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holding a number of meetings in the Illinois Street Church, of which Moody was the founder and leader, noon prayer-meetings in the business part of the city, some evangelistic services in different churches, and concluded the week with a mass meeting in Farwell Hall. This meeting he opened with a congregational hymn, and while it was being sung, he said to me: “I am going to speak on "The Prodigal Son,' and I want you to sing one of the songs I heard you sing at Indianapolis, 'Come home, O prodigal child.'” replied: "But I have no organ with which to accompany myself." Pointing his finger over his shoulder at the great three thousand dollar organ at the rear of the platform, he said: "Isn't that enough for you?" I replied that it was too large, and too far away, and that if I used it, I would have to turn my back to the audience while singing, and that the song so rendered would not amount to anything, nor did I think that the German gentleman who had been playing the organ could accompany me in the way in which I should like to render the hymn. Moody then said: "Give him a book, and tell him how you want it played." This I did. Later on when Moody suddenly finished his address, which was one of great power, he looked at me and said: "Mr. Sankey will now sing a solo for us, and let it be perfectly still while he sings." I arose quickly, and turned around to indicate to the organist

that I was ready, but to my horror, he had not yet returned from the quiet smoke which he was in the habit of enjoying in a back room while Moody was preaching. I stepped to the front of the platform and sang the song as best I could without any musical accompaniment. I have always remembered that song, as being the first sacred solo sung by me in one of Mr. Moody's large evangelistic meetings.

As I was about to leave the city for my home the next morning, Mr. Moody said: "You see that I was right; your singing has been very helpful in all the meetings, and I am sure you ought to come to Chicago at once, and give up your business."

When arriving home, I consulted my pastor, rather hoping that he would advise me not to go, but when he, as well as all my friends, was of the opinion that it was my plain duty to go, I sent my resignation to Mr. Hugh McCullough, at that time Secretary of the Treasury, and the position which I had held was, at my request, given to a "bucktail" soldier who had escaped from Libby Prison.

We thus commenced work together in Chicago in the early part of 1871, singing and praying with the sick, speaking and singing at the daily noon prayer-meetings, and other work, until Mr. Moody's church was destroyed in the Chicago fire.

Sunday evening, October 8, 1871, we were hold

ing a meeting in Farwell Hall, which was crowded to the doors. At the close of his address Mr. Moody asked me to sing a solo, and standing by the great organ at the rear of the platform I began the old, familiar hymn, "To-day the Saviour calls." By the time I had reached the third verse,

"To-day the Saviour calls:

For refuge fly;

The storm of justice falls,

And death is nigh,"

my voice was drowned by the loud noise of the fire engines rushing past the hall, and the tolling of bells, among which we could hear, ever and anon, the deep, sullen tones of the great city bell, in the steeple of the old court-house close at hand, ringing out a general alarm.

Tremendous confusion was heard in the streets, and Mr. Moody decided to close the meeting at once, for the audience was becoming restless and alarmed. As the people dispersed, I went with Mr. Moody down the small back stairway leading into the old Arcade Court, and from our position there we watched the reflection of the fire, half a mile away, on the west side of the city, as it cast its ominous glare against the sky. After a few moments we separated, I to go over the river to where the fire was raging, and he to his

home on the North Side. We did not meet again for more than two months.

On reaching the scene of the fire I found a whole block of small frame buildings burning fiercely, and I assisted in tearing down some board fences, to try to keep the fire from spreading to the adjoining territory. While thus engaged, the wind from the southwest had risen almost to a hurricane, and the flying embers from the falling buildings were quickly caught up and carried high upon the roofs of the houses adjoining, which were soon in flames. Thus the fire spread from building to building, and from block to block, until it seemed evident that the city was doomed. All this time the fire was moving towards Farwell Hall and the business center of the city.

I now gave up the fight, and made haste to recross the river, hurrying back to my quarters-my living room and office-in the Farwell Hall Building. The fire followed so rapidly that several times I had to shake the falling embers from my coat. Arriving at the hall, I gathered up a number of belongings which I especially wished to save, and, placing them close to the door of my office, went out to find a conveyance so as to transfer them to a place of safety. It was now between one and two o'clock in the morning, and not a carriage or truck could be found.

While still looking for a conveyance I saw in the

distance, coming up Clark Street, a horse attached to an express wagon, running at full speed, without a driver, and ten or fifteen men running after it trying to capture the animal. I made a dash for the flying steed, but in turning from one street into another he slipped and fell, and in a moment a crowd of men were on top of him, each claiming the right of possession. Not caring to share in the contest, I returned to the hall, and commenced the task of carrying my effects toward Lake Michigan, half a mile distant.

On the way to the lake I passed the present location of the Palmer House, then being erected, the foundation of which had only been built to the level of the street. Believing that the rooms and underground passages would afford a temporary place of security for some of my things, I walked on a plank down into the cellar, and hid two large valises in the darkest corner I could find. As yet, only a few people were moving out of their homes in this section of the city, and, as I noticed the seeming indifference of those who had come to the windows of their houses, I called out to them to escape for their lives, as the city was doomed to destruction. Some became alarmed; others only laughed.

I returned to the hall for another load of my belongings, and after securing all I could carry, started in a more direct route for the lake, the streets being