit 
 by the touch of Jesus and made glorious 
 women, beautiful, sweet characters till the day 
 of their death. My experience in this work is 
 that a woman falls through love nine times out 
 of ten, and she must be reached by love if she 
 is ever restored. How many times my heart 
 has bled when I have tried to aid some high- 
 strung, sensitive young girl to a place of safety. 
 I pray God that those who read this book 
 may realize that thousands of bright jewels — 
 men and women — are lying to-day in the slime 
 of the saloons, simply waiting for loving hands 
 and hearts to gather them in. Who will re- 
 spond to this call from Him, Who " came to 
 seek and to save that which was lost ? " 
 
 Samuel Hopkins Hadley.
 
 JERRY McAULEY
 
 Down in Water Street 
 
 JERRY MCAULEY 
 
 ^^Ik /TADAM, do you know Jesus? " 
 Y I " Faith, and Who is He? " 
 
 This brief conversation on a stair- 
 way on Cherry Plill in tiie Fourth Ward of 
 New York in 1868 disturbed the drunken slum- 
 bers of Jerry McAuley, who lay on the floor of 
 his room a few feet away, trying to sleep off 
 a debauch. The first question was asked by a 
 missionary, and the second by a belligerent 
 woman of ample proportions, who barred his 
 way. 
 
 When Jerry heard the salutation of the mis- 
 sionary — "Madam, do you know Jesus?" he 
 began to pull himself up from the floor. No 
 one ever knows what that name will do, and 
 whose heart it will pierce, when mentioned in 
 love. Jesus ! Jesus ! 
 
 Jerry was a hard looking sight. He has 
 
 19
 
 20 Down in Water Street 
 
 often told the writer how he had an old hat on 
 that looked as if it had come out of a tar-pot, 
 a ragged pair of trousers stuck in the tops of 
 his boots, a tattered red shirt, and, to finish the 
 outfit, a murderous-looking face. As he came 
 out on the landing, the missionary was afraid 
 of him, and ran down stairs. Jerry followed 
 him, and walking toward him, said : 
 
 " What was that you said to that woman ? 
 Whose name was that you mentioned ? I used 
 to love that name once, but I've lost it; " and 
 then he began to cry. The man saw that some- 
 thing had touched his heart, and he took him 
 to the Home for Little Wanderers on New 
 Bowery, and had him sign the pledge. That 
 was about as far as rescue work had advanced 
 then. We think in Water Street that a 
 pledge is of little importance. We do not think 
 that a bankrupt's signature amounts to much. 
 
 Jerry McAuley was born in Ireland in 1837. 
 He immigrated to this country at the age of 
 thirteen years, and was brought up in the 
 Fourth Ward by his grandmother. He soon 
 got beyond her control and became a thief. At 
 the age of nineteen, he was sentenced to Sing 
 Sing prison' for a term of fifteen years and six 
 months.
 
 Jerry McAuley 21 
 
 In the prison chapel, one Sunday morning, 
 " Awful Gardner," a noted prize-fighter, an 
 all-round ruffian, whom Jerry had known prior 
 to going to prison, was preaching. Gardner 
 had been converted in a most wonderful man- 
 ner, and was now spending his life telling the 
 story of Jesus to all whom he could get to listen 
 to him. 
 
 On a front bench, beside Jerry, in the chapel 
 that morning, sat Phil. McGuire, who for some 
 years past has been our trusted and beloved 
 janitor and co-worker, of whom more will be 
 spoken hereafter. 
 
 Jerry looked up as he heard Gardner's voice, 
 and as Gardner went on, with tears streaming 
 down his face, telling of the love of Jesus, Jerry 
 was convicted of sin, and said : " That man 
 is honest." 
 
 Gardner told them that if he had his deserts 
 he would be down among them wearing the 
 " stripes." He quoted some passage of Scrip- 
 ture that impressed itself on Jerry, and when 
 they were dismissed, and he had gone back to 
 his cell, Jerry looked in the ventilator and found 
 a Bible. Dusting it off, he tried to read, but 
 with some difficulty. He had never had a 
 Bible in his hands before, and he looked aim-
 
 22 Down in Water Street 
 
 lessly to find the passage that Gardner had 
 quoted. He never found that particular verse, 
 but he did find in that precious Book that Jesus 
 died for sinners, and the Holy Spirit showed 
 him that he was a sinner. 
 
 As the long Sabbath wore away, he got up 
 and paced to and fro in the narrow limits of his 
 cell, and finally got on his knees and began to 
 pray. I do not know how long he prayed, but 
 soon the light of Heaven shone in his darkened 
 cell, and into his much darker heart, and the 
 blessed Saviour appeared and told him that his 
 sins were forgiven. 
 
 Jerry could never be made to believe that it 
 was not the light of Heaven that had shone 
 into his cell. He shouted and shouted, 
 
 "I've found Jesus! I've found Jesus! O 
 bless the Lord, I've found Jesus! " The un- 
 usual sound attracted the keeper, and he threw 
 the rays of his dark lantern on Jerry as he was 
 praising God in his lowly cell. In rough tones 
 he shouted : 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " I've found Jesus ! " replied Jerry. 
 
 " I'll put you in the ' cooler ' in the morn- 
 ing," the keeper said, and put down his num- 
 ber. Jerry said :
 
 Jerry McAuley 23 
 
 *' The Lord made him forget it, for I was 
 never put in the cooler for it." 
 
 This was Jerry McAuIey's conversion. He 
 immediately went to work with an ardour and 
 courage that would put many of us missionaries 
 to shame. Under the rules of the prison at 
 that time, very little opportunity was given to 
 speak to anyone. Only as they were march- 
 ing to and fro, with lockstep, from prison to 
 workshop, from workshop to meals, and then 
 back to prison again, could he speak to the 
 man in front and the one behind, telling the 
 burning news that was filling his soul, that he 
 had found Jesus, that his sins were pardoned, 
 and how happy he was in his new-found joy. 
 
 At the table he was able to speak to the one 
 on his right hand, and the one on his left, but 
 even with this limited opportunity a wonder- 
 ful revival broke out in the prison as a result 
 of Jerry's labours. 
 
 The first convert that God gave Jerry was a 
 man named Jack Dare, who had led in a revolt 
 that had cost many lives, and who had been 
 severely punished. When he came out, he 
 looked at Jerry, raised his eyes toward Heaven, 
 and pointed upward. There was such a look 
 of peace and joy in his face that Jerry knew
 
 i4 Down in Water Street 
 
 he too had met Jesus, and it made him su- 
 premely happy. 
 
 Missionaries of the city went up, and every 
 opportunity was given them by the manage- 
 ment. Bible classes were formed of the con- 
 verts, and wonderful work was done for God. 
 Jerry was the centre of all this activity. It 
 resulted in his being pardoned by Governor 
 John A. Dix, in 1864. He then came back to 
 the Fourth Ward. No friendly hand was held 
 out then as now, here in Water street, to help 
 the ex-convict back to an honest and useful 
 life. 
 
 Jerry fell. He took a room over a saloon; 
 in fact, there were few other places where one 
 could get a room, and some one offered him a 
 glass of beer. Beer was a new beverage to 
 Jerry, as it was placed in the saloons after 
 Jerry had been sent away. Some one said : 
 
 " Why, Jerry, a glass of beer won't hurt 
 you," just so they will say to you, dear reader. 
 Jerry took the fatal glass, and fell. 
 
 I would like to record here my opinion of 
 lager beer. I think that if ever there was a 
 holiday in hell, it was when lager beer was in- 
 vented. Thousands of good, honest house- 
 wives and mothers bringing up families, doing
 
 Jerry McAuley 25 
 
 tlieir own work, weak and toil-worn, can be 
 induced to take a glass of beer, and thereby 
 become habitual drunkards; and yet under no 
 conditions whatever would they take a glass of 
 whiskey to begin with. 
 
 The mother says to the pretty, fair-haired 
 girl : " Mamie, take this pail and go to the cor- 
 ner and bring mother a pint of beer." 
 
 The little one, anxious to please her mother, 
 skips down stairs with the tin pail and goes into 
 the corner saloon. It is some time before she 
 is seen by the barkeeper, who is busy talking to 
 the many loafers, thieves and bums that infest 
 the place. 
 
 There she hears words which poison her ears 
 forever. After awhile he takes her money — 
 ten cents — and gives her a pint of beer. 
 Back she goes to mamma, and, as this is re- 
 peated often, she wonders what it is that 
 mamma likes so well, and she begins to sip this 
 deadly stuff. 
 
 Years afterwards, when her body is pulled 
 out of the East River, it is recognized as 
 " Mamie's," and is carried dripping to her des- 
 olate home, and the writer goes in to comfort 
 the mother. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hadley," said she, " I can't im-
 
 26 Down in Water Street 
 
 agine what made Mamie go wrong; I always 
 tried to raise her right." 
 
 I cannot find it in my heart to tell her it 
 was the pail of beer which Mamie had to bring 
 so often for her mother that was the beginning 
 of her downward career. 
 
 It was after Jerry fell that his reputation was 
 made as a criminal, and he became a terror to 
 the police and all honest people in the Fourth 
 Ward. He had a room at No. 17 Cherry Hill, 
 and lived there with Maria, who afterwards 
 became his wife, and with one Tom Wilson 
 and another woman. 
 
 Jerry was a noted river thief at this time, and 
 with his chum, Tom Wilson, kept a boat hid 
 under one of the docks, and in it he and Tom 
 would make excursions on the East River, and 
 while one would stay in the boat, the other 
 would climb up the side of a ship anchored 
 in the stream and steal anything he could lay 
 his hands on. 
 
 Jerry McAuley, like the Prodigal Son, came 
 to himself, as a result of the great John Allen 
 excitement of 1868. John Allen was one of 
 the numerous dive keepers in Water Street. 
 He had an infamous dance house right below
 
 Jerry McAuley a^ 
 
 where our Mission now is, where the old barrel 
 and cooperage house is located. 
 
 In that day the churches had gone up town 
 to follow their members who had grown rich, 
 and had left, pretty much to the devil, the older 
 and humbler part of the city, where they were 
 born and raised. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon three missionaries 
 were passing along Water Street in front of 
 Allen's notorious dance house. In a spirit of 
 drunken fun Allen asked the women to come 
 in and hold a prayer meeting in his saloon. 
 
 The devil often oversteps himself, and he 
 certainly did in this instance. 
 
 The missionaries said that they would do so 
 if Allen would close the bar. This he agreed 
 to do. These Christian ladies held a simple 
 service of song, prayer and testimony, asking 
 those present to forsake their evil ways. 
 
 Allen asked the visitors to come the follow- 
 ing Sunday, which they promised to do. 
 
 He then went to "The New York Her- 
 ald " office and told the editor that he had 
 turned his dance house into a prayer meeting. 
 " The Herald " gave this statement wide pub- 
 licity, and on the next Sunday the place was
 
 28 Down in Water Street 
 
 packed, and the street also. This was the be- 
 ginning of the great historic John Allen excite- 
 ment. 
 
 The condition of things in this neighbour- 
 hood at that time was dreadful beyond de- 
 scription; in fact, it was so notorious that mer- 
 chants and visitors from a distance would get 
 carriages, and taking a detective for a guide, 
 ride through the district to see the sights. 
 
 Almost every door led to a dive or a dance 
 hall. Sounds of revelry, clinking glasses, 
 curses and fighting would issue forth until 
 broad daylight. Kit Burns's rat pit was just 
 below Dover Street, where his illustrious son- 
 in-law, " Jack the Rat," would bite the head off 
 a rat before an audience of sightseers, and pass 
 the hat for a collection. 
 
 After the John Allen excitement broke out, 
 some missionaries were sent down here by Mrs. 
 Robert Hoe to distribute tracts and to see if 
 any chance for Christian work presented itself. 
 While a missionary named Little was going 
 up the stairway at No. 17 Cherry Hill, nearly 
 in the rear of our Mission, his passage was dis- 
 puted by a woman, and in self-defence he pre- 
 sented her with a tract, asking the question 
 with which this chapter begins:
 
 Jerry McAuIey 29 
 
 " Madam, do you know Jesus? " 
 
 After Jerry had gone to the Home for Lit- 
 tle Wanderers with Mr. Little, and signed the 
 pledge, he returned to his rooms, with a little 
 picture pledge card between his fingers, and 
 said to Tom Wilson : 
 
 " I've signed the pledge." 
 
 " Bully for you," said Tom, who had made a 
 raise of a bottle of gin since Jerry had left; 
 " let's take a drink on it." 
 
 " All right," said Jerry, " but this shall be 
 the last." 
 
 And they took a drink over the pledge. 
 
 Jerry stayed in all that day and night, 
 and all the next day until late at night, when 
 the women began to curse him and told 
 him to go out and steal something to buy 
 whiskey with, and Jerry and Tom started to go 
 to the river; where Roosevelt Street crosses 
 Cherry Hill, they met the missionary, Mr. 
 Little. 
 
 It was a rainy and uncomfortable night. 
 The missionary suspected something of their 
 errand. He said: 
 
 " Jerry, where are you going? " Jerry said : 
 
 " I can't starve." 
 
 " Oh, Jerry," said he, " before I'd see you
 
 30 Down in Water Street 
 
 steal I'd take the coat off my back and 
 pawn it." 
 
 Jerry looked at the coat and saw that it 
 would not bring over fifty cents at the 
 pawnshop, and said : 
 
 " If you love me that way, I'll die before I'll 
 steal." 
 
 " Jerry," said the missionary, " let me give 
 you a text of Scripture : ' Seek ye first the 
 kingdom of God and His righteousness, and 
 all these things shall be added.' " 
 
 Jerry said: " I'll take it; " and turning to 
 Tom he said : 
 
 " Good-bye, Tom ; from now on our roads 
 lie far apart." 
 
 Tom said: "You blankety, blank fool; do 
 you think the Lord will send you down a beef- 
 steak?" 
 
 " Yes," said Jerry, " I do, and if He don't, 
 I'll starve." 
 
 The first time Jerry related this to the writer, 
 we were sitting at his table in the Cremorne 
 Mission with Maria, his beloved wife. Before 
 us was a savory porterhouse steak. And Jerry 
 said, significantly : 
 
 " He has sent us down a beefstfiak, hasn't 
 he, Brother Hadley?"
 
 Jerry McAuIey 31 
 
 Mr. Little was making his home at that time 
 with a godly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Franklin 
 Smith, who lived in Monroe Street. Mrs. 
 Smith was a missionary for Mrs. Hoe. They 
 conceived the plan of taking Jerry down to 
 their home, and did so the day after the con- 
 versation above mentioned. In due time they 
 all arrived, and after the supper was over, Mrs. 
 Smith said : " Let's have a little prayer meet- 
 ing." They sang a hymn, read a chapter out 
 of God's Book, and knelt down to pray. S'ister 
 Smith began to talk to the Lord about the im- 
 mortal souls around her, pleading for their sal- 
 vation. 
 
 Jerry, in relating the incident to the writer, 
 said : " I thought my knees would bust, and I 
 looked through my fingers to see if she wasn't 
 almost ready to quit. Her pleading face was 
 turned to Heaven, tears streaming from her 
 eyes, as she was talking to Jesus about me, and 
 I said : ' Oh, that woman loves my soul.' " 
 
 What happened then I did not hear from 
 Jerry, but from an eye-witness, Brdther Smith. 
 He said : 
 
 " There was a shock came into the room, 
 something similar to a flash of lightning, which 
 every one present saw and felt."
 
 32 Down in Water Street 
 
 Jerry fell down on his side prone on the 
 floor, with tears streaming from his eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Jesus, You did come back; You did 
 come back ! Bless your dear name ! " 
 
 Jerry's companions were so frightened by 
 what they saw that they sprang from their 
 knees, ran out of the house and fled down the 
 street. 
 
 Jerry fell again and again, five times within 
 the next eight months, and got fighting drunk. 
 Many of our uptown church brdthren, if their 
 missionary or pastor were to pick up a drunken 
 loafer, who would get drunk and come in and 
 try to whip the pastor four or five times within 
 the first year, would get discouraged and say : 
 
 " I do wish our pastor would not spend his 
 time on such fellows." 
 
 However some friends were faithful to Jerry; 
 among them was Mr. A. S. Hatch, at that 
 time one of the most prominent bankers in 
 Wall Street, and to whom more than to any 
 other one man should credit be given for the 
 success of the glorious work of Jerry McAuley. 
 Mr. Hatch stood by him through thick and 
 thin. Jerry, like all other ex-convicts who 
 start for Heaven, found it hard to obtain em-
 
 JERRY McAULEY.
 
 Jerry McAuley 22 
 
 ployment. At one time he obtained a position 
 to help build a ferry slip at Catherine Street. 
 The contractor, who was supposedly a Chris- 
 tian man, compelled his hands to work on Sun- 
 day. Jerry said : 
 
 " No, I won't work on Sunday. I am a 
 Christian." He was at once discharged. 
 
 At that time meetings were being held in the 
 * Allen house, and Mr. Hatch had come down. 
 Jerry stood outside, discouraged. Mr. Hatch 
 said: 
 
 " Jerry, what's the matter? " 
 
 " Can't get work. What's the use of a man 
 being a Christian?" said Jerry. "They 
 wanted me to work on Sunday, and because I 
 wouldn't do it, I was discharged. Now I sup- 
 pose I can starve." 
 
 " Why, Jerry," said Mr. Hatch, '' I have a 
 bank full of money in Wall Street ; come down 
 and get all you want." 
 
 " If that's so, Mr. Hatch," said Jerry, " I 
 don't want any of it, if you are so good to 
 me. 
 
 It gave Jerry encouragement. Mr. Hatch 
 got him in the Custom House at four dollars a 
 day, and Jerry thought his fortune made; but
 
 34 Down in Water Street 
 
 he was too honest a man for the place, and 
 spoke right out when he saw things that were 
 not being done right. 
 
 He soon got his walking papers. Mr. 
 Hatch then placed him on his splendid yacht 
 down in South Brooklyn, at a good salary. 
 There he sat under a beautiful awning, and all 
 he had to do was to watch the yacht and " drink 
 lemonade out of a silver pitcher." 
 
 Reader, I want to tell you a secret. Every 
 drunkard uses tobacco. Now, mind you, I am 
 speaking of the drunkard. I have heard it 
 reported that some good deacons, and even 
 ministers, use it ; but I am speaking now of the 
 drunkard. They all use tobacco. Tobacco 
 and rum are sisters-in-law, and if you marry 
 one, the chances are that the other will often 
 visit you. 
 
 Jerry was no exception to this rule. He was 
 a great user of the weed. Some faithful Chris- 
 tians went to him and said: "Jerry, give up 
 your tobacco for Jesus' sake." He gave it 
 up, and never fell afterward. 
 
 He would never allow any one to read the 
 lesson in his Mission, be he convert, layman 
 or minister, if he knew th^^t he used tobacco. 
 
 Jerry had a vision one day, while wide
 
 Jerry McAuIey 35 
 
 awake, as he sat thinking how men might be 
 brought to Jesus. He saw a great procession 
 of men, lost, ragged, hungry, helpless and 
 wretched, coming into a building, and some- 
 how they were fed, clothed, and came out 
 looking clean, comfortable and happy. Jerry 
 never saw this vision fulfilled compleitely in his 
 lifetime, but it has been since his death, in the 
 Water Street Mission, and we refer the reader 
 to the picture, " Waiting for their Christmas 
 Dinner."
 
 THE FIRST RESCUE MISSION
 
 II 
 
 THE FIRST RESCUE MISSION 
 
 IN 1872, four years after Jerry's reclamation, 
 he conceived the idea of starting a Mis- 
 sion to rescue men who, Hke himself, had 
 no one to help them. Mr. Hatch did much to 
 aid him. Mr. William E. Dodge and his sons, 
 young men then, also stood by him. Jerry 
 went to camp meetings at Sea Cliff, Ocean 
 Grove and Sing Sing, and collected quite a 
 sum of money for this purpose. 
 
 Thus the first Rescue Mission in the world, 
 — where the drunkard was more welcome than 
 the sober man, the thief than the honest man, 
 the harlot than the beautiful, pure woman, — 
 was started by Jerry McAuley, October 8, 
 1872, at 316 Water Street, New York. 
 
 His dear wife, Maria, stood by him, and I 
 might as well mention here as anywhere some- 
 thing else about this most gifted woman. She 
 was touched by the Holy Spirit and remained 
 for a while in the building which later became 
 the Water Street Mission. 
 
 39
 
 4© Down in Water Street 
 
 Jerry was permitted, in the days of his pov- 
 erty, to sleep there occasionally. His anxiety 
 for Mar'ia was the greatest care of his life. 
 Christian friends gathered about her and en- 
 couraged her. She then went to Massachu- 
 setts, and God in His wonderful love saved her 
 and removed from her the appetite for drink. 
 
 Through the efforts of Mr. Hatch and other 
 kind friends Jerry and Maria 'were married, 
 and lived together a few years before the Mis- 
 sion was started. While Jerry attended to his 
 work, Maria was a Bible reader visiting 
 all the families in the neighbourhood and read- 
 ing and praying with the poor and needy. 
 When they started their Mission, Maria could 
 play a few tunes on the organ, and Jerry could 
 sing only two or three. Some of the first fami- 
 lies brought to Christ after the Mission was 
 started, were those that had been found by 
 Mrs. McAuley in her missionary work. 
 
 Hordes of Irish Catholics poured in to see 
 Jerry McAuley, the ex-thief, who had " turned 
 preacher." Stones were often thrown in from 
 the outside, and men were fighting on the 
 inside. Often when the music was started, 
 and Jerry had to go down the aisle to throw
 
 The First Rescue Mission 41 
 
 someone out of the door, he would stop the 
 tune, and after coming back to the platform 
 would take it up where he had left off. 
 
 Through all this trying time, Jerry was en- 
 couraged and sustained by his dear wife. Sis- 
 ter Maria, and much of the success attributed 
 to him should be given to her. She is one of 
 the most successful women the writer has ever 
 met, and he has been brought in touch with 
 many of the most influential women in this 
 ]and. She was able, by the simplicity of her 
 loving heart, to point many a poor, blind sinner 
 to Christ. Mrs. McAuley was one of the bravest 
 and brainiest of women, and she linked child- 
 like devotion to good common sense in both the 
 higher and lower walks of life. 
 
 In the after meetings which she held in the 
 Mission, some of the men would be sneering, 
 some crying, some drunk, some sober, and 
 some trying to insult her; yet she saw nothing 
 but the poor lost souls and the precious Saviour 
 standing near. Her faith was marvellous. 
 She paid no attention to an insult or a sneer, 
 but went on in her simple way telling the in- 
 quirers that Jesus alone could help; and I have 
 seen the hardest natures yield under her touch.
 
 42 Down in Water Street 
 
 I do not think that enough credit has been 
 given to her in the thousands of pages that 
 have been written about Rescue Work. 
 
 After Jerry's death his widow carried on a 
 Mission for years at the Cremorne in West 
 Thirty-second street. Finally, her health broke 
 down, and she was obliged to give it up. She 
 married a gentleman of distinction, who was 
 for years a trustee of the Mission, a friend and 
 counsellor to Jerry — Mr. Bradford L. Gilbert, 
 a prominent architect of this city. She still 
 lives a happy and devoted wife, and has in no 
 wise lost her love for saving perishing souls; 
 though not publicly at the head of any work, 
 she gives her strength and means for this pur- 
 pose as far as she is able. 
 
 It is with gratitude that the writer pays this 
 tribute to one from whom he has learned so 
 much, and to whom not only he but thousands 
 of others owe so much. 
 
 The blessing of God was upon the work 
 at Water Street from the very start. The most 
 hardened men — ex-convicts, thieves, sailors, 
 captains and mates of ships, — came in, and the 
 Spirit of God got hold of them. Listening to 
 Jerry's testimony of how he was saved, they 
 would get under conviction and give their
 
 MRS. BRADFORD L. GILBERT. 
 rormcily Mrs. M. McAuley.
 
 The First Rescue Mission 43 
 
 hearts to Jesus. Not only were the lowest 
 people of the city saved here, but many in the 
 highest society were captured for His cause. 
 Many cases could be mentioned, but one will 
 have to suffice. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Whittemore came 
 down here to see the novelty — Jerry McAuley, 
 a saved thief, leading a meeting. They were 
 Christians, or at least they thought so. Mrs. 
 Whittemore says that she was of that character 
 of church people so prevalent — " a card-play- 
 ing, theatre-going, dancing Christian " She 
 never had seen anything like what she saw 
 here, and when the invitation was given for 
 those who wanted to come to Christ to hold 
 up their hands, she raised her hand, and hus- 
 band and wife both knelt amid the crowd of 
 tramps who had come up for prayer. Jesus 
 met them, and sanctified that gifted woman for 
 His work. Who can describe the wonderful 
 change that took place that night in those 
 lives! This cultured, refined and beautiful 
 woman then and there gave her life to God. 
 What that one woman has done is almost in- 
 credible, and would be entirely so, were it not 
 for the fact that Jesus has been with her and 
 has stood by her from that day until now.
 
 44 Down in Water Street 
 
 Mrs. Whittemore organized the " Door of 
 Hope," for lost and helpless girls, carried on 
 entirely by faith, and from that has sprung 
 some fifty or more " Doors of Hope " through- 
 out the country. Thousands of girls have been 
 reached by this consecrated woman, many re- 
 stored to mothers, many happily married, and 
 many have gone home to be with Jesus. 
 
 Let us look this matter of rescuing lost 
 women squarely in the face. What is the atti- 
 tude of the Church, or the majority of Chris- 
 tian people, when a girl takes a false step, pos- 
 sibly with no criminal intent? Do we move 
 Heaven and earth to bring her back to the path 
 of safety? Do we help her by our love and 
 strong arms to climb again the rugged heights 
 from which she has fallen to her ruin, and then 
 do we stand by her ? I fear we do not. Instead 
 of this, I have seen Society and the Church turn 
 a deaf ear to her entreaties until her case has 
 become hopeless. This is a mighty question. 
 
 People often ask : " Do not women fall lower 
 than men ? " Yes, they do — to human eyes. 
 They are naturally higher than men, and they 
 have to fall lower, and then sink into the depths 
 of degradation in order to keep down, or their 
 conscience would drive them to suicide.
 
 MRS. E. M. WHITTEMORE. 
 
 Founder of The Door of Hope.
 
 The First Rescue Mission 45 
 
 ** No rnatter how wayward her footsteps have been; 
 No matter how deeply she's sunken in sin; 
 No matter what elements canker the pearl — 
 Tho' lost and forsaken, she's some mother's girl." 
 
 Jerry carried on his work for ten years at 
 No. 316 Water Street. He finally concluded 
 that this was a worked-out mine, and through 
 the providence of God located a Mission at No. 
 104 West Thirty-second Street, known far and 
 near as the Cremorne Mission. It was a part 
 of the Cremorne Garden, an infamous resort 
 for men and women. The lease had expired, 
 and Jerry secured it and started one of the 
 finest missions in the land at that very spot, 
 January 8, 1882. 
 
 It was there that the writer was converted, 
 April 23, 1882. 
 
 When Jerry went to the Cremorne the work 
 in Water Street was left in the hands of one of 
 the converts, Mr. John O'Neil. He remained 
 but a short time. Then Mr. J. F. Shorey, a 
 redeemed drunkard, who was captured at 
 Moody's great meeting in the Hippodrome, 
 was placed in charge of the work. 
 
 Jerry's health failed rapidly after he moved 
 uptown; in fact, he had been a sufferer from 
 consumption for years. The extra labour of
 
 46 Down in Water Street 
 
 opening and carrying on the new and larger 
 work proved beyond his strength. He died 
 suddenly of hemorrhage of the lungs, October 
 1 8, 1884. His last words to his faithful wife, 
 who was holding his hands, were : 
 
 " It is all right up there." 
 
 Jerry McAuley had one of the largest priv- 
 ate funerals ever held in this city. For an out- 
 pouring of people, big, little, rich and poor, 
 his funeral exceeded anything ever seen. The 
 services were held in the Broadway Tab- 
 ernacle. The house was not only packed to 
 the utmost, but the streets in front and on the 
 sides were so crowded that one could not drive 
 or walk through them. It was a great tribute 
 of love from the people to the man who had 
 given bis life to save others. 
 
 Jerry's anecdotes were exceedingly interest- 
 ing, and in his testimony he would relate many 
 of the experiences of his life. Shortly after 
 ihis reclamation, when this building was used 
 as a sort of Sailor's Reading Room, and fre- 
 quented by the seamen when they were out of 
 work, a sea captain came in one day looking 
 for sailors. 
 
 He saw Jerry, and wfent up to the old man
 
 The First Rescue Mission 47 
 
 who kept the place, and pointing his finger at 
 Jerry, said: 
 
 " Is that the kind of people you keep here? 
 He's a dirty thief, and a scoundrel. He robbed 
 my ship and stole a hundred dollars' worth of 
 sugar, and he ought to be in the 'Pen.' " He 
 then began to curse and swear at Jerry. Jerry 
 didn't know what to do. He had stolen the 
 sugar, but it was before Jesus had pardoned his 
 sins. 
 
 What could this man understand of the step 
 he had taken? While this ruffian was venting 
 his spleen, Jerry silently lifted his heart to 
 God, and then said : 
 
 " Captain, you are right; I did steal that 
 sugar; but since then I have given my heart to 
 God and Jesus has saved me from all that kind 
 of a life." 
 
 He had been working and had saved $100, 
 and he had it in the bureau at their home in 
 Pearl Street. He said : " I have a hundred 
 dollars, and if you'll come home with me I'll 
 pay you for your sugar." 
 
 " You pay a hundred dollars, you dirty thief; 
 you haven't one hundred cents. You would 
 like to get me into your house to murder me." 
 
 /
 
 48 Down in Water Street 
 
 " No one shall touch you," said Jerry; 
 " come with me and I'll pay you." Jerry hated 
 to say this, as this was the first money he had 
 saved in his life. The captain kept on cursing, 
 and refused to come. 
 
 " You will come," said Jerry, as he took him 
 by the coat-collar, " and I'll give you the 
 money." It was impossible for the captain to 
 get away from Jerry, and after a while he went 
 more peacefully, muttering: 
 
 " You have a hundred dollars ! You thief ! " 
 
 At last they reached the house and Jerry un- 
 locked the door. The sweat stood on the cap- 
 tain's face, and he became more decent. 
 
 " Jerry," he said, " I believe you are just 
 fool enough to pay that money. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Jerry, " here it is." 
 
 " Well, Jerry," said the captain, " I stole the 
 sugar before you stole it from me, so keep your 
 hundred dollars." 
 
 Jerry would add in relating this experience : 
 " This is how God would help me when I got 
 into a scrape on account of my old rascality."
 
 MY CALL TO WATER STREET
 
 Ill 
 
 MY CALL TO WATER STREET 
 
 ON May 30, 1886, the writer took charge 
 of the Water Street Mission. Never 
 shall I forget that clay! After strug- 
 gling for nearly two years after my conver- 
 sion, T had finally gotten into a profitable busi- 
 ness with an income of $2,500 a year, and with 
 good prrjspccts of a permanent future. 
 
 I considered the call to work in Water Street 
 the most important a man could have, and my 
 wife and I spent many days in prayer. 
 Strange to say, we both got our answer read- 
 ing the Scripture — Isaiah Iviii : 3-12. 
 
 Friends of the Mission decided to give us 
 a great send-off. From the parlours I could 
 look down into the room. It was filled, with 
 well-dressed people, Mr. R. Fulton Cutting, 
 presiding. When I saw the crowd I was fright- 
 ened. I went into my bedroom and dropped 
 on my knees and said : 
 
 " Lord, if you have really called me to this 
 work, give me one soul." 
 
 51
 
 52 Down in Water Street 
 
 How often have I thought of that prayer 
 since! I could as well have had a score of 
 souls. The meeting went on. At the close I 
 gave the invitation, saying: 
 
 " Is there one man here who would like to 
 come to Christ ? " One, and only one, raised 
 his hand. The Lord did the best He could, 
 according to my faith. He gave me the big- 
 gest bum and drunkard in the house. He sat 
 on the last seat by the door, as he was too 
 drunk to get any further. 
 
 One of my friends had found him the night 
 before in a stale beer dive in Mulberry Bend, 
 and had asked him to come down. 
 
 " Give me fifteen cents and I'll come," said 
 he. My friend gave him the fifteen cents, and 
 after spending it for whiskey, two drinks for 
 five cents, and all the rest he could get, he 
 came in very drunk. I said : 
 
 "If there are any needy souls, come up 
 here." He started, but was so drunk he fell 
 to the floor. Ready hands helped him to the 
 front. He was a fearful looking object — six 
 feet four inches high, weighing 260 pounds, 
 and had on only two garments, such as they 
 were — an old pair of breeches tied around him 
 with a piece of clothes line, and a jumper, both
 
 My Call to Water Street $2 
 
 too short, there being a wide space between 
 the two where there was nothing but the bare 
 skin. 
 
 The ladies gave him all the room he wanted 
 to kneel in. My wife, Mrs. Sherwood our 
 missionary, and also Mrs. Stephen Merritt, 
 who were present, knelt with him and prayed. 
 
 Hundreds of times have I heard him tell 
 the story in his broad Scotch dialect : 
 
 " I came in drunk and I went out sober, and 
 the best of it is, I've been sober ever since. 
 Whatever prayer it was I made that night I 
 don't remember, but the Lord heard it, and the 
 best of it is, He has answered it ever since. I 
 was not fit to sleep in a bed that night. No 
 lodging house would have kept me, so I went 
 to Shinbone Alley in Bleecker Street and took 
 the soft side of a truck. I went to work in a 
 few days carrying a hod." 
 
 He was known at that time as " Scottie the 
 Bum." Born in Glasgow, he was a drunkard 
 from youth, and before he was seventeen years 
 old he was committed to prison for drunken- 
 ness for one year. He was sent to America, 
 as so many drunkards are, and wandered atl 
 over the country drinking rum, walking ties 
 when he could not ride a freight train, sinking
 
 54 Down in Water Street 
 
 lower and lower in the clutches of whiskey, 
 until he was found by my friend. He secured 
 work at carrying a hod. He joined the Tile- 
 layers Helpers' Union after he got work, and 
 soon became the treasurer. He was the door- 
 keeper in the Central Labour Union for years 
 on Sunday afternoons. Finally he was chosen 
 walking delegate, and for seven years was 
 elected every six months. 
 
 He formed one of the Board of Walking 
 Delegates of the Trades Union of New York. 
 " Big Jim," as he came to be called in these 
 days, helped settle some of the biggest strikes 
 in our city by his manly, candid truthfulness 
 and hard Scotch common sense. He was 
 finally elected Grand Marshal of the Labour 
 Day parade, and rode down Broadway on a 
 big bay horse at the head of fifteen thousand 
 of the best workmen in New York. He mar- 
 ried a Christian woman from the Florence 
 Crittenton Mission. 
 
 Wishing to find other employment, he went 
 to work for the City and Suburban Homes 
 Company, and from a humble position he has, 
 by his sterling integrity, worked his way up, 
 until he is now one of the superintendents, hav-
 
 m 
 
 Q 
 
 < ■ 
 
 • GJ 
 
 1-5 -a 
 
 !/3 
 
 Q 
 
 Q 
 d 
 
 ►-3
 
 My Call to Water Street 55 
 
 ing a lot of men under him and many houses 
 to care for. He also has a home of his own. 
 
 Instead of " Scottie the Bum," or " Big 
 Jim," he has been known and loved for years 
 as Mr. J. C. Edwards.
 
 MY LIFE STORY
 
 TV 
 
 MY LIFE STORY 
 
 I WAS born in Malta Township, Morgan 
 County, Ohio, on the banks of the Mus- 
 kingum River, August 2-], 1842, the 
 youngest of six children. My father was a 
 New Hampshire man, who went West when 
 young to seek his fortune. My mother was 
 the daughter of a Congregational clergyman 
 in Massachusetts. Her only brother, Samuel 
 Hopkins Riddell, after whom I am named, was 
 also a clergyman. My grandmother on my 
 mother's side was a Hopkins. 
 
 Her father founded the Hopkins Academy 
 in Old Hadley, Mass. On my mother's side I 
 am a direct descendant of the famous divine, 
 Jonathan Edwards. 
 
 After my mother's education was finished 
 she, too, went to Ohio to teach. My father 
 was a partner of the Buckinghams, of Zanes- 
 ville and Putnam, Ohio. He afterwards 
 moved to Malta, and bored two salt wells there. 
 He failed in the great crisis of 1837, but had 
 
 59
 
 6o Down in Water Street 
 
 invested for my mother and bought a section 
 of land from the Government in Perry County 
 adjoining. 
 
 There father moved with his family in the 
 dead of winter, in 1845. We moved into a 
 log house in the " forest primeval " that sur- 
 rounded us. This section of land lay on the 
 dividing ridges of Sunday Creek and Monday 
 Creek, in Salt Lick Township, Perry County, 
 Ohio. 
 
 In our log cabin home I could lie on my bed 
 and see the stars through the cracks of the roof, 
 and feel the snow sifting down upon my face 
 in the winter time. We were lulled to sleep 
 by the barking of foxes and the hooting of the 
 owls in the woods around us, and were awak- 
 ened in the morning by the chattering of the 
 grey squirrels near our windows. From my 
 earliest recollection I was raised to clearing 
 land; helping to get our large farm under cul- 
 tivation. The heft of the work devolved upon 
 my elder brother, Henry H., and myself. My 
 oldest brother, William, died in the university 
 at Delaware, Ohio, as he was about to finish his 
 education. 
 
 I had two sisters living, older than myself,
 
 My Life Story 6i 
 
 Lucy Hopkins and Hannah Eastman. The 
 eldest child, a girl, died in early infancy. My 
 sisters were converted in the old log meeting- 
 house which my beloved father built and gave 
 to the Methodist Episcopal Church, which was 
 dedicated as " Young's Chapel," after the cele- 
 brated Methodist preacher, the Rev. Jacob 
 Young. D.D. They were about twelve years 
 old when they were marvellously saved at the 
 " mourners' bench," and received a definite 
 baptism of the Holy Spirit. The eldest, Lucy, 
 died in 1879. She prayed for me until the 
 last. Shortly before her death she said to her 
 husband : 
 
 " Robert, Hopp will be saved." 
 
 " How do you know? " said he, who was at 
 that time an unbeliever. 
 
 " Because Jesus told me so," she said. 
 
 My younger sister, Mrs. Hannah E. Allen, 
 is living to-day, surrounded by her children and 
 grandchildren. 
 
 The neighbourhood in which we lived was 
 very primitive; entirely a farming section. 
 Most of the people lived in log cabins, and 
 opportunities for education were very meagre. 
 I attended school altogether about four months,
 
 62 Down in Water Street 
 
 in the old log school-house with puncheon 
 floors, one whole side of the house being used 
 as a fire-place. 
 
 In this log-cabin home we were brought up 
 to fear God. Family worship was strictly ob- 
 served morning and evening. I shall never for- 
 get the influence of that home; that sweet, 
 Christian mother, precious, gentle and tender. 
 Brought up amid refinement, unused to hard 
 work, out there in our frontier home she did 
 all the work with the aid of us children. 
 
 No whiskey or tobacco ever invaded the 
 sacred precincts of our log-cabin home. I 
 promised my mother as early as I can remem- 
 ber, when being taught my first prayers at her 
 blessed knees, that I never would drink. In- 
 deed, I promised her that before I ever knew 
 what the evils of liquor were. Often in her 
 busy cares, as she would pass by me, she would 
 stop and hug me to her bosom, and say : 
 
 " My darling boy, you never will drink, will 
 you?" As I would look into her lovely face 
 I would say : 
 
 " No, mother, I will never drink." 
 
 This promise I kept until my eighteenth year, 
 .when I was induced to take my first drink.
 
 My Life Story 6^ 
 
 A friend of ours, a man some years older 
 than myself, a prominent business man, had 
 been to town. He got quite drunk, and had 
 a bottle of whiskey with him. I met him on 
 the big road. It was a beautiful moonlight 
 evening, and he stood there perhaps half an 
 hour coaxing me to take a drink, the bottle in 
 one hand and a corn-cob stopper in the other. 
 
 " Come, come, Hopp," he said, " do take a 
 drink; now be sociable." 
 
 " No," I said, " I can't drink with you." I 
 didn't say, as I should have done, that I had 
 promised my mother I never would drink. 
 
 " Come," said he, " if you don't drink with 
 me, I will think that you feel yourself above 
 me," I felt stung at this, and took the bottle 
 from his hands and turned it up, and with my 
 eyes on the moon, which was looking so kindly 
 down on me, I took my first drink. 
 
 Dear reader, I have been careful in making 
 this statement complete, as this was the most 
 critical act of my life up to that time. That 
 first drink changed my whole life. Within ten 
 minutes it seemed to me I was taken posses- 
 sion of by demons. Thoughts came crowding 
 into my mind to which I had been an entire
 
 64 Down in Water Street 
 
 stranger. Oh, the sorrow and shame and crime 
 and suffering that were entailed as direct re- 
 sults of that first drink ! 
 
 It isn't the last drink that hurts a man, or 
 the fourth or the fifth, but the first drink — ^^that 
 is what ruins a man. If these pages are read 
 by one who has not taken his first drink, take 
 counsel by one who has suffered so much, and 
 die before you take it. Let the saloon door be 
 the dead-line to you. 
 
 Within a week from that first drink I could 
 drink a half pint of whiskey right down. My 
 precious mother died shortly after this without 
 having known that I had broken my promise. 
 She was sitting in her chair when the angels 
 came for her, and she said to my sisters, who 
 were standing by : " Tell Hopkins to meet me 
 in Heaven." 
 
 Yes, dear mother, by the grace of God I will 
 meet you there. 
 
 Six months afterwards my father died, and 
 our home was broken up. I went to study 
 medicine in a village near by, with one of the 
 most prominent physicians in our county. He 
 was a brilliant man but a drunkard, and what 
 I didn't know before, he taught me. Before 
 my course was finished, I got into trouble
 
 My Life Story 65 
 
 through drink, and had to clear out as fast as 
 my horse could go; in fact, I kept clearing out 
 for some years afterwards in pretty much the 
 same way from every place that I settled. 
 
 I gave up my studies and became a profes- 
 sional gambler. For fifteen years I rarely went 
 to bed sober. For many years I did not see 
 my danger, or was too much under the influ- 
 ence of liquor to think seriously on the subject. 
 Occasionally, however, ominous forebodings 
 would arise in my heart and I wondered 
 what the end would be. 
 
 In 1870 it grew entirely too hot for me out 
 West, and I came to New York. Through the 
 influence of my brother, Col. H. H. Hadley, 
 who was here and who stood high in life in- 
 surance circles, I obtained a position with a 
 salary of $300 per month and a liberal allow- 
 ance for expenses. The failure of the companv 
 I was with threw me out of a position, and I 
 never was able to command as good a salary 
 afterward. 
 
 I wish I could describe the remorse and 
 heartaches of the confirmed drunkard who feels 
 himself, slowly but surely, slipping down to 
 that awful abyss, the drunkard's hell, a fore- 
 taste of which he already feels in his soul. I
 
 66 Down in Water Street 
 
 have passed through it all. " A pen of iron 
 with the point of a diamond," even in the hand 
 of a prophet Jeremiah could not describe it. 
 Through the craving for drink and under the 
 hellish influence of its promptings a man will 
 wreck his home, will lie too, and deceive his 
 best friends, his wife and everybody who know 
 or trust him. 
 
 I had lied, stolen and forged checks. The 
 law, relentless as a bloodhound, urged on by 
 outraged and defrauded creditors, was on my 
 track. So weak I could scarcely stand or 
 think, unable to sleep or eat, still I knew that 
 if I did not make certain crooked things 
 straight at once I would be arrested and locked 
 in a felon's cell. I could see only one thing to 
 do — just what the devil wanted me to do — and 
 that was to go and perpetrate some crime 
 greater than anything I had ever done. Then 
 in the agony of my soul delirium tremens came 
 upon me, as stealthily as a snake from behind 
 my door or through the window, in the room 
 where I vainly hoped I might get a few hours' 
 sleep. Fiends of the most hellish forms 
 gathered around me, holding their mouths so 
 close that I could feel their scorching breath, 
 telling me what to do; while my faithful, lov-
 
 My Life Stcry 67 
 
 ing wife was holding me in her arms, I feared 
 she would be frightened out of her senses by 
 their evil plottings. The advice of these 
 demons, whether real or imaginary, always 
 tended towards self-destruction. Then they 
 would go into the next room and speak so loud 
 that I could hear every word. Often I would 
 rise from my bed determined to end my life. 
 
 One particular night, at Taylor's Hotel, 
 Jersey City, N. J., where I lived for several 
 years, I went to the window several times, de- 
 termined to jump out and end it all, but an 
 unseen hand restrained me. 
 
 I could mention in detail the many positions 
 I held, procured chiefly through my brother, 
 who though a heavy drinker himself at that 
 time, had not been conquered by it; but I have 
 spoken of failures enough. 
 
 On Tuesday evening, the i8th of Apri-l, 
 1882, I sat in Kirker's saloon, in Harlem, at 
 One Hundred and Twenty-fifth street and 
 Third avenue. Our home was destroyed, and 
 my faithful, loving wife had gone back South 
 where I had married her. She had stood by 
 me to the last. How she could do it I cannot 
 understand. Dear, faithful, truthful wife! 
 She is still living, and I pray may be spared
 
 68 Down in Water Street 
 
 many years to me. I think I had never given 
 her a cross word — surely she had not given me 
 one : but our home was a drunkard's home, and 
 all was gone. I had pawned everything or 
 sold everything that would buy a drink. I 
 could not sleep a wink, I had not eaten for 
 days, and for the four nights preceding I had 
 suffered with delirium tremens from midnight 
 until morning. 
 
 I had often said I would never be a tramp, 
 I would never be cornered, for if that time ever 
 came, I had determined to find a home in the 
 bottom of the river. But our Lord so ordered 
 it that when that time did come I was not able 
 to walk one quarter of the way to the river. 
 
 I was sitting on a whiskey barrel for per- 
 haps two hours, when all of a sudden I seemed 
 to feel some great and mighty presence. I 
 did not know then what it was. I learned 
 afterwards that it was Jesus, the sinner's 
 Friend. Dear reader, never until my dying 
 day will I forget the sight presented to my 
 horrified gaze. My sins appeared to creep 
 along the wall in letters of fire. I turned and 
 looked in another direction, and there I saw 
 them again.
 
 My Life Story 69 
 
 I have always believed I got a view of eter- 
 nity right there in that gin-mill. I believe I 
 saw what every poor lost sinner will see when 
 he stands unrepentant and unforgiven at the 
 bar of God. It filled me with an unspeakable 
 terror. I supposed I was dying and this was 
 a premonition. I believe others in the saloon 
 thought that I was dying, but I eared very 
 little then what people thought of me. I got 
 down from the whiskey barrel with but one 
 desire, and that was to fly from the place. 
 
 A saloon is an awful place to die in if one 
 has had a praying mother. I walked up to the 
 bar and pounded it with my fist until I made 
 the glasses rattle. Those near by who were 
 drinking looked on with scornful curiosity. I 
 said: 
 
 " Boys, listen to me ! I am dying, but I will 
 die in the street before I will ever take another 
 drink " — and I felt as though this would hap- 
 pen before morning. 
 
 A voice said to me : " If you want to keep 
 that promise, go and have yourself locked up." 
 There was no place on earth I dreaded more 
 than a police station, for I was living in daily 
 dread of arrest; but I went to the police sta-
 
 *70 'Down in Water Street 
 
 tion in East One Hundred and Twenty-sixth 
 street, near Lexington avenue, and asked the 
 captain to lock me up. 
 
 " Why do you want to be locked up? " asked 
 he as I gave an assumed name. 
 
 " Because," said I, " I want to be placed 
 somewhere so I can die before I can get an- 
 other drink of whiskey." They locked me up 
 in a narrow cell, No. lo, in the back corridor. 
 That has become a famous cell to me since. 
 For twenty years I have visited that same cell 
 on the anniversary of that awful night of dark- 
 ness, and have had sweet communion there 
 with Jesus. 
 
 It seemed that all the demons that could 
 find room came in that place with me that 
 night. They were not all the company I had, 
 either. No, praise the Lord, the dear Saviour 
 Who came to me in the saloon was present, and 
 said: 
 
 " Pray." I did fall on my knees on that 
 stone floor, and said : 
 
 " God be merciful to me, a sinner." As soon 
 as I was able to leave my cell, I was taken to 
 the police court and arraigned before Justice 
 Bixby. He was very kind, and spoke carefully
 
 My Life Story 71 
 
 to the officer about my case, and remanded me 
 back to the cell. When they deemed it safe to 
 let me go, Mr. Knox McAfee, the clerk of the 
 court, came down to my cell and let me go 
 free. I made my way to my brother's house, 
 where every care was given me. While lying 
 in bed the admonishing Spirit never left me, 
 and when I arose the following Sabbath morn- 
 ing I felt that that day would decide my fate.
 
 MEETING JESUS
 
 MEETING JESUS 
 
 MANY plans were turned over in my 
 mind, but all were rejected, and to- 
 wards evening, at the suggestion of 
 a fellow-sinner, I went to the Jerry McAuley 
 Cremorne Mission, No. 104 West Thirty- 
 second street. It was Sunday night, and the 
 house was packed. With great difficulty I 
 made my way through the crowded aisle to the 
 space near the platform. There I saw that 
 man of God, that apostle to the drunkard and 
 outcast, Jerry McAuley. 
 
 I glanced about the room and saw a mixed 
 crowd, I assure you. It was the regular Res- 
 cue Mission audience that I have grown so 
 familiar with since — pickpockets, thieves, 
 drunkards, harlots, sporting men and women, 
 and up near Jerry some glorious women too. 
 Only one glance was needed to tell me what 
 they were doing there. They were there be- 
 cause it was good fishing ground, and they 
 
 75
 
 76 Do^7n in Water Street 
 
 were helping Jerry to bring immortal souls to 
 Jesus' feet. 
 
 Jerry arose amid deep silence, and told his 
 experience — that simple story I have heard so 
 many hundred times since, but which was ever 
 new — how he had been a " tief, an outcast, 
 yes, a regular bum; but," he would add, "I 
 gave my heart to God, and He saved me from 
 whiskey and tobacco and everything that's 
 wicked and bad. I used to be one of the worst 
 drunkards in the Fourth Ward, but Jesus came 
 into my heart and took the whole thing out 
 of me, and I don't want it any more." 
 
 I never heard this kind of Gospel before, 
 with all the sermons I had heard, and I began 
 to say to myself : " I wonder if I, too, could 
 be saved? " There was a sincerity about this 
 man's testimony that carried conviction with it. 
 J listened to the testimony of probably twenty- 
 five redeemed drunkards, every one of whom 
 told my story. They had all been saved from 
 rum. When the invitation was given, I raised 
 my hand and soon was kneeling down with 
 quite a crowd of drunkards. 
 
 Reader, how I wish I could bring that scene 
 before you! Never till my dying day will I 
 forget it! How I wondered if I could be
 
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 m 
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 H 
 
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 p:; 
 
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 Pi 
 
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 Pi 
 
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 Meeting Jesus 77 
 
 saved; if God would hear me. I was a total 
 stranger, but I felt that I had sympathy, and 
 it helped me. 
 
 Jerry made tlie first prayer. I shall never 
 forget it. 
 
 " Dear Saviour, won't You look down in 
 pity upon these poor souls? They need Your 
 help. Lord ; they cannot get along without it. 
 Blessed Jesus! these poor sinners have got 
 themselves into a bad hole. Won't You help 
 them out? Speak to them. Lord; do, for 
 Jesus' sake. Amen." 
 
 Then Mrs. McAuley prayed fervently for us. 
 ''' Dear Saviour," she said in closing, " I was 
 a drunkard down in Cherry Hill fourteen years 
 ago, and You saved me. Save these poor 
 drunkards, for Jesus' sake." 
 
 Then Jerry sang in his peculiar voice, still 
 kneeling : 
 
 " There is a fountain filled with blood. 
 Drawn from Immanuel's veins; 
 And sinners plunged beneath that flood 
 Lose all their guilty stains." 
 
 I had heard that dear old song years before 
 around our fireside at evening prayer, in my 
 happy childhood, and it came back like a sweet 
 memory.
 
 78 Down in Water Street 
 
 " Now, all keep on your knees and keep pray- 
 ing," said Jerry, " while I ask these dear souls 
 to pray for themselves." He spoke to one and 
 another as he placed his hand upon their heads, 
 saying : " Brother, pray. Now, tell the Lord 
 what you want Him to do for you." How I 
 trembled as he approached me ! Though I had 
 knelt down with the determination to give my 
 heart to God, when it came to the very moment 
 of decision I felt like backing out. The devil 
 knelt beside me and whispered crimes in my 
 ears that I had forgotten for months. I had 
 standing against me at that moment one hun- 
 dred and twenty-five forgeries on one man 
 alone. In the agony I had been in through 
 drink, I had forgotten it until the devil re- 
 minded me of it there. 
 
 " What are you going to do about these 
 matters if you are going to be a Christian? 
 You can't afford to make a mistake. Had you 
 not better wait and fix these matters up and 
 get out of some of these troubles, and then 
 make a start? How can you go to Sing Sing 
 Prison and be a Christian? " Oh, what a con- 
 flict was going on for my poor soul! A 
 blessed whisper said : 
 
 ** Come." The devil said :
 
 Meeting Jesus 79 
 
 " Be careful." Jerry's hand was on my head. 
 He said : 
 
 " Brother, pray." 
 
 "I can't pray. Won't you pray for me?" 
 
 " All the prayers in the world won't save 
 
 you unless you pray for yourself." I halted 
 
 but a moment, and then with a breaking heart 
 
 I said: 
 
 " Dear Jesus, can You help me? " 
 Dear reader, never with mortal tongue can 
 I describe that moment. Although up to that 
 time my soul had been filled with indescribable 
 gloom, I felt the glorious brightness of the 
 noon-day sunshine in my heart. I felt that I 
 was a free man. Oh, the precious feeling of 
 safety, of freedom, of resting on Jesus ! I felt 
 that Christ with all His love and power had 
 come into my life. 
 
 Sinking and panting as for breath, 
 
 I knew not that help was near. 
 I cried: " Oh, save me, Lord, from death. 
 
 Immortal Jesus, hear me." 
 Then quick as thought I felt Him nigh; 
 
 My Saviour stood before me; 
 I saw His brightness around me shine, 
 
 And shouted, "Glory! Glory!" 
 
 And I have been shouting " Glory " pretty 
 much all the time since. From that moment
 
 8o Down in Water Street 
 
 until now I have never wanted a drink of 
 whiskey, and have never seen money enough 
 to make me take one. The precious touch of 
 Jesus' cleansing blood in my soul took from 
 my stomach, my brain, my blood and my im- 
 agination, the hell-born desire for whiskey. 
 Hallelujah! What a Saviour! 
 
 I promised God that if He would take me 
 from the bondage of strong drink, I would 
 work for Him the rest of my life. He has done 
 His part, and I am trying to do mine. 
 
 One other thing has never ceased to be a 
 wonder: I was so addicted to profanity that 
 I would swear in my sleep. I could not speak 
 ten consecutive words without an oath. The 
 form or thought of an oath has never presented 
 itself to me since. Bless His dear name for- 
 ever ! 
 
 A few weeks afterwards the dear Lord 
 showed me I was leaning on tobacco, and that 
 I had better lean entirely on Him. I threw my 
 plug away one night down the aisle of the 
 Mission, and the desire was removed: in fact, 
 tobacco was the only real sacrifice I ever made 
 for Jesus, for I would gladly have paid money 
 if I had it, to be freed from rum. 
 
 The wonderful mystery of God's love for
 
 Meeting Jesus 8i 
 
 sinners has never ceased to excite the most 
 lively emotions in my breast, and has never be- 
 come an old story. How the precious, pure 
 and spotless Saviour could stoop down and 
 bear away my dnmkenness and delirium tre- 
 mens, to this day fills my soul with the tender- 
 est gratitude. 
 
 Surely, " if any man be in Christ Jesus, he 
 is a new creation." 
 
 How are you going to explain the physio- 
 logical conditions of a man's stomach and 
 brain, when but a moment before he would al- 
 most commit murder for a glass of rum, and 
 after the precious blood has touched his soul 
 he abhors it? It is simply the Divine, miracu- 
 lous power of Jesus casting out demons as He 
 did when on earth. " Jesus Christ, the same 
 vesterday, to-day and forever." (Heb. xiii: 
 
 8.) 
 
 Oh, sinner, are you reading these lines? 
 
 Before you close this book, take Him to your 
 
 heart, and life, and death can never part you. 
 
 When I arose from my knees in the Cre- 
 
 morne Mission after this glorious vision filled 
 
 my soul, I related my experience, and for the 
 
 first time told the truth — mind you, the truth 
 
 so far as I remembered it. All drunkards are
 
 82 Down In Water Street 
 
 liars, and my candid opinion is, that it is the 
 last thing that any person is saved from. 
 
 People crowded around me and shook hands 
 with me. I was amazed. I didn't know what 
 to make of it. I had not shaken hands with 
 any one for six months except some barkeeper 
 whom I wanted to " hang up " for a drink. 
 
 I made friends that night that have stood by 
 me ever since: Yes, I got acquainted with 
 some of the aristocracy of Heaven that night 
 I went out in the street and looked up to the 
 sky. I don't believe I had looked up for ten 
 years. A drunkard never looks up : he always 
 looks down. It was a glorious starlight night, 
 and it seemed to me that I could see Jesus look- 
 ing at me out of a million eyes. 
 
 " Dear Jesus," I cried, " You know You 
 have saved me : But how am I going to 
 stay saved?" Already the devil had thrown 
 a shadow across my path : 
 
 "You are saved; of course you are; but 
 you'll fall, and you'll be awful sorry for all 
 the fuss you have made to-night." It seemed 
 to me that Jesus said so plainly : 
 
 " My child, work for Me. There are thou- 
 sands who would come to Me if they only knew 
 Me. Go and tell them."
 
 BRINGING MY BROTHER TO 
 
 JESUS
 
 VI 
 
 BRINGING MY BROTHER TO JESUS 
 
 THAT night, right on the corner of 
 Broadway and Thirty-second Street, 
 I was ordained to preach the everlast- 
 ing Gospel, and have never doubted it for an 
 instant. I have never stood before an audience 
 without that vision inspiring me : 
 
 " If I can only make these people, dear 
 Jesus, know who You are, they will love You 
 too." I have since been ordained by my be- 
 loved Methodist Episcopal Church, and I feel 
 highly honoured, but I have always believed 
 that I was ordained of God that night. 
 
 The great question was then, What are you 
 going to do? Hadn't you better go and tell 
 your brother? My brother was not only a 
 hard-drinking man, but also an unbeliever in 
 everyone but himself. I hesitated. My dear 
 brother had paid out thousands of dollars to 
 get me out of scrapes, and help me when the 
 officers of the law were after me. " No," the 
 devil said; "you had better go slow and keep 
 
 85
 
 86 Down in Water Street 
 
 quiet. If you are a Christian they will see it 
 soon enough." The blessed Holy Spirit said: 
 " Tell it! Tell it! Tell it! " I can hear the 
 message yet. 
 
 I arrived at my brother's house, but with my 
 hand on the gate I stopped for at least ten 
 minutes in another final struggle with satan. 
 Oh, the supreme importance of those moments ! 
 Had he been successful, probably these pages 
 never would have been written. I believe a 
 crisis comes in every redeemed man's life in- 
 side of the first twenty-four hours. I went up 
 the stoop and rang the bell, and my brother's 
 wife let me in. My brother was at home that 
 Sunday night — probably the first Sunday even- 
 ing in years. He was always at the club, or at 
 some saloon, until late; but the Lord had 
 causeld him to stay at home that night, know- 
 ing that I was to be saved, and would come to 
 see him. 
 
 I often think how it might have been had 
 the devil succeeded in getting me to frustrate 
 God's plans on that particular night. 
 
 I said : " Harry, I was saved to-night at 
 Jerry McAuley's Mission; but I feel awful 
 weak, and hope you won't criticize me too 
 closely." My brother arose from his chair and
 
 Bringing My Brother to Jesus 87 
 
 walked away from me to the opposite side of 
 the parlour, and seemed to be looking at a pic- 
 ture on the wall. As he turned his face 
 slightly, I saw something shining on his cheek. 
 
 It was very embarrassing, and his good, 
 kind wife said : '' Brother Hopp, you'll stay all 
 night, won't you ? You can go up at any time ; 
 the room is ready." I wanted to go just then. 
 I went up and removed my shoes and coat, and 
 fell on my knees. " Dear Jesus," I said, " You 
 know You have saved me ; now I want You so 
 to fill me with love and Yourself that I'll never, 
 never fall; never, never," I kept saying; 
 " Never, never. You can do it, Jesus, if You 
 want to, and I'll stay here until You do." 
 
 Reader, somehow I felt that I was getting 
 my case, and I held on for I don't know how 
 long, praying. Then after a while the room 
 was lightened up with a halo of glory. I cried, 
 I shouted, I wept for joy, and I went to sleep 
 with tears raining from my eyes. I had not 
 had any natural sleep for weeks, and I slept 
 like a child. 
 
 The devil could not trouble me while asleep, 
 but I think he sat on the footboard, waiting 
 for me to wake, for on opening my eyes the 
 first thing that came to my mind was:
 
 88 Down in Water Street 
 
 " It is all a dream. You have had them 
 again." I jumped up and threw open the 
 blinds. It was the most glorious morning I 
 ever saw. I looked out on a new world; peo- 
 ple, horses, birds, everything brand new; and 
 I have never seen the old world since. 
 
 I went to work the next day telling the story 
 to all who would listen, and have been telling 
 it ever since. I have spoken in saloons, dives, 
 dance-houses, stale beer dives and houses of ill- 
 fame. I have told it in all the leading colleges 
 of the land, and in many theological seminaries, 
 and never was sneered at in my life anywhere. 
 I have the same story for all, — the boundless, 
 deathless love of Jesus for the sinner. It never 
 has failed, and never will. I believe that both 
 believers and unbelievers would sooner hear 
 that old, sweet story from a loving heart than 
 any other story on earth. 
 
 The forgeries troubled me and hung over me 
 like a pall. After praying over it much, I took 
 Jesus with me one day and went down to Vesey 
 Street to this man's office to see him. I knew 
 that they were collecting evidence to send me 
 up. The gentleman was out when I went in, 
 and I took a chair and waited for him. Soon 
 he came hurrying into the room.
 
 Bringing My Brother to Jesus 89 
 
 " Mr. ," I said, " I want to speak 
 
 to you." 
 
 " Hadley, are you here?" he asked in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 "Sit down," I said; "I have something to 
 tell you." 
 
 He seated himself, and instead of telling him 
 anything about our trouble, I began to tell him 
 how Jesus had saved me; I didn't want a drink 
 any more. Before I had talked three minutes, 
 he began to weep. 
 
 " Mr. Hadley," he said, " I don't know any- 
 thing about the kind of religion you have got, 
 but I would give all I am worth if I had what 
 you have. Now, go ahead and do all the good 
 you can, and I will never trouble you." 
 
 The cloud was lifted, and so has every other 
 cloud where I have done the same thing. 
 
 A redeemed drunkard has many hard things 
 to face, and so had I. A drunkard is always a 
 liar, and I was no exception. It is a fatal thing 
 if a man attempts to carry over his old lies into 
 his new life. Some one always knows all about 
 them. I had one pet lie. I had told it so often 
 that I believed it myself. I am lame in my 
 right knee, having cut it when I was sixteen 
 years old. While down in Nashville, Tenn.,
 
 go Down in Water Street 
 
 during the war, where I went to bring home 
 my wounded brother, I was asked repeatedly 
 how I became lame, and I finally said I got it 
 in the army. The attitude of every one was 
 changed toward me at once. " Let's have an- 
 other drink; I do love to treat that lame sol- 
 dier." I saw that I had struck it rich. 
 
 My brother knew of my falsehood, and he 
 helped me tell it sometimes. 
 
 A soldier generally has some place where 
 he was wounded, and I soon found out how 
 necessary it was. Some one would ask me 
 what regiment I was in; in what division; 
 " Who was your commander ? In what en- 
 gagement were you wounded? " I had chosen 
 the battle of Stone River, Tenn., as the scene 
 of my calamity. And sometimes in a barroom 
 I would be asked whereabouts on the field was 
 my regiment engaged. At last I bought a 
 short history of the battle of Stone River, with 
 a map of the field, for I found that a man had 
 to be well posted even to be a liar. 
 
 I had married my wife as a lame soldier, and 
 when she found I was a drunkard and was un- 
 able to make a living, she wondered why I did 
 not get a pension. I found this hard to ex- 
 plain, and only multiplied my lies without num-
 
 A GROUP OF FORTY-SIX REDEEMED ONES.
 
 Bringing My Brother to Jesus 91 
 
 ber. My wife spoke to my brother about get- 
 ting me a pension, but he said he could do noth- 
 ing. When pushed on the subject, I would say 
 that I was irregularly enlisted, and irregularly 
 discharged. In fact, there was something irre- 
 gular about my whole army record. 
 
 When I was converted, my brother, — so I 
 learned years afterwards, — said to his wife : 
 " If Hopp is honest, he will tell his wife about 
 that lie." We little know who is drawing the 
 line over us when we profess Christ. I tremble 
 even now at what might have been the awful 
 consequence had I kept silent about this matter. 
 
 The first man that took my hand as I arose 
 from my knees the night of my conversion was 
 an ex-prize fighter, Sam Irwin. He hunted me 
 up the next day, and the next. He was a rov- 
 ing missionary for Mr. Joseph Mackey, a pub- 
 lisher in this city. He was a giant of a man; 
 one of the sweetest souls I ever knew. One 
 day as we were parting, he said : 
 
 " By the way, Brother Hadley, how did you 
 get your lameness ? " Without a thought I 
 said: 
 
 " I was wounded in the army." 
 
 " Is that so? " he said; " I am glad to hear 
 it, for I am an old soldier myself,' and adding
 
 92 Down in Water Street 
 
 that he would see me at the mission in the 
 evening, he took a Sixth Avenue car for down- 
 town, and was gone. 
 
 " Aha," said my ever present enemy, the 
 devil, " you are a Christian, are you ? Why, 
 you can lie as easy as you ever could." Oh, 
 the doubt that came floating over my soul. 
 The Spirit said : " If you are not a Christian, 
 how is it you don't swear or want a drink? 
 Go after him and tell him the truth." 
 
 I took the next car and followed him, for 
 I knew that he was going to Mr. Mackey's 
 office at No. 3 Beach St., where the Wool Ex- 
 change now stands. I went into the office and 
 asked the clerk if I could see Mr. Irwin. I 
 looked tough, and I suppose the clerk thought 
 I wanted to borrow some money, and he said : 
 
 " No, you can't see him." 
 
 " I must and I will see him." I felt that my 
 future through all eternity depended on 
 whether I saw him or not. The clerk walked 
 back into the private office, and coming back, 
 
 said: 
 
 " Well, go in, but be in a hurry." I went in 
 and found the gentlemen busily engaged with 
 private business, and they were visibly annoyed
 
 Bringing My Brother to Jesus 93 
 
 at the interruption. They did not help me a 
 bit, and I stood there Hke a fool, not knowing 
 how to begin. 
 
 " Mr. Irwin," I blurted out, " I lied to you 
 about being in the army, and I want you to 
 forgive me. I never was in the army in my 
 life. I cut my knee with an axe when a boy. 
 Can you forgive me? " They both looked up 
 very much interested, and he said : 
 
 " S'o you thought you had to come and tell 
 me, did you. Brother Hadley ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I; "good bye," and was gone. 
 
 How the tears of shame rolled down my 
 cheeks as I passed out through the office, by 
 the clerk, out in the hall, and down the steps ! 
 I am thus explicit, reader, because I consider 
 this the crucial time in my Christian experi- 
 ence. Up to the moment when I reached the 
 sidewalk, I had been torn all to pieces by 
 satan, and had not received any help at all that 
 I knew of from Jesus. The devil said : 
 
 " You are a fool to give yourself away thus. 
 Why didn't you keep still ? No one would have 
 ever known this, and now you have lost the 
 only friend you had." I stood looking around, 
 bewildered, not knowing what to do, when all
 
 94 Down in Water Street 
 
 at once I surely met Jesus there on the side- 
 walk. The unspeakable bliss of that moment 
 I can never describe. 
 
 " Now, my child," said He, " just think of 
 it; see what you have done. Now, you will 
 never have to tell another lie all through your 
 life. Is not that grand ? " When this thought 
 came to me, and I fully realized it, I did not 
 walk on the ground any more that day; I was 
 up over the tree tops among the clouds. I lit, 
 however, before long, and lit hard, too. Don't 
 think, reader, that I mean to say that I have 
 never told a lie since. I have told many of 
 them, and have bitterly repented ; but the same 
 precious Saviour has come each time and 
 helped me confess and forsake, and has fully 
 forgiven all my sins. 
 
 Six months after this occurrence I was able 
 to procure employment that enabled me to 
 bring my dear wife home. When taking her 
 to the room I had prepared for a home, I said, 
 before taking off my hat : " Now, Lizzie, there 
 is one thing I must tell you before going any 
 further. I always lied to you about being in 
 the army; I never was in the army. I cut my 
 knee in two with an axe when a boy. Can you
 
 MRS. S. H. HADLBY.
 
 Bringing My Brother to Jesus 95 
 
 forgive me?" She did forgive me, as a true 
 wife will forgive her husband when he is hon- 
 est, but she kept looking at me kind of strange 
 like, as if she were not sure but what some 
 other fellow had come in. The next morning 
 she went to see my brother's wife, and said : 
 
 " Sister, what do you think my husband told 
 me last evening? He said that he had never 
 been in the army, and had always deceived me. 
 What could have caused him to make such a 
 humiliating confession ? " When my brother 
 came home to his dinner, his wife said : 
 
 " Harry, Hopp is converted, sure enough." 
 
 " Why, did he tell his wife about that lie? " 
 
 " Yes, he did," she said. 
 
 Four years afterwards I had a pleasure 
 which is given to few missionaries in this 
 world. I saw my own brother come to Jesus in 
 my own Mission. Had I covered up that lie, I 
 would have lost my brother's soul and my own. 
 " He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; 
 but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall 
 find mercy." (Prov. xxviii : 13.) 
 
 In closing this story of God's dealings with 
 me, I wish to sum up with John Newton's won- 
 derful lines :
 
 g6 Down in Water Street 
 
 In evil long I took delight, 
 
 Unmoved by shame or fear, 
 Till a new subject struck my sight. 
 
 And stopped my wild career. 
 I saw One hanging on a tree 
 
 In agony and blood ; 
 Who fixed His languid eyes on me 
 
 As near the cross I stood. 
 Sure, never till my latest breath 
 
 Can I forget that look. 
 He seemed to charge me with His death, 
 
 Tho' not a word He spoke. 
 My conscience felt and owned the guilt, 
 
 And plunged me in despair; 
 I saw my sins His blood had spilt. 
 
 And helped to nail Him there. 
 Alas, I knew not what I did! 
 
 But now mv tears are vain ; 
 Where shall my trembling soul be hii 
 
 For I the Lord have slain? 
 A second look He gave which said : 
 
 " I freely all forgive; 
 This blood is for thy ransom paid; 
 
 I died that thou may'st live." 
 Thus while His death my sin displays 
 
 In all its blackest hue, 
 Such is the mystery of His grace- 
 It sealed my pardon too.
 
 LOVE THE DRAWING POWER
 
 VII 
 
 LOVE THE DRAWING POWER 
 
 NEARLY all the policemen in New York 
 know about the Water Street Mission 
 and its work; so also does every tough, 
 bunco-steerer, professional sneak-thief and the 
 other specimens of the class, who, after per- 
 sistently violating the law and placing them- 
 selves in bad repute, find themselves shut out 
 from every opportunity to earn an honest liv- 
 ing, and who dwell in the shadow of the peni- 
 tentiary or the electric chair throughout their 
 miserable lives. 
 
 When the convict who has served his term 
 in Sing Sing prepares to face the world again 
 — that world that can be counted upon to do 
 its utmost towards driving him back to prison 
 — he is usually advised of the thorny path 
 before him, and the last sentence of the advice 
 is this : 
 
 " You had better go and see Hadley down 
 at the Water Street Mission." As the convict 
 has heard of Hadley before, if he purposes to 
 
 99
 
 lOO Down in Water Street 
 
 reform he makes his way to our Mission. 
 There he is sheltered, fed and clothed, if need 
 be, and put to work at something. He is asked 
 no questions. No promises are exacted. He 
 has no rules to observe except the one rule of 
 order. He is not lectured on his past. He is 
 not exhorted. Although it is essentially a re- 
 ligious institution, neither Bible nor tract is 
 forced upon him. 
 
 He is left to himself without restraint of any 
 kind. He is neither watched nor suspected. 
 He is usually puzzled to know what the whole 
 thing means. He is treated as a brother; as 
 if he were the best man in the world. He meets 
 with unvarying kindness on every hand. 
 Sometimes he comes to the conclusion that he 
 has a " snap," and proceeds to work it for all 
 it is worth. He takes advantage of confidence 
 and steals whatever of value he can lay his 
 hands on, and departs with a chuckle. Sooner 
 or later he is driven back again, by hunger, to 
 the only place where he can get shelter and 
 food. On his return he is met with the same 
 welcome, the same kindness. There is no 
 word of reproof for him, not even a suggestion 
 or hint that he has not acted honourably. 
 
 Again and again he may show the cloven
 
 Love the Drawing Power loi 
 
 foot, but at last he finds that in the Old Mc- 
 Auley Water Street Mission there is a stock of 
 love that cannot be exhausted; that here, if 
 nowhere else, the spirit of the Founder of 
 Christianity is in full force. It is no wonder 
 that, as a usual thing, the tough heart of the 
 criminal is finally broken by the glorious prin- 
 ciple of love, and he becomes a practical, 
 earnest Christian, working powerfully among 
 his former associates to bring them to the One 
 who has saved him. 
 
 The most w-elcome at the Water Street Mis- 
 sion are those who are utterly wrecked ; those 
 whose every effort at reform has failed — ref- 
 use, outcast humanity, male and female; and 
 wdien these are finally converted, the power 
 they manifest on others and in their conversion 
 is marvellous. But, reader, it is " Love that 
 drives our chariot wheels, and death must yield 
 to love; " " Love never faileth; " " Love think- 
 eth no evil; " " seeketh not its own; " " beareth 
 all things." i Cor. xiii. 
 
 We never tire of reaching out the hand of 
 friendship to the crook, the drunkard or the 
 courtesan during their unhappy, misspent lives, 
 and when they die without friends we give 
 them a Christian burial.
 
 102 Down in Water Street 
 
 We are thankful we get the worst people on 
 earth here. We have had hundreds of con- 
 verts here who were such outcasts that the 
 dogs would bark at them on the streets. With 
 no other purpose but to see if they could get a 
 night's lodging or a bite to eat, they came here, 
 and here Jesus met them and saved them by 
 His grace, and they are now taking care of 
 their families — fine, strong, Christian men, 
 members of the churches, and a blessing to all 
 who know them, vv^hen a few years ago they 
 were an unmitigated curse to society. 
 
 Did they come for salvation ? Oh, no : they 
 came to beat us out of anything, from a night's 
 lodging to a suit of clothes. Every one is 
 treated as if he were a man. No one is turned 
 away : I give to every one that asketh, and him 
 that would borrow from me I turn not away. 
 This opens his eyes. He is so used to being 
 kicked and thumped and turned down that he 
 opens his eyes wide. His poor heart is broken, 
 and he looks for the source, and when I tell 
 him I was a thief, a drunkard and a liar, he 
 kneels down and we tell Jesus all about it. He 
 makes a start. He may fall, once or many 
 times — who does not? Is it any wonder? 
 His acquaintances are all drunkards, and the
 
 Love the Drawing Power 103 
 
 saloons are ready to welcome him on ever}^ 
 hand. But if he does fall, we pick him up, 
 and it often shows him that he must make a 
 full surrender of spirit, soul and body to God. 
 We believe in holiness of heart and life, and 
 we teach it, and many of our converts have en- 
 tered into that place of safety. 
 
 A host of the converts of the McAuley 
 Water Street Mission have been called into 
 Christian work, many more than I have room 
 to speak of in this volume. I shall give some 
 portraits and histories of those who have come 
 under my own observation — those whom I 
 h.ave seen converted and those whose lives I 
 have known. 
 
 One night an old man came in, whom I shall 
 call the Old Colonel. He was one of the most 
 typical tramps that ever came into our Mission, 
 where the lost congregate in such numbers. No 
 pen can adequately describe his condition, but 
 I may be able to give a faint idea of how he 
 looked. He was over six feet tall, and sixty 
 years of age, but he looked a hundred. His 
 dirty grey beard "was a foot long, and his hair 
 of the same colour hung a foot down his back. 
 His eyes were bleared and full of matter, and 
 the hue of his face showed that he and water
 
 104 Down in Water Street 
 
 had long been strangers. He had on an old, 
 ragged overcoat, probably pulled out of some 
 ash barrel, and fastened with a nail. An old 
 coat and vest completed his wardrobe. His 
 trousers could not be called a part of his outfit, 
 for they were little more than holes with rags 
 tied round them. He had on no shirt or under- 
 shirt, and on his feet were pieces of rags tied 
 up with strings. 
 
 I had known him for years. He was a com- 
 mon beggar. He came in here in June, 1887, 
 to " see " me. It was Sunday night, and in 
 the middle of the service he stood and peered 
 forward and said : 
 
 " Mr. Hadley, are you there? " 
 
 " Yes," I said, " I am here." 
 
 "Will you pray for me? I am contrite." 
 At the invitation he came up, with probably 
 twenty others, and prayed away like a man in 
 dead earnest. When we arose from our knees 
 he stood up and said : 
 
 " Well, I am saved. There is no doubt 
 about it." At the close of the service he came 
 up on the platform and put his arm around my 
 neck and said : 
 
 " Brother Hadley, what are you going to 
 give me? "
 
 Love the Drawing Power 105 
 
 " Oh," said I, " you will get a night's lodg- 
 ing. 
 
 "Yes," said he, "that's right, but what 
 else?" 
 
 " I will give you a quarter for your break- 
 fast," said I. 
 
 "That's right," said he; "I always knowed 
 you were a Christian," and with his quarter 
 and ticket for a bed he tottered off. As he left 
 me he said : 
 
 " I'll come every night." 
 
 " Oh, don't," said I ; " just come occasion- 
 ally." But he said again : 
 
 " Yes, Brother Hadley, I'll come every 
 night." Who was this specimen of the devil's 
 cruel power and handiwork? He was from 
 one of Ohio's oldest and best families, from a 
 wealthy, prosperous Christian home. 
 
 After going through college, he studied law 
 in the office of E, M. Stanton, the great War 
 Secretary under the immortal Lincoln. He 
 married, and began to practice law. But alas ! 
 in college he began to drink whiskey, and every 
 where he was a failure. He entered the army 
 at the outbreak of the Civil war, and served 
 through that fearful struggle with credit, and 
 was mustered out a colonel in an Illinois cav-
 
 io6 Down in Water Street 
 
 airy regiment, a confirmed drunkard. He 
 tried to struggle against that deadly habit 
 which had so securely fastened itself upon him, 
 but it was useless. At last, when home, wife 
 and children were gone, he became utterly dis- 
 couraged. He gave up in despair, and coming 
 to New York took an assumed name. 
 
 He never went near the post office, and ulti- 
 mately came to be a street beggar. For over a 
 quarter of a century he had been a confirmed 
 drunkard. This was the man who came up for 
 prayers that night. He was on hand early the 
 following evening, as he promised. He came 
 forward for prayers when the invitation was 
 given, and prayed away like a good fellow. 
 After we arose from our knees he stood up, 
 and with much unction said he was saved sure 
 this time. He tried to put his arms around me 
 again, but I repelled him this time wath much 
 more vigour than grace, I fear. I pointed him 
 to the door. 
 
 " Do you mean it? " he said. 
 
 " If you linger much longer," I said, " you 
 will see if I mean it." He went away slowly, 
 cursing me, the Mission and everybody else. 
 He swore he would die in the streets before he 
 would ever come again. I had been sorely
 
 Lore the Drawing Power 107 
 
 tried that night. I had been compelled to put 
 out three 'longshoremen who came in drunk 
 looking for fight. I was clearly a backslider. 
 My heart smote me as I saw the miserable, 
 hopeless figure go out into the night. I went 
 to bed, but not to sleep. I could think of noth- 
 ing else, pray for nothing else. I felt he must 
 be saved, or I would be lost. 
 
 The next two weeks was an important period 
 in my Christian life. I must have slept, but it 
 seemed to me I did not. I believe I learned a 
 little, just a little, as much as I was able to bear, 
 of what the blessed Jesus suffered for me that 
 awful night in the Garden. 
 
 Two weeks from that day we had our month- 
 ly meeting of rescue workers. Our speaker had 
 disappointed us, and some one said : 
 
 " Call on Brother Hadley." 
 
 " Yes, I have something to say," I said, and 
 in shame and tears I told them about the Old 
 Colonel and how I had treated him. While I 
 was making the confession it seemed as if the 
 Holy Ghost fell upon us all. No one said 
 " pray," but all fell on their knees. They 
 prayed for the Old Colonel, and they prayed 
 for me that God would deliver my soul. While 
 they prayed the clouds broke.
 
 io8 Down in Water Street 
 
 " Get up," I said, " you need not pray any 
 more." They gathered around me and said : 
 
 " Oh, Brother Hadley, have you got your 
 answer? " 
 
 " I have," said I, as I wrung their hands. 
 At the same hour that we were praying, a 
 friend of mine, Jerry H. Griffin, a redeemed 
 drunkard, who had known of my agony, and 
 who knew the Colonel, came across him in Bat- 
 tery Park, and told him I was praying for him. 
 
 I hastened to the elevated road and came 
 down to Water Street, and there on the back 
 bench sat the Colonel. It was my turn now, 
 and as I put my arms around his neck he burst 
 into tears. I got him a beefsteak, some pota- 
 toes, bread and butter and coffee. He ate like 
 a famished animal. I got a tub of hot water, 
 a bar of soap and plenty of towels, and with the 
 hands that pen these lines I washed this poor 
 outcast. I threw his old vermin-infested rags 
 into the furnace. I dressed him in clean clothes 
 from head to foot. I then took him across the 
 street to the barber shop and told them to put 
 the clipper on him. His long hair and beard 
 soon disappeared, but the moustache seen in 
 his picture was left. He stayed to the meet- 
 ing, and came forward for prayers, but oh, how
 
 2 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 O 
 •J 
 
 o 
 
 H 
 H
 
 Love the Drawing Power 109 
 
 changed! His whole frame trembled with 
 emotion, and tears fell from his eyes as he 
 cried : 
 
 " Oh, Lord, if it is not too late, forgive this 
 poor, lost, sinner!" I told my helpers to let 
 him alone, as the Lord had hold of him. For 
 six nights this was repeated, and at the close of 
 our service on Saturday night he arose and said 
 with Heaven in his face: 
 
 " Oh, Brother Hadley, I am saved." I said : 
 
 " I believe you." Then we did have a hug. 
 
 From that instant the old beggar tramp was 
 changed into a child of God. He fairly loathed 
 rum and all its works. God restored his intel- 
 lect, which was so badly impaired. His youth 
 returned and he became, as the reader can see, 
 a dignified. Christian gentleman. 
 
 Thousands have heard him, during the thir- 
 teen years he was among us, tell of the wonder- 
 ful love of Jesus. He was at last taken sick, 
 and I placed him in the Presbyterian Hospital. 
 He died triumphant in Jesus, and was buried 
 from dear old Water Street Mission. 
 
 " Was it for crimes that I have done. 
 He groaned upon the tree? 
 Amazing pity, grace unknown, 
 And love beyond degree ! "
 
 THE DEVIL'S CASTAWAYS
 
 Vllt 
 
 THE devil's castaways 
 
 WE believe our blessed Redeemer can 
 beat the devil out of sight at his own 
 game and on his own ground; nor do 
 we think He needs any sociality or subterfuge 
 to help him ; only the straight, glorious Gospel 
 of love, compassion and pity. 
 
 A poor, homeless man will be sitting in City 
 Hall Park. He, perhaps, has come to town to 
 look for work, or he may have been compelled 
 to leave his home for some crookedness, or he 
 may be a straight tramp : but whatever he is, 
 he is " down on his luck," and a drunkard. 
 What little money he had is gone, and he has 
 tramped the street for the past two nights, 
 poorly clad, no food, very little whiskey, and 
 " walking on his uppers." 
 
 He doesn't know what to do, and he speaks 
 to a companion beside him and says : " If I 
 have to carry the banner to-night, I'll be a dead 
 man in the morning." 
 
 " You blankety, blank fool," says the other, 
 
 in
 
 114 Down in Water Street 
 
 " why don't you go down to the McAuley Mis- 
 sion on Water S'treet, and go forward for pray- 
 ers, and give a good, stiff testimony, and you 
 can work Hadley all winter." 
 
 " Well," says the first speaker, " I guess I'll 
 * work that graft ' for all it is worth." 
 
 After getting the necessary instructions he 
 comes down, and when the invitation is given, 
 up he comes with fifteen or twenty others, prac- 
 tically of the same stripe. 
 
 Reader, this can never be told as it is. A 
 stranger would see nothing of this, but to us 
 who have been all through this very thing, and 
 have been saved out of it, it is an awful, living 
 reality. 
 
 We take our seats quietly and orderly. I 
 know that all our converts are lifting their 
 hearts in prayer to God for these men. I speak 
 of the promises of Jesus and His tender com- 
 passion to sinners. No matter what motive 
 prompted them to come up, here they are at 
 our blood-bought mercy-seat. They are men 
 with a history, every one of them. We pity 
 them — yes, we love them. We love them just 
 because they are lost and poor and wretched 
 and deceitful and utterly friendless in this great 
 city. One glance gives us as much knowledge
 
 The Devil's Castaways 115 
 
 of their character and history a.s if we had 
 known them for years. We repeat some pre- 
 cious promise of Jesus, and we all get on our 
 knees in prayer. The leader calls on some one 
 to take these cases to Jesus, and all the con- 
 verts help him in a tender, loving spirit to sup- 
 plicate the Throne of Grace for these poor 
 helpless men. 
 
 Then we sing a verse, low and reverently, on 
 our knees. Perhaps it is : 
 
 "Tempted and tried, T need a great Saviour; 
 One who will help my burdens to bear; 
 I must tell Jesus ! I must tell Jesus ! 
 
 He all my cares and sorrows will share." 
 
 Then the leader goes around while all re- 
 main on their knees, and asks each one to pray 
 for himself. This is the critical time. These 
 poor men had no idea that they would get into 
 any water as deep as this. They hesitate. We 
 say: 
 
 " My brother, pray for yourself. Jesus 
 loves you. Tell Him all about yourself." The 
 poor fraud trembles. The perspiration breaks 
 out on his face. Thoughts of home, mother 
 and innocent childhood, the Bible and the fam- 
 ily altar crowd upon his memory with light-
 
 Ii6 Down in Water Street 
 
 ning rapidity — thoughts he had supposed to be 
 dead and buried long ago. 
 
 " Dear brother," says the leader, " why do 
 you hesitate? Why do you refuse to call on 
 the best Friend you ever had? Tell Him all 
 about it." Then with a breaking heart he 
 cries : 
 
 " Oh, God ! For Jesus' sake, be merciful 
 to me, a sinner." We never rise until all have 
 prayed. 
 
 After we have taken our seats, the leader 
 calls their attention to some promise for their 
 special case. We lay great stress on the prom- 
 ises of Jesus. 
 
 " Now," the leader says, " we have knelt and 
 told Jesus all about ourselves. If any one has 
 found a place to stand, or has come to any con- 
 clusion as to what he is going to do, he has the 
 privilege of saying so." 
 
 One after another rises in his place, and with 
 the kindly, loving eyes of every convert upon 
 him, makes his statement. Our friend from 
 City Hall Park, after much hesitation, stands 
 up, trembling, and says : 
 
 " This thing has turned out very different 
 from what I expected. I am a stranger in this 
 city, and have only been here a few days. I
 
 The Devil's Castaways 117 
 
 am almost naked and barefoot, and have 
 walked the streets all night. In the park a 
 man told me that if I would come down here 
 and go forward for prayers, I could get a place 
 to sleep and something to eat. I must acknowl- 
 edge I came here for that purpose, but when I 
 got on my knees and was asked to pray. 
 I could not be a hypocrite, and I asked 
 God, for Jesua' sake, to save fne, and 
 He has done it. I believe I can walk 
 the streets now." But he does not have 
 to do that. This man has landed on solid 
 ground, and it is our pleasure to help him along 
 to success. 
 
 We have had many, though, who played the 
 game right through. They were the first ones 
 to pray and the first ones to speak. One would 
 say: 
 
 "Thank God, I am saved; there's no doubt 
 about it." The leader would add : 
 
 " Praise the Lord ! Indeed, I think that is 
 something to praise God for, that you can say 
 you are saved." Perhaps the fraud winces, 
 but goes on and speaks every night for a month. 
 All the converts who are testifying with pray- 
 erful sincerity know that every word he says 
 is a lie, but it won't do to tell him so, or you
 
 Ii8 Down in Water Street 
 
 will lose your man. We keep praying, keep 
 loving and keep believing. Give the man all 
 the rope he wants, and he will be sure to hang 
 himself. If you were to call him aside and 
 tell him you knew he was lying, it would be a 
 boon to him. Every night he gets his ticket 
 for a place to sleep, and twice a day he gets 
 some food. He has also been made clean and 
 respectable in appearance. After a while he 
 halts and doesn't speak. The leader will call 
 out: 
 
 " George, what is the matter with you to- 
 night? Haven't you anything to thank God 
 for ? " He slowly gets to his feet and says : 
 
 " Mr. Hadley, every word I have spoken 
 since I came in this place is a lie. Is there any 
 hope for me? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, my brother, there is hope for 
 you. Come up here, and let us tell Jesus all 
 about it; " and he comes up sobbing and pros- 
 trates himself before God. We all gather 
 around him and help pray him through. This 
 time the start is genuine. 
 
 We have every phase of the devil's power to 
 combat here. A man comes forward for pray- 
 ers, a perfect tramp. We pray with him, and 
 he makes a start. We find that he has a wife
 
 The Devil's Castaways 119 
 
 and children somewhere, and we get them 
 together and build a little home. He secures 
 employment after a long time, and prospers. 
 He gets a bank account, and finally, because his 
 means will allow it and because it will be nearer 
 his work, he moves uptown and has a pretty 
 little flat. He joins an uptown church, and 
 at the prayer-meeting he stands up at the first 
 opportunity and says that so many years and 
 months and days ago he came, a homeless 
 drunkard, to the Water Street Mission and 
 there Jesus met him and saved him; that his 
 loved ones were restored, and that he has em- 
 ployment and home and Heaven. He does not 
 find the same sympathy there that he expects. 
 Some dear old saints give a groan, and he fears 
 he has made a mistake. He is certain of it 
 when at the close of the service a good brother 
 comes up and says : 
 
 " Now, my friend, see here. Why do you 
 tell that dreadful story? Are you not saved 
 from that life, and don't you want to forget it ? 
 I would not tell that story any more. It don't 
 sound well up here." Our convert has had his 
 eyes opened. 
 
 "Why, yes, certainly," he says; "I'd love 
 to forget it, of course I would."
 
 120 Down in Water Street 
 
 After that his testimony is of Httle account 
 for the glory of God or the salvation of sinners. 
 He is gratified at the ease with which he can 
 be an acceptable church member. Hfe has lost 
 his testimony, and the mid-week service has 
 lost its charm. Instead of going with his wife 
 and children, he strolls out on the street, looks 
 in the windows, reads the bill-boards in front 
 of the theatre, and finally goes in to see the 
 play. Soon after, I get a letter from the wife. 
 It is all blurred with tears : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hadley, do come up and see us as 
 soon as you can. We are in great trouble." I 
 go and find the poor husband and father dead 
 drunk in the bed-room. The heart-broken wife 
 is in another room crying, and well may she 
 cry. The little ones are clinging to their 
 mother's dress, weeping also. Already an in- 
 tuition of some dread calamity has entered their 
 minds. I wait until the man wakes from his 
 drunken sleep. I talk with him; I pray with 
 him. He promises everything and means noth- 
 ing. He goes on downward. He sells every- 
 thing, piece by piece, at the pawnshop — the 
 bedding, the household furniture, down to the 
 children's clothes and shoes, and they are dis- 
 possessed from their home — all for rum I
 
 The Devil's Castaways 121 
 
 I have to stand by the poor, heart-broken 
 mfe and Httle ones. Finally, in the throes of 
 delirium tremens, almost a dead man, he comes 
 back. Once in Water Street, always in Water 
 Street ! Thank God ! There is no one else 
 that will take him, and he must come back. He 
 makes another start. I get the things out of 
 pawn, and start the little home again. It is 
 harder this time to get work, but after a while 
 he gets a job. He falls again and again — 
 lower every time, but at last, after perhaps five 
 years, he comes in utterly discouraged by all 
 his failures, and with the cry of the publican 
 he falls at Jesus' feet, and !is anchored this 
 time to the blessed Redeemer. 
 
 You cannot fool him now. He gives up to- 
 bacco and " every other weight, and the sin 
 which doth so easily beset " him, and begins 
 again to " run with patience the race that is set 
 before him, looking unto Jesus " always. 
 
 Is it any wonder the disciples asked our 
 Lord : " Master, are there few that be saved ? " 
 
 Now, I want to record here, that after all 
 this fight I found that on the first night this 
 man came up for prayers and made a start, 
 Jesus touched his guilty soul with His most 
 precious blood, and the devil, though he rent
 
 122 Down in Water Street 
 
 him sore, could never undo what was done by 
 the Lord Jesus Christ. " Thine own wicked- 
 ness shall correct thee, and thy backslidings 
 shall reprove thee; know therefore and see, 
 that it is an evil thing and bitter, that thou hast 
 forsaken the Lord, thy God." (Jeremiah ii : 
 19.) 
 
 " Grace will complete what grace begins, 
 To save from sorrows and from sins; 
 He who that wisdom undertakes, 
 Eternal mercy ne'er forsakes."
 
 THE REFUGE OF CROOKS
 
 IX 
 
 THE REFUGE OF CROOKS 
 
 THERE is a wonderful drawing power 
 in the Old McAuley Mission for crooked 
 men. Perhaps more crooks have crossed 
 our threshold than any other public building in 
 this city except the Tombs Prison. The Mis- 
 sion was started by a famous crook, and its 
 reputation is world-wide. It has been carried 
 on ever since by men who came from a crooked 
 life, and it has become generally known all over 
 the world that a crooked man will always find a 
 welcome here. He will not be preached to, 
 lectured nor scolded, but he will be treated 
 kindly; in some way or other crooked men 
 believe in the genuineness of this Mission. 
 
 I have known men to come from distant 
 cities far away to the Old McAuley Mission 
 when they had made up their mind that they 
 were going to turn away from a dissipated life. 
 They got an idea that here was the place to do 
 it; that there was some sort of glory here 
 
 125
 
 126 Down In Water Street 
 
 which beamed upon the crooked man that could 
 not be found elsewhere. 
 
 Jerry McAuley was a notorious crook in his 
 sinful life, but when he began to preach the 
 glorious Gospel of salvation through Jesus 
 Christ, in his own homely and genuine way, 
 people began to have faith in him and they 
 came in great numbers. 
 
 One of the famous men who were converted 
 here was Mike Dunn, a very historic character. 
 Mike Dunn was born in Ireland. His father 
 was a thief; his mother was a thief, and every 
 member of the family, as far as I can learn, 
 was a thief. His father was transported to 
 Van Dieman's Land for almost a lifetime sen- 
 tence. Before Mike was ten years old his 
 mother, his aunt and himself all found them- 
 selves locked up in prison on separate charges 
 for stealing, and at last were put into one cell. 
 When Mike came over here, he made no im- 
 provement in himself, but went to stealing for 
 a living. He served term after term in the 
 State Prison until thirty-six years had been 
 spent behind the bars. The last time he left 
 Sing Sing Prison the writer was told by Mr. 
 Connaughton, the head-keeper, that he said;
 
 The Refuge of Crooks 127 
 
 " Mike, I will keep a cell for you, for I know 
 you will be back in a short time." Mike waited 
 on the head-keeper, and they were great 
 friends. He told Mr. Connaughton that he 
 would never see him back there again, but as he 
 said that every time, no one believed him. 
 
 He came to the Old McAuley Water Street 
 Mission, and here Jesus spoke to the poor, 
 hardened soul. There seemed to be a power 
 here that he had been a stranger to before this 
 time, and emotions filled his breast which he 
 had never before known. He came up to the 
 mercy-seat with the rest, and Jesus saved him, 
 and to the day of his death he never returned 
 to the old life. He went across the way from 
 the Mission, and started a Home in a cellar 
 for poor, helpless ex-convicts who, like himself, 
 had nowhere to go. It was simply a matter of 
 faith, although poor Mike did not know much 
 of faith at that time, but God was leading him. 
 His cellar was quickly filled, and one after 
 another got work and helped along with their 
 wages, what little they could make, to put into 
 their household treasure. From there he went 
 to Bleecker Street, to a better Home, then to 
 Mulberry Street, near Houston, to a very nice
 
 128 Down in Water Street O 
 
 Home indeed. Mr. R. Fulton Cutting, John 
 Noble Stearns, John H. Boswell and A. S. 
 Hatch were his trustees. 
 
 Mike and Jerry never agreed very well — 
 they were both Irishmen and too nearly alike : 
 but both did glorious work in their respective 
 spheres. From the work at Mulberry Street 
 Mike went to Detroit and opened a Home; 
 from there he went to San Francisco, and later 
 to Philadelphia and Brooklyn, where he opened 
 similar Homes; he started the work which 
 is now carried on by the Brooklyn City 
 Mission, under the supervision of Darwin J. 
 Meserole. It was there that Mike died, and, 
 although he had passed through some very se- 
 vere tests in the way of false friends and the 
 desertion of his wife (who never was in sym- 
 pathy with him), he was faithful to the last, 
 and died triumphant, trusting in Jesus. He 
 had been brought up in the Roman Catholic 
 faith, the same as Jerry McAuley, but that 
 church had no attraction for either of them 
 after they had met Jesus. Well do I remem- 
 ber the funeral sermon over Mike Dunn's life- 
 less remains by the Rev. Dr. Lyman Abbott; 
 its tender eloquence will never be effaced from 
 my memory.
 
 The Refuge of Crooks 129 
 
 Another character of this class that I wish 
 to mention is Phihp McGuire— " Old Phil," 
 as we call him. He was born near the town of 
 Mullingar, West Meath County, Ireland, March 
 17, 1 83 1. He came to America when about 
 two or three years of age, and was brought up 
 chiefly in the Fourth Ward. He was a thief 
 in childhood, and was in the House of Refuge 
 three times. Twice he ran away, and once his 
 father took him out. The last time he was 
 sent away on a whaling voyage for three years 
 around the world. He served twenty years at 
 various times in different prisons. Before he 
 was twelve years of age, he was arrested three 
 times for stealing. In his second term in Sing 
 Sing Prison, he became acquainted with Jerry 
 McAuley. He was sitting by his side on the 
 front bench that eventful morning when old 
 " Awful Gardner " spoke to the prisoners, 
 and was the means of turning Jerry from an 
 evil life. 
 
 I will not undertake to tell of the various 
 crimes that Phil committed, and for which he 
 was sent to prison, as a recital of them would 
 fill a much larger book than this. 
 
 When Phil got out, he met Jerry McAuley 
 on the street, and they greeted each other and
 
 130 Down in Water Street * 
 
 shook hands, and then Jerry asked him to come 
 down to his Mission. He did not know what 
 a Mission was, but he came down here and 
 made a start, such as it was. About that time 
 they were tearing down the old frame building 
 and erecting the present building in its place, 
 and Old Phil was an all-round help — cook, etc. 
 
 One day a man came along who had prom- 
 ised to help Jerry with the new building, and, 
 as neither Jerry nor Maria was there, he gave 
 Phil nine hundred dollars in cash to give to 
 Jerry, every cent of which was faithfully 
 turned over. But Phil was not faithful all the 
 way through; he had promised and professed 
 to give up tobacco, but Jerry caught him smok- 
 ing, and always suspected him. It was not 
 long after that Phil began to drink, and one 
 day he robbed the Poor Box down stairs of ten 
 dollars. At last a trap was set for him; the 
 money was marked. It was found on him, 
 and he was arrested, and Jerry sent him back 
 to prison. After this, there was a period of 
 seventeen long years of debauchery and drunk- 
 enness. 
 
 On the 23d of November, 1892, Old Phil 
 came again to Water Street. He was so drunk 
 he could hardly walk up the aisle, but he knelt
 
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 1 
 
 PHILIP McGUIRB.
 
 The Refuge of Crooks 131 
 
 down with the crowd and gave his poor, weary 
 soul to Jesus. From that day to this, ten 
 years, I bear witness to the faithfulness, hon- 
 esty and Christian character of our dear 
 brother, Philip McGuire. I have known him 
 every hour since; he has been our janitor here 
 for years, and a truer man never breathed. 
 He worked in a lodging-house after his con- 
 version for a couple of years. It was a hard 
 place; the hours were long, the wages poor and 
 the crowd very trying, but he went through 
 it. One morning, after having worked all 
 night, he came in to see me and said that he 
 had something that he wanted to tell me. I 
 sat down in my office and told him to go ahead. 
 And he said : 
 
 "Brother Hadley, the devil is after me; I 
 robbed the Poor Box of ten dollars in the old 
 life, and the devil tells me that because ' I done 
 time for it ' it is mine, but Jesus says : ' No, 
 pay it back; ' and he handed me five two dollar 
 bills. I took them, and took his hand with 
 them, and with my dear wife we knelt down 
 and thanked God for the conscience He had put 
 in dear Old Phil. 
 
 On his last anniversary he said : " I tried to 
 sober up for years to get back 19 ihe dear old
 
 132 Down in Water Street 
 
 Mission, but I could not, the appetite was so 
 strong; so at last I came in drunk and stag- 
 gered to the altar. I was saved that night, and 
 the Lord has kept me ever since. The next 
 day Mr. Hadley gave me twenty-five cents. 
 Twelve cents I paid to get my shirt out of 
 pawn, and I have never been broke since. I 
 am not afraid of officers now, and when I meet 
 a policeman he bows to me." 
 
 He also said : " When I served the devil, I 
 was never satisfied. I worked ten years at one 
 time for fifteen dollars a week, and when I was 
 laid off I had not money enough to keep me 
 one week. When I began to serve the Lord I 
 worked for three years for five dollars a week, 
 and when I was laid off I had money enough 
 to keep me four months and some to spare." 
 
 He is seventy-three years of age now, and 
 very feeble, but still takes charge of the work 
 down stairs. 
 
 " Oh, what a Redeemer 
 
 Is Jesus, my Saviour! 
 Forgiving my sins, and 
 
 Bearing all my woe ! 
 Oh, what a Redeemer 
 
 Is Jesus, my Saviour, 
 Proclaiming my liberty. 
 
 And washing me white as snow! "
 
 OLD UNCLE REUB
 
 X 
 
 OLD UNCLE REUS 
 
 ONE of the peculiarities of our work in 
 Water Street is that men will return 
 again and again, though they may stay 
 away for a while and fall apparently beyond the 
 hope of redemption; still they come back, and 
 keep coming back. We believe that, if the 
 true, clean Gospel of Jesus Christ is preached 
 and testified to with honest, loving hearts, it 
 will make an impression, whether sinners ac- 
 knowledge it or not at the time, and will bring 
 people back to the same spot. One of the most 
 notable evidences of this statement can be 
 found in the conversion of Mr. Reuben John- 
 ston, or, as the boys all call him, " Old Uncle 
 Reub." 
 
 He was born at the corner of Ludlow and 
 Walker Streets, (now Canal) in 1821. When 
 fourteen years of age, he found employment 
 as " fly boy " on " The Journal of Commerce," 
 at Wall and Water Streets, and from there to 
 George S. Nesbitt's job printing office, in the 
 
 135
 
 136 Down in Water Street 
 
 old Tontine Building in Wall Street. Every 
 time he changed his employment, it was for 
 the better, and another year found him the 
 feeder in the press-room of a morning news- 
 paper. He was of a social disposition, and 
 soon learned to take a glass of beer with the 
 men on pay day, and once in a while a glass of 
 gin; but he did not form the drinking habit 
 then. At twenty years of age he was em- 
 ployed in the press-room of " The New York 
 Herald " under old James Gordon Bennett, 
 where he remained for eighteen years. 
 
 As his wages increased, he drank more fre- 
 quently, but he never dreamed that he might 
 some day become a slave to the habit. At thirty 
 he married, and a few years later lost his 
 mother, and soon after his wife died. While 
 his wife was living, he indulged in an occa- 
 sional glass, and although he could endure 
 physical suffering, he could not endure mental 
 anguish, and reverted to rum for solace. 
 
 From " The Herald " he passed over to 
 another newspaper, and remained there for 
 fourteen years. During that time he had 
 charge of the folding department of a weekly 
 journal. He was one of the six selected in 
 May, 1856, to take the Hoe Pioneer Press to
 
 Old Uncle Reub 137 
 
 London and set it up in the office of " Lloyd's 
 Weekly." 
 
 After this time the drink habit enslaved him; 
 he drank steadily now, and before long he lost 
 his employment, and had to give up the print- 
 ing business when he was fifty years of age. 
 In the hope of being cured of this habit, he 
 went to an inebriate asylum. There was no 
 Christian influence in this place, and when he 
 left he began to drink again, and for years lived 
 the life of a drunken sot. He was known 
 around among the fraternity, and when he 
 came around where his old acquaintances were 
 they knew what he wanted, and tossed him a 
 coin, and even though he was hungry he would 
 spend his last cent for rum. 
 
 I often wished that Uncle Reub would stay 
 out of this Mission, and tried to keep him out, 
 but he came back. He would wait at the lower 
 end of the room when drunk, and when the in- 
 vitation came to kneel down he would say : 
 
 " Wait until I get there; don't you want 
 me?" He would come up and kneel down 
 with the rest, nudge them in the ribs, and whis- 
 per to them, and get them to laughing, and spoil 
 our services. One night I picked him up by 
 the back of his neck and his breeches, and took
 
 138 Down in Water Street 
 
 him kicking out of the room, but he was back 
 and kneeling down before I was. As soon as 
 the meeting was dismissed he would take a 
 seat in the front of the room and never leave 
 until he had tackled every stranger for a coin 
 to get " something to eat and a place to sleep/' 
 
 One night a lady from uptown came to our 
 meeting. She did not understand the ways of 
 Water Street, but was greatly interested in 
 Uncle Reub. He was a frail looking man with 
 pale face and hair white as snow. He gen- 
 erally had on a linen duster in the winter time 
 and an ulster overcoat in the summer time — 
 something always he could not pawn. It was 
 a roasting hot July night, and this lady came 
 up to me and said : 
 
 " Mr. Hadley, why don't the poor old man 
 take off his overcoat?" 
 
 " Perhaps you had better ask him." She 
 stepped forward so graciously and kindly, and 
 said: 
 
 " Dear sir, why don't you remove your over- 
 coat ? " He looked up innocently and said : 
 
 " I am afraid to." Slie thought perhaps he 
 meant that he might take cold, and said : 
 
 " What are you afraid of? " 
 
 " I am afraid it would walk off." She came
 
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 Old Uncle Rcub 139 
 
 back to me with her face crimson, and said: 
 " I guess I will never ask any more questions 
 in Water Street." 
 
 One day as I came along in the street car, I 
 noticed old Uncle Reub sitting in a vacant 
 doorway, drunk and fast asleep, with the rain 
 pouring down upon him. I said to myself : 
 " Poor Uncle Reub, he won't last long; is there 
 no help for him?" That night, just as we 
 were giving the invitation, he came in the door. 
 We were singing : 
 
 " How patient hath My Spirit been, 
 To follow thee through all thy sin, 
 And seek thy wayward soul to win; 
 My son, give Me thine heart." 
 
 A Student from Yale College was with me at 
 the time, and I said : " Brother Harrison, go 
 down and bring that old man forward." He 
 came, but oh, how trembling, how different 
 now ! He dropped on his knees and cried for 
 mercy. We surrounded him with our arms 
 and our love and our faith — yes, we remitted 
 his sins (John xx:23), and there, in one mo- 
 ment's time that poor old drunken tramp, who 
 had been nine times in one institution and nine 
 times in another, and in his seventieth year,
 
 140 Down In Water Street 
 
 was born again. From that time to this time, 
 now eleven years, he has not known the taste 
 of drink or even desire for it. 
 
 " Bless the Lord, O my soul : and all that 
 is within me, bless and praise His holy name ! "
 
 OLD POP LLOYD
 
 XI 
 
 OLD POP LLOYD 
 
 MANY strange and pathetic scenes have 
 been witnessed in the Old McAuley 
 Mission, but perhaps none hke the fol- 
 lowing which took place one evening there : 
 
 On stools in front of the platform rested a 
 coffin, a very respectable one, with three mas- 
 sive handles on each side. A floral anchor lay 
 in the center and at the foot a sheaf of wheat. 
 Inside the coffin lay the body of old Pop Lloyd. 
 The face was peaceable and serene, and there 
 was no indication of the tempestuous life 
 through which he had passed, but the calm look 
 of repose spoke eloquently : " Though I walk 
 through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
 will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy 
 rod and Thy staff they comfort me." 
 
 On the platform was the Rev. W. W. Bow- 
 dish, then the pastor of the John Street Metho- 
 dist Episcopal Church (Old Pop's pastor), and 
 also the Rev. Stephen Merritt, a true friend of 
 the Mission. The chapel was filled with many 
 converts; they were a set of men who had 
 
 143
 
 144 Down in Water Street 
 
 learned to love Old Pop. Every one had come 
 into the place just as he had — a drunkard and a 
 homeless outcast. 
 
 Five years before, Old Pop came Into the 
 Mission one night and took a seat on the back 
 bench. He was seventy-five years old, and 
 was covered with rags and dirt and vermin, 
 and bent nearly double. He had not slept in 
 a bed for weeks. When the invitation was 
 given to those who wished to seek the Saviour 
 for the pardon of their sins, Mrs. Sarah Sher- 
 wood, our missionary, spoke to him and invited 
 him to come forward. He asked her if she 
 thought there was any hope for the worst man 
 in New York. She said: 
 
 " Yes, whosoever will may come." He 
 came, and was converted to God, and from that 
 night he never tasted whiskey or tobacco, which 
 for years had been his chief articles of diet. 
 
 Old Pop had been a great character in his 
 day. He was born on the high seas, and con- 
 tinued to rove there almost all of his early life, 
 and once had the reputation of being a pretty 
 successful buccaneer. He was once transported 
 to Van Dieman's land for ten years, and while 
 in Australia would have been hanged for mur- 
 der, but escaped from prison. He had been quite
 
 Old Pop Lloyd 145 
 
 well to do forty years prior to this, and had 
 sailed his own vessel out of this port. For the 
 last three years he could do nothing, and was a 
 charge on the Mission, and kind friends con- 
 tributed to his support. He had drunk so much 
 bad rum that his vocal chords were burnt out, 
 and he could scarcely make himself understood, 
 often giving his testimony in pantomime, 
 stooping down low to show how the devil had 
 bent him over when he came to the Mission, 
 then raising himself up erect to show how 
 Christ took the load off his mind and soul. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the morning he would 
 come to the Mission and remain all day. We 
 would take him down three square meals each 
 day, as his limbs were too weak to carry him 
 up stairs. Many a time was he seen giving his 
 food to some poor tramp, who had slipped in 
 the door much as a stray cat would do, looking 
 for something to eat. No matter who it was, 
 Old Pop would share his meal with him if he 
 were hungry. 
 
 One day I was sent for to go to his room, 
 and when I got there I found Old Pop sinking 
 fast. I knelt at his bedside and put my arms 
 about his neck. The sick man pulled my ear 
 down close to his mouth and w^hispered :
 
 146 Down In Water Street 
 
 " Brother Hadley, I am going fast; but don't 
 be uneasy; Jesus is with me," and with that he 
 breathed out his Hfe and went home to God. 
 
 " Oh, that men would praise the Lord for 
 His wonderful works unto the children ol 
 men I "
 
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 BOWERY IKE'S CAREER
 
 ■XII 
 
 BOWERY ike's CAREER 
 
 " The worst unto My supper press, 
 Monsters of daring wickedness. 
 Tell them My grace for ail is free ; 
 They cannot be too bad for Me." 
 
 THIS wonderful story of God's love for 
 the sinner is sent out with a prayer that 
 it may catch the eye and reach the heart 
 of many a careless unbeliever, and bring him to 
 know our precious Saviour: 
 
 " Bowery Ike " obtained his name from the 
 police and thieving companions on the Bowery 
 — that great avenue of crime in the very heart 
 of Greater New York. He was turned out of 
 home when a child by a cruel woman who had 
 charge of him, and he was compelled to steal or 
 starve. He soon became a proficient thief, and 
 led many older ones than be into daring crime. 
 He was arrested and sent to the Juvenile Asy- 
 lum for two years, where he learned all that he 
 ever knew out of books. He finally ran away, 
 and became an expert thief and pickjwcket. 
 
 149
 
 150 Down in Water Street 
 
 The writer became acquainted with '' Ike " 
 in a peculiar and Providential manner. In my 
 work as a Missionar\-. I was walking: alonsr the 
 
 CO 
 
 Bowery after midnight, late in September, 
 1884. I heard my name called from a wagon, 
 where tw*o tramps were bivouacking for the 
 night. On going up to see what was wanted, 
 one, who called himself " Rummy." said he had 
 a " friend " who had got *" pinched " that day 
 for '* swiping " some watches from the cloth- 
 ing of workmen in an unfinished building. 
 
 '• He is a fine thief." said " Rummy." " but 
 he was ' full,' and unless I can get some one to 
 befriend him he will get a long term up the 
 nver. 
 
 After providing for the two boys, I promised 
 to meet them at the Tombs, where the Court 
 of Special Sessions was held, and through some 
 influence I got " Ike " off with six months in 
 the penitentiary on Blackwell's Island. I got 
 " Rummy " work, and with him \asited his 
 friend on the Island. 
 
 I want to place on record here the faithful 
 friendship I have noticed — through long years 
 of missionary work among the criminal class. — 
 that thieves and crooks have for one another 
 when in trouble. It puts some of us Christians
 
 Bowery Ike's Career 15 1 
 
 to shame. " Rummy " shared his small pay 
 of five dollars a v.eek with his friend. 
 " Rummy " also came down to ^^'ate^ Street 
 [Mission and gave his heart to God, and died a 
 fev- - --; ago, leaving a bright testimony that 
 he /, i; going to be with Jesus. 
 
 \\'hen " Ike " got out of the penitentiary^ I 
 gave him work, and through the following ten 
 years he worked for me most of the time. I 
 always trusted him. Occasionally he wc"'-' 
 get restless and start out on the road. He v* . _. ^ 
 travel all over the countrj- free, in the " side- 
 door Pullmans " — freight cars. When he came 
 back, he wcmld apply for work, and I would 
 always give it to him, 
 
 Finally he got to be such a drunkard that he 
 said he would never work for me again. The 
 first year I hired Ira I made a reg-j.lar h.£.rgarn 
 with the Lord that as I had reclaimed Ira for 
 Him I would pray for him twice a -i; ujitil 
 he was saved. 
 
 How my faith was tried in the years that 
 followed! He grev.- worse and worse each 
 year, but the faith of my wife, who had joined 
 me in this fight, and my own, never wavered. 
 
 Ike got arrested at last for disorderly ccm- 
 duct and was sent to the Island for five days.
 
 152 Down in Water Street 
 
 He was pnt to work on the boat " Fidelity," 
 which is employed to carry dead bodies from 
 the Morgue to the Potter's Field. The boat is 
 piled up high with these dreadful boxes, and 
 the poor fellow had to eat his soup and bread 
 at noon on one of these boxes for a table. Dur- 
 ing one of these hideous repasts he came to 
 himself and said : 
 
 " Oh, Lord, if I get off this boat I will go 
 down to the Water Street Mission." He was 
 as good as his word, and after coming to our 
 place three successive nights Jesus spoke words 
 of peace and life to his guilty soul, and " Bow- 
 ery Ike " died forever. 
 
 He was in his thirtieth year, and his faith 
 was like a child's. If he was tempted to say 
 or do anything wrong through the day, he 
 would stand up in our testimony meeting and 
 confess it all, no matter what it was. I saw at 
 once that he had paid the price and was going 
 through. I finally decided to educate him for 
 God's work, and Mr. Walter M. Smith, one 
 of our beloved trustees, helped me to send him 
 to the Moody Bible Institute at Chicago. 
 
 It was a trying time, as he had never studied, 
 and his mind was untrained, and the course was 
 severe. He took it all to Jesus, and received
 
 Bowery Ike's Career 153 
 
 the strength .nd knowledge he needed. At the 
 end of the first year his rating was ninety-seven 
 in a possible one hundred in a class of four 
 hundred and fifty. He was given, among other 
 work, the Cook County Jail meetings every 
 Sunday morning, and we believe God blessed 
 his work there to the salvation of many crim- 
 inals awaiting sentence and death. 
 
 He came home the following October to cele- 
 brate his third anniversary. He had been gone 
 one year, and, dear reader, we hardly knew 
 him. Never did grace work such a mighty 
 change. The whole contour of his face was 
 changed. His forehead had grown broad and 
 high, his face and manners were honest and 
 frank, and all traces of the old life had gfone. 
 Instead of the sharp cunning thief he was a 
 handsome, dignified gentleman. The house 
 was crowded, and many of the gang who had 
 come down to his anniversary could scarcely 
 believe their eyes. He went back for six 
 months' further work, and was coming home 
 in April to become associated with me in this 
 work, when, on March 15, 1899, he died of 
 heart disease. We brought him home and 
 buried him from dear Old Water Street Mis- 
 sion, on his thirty-fourth birthday. Crowds
 
 154 Down in Water Street 
 
 of loving friends stood around his coffin, and 
 bathed in tears the dear face of one who had 
 come to us, less than five years before, an out- 
 cast and foe to humanity. 
 
 Never shall those who heard him forget his 
 last anniversary, as he stood up and, with im- 
 passioned appeal, spoke of Jesus' s love to sin- 
 ners, how wonderfully God had applied the 
 Word to him, and how from one end of God's 
 Holy Book to the other he showed sinners how 
 they could come and be saved as he had been. 
 
 We give herewith an extract from a letter 
 received from Ira about his jail work in Chi- 
 cago: 
 
 " We had a glorious time at the jail yester- 
 day. The Holy Spirit was there in mighty 
 power, and the poor fellows just came to Jesus 
 eagerly. We could not handle all who came 
 to talk to us about their souls. I read the 
 Thirty-fourth Psalm, and talked a little while 
 on Isaiah Iv : 3 : " Hear, and your soul shall 
 live," and the Holy Spirit carried conviction 
 to their hearts. About twenty accepted Jesus. 
 The poor fellow who wrote the letter that I 
 forwarded to you went to the penitentiary for
 
 IRA B. SNYDER. 
 Alias " Bowery Ike."
 
 i
 
 Bowery Ike*s Career 155 
 
 an indefinite time. Being an habitual offender 
 they can keep him as long as they like : in other 
 words, they own him. Let us pray for him. 
 I saw him before he went away, and he was 
 very happy, and gave a bright testimony for 
 the Lord. He said he would sooner spend his 
 whole life in prison serving Jesus than live 
 without Him a free man. The Listitute mana- 
 ger will do what he can for him through the 
 chaplain. He may be able to get light work 
 and a little better food." 
 
 Also, a letter from the Rev. Dr. R. A. Tor- 
 rey. Superintendent of the Institute, showing 
 how he was esteemed there: 
 
 " Mr. Walter M. Smith, 
 
 " 115 Worth Street, New York. 
 
 " My dear Sir: Yours, March 16, received. 
 I have already written Mr. Hadley about our 
 Brother Snyder's death. It was a sudden shock 
 to us all. There were few men here in the In- 
 stitute for whom I had as strong a personal 
 affection as for Brother Snyder. Possibly this 
 may have begun in view of the depths from 
 which he had been saved, but it grew as I came
 
 15^ Down in Water Street 
 
 to know him more. He certainly was a very 
 attractive Christian. He lived a beautiful life 
 among us. 
 
 " His life told here in our city with a great 
 many, and his death is beginning to tell. Only 
 last night, at one of our missions, some man 
 who had known Snyder in sin wanted to take 
 Christ. 
 
 " I had hoped great things for his usefulness, 
 and his death is to me, in some measure, a mys- 
 tery, but I do not question for a moment that 
 God's plans are better than ours. 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 " R. A. TORREY.'' 
 
 In closing this account I wish to bear testi- 
 mony to the faithful, loving help of one of our 
 beloved trustees in this matter of procuring 
 Brother Snyder's education and helping him 
 along in his religious life. Brother Smith, one 
 of the leading merchants of this city, loved him, 
 treated him as a brother, asked him to his place 
 of business, took him to his lovely home some 
 miles out of town, and took him to his church, 
 and had him speak to their people. Brother 
 Ira never forgot this, and repeatedly spoke to 
 me about it, telling me how encouraged he was 
 to press on, with such loving friends.
 
 MR. WALTER M. SMITH.
 
 Bowery Ike's Career 157 
 
 In one of God's strong Providences Brother 
 Snyder will live and speak for years to come. 
 Mr. Smith had been compelled to take a rest 
 from his business on account of broken-down 
 health, some months before Ira's death. He 
 had become acquainted with the Rev. R. F. 
 Campbell, of Asheville, N. C, and was greatly 
 interested in the work that Mr. Campbell, 
 through the Presbytery, is doing among the 
 mountaineers. As Brother Smith was going 
 to pay Ira's salary as my assistant, he decided 
 after his death to devote that money to Dr. 
 Campbell's work, and the result is that a splen- 
 did church and school have been erected, and 
 are under full swing and full of scholars, on 
 Fine's Creek, Heywood Co., N. C, known as 
 the Snyder Memorial School and Chapel. 
 
 These hardy, grand people so bereft of 
 church and educational privileges are taking 
 full advantage of this blessing, and their chil- 
 dren come for miles around and crowd the day 
 school, the Sunday School and the Church. 
 " Though dead, he yet speaketh." 
 
 "'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear; 
 'Twas grace mv fears relieved; 
 How precious did that grace appear 
 The hour I first beHeved."
 
 BILLY KELLY, THE EX-BAR- 
 KEEPER
 
 XIII 
 
 BILLY KELLY, THE EX-BARKEEPER. 
 
 IT was Saturday night. The room was 
 packed until scarcely another soul could get 
 in. On and near the platform were crowded 
 the converts — fine, well-dressed, handsome 
 men, all redeemed drunkards. The balance of 
 the room was filled to its utmost capacity with 
 tramps, every one drunkards of the lowest type. 
 It was " Love Feast Night " in Water Street, 
 and it would have done your eyes good to see 
 the converts pass around among the poor fel- 
 lows, politely helping them to large corned- 
 beef sandwiches and steaming bowls of savory 
 coffee, and speaking kindly to them when they 
 rudely grabbed for more. When all had been 
 filled and the cups and fragments gathered up, 
 the real work of the evening began. 
 
 A splendid looking man stood up with the 
 Bible in his hand, and began to read about 
 Jesus, how He " came not to call the righteous 
 but sinners to repentance," and how " God so 
 loved the world that He gave His only-begot- 
 
 i6i
 
 1 62 Down in Water Street 
 
 ten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him 
 should not perish, but have everlasting life." 
 Notwithstanding his appearance, every one 
 could tell that he had tasted the bitter cup to 
 the dregs, for as he pleaded in eloquent words 
 and tones to the men before him to give their 
 hearts to Jesus, he told how Christ had come 
 to him when he was down, a lost drunlcard, 
 without home or friends. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " hell with all its tortures 
 had already begun in my breast; but, oh, 
 blessed Jesus! when He came He took it all 
 away; and now, boys," he added, "I have 
 everything in this world a man can desire, home 
 and loved ones all restored, and, above all, 
 Jesus in my soul, and the desire for drink all 
 gone. 'Who will come to Jesus to-night?" 
 
 The first man to raise his hand was Billy 
 Kelly, a poor, half-crazy man about thirty-six 
 years old, who was suffering then with delirium 
 tremens. With a crowd of over twenty he 
 came forward and knelt at those " tear-stained 
 benches." All was hushed now except the 
 smothered sobs of the seekers. Then one 
 raised his voice in earnest, beseeching prayer 
 that Jesus would come then and there and save 
 those poor, dying souls and wash them in His
 
 Billy Kelly, the Ex-Barkeeper 163 
 
 precious blood. The unsaved part of the crowd 
 looked on in curiosity, but with respectful 
 silence. 
 
 As the custom is in Water Street, all the 
 seekers were asked to pray aloud for them- 
 selves. When it came to Billy Kelly's turn, he 
 threw back his head and looking up to the ceil- 
 ing, said: 
 
 " Oh, Jesus, give me sleep ; dear Jesus, give 
 me sleep. Give me sleep, or I'll die." All the 
 converts knew just what that meant. Men 
 with the " horrors " die for want of sleep. 
 They cannot sleep, for when they close their 
 eyes the most hideous sights present themselves 
 and render sleep impossible. At once the con- 
 verts rallied around him. 
 
 " Amen, my brother," they said. " Only 
 trust Jesus; He will give you sleep. Come to 
 Him just as you are. He will save you. He 
 will give you sleep." When we arose from our 
 knees Billy Kelly was a saved man. He was 
 sent to a lodging house that night and slept 
 thirteen hours. He came back and sat in the 
 Mission all the next day. We stripped him of 
 his rags and put clean clothing on him. His 
 strength as well as his mind was nearly gone. 
 
 For over three months we kept dear Billy at
 
 164 Down in Water Street 
 
 the Mission, where he sat nearly all day read- 
 ing the Bible. As he had been brought up a 
 Roman Catholic, it was a new Book to him. At 
 last he said : 
 
 "Mr. Hadley, I think I could work if I 
 could get it." 
 
 " All right," I said, " you shall have work 
 if you think you are able to do it." I procured 
 him a job, and he was a benediction to all who 
 came near him. Although his work was hard 
 and difficult, and surrounded as he was by 
 rough drinking men, he never swerved one inch 
 to the right hand nor to the left. 
 
 Billy Kelly had been a " skin " faro dealer 
 and a barkeeper all his life, and an all-round 
 sport. He had kept bar for " The Allen " for 
 thirteen years in his famous resort on Bleecker 
 Street, and had been discharged at last for 
 drunkenness. Billy was known to barkeepers 
 in many saloons all over the lower part of the 
 city, and could get all the whiskey he wanted. 
 Three times he had been carried off to Bellevue 
 Hospital and strapped down in the maniac cell. 
 
 This time he was nearly dead from exhaus- 
 tion and want of sleep, when he heard of the 
 " Love Feast " at Water Street, in a saloon
 
 Billy Kelly, the Ex-Barkeeper 165 
 
 where he happened to be, and said he'd come 
 down. Many of these men, who had not heard 
 him speak without the worst kind of oaths, 
 were astonished when they saw Billy looking 
 so clean and speaking cuch clean words. 
 
 " Billy," they would say, " what's the matter 
 with you? What have you been doing ? " He 
 would always answer : 
 
 " I've been down to the Mission, and you 
 had better come too." Praise the Lord, they 
 did come! 
 
 Finally, one year rolled around, and it was 
 Billy Kelly's first anniversary. We make a 
 great deal of this in Water Street. All the 
 boys turn out. A beautiful bouquet of flowers 
 stood on the desk, and Billy stood up to read 
 the lesson. And he did read it too, and told 
 his story of how Jesus had saved and kept him 
 one whole year — yes, three hundred and sixty- 
 five days. " The " Allen, his old employer, 
 was present with his wife, and seemed to enjoy 
 it. Two months afterward, dear Brother 
 Kelly was taken ill with pneumonia, and we all 
 saw the end was coming. 
 
 The writer saw him the day before he died, 
 at St. Luke's Hospital, where he was taken.
 
 1 66 Down in Water Street 
 
 The nurse said he was deranged, but if so, his 
 reason returned as we clasped each other's 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, my brother," said he, " how sweet 
 Jesus is to my soul ! I never dreamed he was 
 so precious. He stood by my bedside all last 
 night." The nurse pulled me away, saying it 
 would increase his fever. He died soon after, 
 peacefully trusting Jesus, and realizing the 
 truth of the promise, " He giveth His beloved 
 sleep." 
 
 Dear reader, did you ever see a funeral in 
 Water Street ? You will never forget it if you 
 have. How the converts turn out — those from 
 a distance and those who are working at night. 
 After they sang, as they sing only in Water 
 Street, the Scripture was read and prayer 
 offered, and Rev. Dr. A. B. Simpson spoke 
 from the text, " Lord, remember me when 
 Thou comest into Thy kingdom," and he told 
 how the devil sought the brightest and best for 
 his victims. A sister sang in sweet tones: 
 
 " We'll never say good-bye in Heaven." 
 
 Then the converts told how they loved Billy 
 Kelly, and how they loved Jesus. Hard, 
 wicked and cruel men, who had formerly
 
 Billy Kelly, the Ex-Barkeeper 167 
 
 known the dear brother in his old life, wept. 
 At the close was witnessed a scene never to be 
 forgotten. A long line of redeemed drunkards 
 filed past the coffin and dropped tears of genu- 
 ine love and sorrow on the peaceful face of 
 their departed brother, and bade good-bye until 
 the glorious resurrection morn to the one who 
 came in fourteen months before a homeless 
 outcast and a dying drunkard. 
 
 "Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, 
 From which none ever wakes to weep." 
 
 " E'er since by faith I saw the stream 
 Thy flowingr wounds supply. 
 Redeeming love has been my theme. 
 And shall be till I die."
 
 JOHN JAEGER, THE ANARCHIST
 
 XIV 
 
 JOHN JAEGER^ THE ANARCHIST 
 
 THE Mission of the Living Waters, a 
 soul-saving station, is situated at No. 
 130 Christie Street, and is presided over 
 by Mr. John Jaeger. The writer was present 
 on July 9, 1 90 1, at John's twentieth anniver- 
 sary. It was a great night. Men and women 
 of distinction in Christian life and in business 
 life had picked their way down those crowded 
 streets into that little mission. The thermom- 
 eter was over one hundred degrees, but that 
 made no difference. John sat there on the 
 platform, very feeble, but still it was their old 
 John whom everybody loved and in whom 
 everybody believed, saint and sinner alike. He 
 was a great character. He was saved in the 
 Old McAuley Water Street Mission July 9, 
 1 88 1. In the language of his wife, he was a 
 " drunken bum." John was an anarchist, and 
 a thoroughly bad man all the way round. 
 
 He was brought to this Mission one night 
 by Mr. Bradford L. Gilbert. He could not 
 
 X7i
 
 172 Down in Water Street 
 
 speak a word of English, but came forward, 
 for the Holy Spirit had spoken to his guilty 
 soul, and he knelt down for prayers. Jerry 
 McAuley went up to him and said : 
 
 " Pray, German man." 
 
 " Nichtsverstehe." said he. A man that un- 
 derstood German came up to him and said : 
 
 " It is Jesus," and as that dear name is about 
 the same in English and German, John caught 
 on to his meaning and cried : 
 
 " Oh, Jesus, save me, save me! " 
 
 Did Jesus hear that cry? Oh, yes! He 
 heard it, as He hears every cry no matter in 
 what language, and He saved John right there 
 on his knees that instant. 
 
 John went home shouting happily, and told 
 hio wife that he had seen Jesus. She told him 
 to shut up, or she would fire him out of the 
 house; she thought him crazy, and would not 
 believe a word he said. 
 
 His life showed that he was true. He did 
 not know a word of English, and did not know 
 how to read or write; but he came to the Mis- 
 sion every night and heard the Scripture read 
 here and the people testify to the power of 
 God in cleansing them from every stain, and he 
 longed to know for himself what the Bible said.
 
 JOHN JAEGER. 
 Superintendent Mission of the Living Waters.
 
 John Jaeger, the Anarchist 173 
 
 He took the Book one day and got down on 
 his knees and said : 
 
 " Dear Jesus, this is Your Word, but I can't 
 read it myself. I don't know how to read; I 
 have to hsten to what others say, but I want to 
 read this for myself, and I am going to stay 
 until You teach me to read Your blessed Book." 
 And, reader, God did teach him to read that 
 Book. Although he could not read the names 
 of the streets on the lamp-posts, God taught 
 him to read His Blessed Book, and he has read 
 it ever since. 
 
 This statement can be verified by John him- 
 self, and by many others. 
 
 " Yes, it is wonderful, 
 
 Strange, and so wonderful, 
 Jesus so gracious could be I 
 Oh, it is wonderful. 
 Strange, and so wonderful, 
 Jesus could save even mcl'*
 
 WOMAN'S LOVE AND FAITH- 
 FULNESS
 
 XV 
 woman's love and faithfulness 
 
 I WISH to pay a fitting tribute, if possible, 
 to the faithfulness of the wife and mother 
 when the husband has become a drunkard 
 and the home has come to destruction, and the 
 man she married has almost ceased to be a 
 man and has become a brute. We have seen 
 many such cases; but, perhaps, a single one 
 will suffice: 
 
 This man was a finely educated gentleman; 
 he was college-bred. He married a beautiful 
 young lady before he became a victim to drink, 
 and they started out in life, and, as he was a 
 good printer, they had a happy home. But lit- 
 tle by little drink usurped the place of wife and 
 home and children, and Jack became a drunk- 
 ard. Why is it that drunkards get such lovely 
 wives? It seems to me that I have seen this 
 borne out in many cases. Jack came to this 
 city, but he spent most of his time in the saloon, 
 and finally all of his time, and the poor wife 
 had to take her children and go back to her 
 
 177
 
 lyS Down in Water Street 
 
 father in an Eastern city. Did she forget Jack 
 or desert him ? Oh, no ! But she would write 
 to the saloon (where he hung out), and to the 
 men who associated with him', and would learn 
 that Jack was doing very badly. In a drunken 
 fight he got a bad gash between the eyes, and, 
 as he was living on whiskey as a steady diet, 
 he did not do well, and soon had a dreadful 
 face. 
 
 His wife had made friends here in the Prot- 
 estant Episcopal Church, to which she be- 
 longed, and kept writing to them to look out 
 for Jack, who always hung out at a place 
 called the " Reform," on Pearl Street. Through 
 the influence of his wife he got into the Trinity 
 Hospital on Varick Street, and was treated 
 kindly and cured. As soon as he was released 
 he got into another row, and had his face badly 
 hurt again. His wife on hearing of the state 
 of affairs, concluded that she would come to 
 see him. 
 
 It was on one hot morning in August that 
 she wrote him that she was coming down on 
 the Fall River boat which would reach the city 
 on Sunday morning. His forehead was ban- 
 <iaged with absorbent cotton, and strips of 
 sticking plaster were around his head and cheek
 
 Woman's Love and Faithfulness 179 
 
 and nose to hold them together. He had on 
 neither shirt, coat nor vest; an old linen duster 
 supplied the place of all these garments. His 
 pants were split behind nearly up to the knees, 
 and at every step they would go flappety- 
 flap like a scare-crow in a cornfield. He had 
 no stockings, and his toes were sticking out of 
 his broken shoes. He was dirty and wretched, 
 and exhaustion from hunger almost overcame 
 him. But he knew that his wife was coming 
 that morning, and, reader, a drunkard loves his 
 wife. Don't think that all love is gone be- 
 cause a man has become a drunkard. How 
 often have I seen men in saloons weeping for 
 the love of wife and children, and because of 
 the degradation that prevented them from being 
 a husband and father to them. 
 
 It was early Sunday morning, and though 
 he knew that hundreds of Newport's most fash- 
 ionable guests would be on the boat. Jack could 
 not resist the desire to go down to the pier to 
 see her who was coming. But he thought he 
 would keep out of the way, so he hid behind a 
 big dry goods box on the pier and watched the 
 beautiful ship as she slowly steamed into the 
 dock. Although he was trying to keep himself 
 hidden, he would peep out to see if the dear
 
 i8o Down in Water Street 
 
 one was on board. There was another one, 
 too, who was looking with both her eyes, and 
 that was the loved one; and love has keen, 
 sharp eyes. 
 
 She was watching with all her loving heart 
 to see if she could get a glimpse of Jack, and, 
 sure enough, she caught a view of his disfig- 
 ured face as he peeped around the corner of the 
 box where he was hiding. She flew down the 
 gangplank, the first passenger off, and running 
 up to the poor tramp she cried : " Oh, Jack, 
 Jack ! " and threw her arms about his neck and 
 kissed him. She was a beautiful woman, 
 dressed as dainty as a queen, but she took his 
 arm and walked up the pier in front of that 
 company of millionaires and fine people. It 
 was a sight to make angels weep. 
 
 Poor Jack! He said he felt as though he 
 should sink into the earth. She remained a 
 day or two, but she could do him no good. 
 Everything she gave him went for whiskey, 
 and with a breaking heart she went back to her 
 Eastern home. 
 
 Early the following winter this same Jack 
 came to see us. He had on the same linen 
 duster; the sleet and snow were packed in his 
 broken shoes, and he was wet to the skin as he
 
 A 
 
 '**^ 
 
 ! * 
 
 JOHN R. McCONlCA.
 
 Woman's Love and Faithfulness i8i 
 
 took a seat for the first time in the Old Mc- 
 Auley Mission. Here he learned that Jesus 
 Christ could save a drunkard; here he learned 
 that there was hope as the converts arose and 
 told with glowing faces of this hope, and when 
 the invitation was given, he took courage, and 
 came forward and gave his heart to God. 
 
 Reader, this was sixteen years ago. This 
 man has been winning souls for Christ ever 
 since. He has been unusually successful in 
 drawing lost men to his Master, and out of the 
 number which he has led to Jesus many distin- 
 guished workers have come up, who are also 
 leading souls to Jesus. Some have gone as 
 missionaries to India, Africa, China and South 
 America, and he is still in the harness. 
 
 "Drunkards, for you He shed His blood, 
 Your basest crimes He bore ; 
 Your sins were all on Jesus laid. 
 That you might sin no more."
 
 JOHN M. WOOD, THE 
 DRUNKEN SAILOR
 
 XVI 
 
 JOHN M. WOOD, THE DRUNKEN SAILOR 
 
 JOHN M. WOOD was one of the brightest 
 men ever converted in the McAuley Water 
 Street Mission. He was born in Kentucky, 
 September 13, 1847. He came into Water 
 Street, October 20, 1890. Four months pre- 
 vious to this he had been discharged from the 
 United States Navy for " drunkenness and 
 chronic alcohoHsm," after he had been in the 
 service thirteen years. He had been paid off 
 with about $400, and came over to New York 
 and entered upon a wild debauch on the Bowery 
 and Chatham Square. 
 
 After his money was gone he began to have 
 delirium tremens, and finally imagined he heard 
 a voice saying to him : 
 
 " Now, John, you're no good ; you will never 
 be any good, so go to the river and drown your- 
 self." 
 
 This man had been around the world several 
 times, and stopped at every port where a vessel 
 could anchor, and had been drunk at almost 
 
 i8s
 
 1 86 Down in Water Street 
 
 every seaport on the globe. He decided to 
 follow the advice of this voice, and as he started 
 for the river he felt as if a hand was pressing 
 and pushing him along. When he came to the 
 corner of Water and Roosevelt Streets, he 
 stopped. Why did he stop ? Because he heard 
 sweet music coming from the Old McAuley 
 Mission. He again bent his ears to catch the 
 sound : 
 
 " There is a fountain filled with blood." 
 
 Ah! his dear old mother used to sing that in 
 his happy childhood days ! He looked around 
 at the saloons on the corners, and turning sud- 
 denly his eyes caught the bright, glowing let- 
 ters on our transparency. He came in and took 
 the back seat; came forward when the invita- 
 tion was given; gave his heart to God, and 
 never touched a drop from that day to the end 
 of his life. 
 
 We took care of him for a little while, but he 
 soon found work. His longing desire was to 
 go to the Navy Yard and tell his shipmates 
 of his new-found liberty and peace in Christ. 
 He finally received permission of the captain 
 of the war-ship Chicago to hold services on 
 board one Sunday afternoon, and the writer,
 
 
 s
 
 John M. Wood, the Drunken Sailor 187 
 
 with eight or ten of our converts, went with 
 him. 
 
 Unknown to Brother Wood, on that ship 
 were some of the officers of the American Sea- 
 man's Friend Society, who heard him tell how 
 Jesus had rescued him from the depths of sin 
 and made him a new man. When he asked all 
 who wanted to lead a better life to stand up, 
 nearly two hundred of the crew stood up and 
 asked him to pray for them. 
 
 These erentlemen decided that he was the 
 man who ought to be made chaplain of the 
 Navy Yard. The Rev. Dr. W. C. Stitt con- 
 ferred with the writer, and after making some 
 inquiries extended a call to Brother Wood, and 
 I believe he was the first unordained chaplain 
 of the Navy Yard. 
 
 On the occasion of his third anniversary, he 
 married a young lady who was a sweet singer, 
 one who had assisted him quite frequently in 
 the Navy Yard. One of the strongest features 
 of Brother Wood's character was his growth in 
 grace. He loved much because he was for- 
 given much. His love for drunken sailors was 
 boundless. 
 
 The texts and hymns which magnify the 
 cleansing blood were constantly used in his
 
 iS8 Down in Water Street 
 
 services, and in his addresses to seamen he 
 would tell, with tears streaming down his face, 
 how Christ had saved him, and would save 
 them. Scores at a time would respond to his 
 appeal, and testify to its wonderful power. He 
 succeeded in starting a Christian Endeavour 
 Society on every one of the six vessels of the 
 famous White Squadron. 
 
 Brother Wood died suddenly of hemorrhage 
 of the lungs at his home in Brooklyn, May 25, 
 1898, breathing his last in the arms of his faith- 
 ful wife. His funeral was held in the Central 
 Baptist Church of Brooklyn. His pastor, the 
 Rev. A. B. Sears, preached the sermon, and the 
 sweet singer, F. H. Jacobs, and Dr. Stitt, were 
 present with the writer. The coffin, draped in 
 the United States Navy flag, was borne to the 
 church by six sailors, followed by a detachment 
 of men from the Navy Yard, and many mourn- 
 ing friends. 
 
 " Jesus, the name high over all 
 In hill, or earth, and sky — 
 Angels and men before it fall. 
 And devils fear and fly."
 
 UNDERWOOD, NEWMAN AND 
 ROBERTS
 
 XVII 
 
 UNDERWOOD^ NEWMAN AND ROBERTS 
 
 JAMES D. UNDERWOOD had been a 
 drunkard for years. He came from Provi- 
 dence, R. I., and was arrested many times 
 there. He then located here. At one time 
 he had been a successful jewelry salesman for 
 a large house in Maiden Lane, but finally be- 
 came so addicted to drink he could not secure 
 employment. 
 
 Many times in the early missionary labours 
 of the writer along the Bowery, long after mid- 
 night, he has been approached by " Jim " with 
 a request for a nickel, or " Won't you buy some 
 court-plaster so I can get my lodging?" He 
 had often been to Water Street, and had been 
 helped repeatedly. 
 
 One night, when the invitation h)Tnn was 
 being sung, the writer was passing down the 
 aisle, asking the poor drunkards here and there 
 to come up to our mercy-seat, when on the last 
 seat near the door sat Jim Underwood. He 
 had come down from the Island that evening 
 
 J9I
 
 igi Down in Water Street 
 
 for the sixteenth time, having been committed 
 for drunkenness and vagrancy. I took him by 
 the hand and said : 
 
 "Jim, aren't you tired of this life? Won't 
 you come ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I will come; " and picking 
 up his old cap, he walked up the aisle. He was 
 saved that very night. He worked one week 
 in a restaurant. We helped him to clothing, 
 lodging and food when he needed it, and before 
 long he found employment at his old business, 
 selling jewelry. 
 
 When his first anniversary rolled around, he 
 went up and down Maiden Lane, John Street 
 and all over the jewelry district and told every- 
 body, Christian, Heathen, Turk and Jew, that 
 he was going to celebrate his first year in the 
 Christian life. He not only invited them to 
 come, but said he wanted to raise a good sum 
 for the Mission. Nearly all of these people 
 had been pestered sorely by Jim in his old life 
 for nickels and dimes, which always went for 
 whiskey : but how different now ! Some well- 
 known Jews said : 
 
 " Yes, I'll gladly give to any cause that can 
 make a man of such a drunkard as Jim Under- 
 wood."
 
 Underwood, Newman and Roberts 193 
 
 After Jim had read the lesson and given his 
 testimony, he presented the superintendent 
 with a large envelope containing three hundred 
 and ten dollars for the Mission. The largest 
 gift was ten dollars, and the smallest, one dol- 
 lar. About one hundred jewelers contributed, 
 probably two-thirds of whom were not profess- 
 ors of Christ. 
 
 He traveled for a large house in Maiden 
 Lane, the Champenois Jewelry Manufactur- 
 ing Company, for about ten years, and sup- 
 ported his aged mother and sister. He laid 
 up a snug sum of money also. 
 
 One hot day, May 21, 1898, he went into the 
 jewelry store of F. H. Niehaus and Company, 
 No. 312 North 6th Street, St. Louis, Mo., and 
 in some unaccountable manner plunged a glass 
 into a two-gallon crock of cyanide potassium, 
 supposing it was water, and was dead in fifteen 
 minutes. 
 
 We present his picture here to show how 
 this handsome, smart business man was 
 changed from a tramp and a nuisance to a use- 
 ful Christian gentleman. 
 
 " Whom have I in Heaven but Thee ? and 
 there is none upon earth that I desire beside 
 Thee." (Psalm Ixxiii: 25).
 
 194 Down in Water Street 1 
 
 One Sunday afternoon Henry C. Newman 
 accidentally passed our Mission doors, and was 
 attracted by the singing. He was a newspaper 
 man, and had worked for years on " The Jer- 
 sey City Journal," but he became such a drunk- 
 ard he lost his position and was out of work. 
 He came forward for prayers when the invita- 
 tion was given, and gave his heart to God, and 
 he never took another drink. 
 
 He went home and his old employer, Mr. 
 Dear, proprietor of " The Journal," put him to 
 work again, but he could not rest without mak- 
 ing an effort to save the lost about him. He 
 first started the Morris Street Mission, then the 
 Foundry Mission, and then the Newman Mis- 
 sion at 62 Montgomery Street, and afterwards 
 organized the Newman Industrial Home and 
 Mission on Grand Street. 
 
 He lived a Christian life all these years, and 
 was devotedly helping to pick up fallen men and 
 women all about him. At the funeral many of 
 the pastors of Jersey City paid a high tribute 
 to the inspiration they had received from the 
 redeemed drunkard, Henry C. Newman. 
 
 The Home has been kept going ever since. 
 Within the last year it has taken a wonderful 
 Start, and to-day the Henry C. Newman Home
 
 m 
 
 m 
 o 
 
 Pi 
 
 o 
 
 d 
 
 Pi
 
 Underwood, Newman and Roberts 195 
 
 occupies the large four-story building, the 
 upper part of which is used for a dormitory, 
 with a chapel on the main floor, kitchen, dining 
 room and lavatory in the basement, with four 
 lots adjoining, with wood sheds where those 
 desiring can earn their living. All honour 
 should be given to Mr. Dear, proprietor of 
 " The Journal," to whose energetic business 
 ability this has been made possible. 
 
 Mr. C. W. Roberts, one of our beloved boys, 
 was converted in the Mission on the 15th of 
 November, 1888. He came in like everyone 
 else — a drunkard and a homeless outcast. He 
 was a college-bred man, and while at college he 
 learned to drink. 
 
 He soon developed into one of our best work- 
 ers, and when a Mission was started at No. 25 
 Liberty Street, Utica, N. Y,, Brother Roberts 
 was chosen for the position of leader. This 
 work was a success from the start, and is still 
 carried on successfully; but the climate proved 
 too rigorous for our dear brother: he broke 
 down and was obliged to come back to New 
 York, and soon died. 
 
 It is strange how the Lord works to draw 
 men in here! In his poverty he had a chum, 
 an old man named Seth Paul, and they wan-
 
 196 Down in Water Street 
 
 dered the streets together. Mr. Paul had once 
 been a wealthy hotel man. At one time he had 
 as summer lodgers a 'Mr. Frank Lawrence and 
 his wife and family. Mr. Lawrence was at 
 that time a member of the Stock Exchange. 
 Afterwards he became a victim to drink, and 
 lost his home and family, and in that condition 
 he, too, found a refuge in the old Mission, and 
 was one of the leading workers here. In a sa- 
 loon one night Mr. Paul said : 
 
 " Let us go to the Water Street Mission; I 
 heard that Frank Lawrence was a leader there, 
 and I want to see him." The two men came 
 down and both were saved that night. Neither 
 of them touched a drop of whiskey afterwards. 
 Mr. Paul died two years afterwards of erysipe- 
 las in Bellevue Hospital. 
 
 Brother Roberts was a very talented young 
 man. About the time of his taking hold of the 
 Mission in Utica, he married a Miss Ida 
 Maybe, whom he had met in mission work in 
 this city. Although his useful young life was 
 cut off, his influence still remains, and the mis- 
 sion which he started is still saving souls.
 
 ^ PLEA FOR THE DRUNKARD
 
 XVIII 
 
 A PLEA FOR THE DRUNKARD 
 
 " Poisoned by alcohol, 
 Blear-eyed and illy clad, 
 Cursing his fate as he shuffles along; 
 Crushed and bereft of the once earnest will he had, 
 Penniless, homeless, jeered by the throng. 
 
 Friends have assisted him. 
 
 Pastors have prayed o'er him, 
 He has been rescued and lost o'er and o'er. 
 
 Oh, do not give him up ; 
 
 Pull from his lips the cup; 
 Speak to him kindly, and try him once more." 
 
 THE vast army of men and women who 
 have been snared by the tempting habit 
 of drink in its various forms, and have 
 become helpless victims of its cruel power, 
 should receive, for many reasons, the care and 
 help of the Church of God, and of those who 
 love her cause. If they do not give it, no one 
 else will, for it takes grace to love a drunkard. 
 Only the pity born of the heart of our dear Re- 
 deemer can sympathize with a drunkard in his 
 lost condition. 
 
 X99
 
 200 Down In Water Street 
 
 I do not believe the appetite for strong drink 
 is inherited from our parents any more than the 
 appetite for potatoes or turnips, but I do beHeve 
 a child may inherit from his parents a nervous, 
 sensitive and weak disposition, a nature to 
 which alcohol will act as a spur to a high-strung 
 horse, and will cause him to fly to destruction. 
 
 I have often noticed among the thousands of 
 drunkards I have handled, that the fine, sym- 
 pathetic fellows, the men with large imagina- 
 tions, the kind, generous men or women, who 
 would sooner go hungry than see another 
 starve, make the worst drunkards. This kind 
 of people, when they were saved by the grace of 
 God, have made Old Water Street Mission fa- 
 mous all over the world, and have magnified 
 our blessed Redeemer's power everywhere. 
 
 Christians should be the friend of the drunk- 
 ard because only Christ can save them. All 
 other remedies have failed, and w411 ever fail. 
 As the power and appetite for alcohol are purely 
 Satanic in their desires and effects, so only can 
 the blood of Christ conquer and wash out this 
 stain. It is sin in the human heart that invites 
 this demon, and in coquetting with him man 
 becomes his slave, and nothing short of regen- 
 eration can cast him out.
 
 A Plea for the Drunkard 201 
 
 The writer has known personally thousands 
 of men from all classes of people from the 
 lowest to the highest, who have exhausted 
 every means known, and found themselves 
 worse off than ever. I have seen men cured in- 
 stantly by Christ alone, and never touch or 
 want a drink till their dying day, who had been 
 placed in various institutions over a dozen 
 times, and supposed they were cured each time 
 they came out. 
 
 While the Christian people of New York 
 city go to their comfortable beds in the long 
 winter evenings, and spend the night in sweet, 
 refreshing sleep, thousands of men, yes, and 
 women too, are walking, walking, walking, all 
 night long, all because of drink. In many cases, 
 these too have had good homes and loved ones, 
 but drink has robbed them of all this. Thou- 
 sands try hard to get the nickel that will get 
 the drink and make them w'elcome in the back 
 room of some Raines law hotel, or give them 
 liberty to stand in the rear of some dive; 
 but if they cannot get it, they must walk, walk, 
 walk. With no underclothing, with thin 
 clothes, and their feet on the ground, many in 
 their perambulations pass by the very places 
 they once owned, or where they had at one time
 
 ao2 Down in Water Street 
 
 carried on a successful business. Is it any 
 wonder they come down to the dear old Mis- 
 sion, and even go forward for prayers, in order 
 to secure a place to sleep in, or a good square 
 mieal; and is it any wonder that they are like 
 the blind man who sat by the wayside begging, 
 who was led to cry : 
 
 " Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on 
 me?" And they also receive their sight and 
 follow Him. 
 
 The Church should be kind to the drunkard, 
 because only by her consent can whiskey be 
 manufactured or sold. Everyone knows that 
 the church people combined have the power or 
 the balance of power, and that if they would 
 stand together it could not be sold. 
 
 What must the rum-seller think when the 
 good people and law-makers of this city and 
 State say to him : " This is a bad business, a 
 very bad business; it corrupts society, de- 
 bauches our youth, fills our prisons and insane 
 asylums; it is a bad, bad business. Now, as 
 it is such a wicked and corrupt trade, we can- 
 not permit you to sell it for a license fee of 
 $200, but if you will pay us $800 you can sell 
 it all day and all night, and Sundays too ! " 
 
 So this man, with ill-disguised contempt for
 
 A Plea for the Drunkard 203 
 
 these good law-makers, pays $800 and takes his 
 chances of getting it out of the poor victim who 
 is willing to barter his soul or sell his children's 
 clothing or his own coat for a drink. 
 
 O that I could awaken the Christian Church 
 of this city, and of this country, to the fearful 
 responsibility which we must meet, so surely 
 as we appear before the Judgment Seat of 
 Christ ! If this is so, then what must we do ? 
 Why, seek to save the drunkards. Plant Rescue 
 Missions in the midst of these dens of vice, 
 and man them with godly men and women who 
 love men and women because they are lost, and 
 who use only the loving, tender, sweet Gospel 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, and have them backed 
 loyally by the churches, and it will surprise you 
 what the Lord can do. 
 
 " For the Son of Man is come to seek and 
 to save that which was lost." (Luke xix: 10).
 
 MY BROTHER
 
 XIX 
 
 MY BROTHER 
 
 HOW can I describe Colonel H. H. Had- 
 ley, my beloved and only brother, prob- 
 ably the most successful soul-winner the 
 Old Water Street Mission has ever turned out? 
 Someone else should write this narrative, for it 
 is hard to put in type the history of one whom 
 you love as I do the subject of this chapter. 
 
 Henry Harrison Hadley was born February 
 II, 1841. He is about one year and a half 
 older than the writer. In childhood we were 
 near enough of one age to be playmates back as 
 far as I can remember. We never slept apart, 
 or ate apart, or played or worked apart. We 
 had no secrets from each other, and when we 
 discarded short pants at a very early age, and 
 were able to escort the rosy-cheeked damsels 
 home from the spelling schools and corn husk- 
 ing and quilting parties and apple butter " bil- 
 in's," we could scarcely wait for the other to 
 come home to relate the wondrous myster}^ of 
 feminine love and vows we had each been able 
 
 207
 
 2o8 Down in Water Street 
 
 to coax from our " best girl." OH, those happy 
 days, long since departed! ■ '^^ 
 
 We worked hard all day, and in the night 
 went coon hunting, or to spelling schools, or to 
 some wonderful revival meeting, where sinners 
 would get under conviction at the powerful 
 preaching of the old-fashioned Gospel, and 
 weep their way to the altar or " mourners' 
 bench." (And it was a bench, too, and some- 
 times a fence-rail.) They would wring their 
 hands and howl and cry, and, at last, amid 
 songs and shouts of victory from stentorian 
 lungs, they would spring into the air and shout 
 and hug their old companions, and praise God 
 till you could hear them nearly half a mile off. 
 Sometimes they would fall on the floor, as 
 " stiff as a crowbar," and have to be carried 
 home across the fields, through the woods and 
 over stake and rider fences. The neighbours 
 would sit around the fireplaces and sing low, 
 sweet songs until morning. These men would 
 never fall back to the world afterwards. They 
 had got a view of Canaan; they had tasted of 
 its precious fruits; they had heard the sweet 
 echo of the heavenly choir, and they stood firm 
 as rocks. 
 
 There was no agnosticism there. They could
 
 My Brother 209 
 
 not read, many of them, but they could hear, 
 and they had heard something that they could 
 never forget. It was not that Moses did not 
 write the Pentateuch, nor that Noah and the 
 ark and Jonah and the whale were only " folk- 
 lore," nor that the beginning of all life was pro- 
 toplasm and then a tadpole, etc., etc., etc. They 
 had a vision of Jesus, and you could not fool 
 them with two Isaiahs. They went through 
 life shouting, and they died shouting Jesus' 
 precious name, and they fairly terrified the devil 
 away from their death-beds. All these scenes 
 we boys saw with wonder, and talked them 
 over on our way home through the lonely 
 woods. 
 
 Our home always had an extra bed for 
 preachers, and we boys would sit around the 
 fireplace and hear them relate their remarkable 
 adventures, and help carry those wonderful 
 saddle-bags to their room. So we grew up, my 
 brother growing to be a tall, handsome fellow, 
 the favourite of all the pretty girls in the neigh- 
 bourhood. How well I remember when he 
 was compelled to remain away from home the 
 first night! I thought morning would never 
 come. 
 
 When we both reached the age of young
 
 2IO Down in Water Street 
 
 manhood, I am sorry to say I got into bad 
 company. I associated with men older than 
 myself, men who were noted for their sporting 
 character and race horses. I soon had a race 
 horse myself and then I learned to drink whis- 
 key. 
 
 Never shall I forget one eventful night when 
 I took my dear brother away on a long horse- 
 back ride and gave him his first drink of whis- 
 key. His astonishment when he found that 
 I not only drank but that I actually had a 
 bottle of whiskey in my pocket, was great; but 
 I finally persuaded him to take that fateful first 
 drink. 
 
 The war broke out, and my darling, hand- 
 some brother volunteered in the 90th Ohio In- 
 fantry. The day of his departure seems but 
 yesterday. How I remember, with tears, to 
 this day the dumb agony which almost killed 
 me as we lay on the floor in our little parlor, 
 locked in each other's arms! Must he leave 
 me? How could I live without him? Could 
 I not go too? Oh, no ! I was lame for life, and 
 they would not take me. At last the day came, 
 and with the soul-stirring music of the drum 
 and fife, and the brave tears and smiles and 
 fond good-byes of father, mother, brothers,
 
 My Brother 211 
 
 sisters, sweethearts and neighbours, the regi- 
 ment marched away. They took the train and 
 went to swell the great army of the North. 
 
 Now and then a letter came in our weekly 
 mail, which told of heavy marching, severe 
 fighting and little to eat. At last, from a com- 
 rade came the heart-breaking news of my 
 brother being wounded, sick, and probably dy- 
 ing, in a hospital at Nashville, Tenn. At once 
 I determined to go to him. I got the money 
 together, went to the county seat town, bought 
 a ticket for Cincinnati, and took my first ride 
 on a railroad, one hundred and twenty-five 
 miles away. At Cincinnati, I had my first 
 view of a river, the Ohio. It was very high, 
 and covered with floating ice. To me it seemed 
 certain death to embark on a steamboat to go 
 down that river; nevertheless I went. At 
 Louisville I had to halt for three days, for 
 General Morgan had burned the bridges on 
 the Louisville and Nashville Railway, but we 
 got under way, and our train was the first to 
 pass over the new bridges. All through Ken- 
 tucky and Tennessee the ravages of war were 
 everywhere visible. At Nashville, I saw dead 
 mules in the streets, soldiers everywhere, and 
 long trains of army wagons forever passing by.
 
 212 Down in Water Street 
 
 I made my way with a beating heart to the 
 hospital, an old college building, where my 
 brother was said to be. When I went into the 
 office and asked a soldier clerk about him, he 
 said, after looking over the register : 
 
 " Your brother is dead. I think you will 
 find him in the dead-house, an old frame build- 
 ing in the yard." We failed to find him there 
 among the many dead soldiers, and it was then 
 discovered that he had been transferred to 
 another hospital. On going there I heard that 
 he had been carried to the depot. A tag had 
 been put on his blouse ticketing him through to 
 New Lexington, Ohio, and I had passed him 
 at Louisville. 
 
 It required passes from headquarters either to 
 get in or out of the lines, and I found it diffi- 
 cult to get away; but at last I reached home 
 and found my brother, but oh, how changed! 
 Not a bit of hair was on his head, and he 
 weighed only sixty-nine pounds. 
 
 It was at this time that our father died. 
 Mother died shortly after he enlisted. Our 
 home was soon broken up, and my brother, re- 
 gaining his health, soon re-enlisted in the Sig- 
 nal Corps. From this time on his promotion 
 was rapid.
 
 My Brother 213 
 
 When the war was over, he came home and 
 began Hfe again; but drink and sin had made 
 fearful inroads upon him. He drank heavily, 
 but beiiig a powerful man, it did not seem to 
 make such havoc in his case as it did in mine; 
 besides, when I drank whiskey I paid attention 
 to it and did nothing else. 
 
 When Jesus so wonderfully and mercifully 
 saved me, my first thought was for my brother, 
 but he had become an unbeliever at heart, and 
 I knew it would do no good to talk to him; so 
 I talked to Jesus about it all the time. I told 
 Him how I loved my brother, that I had given 
 him his first drink of w'hiskey, and that I 
 wanted him saved. I had been saved over four 
 years, and Harry had watched me like a cat. 
 God helped me to do some things which my 
 brother knew no one but God, if there was one, 
 could make me do. Then the drink seemed to 
 get the best of him, and he got worse. As 
 soon as I was saved, I slowly went up while he 
 went down. I sent him an invitation to come 
 to my opening at the Mission, and he saw 
 " Big Jim " start for Heaven, but he was pretty 
 full at the time. 
 
 " There," he said to himself. " if religion can 
 do anything for that man, I will believe."
 
 114 Down in Water Street 
 
 God took him at his word, and Jim was 
 saved. 
 
 On the 28th of July, 1886, my dear brother 
 came down to see me. He had been on a fear- 
 ful debauch, and was trying the old, old racket 
 of sobering up. I persuaded him to stay to 
 supper. Our only sister was visiting us at the 
 time, and she and my dear wife joined me in 
 coaxing him to stay. He did so, and went 
 down to the meeting. It was a very hot night, 
 and only thirty-six people were present. But 
 the house was full; the Holy Spirit had pos- 
 session, and everybody was aware of it. After 
 a very spiritual reading of the Scripture, with 
 song and testimony, I gave the invitation, and 
 to my unspeakable joy my brother not only 
 raised his hand but rose to his feet and said: 
 
 " Pray for me." 
 
 He came forward with some poor tramps, 
 and we got down on our knees. How can I 
 describe this scene! Here was my precious 
 brother, for whom I had been praying so long, 
 on his knees at our mercy-seat ! My soul was 
 too full for utterance. It was a solemn time. 
 I dared not pray aloud myself — I feared I 
 would break down, so I called on Brother 
 Smith, my assistant, a blessed man of God, and
 
 My Brother 215 
 
 he took my brother in his arms of love and 
 faith, and laid him at Jesus' blessed feet. 
 Jesus took him, bless His dear name! Of 
 course He did! And He has had him ever 
 since. Harry was half deranged from the ter- 
 rible effects of drink, and he turned to me in a 
 sort of bewildered way and said : 
 
 " Why, Hopp, I can't feel bad any more." 
 
 " No, my precious brother," said I, " and 
 you never will, for Jesus has taken away all 
 your sins." He soon found it out. Oh, what 
 a night that was! I hardly knew whether I 
 was in the body or out of the body. My brother 
 lived away up in One Hundred and Seventieth 
 Street, in Tremont, and I went far on the road 
 home with him. He came down nearly every 
 night, and always spoke. 
 
 He had been quite a Tammany politician, 
 and was counted a good lawyer, but the boys 
 could not get him to drink. He did smoke, 
 however, and many a rub did he get in Old 
 Water Street Mission about it. Like most of 
 the users of the weed, it would make him mad. 
 But God. in His tenderness, soon showed him 
 how to lean on Him, and he gave it up. 
 
 He soon got into Rescue Work as Superin- 
 tendent of the Avenue A Mission. It was then
 
 2j6 Down in Water Street 
 
 under the care of St. George's Church, and 
 though they had been running it for three years, 
 they had no converts, but men were converted 
 from the very day my brother took hold of it. 
 
 After eighteen months' service there, he was 
 called to start St. Bartholomew's Rescue Mis- 
 sion in East Forty-second Street, under the care 
 of St. Bartholomew's Church, the Rev. David 
 H. Greer, D.D., Rector. After a successful 
 trial in a store they had rented, through the 
 efforts of Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt and his 
 honoured mother, a large building was erected, 
 costing with the real estate $300,000, and the 
 lower hall was fitted up for a Rescue Mission 
 for my brother. One of the finest organs in 
 the city was purchased, and one of the most 
 efficient players in New York had charge of it. 
 This was one of the sights of the city, and 
 scores of poor drunkards were saved. 
 
 After being there seven years, my brother 
 conceived the plan of introducing the Church 
 Army into this country, and having it adopted 
 as a branch of Rescue Work in the Protestant 
 Episcopal Church. It had been, and is now, a 
 very important branch of evangelistic and 
 rescue work in the large cities of England, and 
 is a part of the Church of England.
 
 My Brother 217 
 
 After a visit to England, the Church Army 
 was duly incorporated and launched in this 
 country under the Parochial Society of the 
 Protestant Episcopal Church, which includes 
 New York City and the surrounding towns. 
 Bishop Potter designated my brother as Gen- 
 eral of the United States Church Army, and 
 the work was begun with a fine prospect of 
 success. In order to bring this about, my 
 brother found it necessary to resign his position 
 in the St. Bartholomew's Rescue Mission, and 
 it has never been carried on since. 
 
 Two more large buildings similar to the first 
 have been erected adjoining it on the east, and 
 altogether, this is probably the busiest center of 
 operations for missionary church work in 
 this country. Tens of thousands of dollars are 
 spent yearly to carry it on, and under the able 
 and superior management of Dr. Greer and 
 his corps of assistants, it is reaching and aid- 
 ing more needy tenement house people by far 
 than any other single church in the city. 
 
 A German church has also been started, the 
 German converts from the Rescue Mission 
 forming the nucleus of this congregation. 
 
 Colonel Hadley carried on the Church Army 
 work in New York City, and many of the
 
 !2iB Down In Water Street 
 
 larger Eastern cities, with great success. His 
 rescue post in the " Red Light " district on the 
 lower East Side will be long remembered. 
 Church Army Posts were established in Jersey 
 City, Yonkers, New Haveii, Boston, and New 
 Bedford. 
 
 Unfortunately, no financial plan had been 
 perfected to assist Colonel Hadley, and he 
 became heavily involved. With the tremen- 
 dous pressure of work upon him, and the neces- 
 sary expenses, he broke down under the cease- 
 less strain and was compelled to resign this im- 
 portant position. 
 
 Some years prior to tliis, the Christian Ab- 
 stinence Union had been conceived by Mr. John 
 S. Huyler, the great candy manufacturer. The 
 idea was to have all people who were Chris- 
 tians and total abstainers wear a badge to show 
 that they were not afraid to be known as 
 marked men for God. The Grand Army men 
 wear a button to show to all the world 
 that they were a part and parcel of that illus- 
 trious conflict to preserve our beloved flag and 
 country; and why not have those who are 
 enlisted under the glorious and imperishable, 
 blood-stained banner of our Lord and Saviour 
 Jesus Christ wear a sign, clearly visible to all
 
 COL. H. H. HADLBY.
 
 My Brother 219 
 
 the world, to show that they, for Jesus' sake, 
 abstain wholly from alcohol of every de- 
 scription — this dreadful evil which has spread 
 so far and wide even in the Church of the living 
 God which He purchased with His own blood; 
 there is hardly a church in our land which 
 has not felt its deadly influence. 
 
 In 1892, Mr. Huyler, who is a splendid or- 
 ganizer, and my brother joined forces. The 
 Society was incorporated according to the laws 
 of the State of New York, with Mr. Huyler 
 as President, Mr. George F. Langenbacher, 
 Treasurer, Colonel Hadley, Vice-President and 
 Superintendent. The badge is a blue button 
 or pin with a white cross, a very pretty emblem 
 indeed, worn on the coat or cravat. 
 
 For the last three years my brother has been 
 giving his entire time to the blessed gospel of 
 the Christian Abstainers' Union. It is non- 
 political and interdenominational, and the most 
 active Gospel Temperance work now carried 
 on in any country. Its organ is " The 
 Union Gospel News," of Cleveland, Ohio. This 
 paper devotes a page each week, from my 
 brother's pen, to the spread of this blessed and 
 highly successful work. 
 
 Over a year ago the Colonel broke down
 
 220 Down in Water Street 
 
 from heart disease and nervous prostration. 
 Through the kind and skilful agency of the 
 great Battle Creek Sanitarium and Dr. J. H. 
 Kellogg, its president, my brother has so far 
 recovered his health as to be able to go ahead 
 in his work, and he is probably reaching more 
 souls, preventing more boys from becoming 
 drunkards and helping to rescue more men who 
 are drunkards, than he has ever done during 
 the entire fourteen years of his busy Christian 
 life. His headquarters are at present at the 
 Woman's Temple, Chicago, 111. He has started 
 since his conversion sixty missions, many of 
 which are being successfully carried on to-day, 
 and have become permanent soul-saving insti- 
 tutions. Thousands of drunkards have knelt 
 at their altars and have become Christian men 
 and women. 
 
 His noble, faithful wife has stood by him 
 through it all. Among his eight children who 
 are living, one is a Protestant Episcopal clergy- 
 man, and another, the youngest son, is 
 fitting himself for the ministry at Cambridge, 
 Mass. 
 
 The dear Old McAuley Water Street Mis- 
 sion is spreading itself all over the earth 
 through its faithful converts. Praise the Lord !
 
 My Brother 221 
 
 " O the love that sought me ! 
 O the blood that bought me ! 
 O the grace that brought me to the fold ! 
 Wondrous grace that brought me to His foldl"
 
 I
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE WORK
 
 XX 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE WORK 
 
 1 WOULD like to give the reader, as he is 
 seated in his comfortable room perusing this 
 book, a glimpse of our work as it is carried 
 on from day to day and from year to year. 
 
 We live in the Mission. The two upper 
 floors are given up to the living rooms and the 
 lower floor to the chapel, and we have in the 
 rear a small kitchen, where we feed thousands 
 of hungry men every year — in fact, no one is 
 turned away who comes to us hungry. We 
 have a large coffee boiler, and willing friends 
 are around to attend to those who need help; 
 and thousands come to us who, perhaps, have 
 not had a bite to eat for days. They are always 
 received kindly, and no questions are asked, 
 and such food as we have is given them. 
 
 Upstairs is our home. That is where my 
 beloved wife and our dear missionary, Mrs. 
 Lamont are, and here one will find a great deal 
 of social life. Here the converts meet, and we 
 try to make everyone feel at home. 
 
 225
 
 2l6 Down In Water Street 
 
 Some of the converts are at our home every 
 day, and the dinner table is generally crowded. 
 It is a great thing to have a man who once was 
 happy in a lovely home, with friends gathered 
 around him, supplied with ample comfort, but 
 who has lost it all through drink, and who for 
 years has known nothing but free lunches, and 
 low restaurants, come into our dining room. 
 We think it is a blessed gospel to ask him to 
 our table and have him sit down to a hearty 
 and wholesome dinner, and supplied with clean 
 napkins, and no questions asked. 
 
 One time not long since a lady visitor from 
 a distant city said to me : 
 
 " Why, Mr. Hadley, what nice-looking peo- 
 ple these are seated around us! I am aston- 
 ished to see such fine people." I said to her : 
 
 " Don't talk so loud. Every one here has a 
 record except my wife and you and our mis- 
 sionary. The longest one is twenty years in 
 the penitentiary." She was so astonished that 
 she nearly forgot to eat her dinner. 
 
 The doors of the Water Street Mission are 
 open from early morning until late at night, 
 and it is a veritable refuge for discharged con- 
 victs, drunkards, outcasts and men and women 
 in every stage of moral and physical wreck.
 
 O 
 
 3 
 
 P5
 
 A Glimpse of the Work 227 
 
 Many by the very helplessness of their condi- 
 tion are induced to hear, and hope long since 
 dead revives. Though they have only come in 
 for a night's lodging, they call on Christ and 
 are saved. Then it is our part to stand by 
 them and help them grow in grace, and get so 
 that they can earn an honest living. This is 
 the most difficult problem we have to solve. 
 We have no labour bureau nor, in fact, any or- 
 ganized method of securing work. 
 
 The best plan that we have ever tried, the 
 one v/e have used most and have cause to de- 
 pend on, is to teach men to pray that they may 
 get work, and then to go and hunt for it. Of 
 course, men who have betrayed every trust 
 would be glad to have some one get them work, 
 but we have found that a bad plan. We have 
 found by long experience that if a man is 
 soundly converted to God, he will get work as 
 soon as the Lord thinks him fitted for it, and 
 by the time he has walked over this town and 
 wears out a pair of shoes, and has been turned 
 down for a month or two, and finally has been 
 driven to God in despair for aid, he begins to 
 realize what it costs to get work, and what he 
 has lost or thrown away. Meanwhile we 
 stand by him and encourage him. The men
 
 228 Down in Water Street 
 
 attend the meeting every evening and tell of 
 their trials and victories. 
 
 The greatest strength of our meetings is the 
 testimony of the converts. It is recognized 
 as the drawing power to cause men to take cour- 
 age and turn away from their drunken lives 
 and trust Jesus. This dear name, Jesus, is the 
 Alpha and Omega of our Gospel. " He that 
 hath the Son hath life." So the Son, whose 
 loving presence is ever felt and seen in our 
 meetings, is our Ideal, and as He is continually 
 spoken of and held up to the sinner's gaze, the 
 Holy Spirit reveals Him to men, and the sim- 
 plest can understand and accept the Friend of 
 sinners. 
 
 Our meetings are held every night, and at 
 three o'clock on Sunday. They are invariably 
 led by one of the converts. 
 
 This work is distinctly of its own kind. I 
 have never seen a Rescue Mission like it, and 
 do not know of one. 
 
 We cordially invite pastors and friends from 
 outside to come to our meetings, and are very 
 glad to see them, but we do not need them to 
 help carry on the work. There are not enough 
 nights in the week for those of our converts to 
 lead who are fully able to take charge of the
 
 A Glimpse of the Work 229 
 
 service. I am praying now that some other 
 work may be opened soon that I may have more 
 room for grand, redeemed drunkards to be free 
 to work for God. 
 
 On our free supper nights the splendid look- 
 ing fellows who pass through the congregation 
 with the great heaped-up trays of bread and 
 meat and the steaming pots of coffee are all our 
 own men, who came needy and dying to our 
 mercy-seat, where they found Jesus. 
 
 During the past year — 1901 — more than 
 46,000 people attended our services, the larg- 
 est part of whom were homeless men and 
 outcast drunkards. Over three thousand came 
 up and knelt at our mercy-seat and prayed for 
 themselves. We have on an average from 
 thirty-five to fifty redeemed men present every 
 night in our congregation. We rarely have 
 time to hear all who wish to testify of their 
 salvation from lives of drunkenness and shame. 
 
 The writer visits Sing Sing and other prisons, 
 and in the public meeting invites the prisoners 
 to come to hear him when their time expires. 
 Generally from four to five hundred come each 
 year, and some testify each night to having 
 found Jesus. This kind of work is very diffi- 
 cult and expensive, but it pays, and I am thank-
 
 230 Down in Water Street 
 
 fill indeed to Tiave a Gospel which is strong 
 enough and tender enough to go to the very 
 mouth of hell itself and claim a victim for God. 
 
 Ninety-nine men out of a hundred ccane 
 here because they are absolutely dying. They 
 have not a cent or a friend on earth, are unable 
 to get a cent unless they steal it, and their cloth- 
 ing is scarcely fit for a ragman. Poor fellows ! 
 Bankrupt mentally, physically and morally, 
 they come forward to our tear-stained benches 
 and Jesus meets them there and they make a 
 start. 
 
 Would that I could convey to the readers of 
 this volume an idea of the needs of these poor 
 lost men and women. Satan has a terrible hold 
 on them through long years of habit, but the 
 light enters, and we stand by and help and pray 
 and love and do all we can for them. I fear some- 
 times that Christian people do not appreciate 
 the far-reaching results of our work down here, 
 or we would not have to make such struggles 
 for money to carry it on. Most of our con- 
 verts have come from homes of love and plenty, 
 and were considered by their parents to be on 
 the highway to success when they started out 
 on the road of life; but they were swept down 
 by some awful temptation and their downward
 
 A Glimpse of the Work 23 i 
 
 course was rapid. I have repeatedly seen men 
 saved here while suffering from delirium tre- 
 mens. Sometimes they are so drunk that they 
 have to be helped up the aisle. Sometimes men 
 are saved from drinking-, smoking and chewing 
 before they rise from their knees. 
 
 The tobacco question is a difficult one and 
 not easily to be disposed of. Some men get 
 under deep conviction about their tobacco, and 
 if they do not give it up they fall, while others 
 equally conscientious have no scruples about it, 
 or seem not to have any. 
 
 One of our grand men was a fearful drunk- 
 ard when he came here. He seemed unable 
 to get help but for a short time. The last time 
 he came up for prayers I had to send him to 
 Bellevue Hospital with the horrors. This man 
 was a perfect fiend after tobacco. After he was 
 converted he would pick up cigar butts in the 
 street, cut off the ends and chew them, because 
 he could not buy any weed strong enough. He 
 had work in the Street-sweeping Department, 
 and after he was saved he became so ashamed 
 that he would look all around before picking up 
 cigar stumps, to see if he was being watched. 
 Then he went to God and asked Him to save 
 him from the habit. He went for a week with-
 
 232 Down In Water Street 
 
 out it, and one day while sweeping the streets 
 his agony was so dreadful that he thought he 
 could stand it no longer. He looked at his 
 watch, and it was nine o'clock, and as he was 
 near a tobacco store he said : 
 
 " When it is ten o'clock I will go and buy a 
 plug of tobacco." But when ten o'clock came 
 he forgot all about it, and he has never wanted 
 a chew since. The dear Lord saw that he was 
 about to yield, and in His tender pity He re- 
 moved the desire forever. 
 
 I have been unusually blessed with co-work- 
 ers since I came here. Mrs. Sarah Sherwood 
 was with us for ten years after we came to 
 Water Street — Mother Sherwood, as we all 
 called her. Probably this woman has shaken 
 hands with more drunkards than any other 
 woman in this city. She was of a distinguished 
 Connecticut family. Two of her brothers have 
 "been Governors of their native State. 
 
 The converts of the Mission who knew Mrs. 
 Sherwood will never forget her. She 'helped 
 to bear their sorrows, and to share their joys. 
 They all leaned on her in time of trouble, and 
 backsliders always found in her a willing ear 
 and a heart full of sympathy. At the same 
 time, she dug them out, and if they were living
 
 A Glimpse of the Work d^S 
 
 on false hopes she was quick to detect it. No 
 one could more lovingly or skilfully uncover a 
 liar or a fraud than she could, and after doing 
 so no one would stand by them more lovingly 
 and faithfully, helping them to right the wrong. 
 Her sweet and gracious presence was well 
 known in all the dens and dives about here, 
 and when she entered a saloon or house of evil 
 resort the swearing and vile talk instantly 
 ceased and the barkeeper would not wait on 
 customers while the " mission lady " was pres- 
 ent. She procured hundreds of dollars from 
 the merchants in the lower part of the city, and 
 so amiable was her manner that invitations 
 were extended to her to come again, and she 
 was not slow to accept them. 
 
 Mr. Franklin Smith was also with us all this 
 time — a tender, modest, lovable man, mighty 
 in faith and prayer. He never knew the evils 
 of drink, but he sympathized deeply with those 
 who did. He died shortly after Mrs. Sher- 
 wood. 
 
 Mrs. Mary W. Bentley was also a mission- 
 ary for some five years. She lived here, and 
 her love and faith for lost men and women 
 were boundless. I never saw her " out of 
 patience. She -was drawn to men only because
 
 234 Down in Water Street 
 
 they were sinners sinking down to destruction, 
 and needed a friend. She was a great sufferer 
 for months before her death, but always prayed 
 for us to the last, and sent messages of love to 
 those whom she loved and had led to Jesus. 
 
 A book could be written of either of these 
 devoted Christian lives. These ladies had 
 ample means to support themselves, but chose 
 to come here to work, because here is where 
 the sinners come, and here is where they can 
 be reached. 
 
 Our present missionary, Mrs. Lida M. La- 
 mont, our faithful and tireless friend, has been 
 with us for over five years. My beloved wife 
 and Mrs. Lament are the only ladies who live 
 in the building. 
 
 One of my assistants for five years was 
 Mr. Harry E. Prentice, a redeemed man from 
 England, who about a year ago went into busi- 
 ness life; but he still holds his connection with 
 us, and often leads our meetings on Sunday 
 evenings. 
 
 Our present assistant is Mr. John H. Wy- 
 burn, who was saved in this Mission, while very 
 drunk, over thirteen years ago. Three years 
 of this time he was Superintendent of the Bow- 
 cry^Mission, and we are thankful to have him
 
 JOHN H. WYBURN. 
 
 Assistant Superintendeut.
 
 A Glimpse of the Work 235 
 
 here now, and we trust that he will remain as 
 long as we do. 
 
 Our Trustees are, John S. Huyler, Presi- 
 dent; B. DeF. Curtiss, Secretary; R. Fulton 
 Cutting, Treasurer; W. T. Wardwell, Walter 
 M. Smith, the Rev. J. Frederick Talcott. S. W. 
 Bowne, Col. A. P. Ketchum, A. N. Ryerson 
 and Christian F. Tietjen. 
 
 The reader will notice that our Board of 
 Trustees comprise some of the grandest Chris- 
 tian men in the City of New York. I would be 
 glad to speak of them individually in this book, 
 for they richly deserve it. The love and pa- 
 tience and generosity with which they deal with 
 the writer cannot be spoken of here, but I feel 
 I must say a word about our President, Mr. 
 Huyler. Who can ever measure in words what 
 a blessing he has been to this work ! 
 
 He came to us years ago when we were strug- 
 gling for an existence. He was first brought 
 to Water Street by Mr. C. H. Bernard, one of 
 our beloved leaders. It was supper night, and 
 it happened that on that very night our funds 
 were exhausted. That was about fourteen 
 years ago. The writer had informed the boys 
 who composed this motley crowd that the sup- 
 per money was exhausted, and they need not
 
 236 Down in Water Street 
 
 come the next week. He was sorry, and was 
 ready to cry, but the dear fellows relieved him 
 by saying : 
 
 " We know you are sorry, Mr. Hadley, and 
 we know you would give it to us if you could, 
 and we are thankful for the suppers that you 
 have given us each week during the past year." 
 They spoke right out in meeting. At the close 
 the usual invitation was given, and twenty-six 
 men came up for prayers. Mr. Huyler sat 
 among the congregation a very interested spec- 
 tator. Just before we knelt for prayer he said : 
 
 " What are you going to do now? " 
 
 I said : " We are going to pray. Brother 
 Huyler, pray for these poor fellows." Then 
 came a silence, and I supposed I had made a 
 mistake. But very soon a tearful voice began 
 this petition : 
 
 '* Oh, Lord ! Brother Hadley says ' Pray 
 for these poor fellows.' Dear Lord, I need 
 praying for as badly as they do. Oh, Jesus, 
 help me, and save us all ! " 
 
 Never had I seen such an effect as \ as)pro- 
 duced by this earnest, honest petition to the 
 throne of grace. Dear Mr. Huyler wept ; the 
 poor drunkards around him wept, and the Holy 
 .Ghost came down. Quite a number were saved
 
 A Glimpse of the Work 237 
 
 that night in answer to this heartfelt prayer. 
 From that night to this, Mr. Huyler has fur- 
 nished the money for our free suppers once a 
 week. The cost is about $500 a year. 
 
 Brother Huyler loves men with the spirit of 
 the Master, simply because nobody else loves 
 them. He loves them because they are down. 
 How many lessons has the writer learned from 
 this devoted, busy, hard-working child of God ! 
 Often when business cares seem to over- 
 whelm him he takes the time to have me come 
 into his office and tells me of some poor, dis- 
 tressed man who has fallen, and fallen, and 
 fallen, and perhaps has written him a letter, 
 abusing him to the full extent of the English 
 language. With tears in his eyes Mr. Huyler 
 says : 
 
 " Oh, Brother Hadley, how can we get hold 
 of this poor fellow and bring him to Christ ? " 
 He loves his fellow men. 
 
 " By this shall all men know that ye are my 
 disciples, if ye have love one to another." 
 John xiii : 35.
 
 238 Down in Water Street 
 
 ABOU BEN ADHEM 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 
 Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, || 
 
 And saw within the moonlight of his room, ^ 
 
 Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
 
 An angel writing in a book of gold : 
 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 
 
 And to the presence in the room he said, 
 
 "What writest thou?" — The vision raised its head, 
 
 And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
 
 Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
 
 "And is mine one?" said Abou "Nay, not so," 
 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
 But cheerily still ; and said : " I pray thee, then, 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow men." 
 
 The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night 
 It came again, with a great wakening light. 
 And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, 
 And, lo, Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 
 
 Leigh Hunt.
 
 J. S. HUYLER. 
 
 President of McAuley Mission.
 
 Certificate of Incorporation 
 
 OF the 
 
 McAULEY WATER STREET MISSION 
 
 State of New York, I 
 
 City and County of New York. ) 
 
 Be it known to all to whom this Certificate 
 may come, or whom it may concern, that Sid- 
 ney Whittemore, Alfrederick S. Hatch, 
 John D. Phyfe, Jerry McAuley, and Frank 
 Storrs, being each and every one of them of 
 full age, and citizens and residents of the State 
 of New York, do hereby certify, that in pursu- 
 ance of, and in conformity with, the provisions 
 of an Act of the Legislature of the State of 
 New York entitled : " An act for the incorpora- 
 tion of Benevolent, Charitable, Scientific, and 
 Missionary Societies, passed April 12th, 1848," 
 and of the several acts extending and amending 
 the said act, we have associated ourselves to- 
 gether, and form a body politic and corporate 
 
 239
 
 240 Down in Water Street 
 
 with any others that may hereafter become as- 
 sociated with us, for the promotion of the 
 objects of said Corporation. 
 
 First. — That the Corporate name of said 
 Association is declared to be, and shah be 
 known as the " McAuley Water Street 
 Mission/' 
 
 Second. — That the particular business and 
 objects of such Association are and shall be to 
 do good to the souls and bodies of all who may 
 come under its influence, by proclaiming to 
 them the truths of the Holy Bible, and salva- 
 tion through the Lord Jesus Christ, by giving 
 them religious instruction, by lifting up the 
 fallen, by aiding the tempted, and encouraging 
 them in their efforts to escape from their habits 
 and appetites, and by providing a place to 
 ■which whomsoever will may freely come for 
 Christian worship and fellowship, for the pro- 
 motion of Godliness, and for mutual encour- 
 agement in the Christian life. 
 
 Third. — That the number of Trustees for the 
 first year of this Organization shall be three, 
 viz. : 
 
 Sidney Whittemore residing at No. 85 Park' 
 Avenue in the City of New York, John D. 
 Phyfe residing at No. 128 East 57th Street in
 
 Pi 
 
 CO 
 
 < 
 
 m 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 1—4 
 
 H
 
 Certificate of Incorporation 241 
 
 the City of New York, and Alfrederick S. 
 Hatch residing at No. 49 Park Avenue in the 
 City of New York, who shall also be the di- 
 rectors and managers of the affairs of the As- 
 sociation under such by-laws as may be made 
 for that purpose, and who shall have the power 
 to appoint such officers as the business and ob- 
 jects of the Association may require. 
 
 Fourth. — That the principal office and place 
 of business of the Association shall be in the 
 City, County, and State of New York. 
 
 In witness whereof we have hereunto sever- 
 ally subscribed our names and afhxed our seals 
 in the City of New York this ninth day of De- 
 cember, Anno Domini 1876. 
 
 Sidney Whittemore [seal.] 
 
 Alfrederick S. Hatch [seal.] 
 
 John D. Phyfe [seal.] 
 
 Jerry McAuley [seal.] 
 
 Frank Storrs [seal.] 
 
 State of New York, 
 
 City and County of New York. 
 
 \ 
 
 ss. 
 
 On this ninth day of Decernber, in the year 
 of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and 
 seventy-six, before me personally came Sidney
 
 1242 Down in Water Street 
 
 Whittemore, Alfrederick S. Hatch, John D. 
 Phyfe, Jerry McAuley, and Frank Storrs, to 
 me known to be the individuals described in and 
 who executed the foregoing instrument, and 
 who severally acknowledged that they executed 
 the same. 
 
 Wm. C. McKean, 
 [notarial seal.] Notary Public. 
 
 New York City and County. 
 
 I, one of the Justices of the Supreme Court of 
 the State of New York in the First Judicial 
 District, do consent to and approve of the filing 
 of the within Articles of Incorporation. 
 
 Dated New York, Dec. nth, 1876. 
 
 Chas. Donohue, 
 Justice of the Supreme Court.
 
 FORM OF BEQUEST 
 
 I Give and Bequeath to the McAULEY 
 WATER STREET MISSION, located at 
 No. ^i6 Water Street, Nezv York City, the 
 sum of $
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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