cursed appetite, what a hold it had on me! It seemed as if I couldn't
stop if I had been given all the money in the world.

I did love my mother dearly; I didn't care for any one in the world but
her. Still, one of the meanest acts I ever did was to my mother. And
such a good mother she was; there are not many like her!

She was in bed and had only a few weeks to live. One day she called me
to her bedside and said, "Dave, I am going to leave you, never to see
you again on this earth, but oh! how I wish you were going to meet me on
the other side. Now, Dave, won't you promise me you will?" I said, "Yes,
mother, sure I will." And she made me promise then and there that when
she was dead, and waiting burial, I would not get drunk, at least while
her body was in the house. I went down on my knees and promised her that
I'd meet her in heaven.

She died, and the undertaker had been gone but a short time when I began
drinking, and the day of the funeral I was pretty drunk. That was one of
the meanest things I ever did. But I am sure that sometimes my dear
mother looks over the portals of heaven, and sees her boy--a man now, a
Christian--and forgives me. And some day, when my time comes, I am going
to join her there.

I went from bad to worse, wandering all over, not caring what happened.
I took a great many chances. Sometimes I had plenty of money, and at
other times I wouldn't have a nickel I could jingle against a tombstone.
I boated on the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, then up on the
Lakes. I was always wandering, but never at rest, sometimes in prison,
and sometimes miles away from human habitation, often remorseful, always
wondering what the end would be.