VIII.

As the weeks and months passed, the fame of the Waterstreet Mission extended, so that among those who began to make their appearance at the Sunday-services were not a few uptown people, who discovered in Captain Antle a man of picturesque presence, marked originality, and unusual gifts as an evangelist. Thus, without the slightest idea of ever becoming a "pulpit orator," he preached, Sunday after Sunday, to multitudes who heard him gladly.

His sermons, or more correctly speaking, his hortatory addresses, were so unconventional in matter and manner, so lucid in style, so earnest and forcible in delivery, that they never failed to interest where they did not always convince. It may be aptly said of him, and with all due reverence, that he spake as one having authority, not as the scribes - not as the common herd of preachers. As for me, knowing him so long and intimately, I could not help asking myself, Whence hath this man all these rare qualifications of a popular preacher? And yet, nothing surprised the captain more than to find "outsiders" drawn to the mission-room, simply on account of his preaching.

"Why, Charles,

"My preaching!" he once said to me. I'm no preacher. You know I'm not. I'm nothing but a poor ignorant sailor talking to other poor ignorant sailors. Outsiders may come and welcome; but unless the Lord

feed them, they'll find poor fare in this place, I can tell them."

But the truth is that people were much better fed than the captain seemed inclined to suppose. They were fed on the pure marrow of the Word - a diet of which they stood much in need. And yet, his discourses were as artless and unsophisticated as the winds and waves. As you looked and listened, you associated him with natural features and phenomena with cliffs and billows and bowlders. He suggested Elijah and John the Baptist. You felt that you were being instructed by one whose teaching and interpretation came not second-hand from the schools, but directly from the fountain-head of Truth. There were no theological subtleties, no refinements of dogma, no explaining away of the law or the gospel, no attempt to solve any of the problems which puzzle and divide Christendom-nothing but the simple, naked, rugged truth, as expressed in the Word-no more, no less. No college-training had educated him out of his faith or chilled the ardor of his devotion. He believed that the spiritual birth was as essential to salvation as the physical birth is to existence itself. Of this, he needed no more convincing evidence than his own experience. “I was blind, now I see. I loved sin, now I hate it. I was in darkness, now I am in the light." The contrasts in his life were so strong, absolute, and well-defined, that there could be no doubt or difficulty in the matter. What, therefore, was possible for him, was possible for all. What saved his soul could save any soul. "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and ye

shall be saved," was his creed, his oft-recurring text, and the perpetual theme of his discourse and conversation.

To confess Christ, he considered so obvious and paramount a duty for all, that it admitted of no question; nor could there exist any obstacle so formidable as to forbid anyone becoming a Christian, who so desired.

A young sailor

with whom he was once laboring said, "Captain, I'd like to be a Christian, but you know how it is yourself. You know how I'd be picked upon by the whole ship's company from the old man down to the doctor's mate."

This was an unfortunate excuse to make to such a man as Captain Antle, who immediately retorted, "So you are too cowardly to be a Christian, are you?"

"No, captain; not if I could fight 'em; but when they know I daren't hit back, then wouldn't I have to take it!"

"Very well, take it! If you're afraid to trust God, you're afraid to face men, and so have to own up to it that you are too cowardly to confess Christ. My son, it don't make any difference if they pick all the flesh off your bones and throw you to the sharks piecemeal, you can take your departure to glory from a shark's maw just as well as from a feather bed. Besides, it isn't what this little life can give or deny us by confessing Christ, it is what all eternity has in store for us that's the only thing worth considering in the matter the rest is moonshine."

One Sunday morning the pastor of a "fashionable" uptown church made this announcement to his congregation:

"Many, perhaps most of you, may not be aware that a work has been inaugurated in this city for the benefit of our mariners, which is of a character that deserves the heartiest sympathy of all Christians, of whatever creed or denomination. Any of you, my friends, who are at all acquainted with this class of people, must know how badly the sailor stands in need of kindly care and friendly protection. It is not too much to say that, in view of the hazardous nature of his calling, he compels our gratitude, our respect, our service. But the difficulty of reaching these men, more especially of influencing them in the right direction, can be appreciated only by those who have attempted the task.

"The sailor leaps ashore with the determination of enjoying to the full what he has been so long denied. Eager for all the baser sensual gratifications within easy reach, the inducement must be very powerful, indeed, which can turn him in an opposite direction. It is very doubtful, my friends, if you or I, with all our devotion to the Master, with all our zeal to save souls, to rescue the fallen, and to lead sinners to repentance— nay, with the most sincere love for the poor sailor and the most ardent desire to do him good, I say it is very doubtful if we could exert sufficient influence over him, as he lands on our shores, to induce him to accompany us to Sunday-school or church, rather than hasten to the vicious and debasing indulgences he is so eager to reach. Indeed, I am persuaded that no one but an individual peculiarly fitted by nature and training, as well as by the grace of God, can hope to do successful work in this direction.

"Now I am exceedingly thankful to be able to inform you that such a man has been raised up in our midst by Divine Providence to discharge this great, this difficult, this urgent duty — a man who appears to possess peculiar qualifications, both of head and heart, to institute and carry forward a mission among the class of people who dwell near the docks, and more particularly among the sailors — I refer to Captain Antle, who, I understand, has finally abandoned the sea that he may devote himself exclusively to this apostolic labor.

"I have but recently learned of the existence of this mission, and that through one of the members of our choir, who, on a late occasion, visited the mission-room and enjoyed, so he assures me, not only a delightful but a most profitable experience.

"Now, my friends, let me ask you, have we not a sacred duty to perform in this direction? Should we regard this work with supine indifference, and turn a deaf ear to the call, even if this mission is outside the pale, and not under the guardianship and control of the Church? Is that a valid excuse? Sailors have souls to save, and souls, which, if saved at all, must be saved through human instrumentality through our prayers, our persuasion, our sympathy. In view of this, should we allow our good brother to toil on any longer without our assistance, or, at least, our recognition?

"Captain Antle's mission-room is at 27 Water Street, not an inviting quarter of the town, I'll admit, but all the more needing the infusion of a purer element — a holier influence.