My mother had been opposed to my going into the army at all; but, if I was going, she would have preferred my serving on the other side. I never shall forget one thing she said to me at starting. When the time came to go, I would not have hesitated to back out if she had given me any encouragement at all. She said, "My son, you have determined; you have cast your lot with the South. I had rather you would do your duty and be a brave soldier." But she continued to pray for me.
After the war I came back home, and found that our property was all gone. My mother had sent me to Georgetown college before the war, and my idea was to educate myself for a lawyer. When I came home the property was dissipated, and I did not have enough to finish my education; and the question was, what would be the best for me to do. I came here to Louisville and went to drumming; met with phenomenal success from the start; went up and up; was hail fellow, well met, with everybody; situations offered me on every side. But I continued to drink and play cards as I did in the army, and gambled all the time, although not a professional gambler. I played against Holcombe's bank many a time. I went from bad to worse. I continued to dissipate and gamble; and eleven years ago my health was very much shattered from my excesses, and I became soured with myself and everybody. I was as miserable as a man could be, in that condition, as a matter of course; and a gentleman who had been a comrade in the army with me, and had taken a great deal of interest in me, Captain Cross, in a conversation with me, insisted that I should go with him to Texas, where he was doing a flourishing business. I had tried, time and again, to reform, always in my own strength, and got further away from God all the time. I tried to believe that Christ was not the Son of God; that he was not inspired; I denied the divinity of Christ, although I never denied that there was a Supreme Ruler. Captain Cross wanted me to go to Texas, thinking that if I got away from the surroundings here, it would help me. Accordingly, I went to Texas with him, where I made plenty of money.
But I soon fell into the old ways, and found gambling houses as numerous there as they are here; I found dance-houses more accessible than the churches. I led a reckless life; and frequently did not hear from my family and friends for months at a time. Finally I drank until I drank myself into delirium tremens; tried to kill myself; went and bought morphine. But fortunately for me, they were watching me. That was in Paris, Texas. I was in bed for two or three weeks; and when I got up from that, I felt like I did not want to stay in Texas any longer.
I went to St. Louis and went into business there; had success as a salesman; had a big trade; and I went there with a determination not to drink any more whisky; but I was there only a few days before I was drinking and playing cards—my old life, in fact. Finally I got into a difficulty with a man, shot him and got shot myself. I got into a great deal of trouble on account of it. It cost me a great deal of money and my mother a great deal of sorrow. One time I went to Mexico to get out of the way, where I led a reckless life; went into the army; played cards and drank whisky. I neglected business for whisky a great deal of the time. Then I came here to Louisville, and kept up the same practice; went to Cincinnati and did the same thing there. I let up for a little while when I went to new places. When I got back from St. Louis, I met Steve Holcombe and shook hands with him. The first thing he said to me was, "I have changed my life." I had not heard anything of it. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was serving the Lord instead of the devil; that he had a little mission somewhere. I did not pay any attention to it. But one Sunday I was passing down Jefferson street, and there was a crowd on the courthouse steps, and I saw Steve talking to them. I listened to him, and after the crowd went away I asked him how he was getting along and he told me.
I kept on drinking, however. Sometimes I had a situation and sometimes I did not. People did not want me; they did not know when I would be sober. If I got a situation, it was in the busy season. After the busy season was over, they would reduce my salary and give me to understand they wanted me to get a new place.
One time I was drunk for a week or ten days, and as I passed I heard them singing in the Mission down stairs and went in. I thought that would be a good place to rest. I went back a night or two; and one night Mr. Holcombe delivered a powerful testimony and mentioned some circumstances that had occurred in his life, at some of which I had been present—I don't know that he had particular reference to me. I went back the next night and went up for prayer. I went again sober; but I did not see my way clear. I went back and took "a nip," as he said. I sank lower and lower; but I still went to that Mission. Something impelled me, I know now what it was. I got a situation, and was traveling; but whenever I got off a trip the spirit of the Lord impelled me to go to that Mission. I talked with Steve frequently, and promised him that I was going to try and reform; but I did not, and toward the last, in fact, I had almost quit going to the Mission. I said, "It is not for me, it is for these other men. I have gone too far."
I went in there in November. I was going away on a trip, and the next day I started. I met a friend on the street, and he asked me for a quarter. He wanted to get a drink and lunch. I told him it was about my time to get a drink, too, and we would go and get one together before I left. I was telling him about going to the Mission, and he hooted at the idea of a man of my sense going to the Mission. About two o'clock in the afternoon I was going down the street to take the boat, and I met another friend, and he certainly was the worst looking case I ever saw. I did not think he would live two weeks. He was a physical wreck, and almost a total mental wreck. After talking to him for a few minutes he asked me where I was going. I told him. And I told him, too, I did not care whether I ever got back or not. I told him it would be a relief to me if I never got back off of that trip. I had a family, saw them occasionally, and sent them money when I could; but I never lived with them. After talking with him a little while, I said my time was up, and asked him if he would not go and take a parting drink with me. We went into the Opera House down there and took a drink. I never expected to see my friend alive again, even if I got back from that trip myself. That was the 30th day of November. I got back here the 18th day of December.
The most of the night of the 18th I spent down here at the Grand Central—"made a night of it." The next morning, when I got up, the very first man I saw asked me if I had seen a certain friend of mine. I told him, "No." He said: "You would not know him." I said: "What is the matter with him?" He said: "He is reformed; he is a Christian, and he looks twenty years younger than you ever saw him." I said: "You are a liar." He said: "I am not a liar. You won't know him. He looks like a gentleman." I said: "It is pretty funny if he can look like a gentleman in this short time." I had not gone another square before some one asked me if I had seen another friend of mine. I said: "No." "Well," he said, "you ought to see him. He has quit drinking, and looks like he used to look." I said "What is the matter with him?" He said: "He has joined the church." I took a drink, and thought about this thing; went down to the store, and knocked around there all day long, thinking about those two men. But here I was, drunk and wretched and trying to get sober, but could not.
Somebody met me about four o'clock in the evening, and asked: "Where are you going?" I said: "I am going around here to get a drink." He said: "How are you going to drink when your partners have quit drinking?" I asked him where they could be found; that I wanted to take a look at them. He told me that I could find them at the Mission. I concluded I would come up to the Mission, and did so, pretty full; and, honestly, I would not have known either of these men on the street. I never saw such a transformation as in them. After the services were over they came up and shook hands with me, and treated me as kindly as they used to do when we were drinking together. And I made up my mind if Christ could save them, I wanted some of it for myself.
I came to the Mission, and stood up for prayers all the time, but came half drunk for four or five nights, but still with the determination to have salvation if it was to be found; but the more I came the darker the way grew. I think (on the 29th of December) Mrs. Clark came and talked to me, and Mr. Atmore came and talked to me, I was sober—comparatively so. I told them that I had given up all hope; that I had sinned away my day of grace, and there was no hope for me. They cheered me, and I promised them I would pray that night. I went out of the Mission and got blind, staving drunk; was hardly able to get up stairs to my bed at eleven o'clock, at night. I did it out of despair. The doctors had told me before that unless I quit drinking whisky I would go dead. I was tired of life, but afraid to commit suicide. I concluded that the sooner I died, the better. I got up at three o'clock in the morning to come down stairs and get a drink. The barkeeper was absent from his bar, and I concluded that I would wash myself before I took a drink. I said to myself while I was washing: "You promised yourself you would not drink, and the very first night you get drunk, and get up in the morning to take another drink, and if you take it you will be drunk before night." I concluded I would stop. I took a seat by the stove, and very soon the barkeeper came back. He looked at me and said: "Are you broke this morning, or too stingy to drink, or what is the matter?" He added: "Come on. If you are too stingy to take a drink yourself, take one with me." I was just dying for a drink. I was shaking—suffering physically and mentally. I got up two or three times to go to that bar to take a drink, but I argued to myself: "If you can not keep from taking a drink, you had better go up stairs and kill yourself." After awhile the boys commenced dropping in, and, as was the custom, said: "Come on, Peck, and take a drink." I told them, "No; I have quit."