Jerry McAuley, his life and work

Introduction

By the Rev. S. IREN^US PRIME, D.D.

PERSONAL SKETCHES By a. S. hatch, Esq.

Edited by Rev. R. M. OFFORD

NEW YORK . ">-^' " -' :' MRS. JERRY McAULEY, 104 West 32D St.

WARD & DRUMMOND, 116 Nassau St.

4^^"^

Copyright, 1885, By MARIA McAULEY.

Preface

During the summer preceding his death Jerry McAuley was planning for the preparation of a somewhat extensive account of God's deahngs with and through him. He purposed waiting only for cooler weather before commencing his task. But his death intervened ere the work had even been begun. We have thus been deprived of many of the records of the richest displays of God's grace in both the Water Street and the Cremorne Missions. But enough have been printed in the following pages to arouse the deepest interest of Christian hearts. These records serve to show that, in the dispensation of grace and graces, God is no respecter of persons. As in nature the most resplendent gems are found among the most uninviting surroundings, so grace gathers out of the horrible pit and the miry clay many a bright gem for the Saviour's diadem. And God works through lowly instrumentalities. In this respect his choice is often contrary to human judgment. Jerry was a very unpromising sinner to begin with, but God in His grace saved him. After his conversion he seemed by no means a promising saint, and ministers and others engaged in mission work did not encourage him to beHeve that he was called to labor in that direction. But God had called him none the less, and owned and blessed him beyond all human conception or computaiv Preface.

tion. It is indeed true that we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the glory may be the Lord's.

It is fitting that acknowledgments be made here of indebtedness to those friends who have helped to produce this volume. The first three chapters are taken from the little work "Transformed," edited by Mrs. Helen E. Brown. Three of the later chapters are devoted to personal recollections of the worker and his work, by A. S. Hatch, Esq. There are no more interesting chapters in the book than these, and they greatly enhance its value. That gentleman has placed us under further obligations by the care and patience with which he has read every line of this volume, revising where necessary — a task which his long and intimate acquaintance with Jerry enabled him to do better than anyone else could have done it. To the Rev. S^ Irenaeus Prime, D.D., thanks are due for the '' Introduction." His reminiscences of Jerry, couched in such tender and touching- language, will serve to awaken at the start a deep interest in the records which follow.

My own part of the work has been a very modest one. Collecting such material as already existed, and which best served to present Jerry the outcast, Jerry the transformed, Jerry the successful worker for souls, the matter has been prepared for the printer without any attempt to give the facts in any setting of beautiful language. The labor has been a simple but very pleasant one. To have helped in any way to publish the story of grace as it triumphed in and through Jerry McAuley is an honor greatly esteemed, and for which the heart feels sincerely grateful to God. It is indeed to be wished that He may be glorified in the record as He was in its subject.

May Christians who read these pages be encouraged to

Preface, v

work for the salvation of the most outcast of their fellowbeings ! May many of those who are as yet unsaved be led by these records to seek Jerry McAuley's Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. Of that blessed Redeemer it is written in God's Book, the Bible, " He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them" (Heb. vii. 25). His own words are : "■ Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest " (Matt. xi. 28).

The Editor.

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Transformed „ 9

II. Struggles and Temptations 20

III. Jerry becomes a Missionary 36

IV. Trials and Triumphs 48

V. Water Street as it Was 58

VI. More about Water Street 69

VII. Trophies of Grace 78

VIII. A Mistake and What Came of It 88

IX. Evil Schemes Frustrated 100

X. The Cremorne Mission 109

XL Another Chapter of Testimonies 120

XII. Called Home 133

XIII. On the Old Spot 145

XIV. Characteristic Sketches and Personal Recollections

of Jerry McAuley 156

XV. Recollections — Continued. 162

XVI. Recollections — Concluded 175

XVII. Every Evening in Water Street 183

XVIII. Water Street Meeting — Concluded. 195

XIX. Jerry McAuley's Cremorne Mission 209

XX. Jerry as a Journalist and Correspondent

)00

INTRODUCTION

By Rev. S. Iren^us Prime, D.D.

Returning home after my summer recess in 1884, I had not been in my house five minutes when a gentleman called to ask me to conduct the funeral of Jerry McAuley.

" Is he dead ?" I asked in a burst of mingled surprise and sorrow. Before going away I had seen and heard the manifest signs of consumption, and it was not wonderful that such a life as he led in the days of his wickedness should make him an easy prey to disease. He did not live out half his days, though grace did come to the everlasting life of his soul.

But it made me very sad. I did not know that this strange man had such a place in my heart that now he was dead I should feel as if the city and the world and I had lost a friend. Jerry is dead ! Well, what was he to me that I must grieve that I shall see his face no more ? He came often to see me, and said little when he was there, but seemed to love to sit near me, and look up with a tearful eye and a pensive face, and a heart, I doubt not, full of sweet hope and holy love. We never talked of the old, old times when he was a thief and a robber, when he was a drunkard viii Introduction.

and blasphemer, when he was a convict in prison, and afterwards an outcast and an outlaw. It is not in my memory that a word ever passed between us about those terrible days and nights of sin and shame, when he won distinction among the criminal classes as one of the worst of men, a dangerous character, unfit to be at large — as unfit to live as he was unprepared to die. It has always been a marvel to me that men professing to be reformed from loathsome habits should revel in the recital of their past sins, as if they were heroes who had come out of a great battle, and were now victors to be crowned and counted worthy of honor. Jerry McAuley was not so. He kept in mind the pit from which he was dug, but the memory of it filled him with penitence and pain. He would speak of it when the fact of his rescue would help a perishing brother to struggle for deliverance; but he loved rather when with me to speak of the life that he now lived — *' yet not I, but Christ liveth in me : I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." Delivered from the powers of darkness and translated into the kingdom of God's dear Son, this poor sinner, clothed and in his right mind, had put away the old man with his lusts, and now a new man in Christ Jesus was striving to walk humbly and softly before God. He never seemed confident that he might not be delivered again into the hand of Satan, to be buffeted for a season; but he sought sustaining grace and found it day by day, till the convicted sinner was transformed into a redeemed soul by the Spirit of God and the victory of the grave.

The next day was the Sabbath. The funeral was to be in the afternoon. As the hour approached — and indeed all the day — my thoughts had been dwelling on the fact that

Introduction. ix

New York has no consciousness of the loss it has met : the city knows not that one of the most useful men in it, one of its most remarkable, wonderful men, is to be buried to-day. Very few know or care about Jerry McAuley ; we are going to the Broadway Tabernacle to talk of what he was and what he has done, to a little congregation that will gather there : if it were Dr. Taylor, the beloved and honored pastor, the house would be crowded and the mourners would go about the streets ; but poor Jerry — he is dead, and who will be there to weep with us over his remains? Ah, how little did I know the place that he filled in the heart of this vast city! I was to conduct the funeral, and went early to complete the arrangements. As I turned down from the Fifth Avenue through Thirty-fourth Street, I saw a vast multitude standing in the sunshine, filling the streets and the square in front of the Tabernacle. Astonished at the spectacle, and wondering they did not go and take seats in the church, I soon found that the house was packed with people so that it was impossible for me to get within the door. Proclamation was made that the clergy who were to officiate were on the outside, and a passage was made for them to enter in. What could be more impressive and expressive of the estimate set upon the man and his work! There is no other Christian worker in the city who would have called out these uncounted thousands in a last tribute of love and honor of his memory. And then eloquent lips spoke of him and the great good done by him in fields of labor uninviting, and often repelling those who care for the souls of. the perishing among us. It was said that there is no one pastor in New York who is doing the work of this humble man — no pastor who will leave a wider vacancy when he falls on the high places in his field of duty.

X Intro duction.

To read the story of his Hfe and work is not like the romance born of a lively fancy, for it is far more strange, unreal, incredible, than the novel of the period. It involves the supernatural. It has to do directly with the powers of the world to come. Reading it, still more going into one of the meetings where lost men and women come to be saved, brings one at once into the midst of agencies that imply for their power and success the immediate, direct, personal presence and working influence of the Holy Spirit. If this work is not of God, it is nothing ; worse than nothing — it is an awful farce. To me it is a divine reality. It was no fanaticism that in the days of the apostles led men to cry out " What must I do to be saved ;'* and when I have sat in the midst of publicans and harlots, convicts and thieves, drunkards and other vile and wretched human beings down so low in misery and shame that no human arm is long enough to reach them or strong enough to raise and save them ; when I have heard them in broken accents, amid sobs and tears, tell what the grace of God has done for them, how it had brought husbands and wives together in peace and comfort, with happy children around them, after liquor and crime and gaunt want had broken up the household ; when I have heard scores and scores of such testimonies ascribing all their salvation to Him who loved them and died for them, lost and ruined by sin — the tears have run down like rivers of waters from mine eyes, and I have prayed that hundreds and thousands of preachers of righteousness like Jerry McAuley might be taken from prison to go in the name of Jesus to seek and to save them that are lost.

It is a good thing to write and print and spread the life of such a man as the hero of this volume. It may kindle the flame in many other hearts. Christians in other walks

Introduction. xi

of life than he trod may be stirred to better living. And (may God in infinite mercy grant it !) some poor, sinning soul, some wretched and sinking soul, some poor sinner, almost as bad as Jerry was, may read it in his extremity, and cry out with this ransomed prisoner, " Lord save me, I perish."

To

MARIA,

THE WELL BELOVED AND LOVING WIFE AND TRUE HELPMEET, WHO FAITHFULLY LABORED

SIDE BY SIDE WITH JERRY, SHARING ALL THE TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF

HIS REDEEMED LIFE, AND WHO BRAVELY TOOK UP HIS

WORK WHERE HE LAID IT DOWN, WHEN

THE LORD CALLED HIM HOME,

THE EDITOR.

JERRY MCAULEY.

Chapter I. Transformed

" Our young life had dark beginning, Helpless and alone we lay ; Knowing only sin and sorrow,

Till the Saviour passed that way."

The following autobiographical sketch of Jerry McAuley and the beginning of his Christian work was written in 1875, mainly from Jerry's dictation, and was widely circulated and read at the time, under the title of " Transformed ; or, The History of a River Thief." With a careful revision, and with some additional facts relating to the early part of Jerry's redeemed life and the origin of the Mission in Water Street, supplied in their proper connection by a loving hand, it is here reproduced as the most fitting introduction to the present volume.

I do not attempt this record of my life from any feeling of vain-glory, or any craving for notoriety. Neither is it because I have had a remarkable history. I have been a great sinner, and have found Jesus a great Saviour ; and this \s why I would tell my story, that others may be led tQ lo Disadvantages in Youth.

adore and seek the blessed Friend who saved, and has thus far kept me by his grace.

I was born in Ireland. Our family was broken up by sin, for my father was a counterfeiter, and left home to escape the law, before I knew him. I was placed at a very early age in the family of my grandmother, who was a devout Romanist. My first recollections of her are of her counting her beads, and kissing the floor for penance. I would take the opportunity while she was prostrated upon her face, to throw things at her head, in my mischievous play, and when she rose from her knees, it was to curse and swear at me. At such times I can distinctly remember thinking, though I could not have formed the thought into words, *'What sort of religion is this that requires such foolish worship, and allows such sinful ways?" I can trace my infidelity to Rome to just these incidents.

I was never taught or sent to school, but left to have my own way; to roam about in idleness, doing mischief continually, and suffering from the cruel and harsh treatment of those who had the care of me.

At the age of thirteen I was sent to this country, to the care of a married sister in New York City. Here I ran errands in the family, and assisted my brother-in-law in his business, and soon, by the practice of little tricks, became well used to dishonesty, and was as great a rogue as one of my years could be. After a while I felt I could live by my own wits, and left my sister's home to take care of myself. I took board in a family in Water Street, where were two young men with whom I associated myself in business. I earned what I could, and stole the rest, to supply my daily wants.

We had a boat, by means of which we boarded vessels

Sent to State Prison, 1 1

in the night, stealing whatever we could lay our hands on. Here I began my career as a river-thief. In the daytime we went up into the city and sold our ill-gotten goods, and with the proceeds dressed up, and then spent our time, as long as our money lasted, in the vile dens of Water Street, practising all sorts of wickedness. Here I learned to be a prize-fighter, and by degrees, rapid degrees, rose through all the grades of vice and crime, till I became a terror and nuisance in the Fourth Ward.

I was only nineteen years of age when I was arrested for highway robbery — a child in years, but a man in sin. I knew nothing of the criminal act which was charged to my account ; but the rumsellers and inhabitants of the Fourth Ward hated me for all my evil ways, and were glad to get rid of me. So they swore the robbery on me, and I couldn't help myself. I had no friends, no advocate at court (it is a bad thing, sinners, not to have an advocate at court), and without any just cause I was sentenced to fifteen years in State prison. I burned with vengeance; but what could I do ? I was handcuffed, and sent in the cars to Sing-Sing.

That ride was the saddest hour of my life. I looked back on my whole past course, on all my hardships, my misery and sins, and gladly would I have thrown myself aut before the advancing train, and ended my life. It was not sorrow for sin that possessed me, but a heavy weight seemed to press me down when I thought of the punishment I had got to suffer for my wrong-doings, and an indignant, revengeful feeling for the injustice of my sentence. Fifteen years of hard labor in a prison to look forward to, and all for a crime I was as innocent of as the babe unborn. I knew I had done enough to condemn me.

1 ^ Resolves on Obedience,

if it were known ; but others, as bad as I, were at liberty, and I was suffering the penalty for one who was at that hour roaming at will, glorying in his lucky escape from punishment, and caring nothing for the unhappy dog who was bearing it in his stead. How my heart swelled with rage, and then sank like lead, as I thought of my helplessness in the hands of the law, without a friend in the world.

I concluded, however, before I reached the end of that short journey, that my best way was to be obedient to prison rules, do the best I could under the circumstances, and trust that somebody would be raised up to help me.

When I arrived at the prison — I shall never forget it — the first thing that attracted my attention was the sentence over the door: *' The way of transgressors is hard." Though I could not read very well, I managed to spell that out. It was a familiar sentence, which I had heard a great many times. All thieves and wicked people know it well, and they know, too, that it is out of the Bible. It is a wellworn proverb in all the haunts of vice, and one confirmed by daily experience. And how strange it is that, knowing so well that the way is hard, the transgressors will still go in it.

But God was more merciful to me than man. His pure eyes had seen all my sin, and yet he pitied and loved me, and stretched out his hand to save me. And his wonderful way of doing it was to shut me up in a cell within those heavy stone walls. There's many a one beside me who will have cause to thank God for ever and ever that he was shut up in a prison.

I was put to the carpet-weaving business, and for two years not a word could be said against me. All the keepers and guards spoke well of me. I minded my work, and was

Life in Prison. 13

quiet and orderly. I used to say my prayer — the Lord's Prayer — every day, from a feeling that it was right to say it, and that in some way or other it would do me good. I tried to learn to read and write, and improved very much, more especially in reading. Then I got cheap novels and read, to pass away the time. I read many and many of them. It was all the recreation I had, and diverted my mind from my dreary surroundings. I was supplied with them constantly, and, in consequence, my head was filled with low and wicked thoughts. I took a fancy, from some of the remarkable stories I read, that I might by some good fortune by and by effect my escape from the prison, and then my heart would fill up with murderous intentions toward the man who put me in.

After this I was sick, and suffered a good deal for two or three years, and became at times uneasy and intractable. Then I had to suffer severe punishment; but punishment never did me a particle of good, it only made me harder and harder.

I had been in the prison four or five years, when, one Sunday morning, I went with the rest to service in the chapel. I was moody and miserable. As I took my seat, I raised my eyes carelessly to the platform, and who should I see there beside the chaplain but a man named Orville Gardner, who had been for years a confederate in sin. " Awful Gardner" was the name by which I had always known him. Since my imprisonment he had been converted, and was filled with desire to come to the prison, that he might tell the glad story to the prisoners. I had not heard he was coming, and could not have been more surprised if an angel had come down from heaven. I knew him at the first glance, although he was so greatly changed from his old

14 A Memorable Service,

rough dress and appearance. After the first look I began to question in my mind if it was he after all, and thought I must be mistaken ; but the moment he spoke I was sure, and my attention was held fast.

He said he did not feel that he belonged on the platform, where the ministers of God and good men stood to preach the gospel to the prisoners ; he was not worthy of such a place. So he came down and stood on the floor in front of the desk, that he might be among the men. He told them it was only a little while since he had taken off the stripes which they were then wearing ; and while he was talking his tears fairly rained down out of his eyes. Then he knelt down and prayed, and sobbed and cried, till I do not believe there was a dry eye in the whole crowd. Tears filled my eyes, and I raised my hand slowly to wipe them off, for I was ashamed to have my companions or the guards see me weep ; but how I wished I was alone, or that it was dark, that I might give way to my feelings unobserved. I knew this man was no hypocrite. We had been associated in many a dark deed and sinful pleasure. I had heard oaths and curses, vile and angry words from his mouth, and I knew he could not talk as he did then unless some great, wonderful change had come to him. I devoured every word that fell from his lips, though I could not understand half I heard. One sentence, however, impressed me deeply, which he said was a verse from the Bible. The Bible ! I knew there was such a book, that people pretended it was a message from God ; but I had never cared for it, or read a word in it. But now God's time had come, and he was going to show me the treasures that were hid in that precious book.

I went back to my cell. How dreary is Sunday in prison !

Reading the Bible, 1 5

After the morning service in the chapel, the prisoners are marched back to their cells, taking their plate of dinner with them as they pass the dining-hall, and the rest of the day is spent in solitude. Oh, those long, dismal hours ! I had generally contrived to have a novel on hand, but that day I had none. What I had heard was ringing in my ears, and the thought possessed me to find the verse which had so struck me. Every prison-cell is supplied with a Bible ; but, alas! few of them are used. Mine I had never touched since the day I entered my narrow apartment, and laid it away in the ventilator. I took it down, beat the dust from it, and opened it. But where to turn to find the words I wanted I knew not. There was nothing to do but to begin at the beginning, and read till I came to them. On and on I read. How interested I grew ! It seemed better than any novel I had ever read, and I could scarcely leave it to go to sleep. I become so fascinated, that from that day on it was my greatest delight. I was glad when I was released from work, that I might get hold of my Bible ; and night after night, when daylight was gone, I stood up by my grated door to read by the dim light which came from the corridor. I had supposed it to be a dry, dead thing — a book only fit for priests and saints, but now, whenever I could get a chance to communicate with my mates in the workshop, I told them that it was a " splendid thing, that Bible."

I never found that verse. I had forgotten it in my new interest in the book. But I found a good many verses that made me stop and think. At last I came to first Timothy, fourth chapter, which begins in this way : '' Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and

1 6 Some Strange Discoveries,

doctrines of devils ; speaking lies in hypocrisy ; having their conscience seared with a hot iron ; forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth." I threw down the book, and kicked it about my cell. ** The vile heretics," I cried ; " there's their lies. I always heard the old book was a pack of lies. That's the way they hold us Catholics up." Something seemed to whisper to me, " Go get a Catholic Bible, and then you can prove this to be false." I couldn't get rid of the thought. I took my first chance to go to the library and ask for a Catholic Bible. They looked at me pretty sharp, as though they would like to understand what I was driving at ; but they gave me what I wanted, and I took it to my cell. Eagerly I turned to that chapter. There they were, the very same words, ** forbidding to marry," and " commanding to abstain from meats." But there were notes in the margin, which boxed it up so, that my suspicions were at once aroused. I said, " It surely is the Word of God, and they are trying to get out of it." I turned to various parts, to Kings, Isaiah, and other books, and I found that the words in both were almost the same, the meaning was the same always, and I was in despair. Then I read the whole book through again, and liked it better the second time than I did the first. The book of Revelation particularly astonished me. I tried to believe, but I could not understand it.

'' I was resting one night from reading, walking up and down and thinking what a change religion had made in Gardner, when I began to have a burning desire to have the same. I could not get rid of it ; but what could I do ? Something within me said '' Pray." I couldn't frame a

He Desires to be Saved, 1 7

prayer. The voice said, *' Don't you remember the prayer of the publican, 'God be merciful to me a sinner'?" I thought of my own religion, the Roman Catholic faith, in which I had been brought up, and I asked, " Why can't I be good in that ?" " But that will not save me as Gardner's does him," I thought ; '' it does not keep me free from my sins." There was a struggle in my mind. " If I send for the priest," I said to myself, " he will tell me I must do pen-, ance, say so many prayers, and do something for mortification, and such as that. If I ask the chaplain, he will tell me to be sorry for my sins, and cry to God for forgiveness. Both can't be right." The voice within said, " Go to God ; He will tell you what is right."