THE CONVERSION OF WALTER HOWARD
By HART HALL
HIGH up on a hill, almost alone on the block at Harrison and Main Streets, reached by long flights of steps, stands the old St. Mary's Hospital. At the time of our story it was occupied, and probably is still, as a sailor's boarding-house, or home. Managed under the auspices of the Ladies' Seamen's Friend Society, its features are distinctively moral, and in compliance with one of the provisions of its lease, it sustains a pastor, or chaplain, to care for the spiritual interests of its guests. The manager of the home was a large, pleasant-looking man, commanding in appearance and well adapted to his position. Kind and fatherly to his guests, willing to help the deserving needy who appealed to him for aid, but stern toward those who attempted to defraud him or impose upon his kindness, he received the respect and admiration of the “jolly tars” who found at the home a refuge from the “land sharks,” whom they feared more than the sharks of the sea. Gaming and drink were prohibited and the sailors' money was held at their demand in the large safe at the office, except when an intoxicated guest came in off the streets demanding his hard-earned wages, then it was very sensibly withheld; and when he became sober, he was sheepishly grateful that it had been kept from him. “What can I do for you, young man?” the captain asked of a youth who had been standing at the counter in the office awaiting his turn to speak to him. “I want to go to sea, captain, and I was told you could get me a job on board ship. Can you help me out?” The captain looked the young man over. He saw at a glance the shabby clothes that had once been good material, the thin, pale cheeks that should have been round and ruddy, and the curly flaxen hair that fell becomingly about his regular features. It was not a bad face that he saw, so he asked kindly, “Why do you want to go to sea? You are no sailor.” “I'm tired of the land, that's all,” was the reply. “I am a good cook, and I know I could suit at that job if I can't furl a sail. Men are not born sailors. I could get a job in the marine service,” he added, “but I should like my line better.” “The sea-faring chances, my boy, aside from the marine service, are very poor at present. The hard times and the strikes have affected the shipping business to such an extent that good sailors are working their passage out of this port.” At this point the captain was called away, and the boy, considering his interview unfinished, awaited his return. It was a full hour before he finally appeared, and he seemed surprised to find the lad still there. “I should hate to see you enter the marine service,” the captain said, taking up the subject where he had dropped it. “It's too rough a life altogether. I'll tell you what to do. Stay around here with us a few days, and if you don't find what you want, I'll see what I can do for you. The steward will show you a room,” and he waved him away. On the day following, after a fruitless search for work along the water-front, he stood near the stairway in the hall at the Home watching a few sailors pacing the long room with the peculiar rolling gait acquired by trying to keep an equilibrium on the deck of a tossing vessel. Back and forth they shambled, keeping step and spinning yarns as they would have done on their good ship's deck. As he was wondering how long it would take to acquire such a swagger, he suddenly felt a hand placed on his shoulder, and he found himself looking into the kindly blue eyes of a man whom he rightly judged to be the chaplain. “Your name?” queried this worthy, cheerfully. “Walter Howard,” was the reply. “O, just a ‘land lubber’ trying to get to sea.” “We are just going to have service upstairs, Walter, and we want you to come. Will you?” “O it isn't preaching,” he added, as the boy's face hardened perceptibly. “Just a good old song service. You like to sing, don't you?” he added, tactfully. “Sometimes,” was the reluctant answer. If there was one God-given faculty that lay not wholly unsullied in the boy's heart, it was appreciation of music, so he threw away his cigarette and started up the stairway. “And one of God's great charities
Is music, and it doth not scorn
To close the lids upon the eyes
Of the weary and forlorn,”
quoted the chaplain as he hurried off after more of his congregation. The chapel was on the third floor, and from his seat near the big window Walter could see out over the bay once more. Now he could plainly see Golden Gate, and the fort, and away in the distance to the right, Mt. Tamalpais. White-winged ships dotted the bay going in and out, and the steamers left long wakes of black smoke that hung fog-like to the water for some time before it disappeared. As the service commenced, the music from the large deep-toned organ and the chorus of voices of the Christian women who came to exert their influence for good, blended in perfect accord; and as they sang of the Redeemer's love, of the cross and the resurrection, many a hard-handed son of Neptune wiped his eyes surreptitiously with the back of his hand, and vowed in the bottom of his heart that sometime he would be “good.” Ah! how often it is that we put away the day of grace. Almost we are persuaded to be Christians, yet we put away the opportunity until it is gone, or we are gone, forever. But with Walter; as he listened to the old, old story of God's love, his burdened heart seemed almost to break. He felt a painful oppression in his chest, and in his throat was a lump that no amount of swallowing would down. In vain he used his handkerchief, his eyes seemed to be a fountain of tears. He could not have explained his feelings otherwise than that he “felt sorry.” Like any boy, he was ashamed of his tears, but still they came. After a half hour of singing the chaplain talked to the men for a few minutes in a simple, practical manner of the advantages of the Christian life. His words were weighted with feeling and brotherly love, asking the men to consider the One who had called Himself their elder Brother. He pointed to the fact that they would be glad to have a prince or a king for a friend, and yet the King of kings had called Himself their friend and they held aloof. After reading some of the Lord's precious words to them, he exhorted them to accept their Friend as one who could save them from their sins. As the sailors filed out of the room, the chaplain shook hands with them as cordially as if he had not seen them every day about the building. He had noticed Walter's emotion, and wished to talk with him; so when the boy came along he said, “I wish to speak with you a moment, please.” When they were alone the older man laid his hands on the boy's shoulders and said kindly, “Are you a Christian, Walter?” The burdened look came into the boy's face, once more, and he would have broken away, but the chaplain saw the wet eyelashes, and remembered his emotion, and held him fast. “No, I am not,” he said when he saw he could not evade the subject. “Why not?” the question came firm and direct. “I have tried before, and could not be. I should like to be a Christian; I would go on my hands and knees from here to New York if I thought that could make me one. But I know I can't, and it makes me feel bad to be in a meeting. That's why I don't like to go to one.” “The Lord can help you to be a Christian, lad; if you have failed it was because you tried to do right in your own strength. That mistake is frequently made.” “It's no use,” was the reply in a broken voice, “I have sinned so much that I believe there is no hope for me.” “Don't believe that; the devil would like to have every one believe that, but as long as any one feels a desire to do right, that is the Spirit of God pleading with him. And you dishonor God by thinking He can not keep you from sin; but remember you have a part to act in that, and He will do all the rest. But before I tell you those things that you must do, I want you to read what the Lord promises to do. Here it is, Isa. 41:10: ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.’” Walter read the words slowly from the minister's Bible, and was evidently encouraged. “Are you willing to ask God to help you, and to forgive your past?” the latter inquired. “Yes,” was the answer. So together the two knelt in the empty chapel, and the lad prayed in a simple, broken manner, asking forgiveness for his sins and for keeping power to deliver him from his evil ways. The chaplain was moved to tears. He prayed sincerely for the lad, and they both arose encouraged and strengthened. “The parts that you must do in your new Christian life, Walter, you must remember, are just as essential as God's part, and they are these: First, study your Bible every day; you may not have time, but take time. It is an absolute necessity, because it is the spiritual food that God gives to sustain your spirituality. Job said he considered the words of God more than his necessary food.” “The next point is prayer. You must pray often. It does not change God, it changes you. It reconciles you to His ways, which are best for you. You can not neglect prayer and be a Christian.” “The third point is, always speak a good word for your religion and your Saviour. Be a witness for Him continually.” “What about my bad habits? How can I quit smoking?” asked the lad as he arose to go. “Don't touch, taste, or handle anything that is harmful, and God will help you overcome the habit. He may take away the appetite for tobacco, or it may leave the desire with you and give you strength to overcome it. But trust Him, whichever way He may take.” “Now come in often while you are here, or maybe I can be of some help to you in different ways; won't you, my boy?” “I will,” the lad responded heartily. A few days after he hunted up the pastor, and found him reading on the balcony. “I am going home,” he announced, simply. “I guess I don't want to go to sea; anyway I feel like I ought to go home.” “When are you going?” asked the chaplain. “Right now,” he answered, smiling, “good-bye.” “This is rather abrupt, Walter.” “Well, I am not doing any good here.” “Will you remember to retain your integrity, whatever comes?” “The Lord helping me I will,” was the sober response.13 “Always remember me as your friend, my lad,” the chaplain said as the boy bade him good-bye. As he descended the long flight of steps that led to the street, it was with feeling of regret and yet of joy, knowing that he was beginning an experience that would lead to manliness and self-respect, happiness and heaven. At the foot of the stairs he looked back and saw the chaplain still on the balcony. He waved his hand in farewell, and saw the salute returned by his friend; and turning away was lost in the crowd. And so God allows circumstances to force us to extremities from which we see no way of escape. These are his opportunities. In the dead of night, in the loneliness of desertion, in the pangs of affliction,—then we read His thought; there we find His way. HART HALL.