Quit college--Shattered nerves--Summer and autumn days--Improvement--Picnic
parties--A fall--An untimely storm--Crawford's beer and ale--Beer
brawls--County fairs and their influence on my life--My yoke of white
oxen--The "red ribbon"--"One McPhillipps"--How I got home and how I
found myself in the morning--My mother's agony--A day of teaching
under difficulties--Quiet again--Law studies at Connersville--"Out on
a spree"--What a spree means.
I left college in the spring of 1866, and returned home to the farm where I
spent the summer and autumn months in a very nervous and discontented
manner. For over four months my mental condition bordered on that of a
maniac, so completely had the use of liquor shattered my nervous system. I
became alarmed at my state, and for a time was deterred from drinking, or,
if I drank at all, the quantity was small. But fresh air and the little
work which I did on the farm, soon restored me. As the summer wore away I
attended pleasure parties, and found, not happiness, but a moment's
forgetfulness among the merry picnic parties in the woods. I had also the
distinguished honor of actually superintending and presiding over two of
these festivities, both of which were held in Horace Elwell's woods, on the
unsung, but classically rustic banks of Tom. Hall's mill-dam, near the
village which bears the historic and great name of Raleigh. I succeeded in
tiding myself through the first picnic without getting drunk. I mean more
particularly that I remained sober during the day--that is, sober enough to
keep it from being known that I had drank more than once or twice; but that
night at the ball at Louisville, I bit the dust, or, to get at the truth
more literally and unrhetorically, I fell down stairs and came within a
point of breaking my neck. Had I been sober the fall would have put an end
then and there to my miserable and worthless existence; but lest any one
should argue from this that after all whisky sometimes saves life, I would
have them bear in mind that if I had been sober the chances are I would not
have fallen.
The next picnic was sadly interfered with by a violent storm of wind and
rain, which came up the day before the one set apart for it. The water
washed the sawdust which had been sprinkled on the ground for the dancers'
benefit into Hall's fretful mill-race, and thence down into the turbulent
and swollen Flat Rock. This, as well as other creeks, became so high that
it was out of the question to ford them. The boys could get to the grounds
very well, and many of them did get there, but the girls were not of a
mind to risk their lives for a day's doubtful amusement, and so the
picnic failed in the beginning. The young men--myself, of course, in the
lot--determined to have what was called "fun" at any rate, and to this end
they congregated during the day at Raleigh. Mr. Sam Crawford had an
abundant supply of beer and ale, and I wish to say that if there are any
persons so innocent as to doubt that beer and ale intoxicate they would
change from doubt to faith in the power of these slops to make men drunk,
could they experience or see what took place at Raleigh on that day. They
would be willing to testify in any court that beer will not only
intoxicate, but, taken in sufficient quantities, it will make men beastly
drunk and fill them with a spirit of fiendish cruelty. There were on that
day as many as four fights, with enough miscellaneous howling, cursing and
billingsgate to fill out the natural make-up of a hundred more. I was
drunk--so drunk that I did not know at the last whether my name was Benson
or Bennington. I suppose I would have sworn to the latter, had the question
been raised, but it was not. I did not fight, for, as I have said, I seemed
to have an instinctive dread of doing something terrible in the event of my
getting engaged in combat with another. Like Falstaff, it may be, I was a
coward on instinct. I have always thought, moreover, that the Hudibrastic
aphorism is worthy of practice, because nothing can be more evident than
the fact that
"----He who runs away
May live to fight another day."
From that time to the commencement of the season for county fairs, five or
six weeks later, I kept in a condition of sobriety. County fairs, I wish to
say, and especially the Rush county fairs, did more toward bringing on the
disastrous career which has been mine--a career which has befouled the
record of my life and marked almost every page of its history--witness this
biography--with blots of shame, discord and unholy suffering than any other
cause of an external character. I was very young when I first commenced to
take stock to the fair to exhibit for premiums. I always went on the first
day, and always remained until the fair came to a close, staying on the
grounds night and day. There was a vagabond element in my nature which
harmonized perfectly with this sort of life. The men with whom I associated
were, in general, of that class who like liquor alone or in company, and
each had his jug of favorite whisky, which was supposed to be a sure
preventive against cold and colds in cold weather, and against heat and
fever in hot weather. If invited to drink the rule was to accept
immediately and return the courtesy as soon as convenient.
In those days I was the proud possessor of a yoke of white oxen, and I made
it a point to exhibit them at every fair within my reach, for they
invariably won the Red Ribbon, then a mark of the first prize. Alas, that
it did not mean to me what it now does! It meant anything rather than total
abstinence; it was an unfailing sign of drunkenness; it told of shameful
revels, of days of debauchery and nights of misery when not passed in
beastly slumber. That ribbon is now a symbol of holy temperance--it was
then a souvenir of days of disorder and evil-doing.
During the winter I was engaged to teach a district school, and for three
months managed to keep tolerably sober--that is, I did not get drunk more
than three or four times, and then on Saturday nights and Sundays. One
Sunday--it was the coldest day that winter--I went to Falmouth and visited
a drinking place kept by one McPhillipps. While there I drank eleven
glasses of whisky. At nine o'clock in the evening, I can indistinctly
remember, I mounted my horse and started home, and from that moment until
the next day I knew nothing whatever that took place. From the way I was
bruised and battered I judge that I must have struck almost every fence
corner between McPhillipps' place and home. My legs were in a woful plight,
and having turned black and blue, they were frightful to see. On arriving
at the gate which led into the front yard at home, I fell off my horse and
tumbled to the ground, a wretched heap of helpless clay. I remained on the
ground, lying in the snow, until I froze my hands, feet, and ears. It was
about three o'clock in the morning when I got to the house. So they told
me, for I have no knowledge of going, and, indeed, I remembered nothing
that took place.
When I came to consciousness I found myself wrapped up in a blanket, lying
in bed, with hot bricks at my feet. I was in the room occupied by father
and mother, and the first object that met my wandering sight was the face
of my mother. The look with which she regarded me will never fade from my
memory. There was in it the sorrow and anguish of death. She rose from her
bed at sight of me, and with streaming eyes and screaming voice called the
family up to bid them good-by; she said she was dying--that I had killed
her. I sprang from my bed in such a horror of terrible suffering, mental
and physical, as never swept over the body and soul of mortal man. I felt
my heart thumping and beating as though it would burst forth from my bosom;
the hot, hissing blood rushed to my aching, fevered brain, and a torrent of
sweat burst forth on my icy forehead. I could not have suffered more
physical agony had a thousand swords been driven through my quivering body,
nor would my miserable soul have been in more insufferable pain had it been
confined in the regions of the damned. It was some time before anything
like quiet was restored, but as soon as it was, some of the family went to
the gate and found my hat and took charge of the horse which I had ridden.
That morning I dragged myself to school with a sad, heavy heart. As my
scholars came in, they seemed to understand that something was the matter
with me, and often during the day their wondering looks were directed
toward me as if they sought some explanation of my appearance. The day was
a long and weary one to me--a day, like many another since then, of most
intense wretchedness. About noon one of my feet became so swollen that it
was necessary for me to take off my boot, and by the time I dismissed
school it had got so bad that I could not draw on my boot, so that I had to
walk home, a distance of one mile, over the frozen ground with nothing to
protect my foot but a woolen sock. On entering the house, my mother burst
into tears at sight of me. I must have been a pitiable object, and yet how
little did I deserve the wealth of priceless sympathy lavished upon me.
That night, and many nights succeeding it, the only way I could get into
bed was to put an old-fashioned chair with rounds in the back, beside the
bed and crawl up round by round until I got on a level with the bed, and
then let go and fall over into the bed.
It is needless for me to say that I firmly resolved and honestly felt that
I would never again taste the liquor which leads to madness, misery, and
death. For some time I kept my resolution; and would to God that I could
here conclude by saying that I never again allowed a drop of it to pass my
lips. But I am writing an autobiography, and I have told you that I would
not shrink from telling the truth. So it will happen that other and still
more desperate and disgraceful episodes of drunkenness will have to be
recorded.
In the spring of 1867 I went to Connersville, and began the study of law
with the Hon. John S. Reid. Unfortunately, and I fear designedly, I made my
acquaintances among, and selected my companions from, the most dissolute,
idle, and intemperate class of young men in the town. Connersville then had
and still has among its citizens some very wealthy men, who suffered their
boys to grow up without much care, mostly in idleness. As might be expected
the indifference of the fathers, joined to the natural inclinations of the
sons, has proved the ruin of the latter. I now call to mind several of
those young men who are hopeless and complete wrecks. Idleness and
dissipation have done their terrible work in every case which I call to
mind.
I read a little law, and drank a great deal of whisky, and as a natural
consequence the time then passing was for the most part worse than lost. Up
to this period the duration of my sprees was not longer than a day and
night. They now were not confined to one day, for when I went out on what
is called a "regular spree," it was liable to be two or three days, as it
has since been two or three weeks, before I got back. Got back! Where from?
The reader knows too well.
Out on a spree! These are melancholy and heart-breaking words. Out on a
spree! Oh, how much of misery is implied! Out on a spree! Readers, every
one, I hope you will never have it said that you are out on a spree. To go
out on a spree is to throw away strength, without which the battle of life
can not be fought; it is to squander money which you may need badly for the
necessaries of life, which had better be thrown into the fire and burnt up
than spent in such a way; it is to quench the light of ambition, to crush
hope, entomb joy, lay waste the powers of the mind, neglect duty, desert
the family, and commit in the end suicide. Arson may have walked by your
side while out on a spree, red murder may have grinned, dagger in hand,
upon you, and death stalked within your shadow, ready in a thousand ways to
strike you down. Don't go out on sprees. Think of the pity of them, the
wrong, the disgrace, the remorse, the misery. Going on an occasional spree
only will not do. Some men will keep sober for weeks, and even months, but
a birthday, or a wedding, or a national holiday, or a fit of the blues, or
a streak of good luck, starts them off, and habit, like a smouldering
flame, breaks out, and for a time all is over. Such men scotch, but they do
not kill the cobra of intemperance, and soon or late the other result will
follow, the snake will kill them. The reptile is tenacious of life, and so
long as the life remains there is danger from the deadly venom of its
tooth. Those who have never formed the habit of drinking had better die at
once than live to form it. Those who have formed the habit should subdue it
and never enter into a compromise with it. The good effects of months of
abstinence may be swept away in an hour. Open the flood-gates of indulgence
never so little and the torrent will force its way through and drown every
worthy resolution. Its tide is next to resistless. Days of drunkenness
succeed, months of self-denial are lost, and deplorable results follow
everywhere. Wives are driven to desperation, mothers to despair, children
to want. Demoralization, starvation, damnation follow. Friends are
separated, homes are desolated, and souls are driven to hell itself, and
yet people will talk lightly, and even jokingly of the very thing which
leads to these terrible losses and sufferings--out on a spree.
Debauches not only destroy all capacity for usefulness while they last, but
they demand the vital strength which has wisely been gathered in the system
for days of possible need, when sickness and natural infirmities will lay
hands on the mind or body. The debauch of to-day will borrow from to-morrow
or from next week, or month, or year, that which can not be restored. The
bloated face, the dull, glassy eye, the furtive glance of fear and shame,
the trembling gait, all speak of ravages produced by other causes than
those of time. Indeed, the flight of years can produce no such effects, for
inexorable and wearing as fleeting days and months are, their natural
results differ very widely from those which are caused by an abuse of the
powers of nature. Besides this, many men who are shattered wrecks are still
young in years, and the dew of youth but for dissipation might yet have
glistened on their foreheads.
It was at this period that the appetite burst forth in a fearful flame
which scorched life itself, and burnt every energy of my being. It was fast
getting to be a consuming, craving, devouring passion, subjecting my very
soul to its dreadful tyranny. My spells increased in frequency, and their
duration was more and more prolonged. I would remain drunk from eight to
ten days, until I got so nervous that I could not sleep, and night after
night I would be counting the hours and longing for morning, which, when it
came with its blessed light, gradually revealing the pattern of the paper
on the walls, caused me to hide my face in the bedclothes and wish for
black and never-ending night to come and hide me from the world and my
misery. From such vigils, feverish and unrefreshed, it may easily be
supposed that I sought the open window in anguish, and bathed my aching,
throbbing forehead in the cool, pure air. At last my condition became so
deplorable that my friends sent my father word to come and take me home,
which he did. While at Connersville, in all my dark and desolate trials,
William Beck was my friend and helper. He never then forsook me, and he
never since has forsaken me, but still remains my faithful and sympathizing
friend--a friend whose valuation is beyond gold, and for whom I entertain
the deepest feelings of gratitude. I returned home with my father and
remained several months, keeping sober all the while. During most of the
time I applied myself vigorously to the study of the law, making rapid
progress.
I believe I have as yet not stated that, in the intervals long or short
between my sprees, I abstained totally from the use of ardent spirits. I
never could and never did drink in moderation. One drink would always
kindle such a fire in my blood that it was out of my power to prevent its
spreading into a conflagration. I have very many times been accused of
"drinking on the sly," as they say, but every such accusation is false. I
have also been accused of using opium. I know the pitiable wretch that
started that lie--for it is a lie--and the poor dupe that repeated it. For
five years my appetite has been so fierce at times, that, I repeat, had I
touched the point of the finest needle in alcohol and placed it to my
tongue, I would have got drunk had I known that that drunk would have
plunged my soul into hell and eternal torments. O appetite, cold, cruel,
heartless, accursed, consuming, devouring appetite! No other malady like
thee ever afflicted man. Would that I could paint thee, in all thy accursed
hideousness, in letters of unfading fire, and write them in the vaulted
firmament to flame forth to all generations to come their eternal warning.