drinking men. It's warm work, and when a man is piling all day, pulling
up plank after plank, he thinks a pint of beer does him good. They rush
the can--first the piler, then the stager, and then the ground man, then
the piler again, and so on. I've counted as many as twenty pints in one
day among one gang. I soon got the run of the yard and made friends with
all the men; but if ever I was up against temptation it was there in
that yard, where I worked a long time. They would ask me to have a
drink, but I told them time and time again that I did not care about it;
I was off the stuff.

Often when I was sweating after pushing down a load of lumber from the
pile and keeping tally at the same time, the Devil would whisper to me,
"Oh, have a glass of beer; it won't hurt you; it will do you good," and
I was tempted to join with the men and drink. I had to keep praying hard
and fast, for I was sorely tempted. But, thank God, I've yet to take my
first drink since 1892!

God was always near me, and He often said, "Tell the men all about it,
how you have asked Me to help you, and they won't ask you to drink any
more." I wondered what the men would say if I told them. I was a little
timid about doing it. I had testified once or twice in a meeting, but
that was easy compared with this. But after a while I got up courage and
told the men why I did not drink. I said, "I have been a hard man and
loved drink so much that it separated me from family and friends, put me
in prison, and took my manhood away. One year ago I took Jesus as my
helper and asked Him to take away this love for drink, and He did. I
would rather lose my right arm than go back again, and with God's help
I'll win out and never drink again." I often talked with them about it,
told them it was a good way to live, and to think it over. I found out
in a little while that the men thought better of me, and respected me