A CHARITABLE INSTITUTION.
When Ralph got back to Miss Nancy Sawyer's, Shocky was sitting up in bed
talking to Miss Nancy and Miss Semantha. His cheeks were a little
flushed with fever and the excitement of telling his story; theirs were
wet with tears. "Ralph," whispered Miss Nancy, as she drew him into the
kitchen, "I want you to get a buggy or a sleigh, and go right over to
the poor-house and fetch that boy's mother over here. It'll do me more
good than any sermon I ever heard to see that boy in his mother's arms
to-morrow. We can keep the old lady over Sunday."
Ralph was delighted, so delighted that he came near kissing good Miss
Nancy Sawyer, whose plain face was glorified by her generosity.
But he did not go to the poor-house immediately. He waited until he saw
Bill Jones, the Superintendent of the Poor-House, and Pete Jones, the
County Commissioner, who was still somewhat shuck up, ride up to the
court-house. Then he drove out of the village, and presently hitched his
horse to the poor-house fence, and took a survey of the outside. Forty
hogs, nearly ready for slaughter, wallowed in a pen in front of the
forlorn and dilapidated house; for though the commissioners allowed a
claim for repairs at every meeting, the repairs were never made, and it
would not do to scrutinize Mr. Jones's bills too closely, unless you
gave up all hope of renomination to office. One curious effect of
political aspirations in Hoopole County, was to shut the eyes that they
could not see, to close the ears that they could not hear, and to
destroy the sense of smell. But Ralph, not being a politician, smelled
the hog-pen without and the stench within, and saw everywhere the
transparent fraud, and heard the echo of Jones's cruelty.
A weak-eyed girl admitted him, and as he did not wish to make his
business known at once, he affected a sort of idle interest in the
place, and asked to be allowed to look round. The weak-eyed girl watched
him. He found that all the women with children, twenty persons in all,
were obliged to sleep in one room, which, owing to the hill-slope, was
partly under ground, and which had but half a window for light, and no
ventilation, except the chance draft from the door. Jones had declared
that the women with children must stay there--"he warn't goin' to have
brats a-runnin' over the whole house." Here were vicious women and good
women, with their children, crowded like chickens in a coop for market.
And there were, as usual in such places, helpless, idiotic women with
illegitimate children. Of course this room was the scene of perpetual
quarreling and occasional fighting.
In the quarters devoted to the insane, people slightly demented and
raving maniacs were in the same rooms, while there were also those utter
wrecks which sat in heaps on the floor, mumbling and muttering
unintelligible words, the whole current of their thoughts hopelessly
muddled, turning around upon itself in eddies never ending.
"That air woman," said the weak-eyed girl, "used to holler a heap when
she was brought in here. But Pap knows how to subjue 'em. He slapped her
in the mouth every time she hollered. She don't make no furss now, but
jist sets down that way all day, and keeps a-whisperin'."
Ralph understood it. When she came in she was the victim of mania; but
she had been beaten into hopeless idiocy. Indeed this state of incurable
imbecility seemed the end toward which all traveled. Shut in these bare
rooms, with no treatment, no exercise, no variety, and meager food,
cases of slight derangement soon grew into chronic lunacy.
One young woman, called Phil, a sweet-faced person, apparently a
farmer's wife, came up to Ralph and looked at him kindly, playing with
the buttons on his coat in a childlike simplicity. Her blue-drilling
dress was sewed all over with patches of white, representing ornamental
buttons. The womanly instinct toward adornment had in her taken this
childish turn.
"Don't you think they ought to let me go home?" she said with a
sweetness and a wistful, longing, home-sick look, that touched Ralph to
the heart. He looked at her, and then at the muttering crones, and he
could see no hope of any better fate for her. She followed him round the
barn-like rooms, returning every now and then to her question. "Don't
you think I might go home now?"
The weak-eyed girl had been called away for a moment, and Ralph stood
looking into a cell, where there was a man with a gay red plume in his
hat and a strip of red flannel about his waist. He strutted up and down
like a drill-sergeant.
"I am General Andrew Jackson," he began. "People don't believe it, but I
am. I had my head shot off at Bueny Visty, and the new one that growed
on isn't nigh so good as the old one; it's tater on one side[24]. That's
why they take advantage of me to shut me up. But I know some things. My
head is tater on one side, but it's all right on t'other. And when I
know a thing in the left side of my head, I know it. Lean down here. Let
me tell you something out of the left side. Not out of the tater side,
mind ye. I wouldn't a told you if he hadn't locked me up fer nothing.
_Bill Jones is a thief_! He sells the bodies of the dead paupers, and
then sells the empty coffins back to the county agin. But that a'n't
all--"
Just then the weak-eyed girl came back, and, as Ralph moved away,
General Jackson called out: "That a'n't all. I'll tell the rest another
time. And that a'n't out of the tater side, you can depend on that.
That's out of the left side. Sound as a nut on that side!"
But Ralph began to wonder where he should find Hannah's mother.
"Don't go in there," cried the weak-eyed girl, as Ralph was opening a
door. "Ole Mowley's in there, and she'll cuss you."
"Oh! well, if that's all, her curses won't hurt," said Hartsook,
pushing open the door. But the volley of blasphemy and vile language
that he received made him stagger. The old hag paced the floor, abusing
everybody that came in her way. And by the window, in the same room,
feeling the light that struggled through the dusty glass upon her face,
sat a sorrowful, intelligent Englishwoman. Ralph noticed at once that
she was English, and in a few moments he discovered that her sight was
defective. Could it be that Hannah's mother was the room-mate of this
loathsome creature, whose profanity and obscenity did not intermit for a
moment?
Happily the weak-eyed girl had not dared to brave the curses of Mowley.
Ralph stepped forward to the woman by the window, and greeted her.
"Is this Mrs. Thomson?"
"That is my name, sir," she said, turning her face toward Ralph, who
could not but remark the contrast between the thorough refinement of her
manner and her coarse, scant, unshaped pauper-frock of blue drilling.
"I saw your daughter yesterday."
"Did you see my boy?"
There was a tremulousness in her voice and an agitation in her manner
which disclosed the emotion she strove in vain to conceal. For only the
day before Bill Jones had informed her that Shocky would be bound out on
Saturday, and that she would find that goin' agin him warn't a payin'
business, so much as some others he mout mention.
Ralph told her about Shocky's safety. _I_ shall not write down the
conversation here. Critics would say that it was an overwrought scene.
As if all the world were as cold as they! All I can tell is that this
refined woman had all she could do to control herself in her eagerness
to get out of her prison-house, away from the blasphemies of Mowley,
away from the insults of Jones, away from the sights and sounds and
smells of the place, and, above all, her eagerness to fly to the little
shocky-head from whom she had been banished for two years. It seemed to
her that she could gladly die now, if she could die with that flaxen
head upon her bosom.
And so, in spite of the opposition of Bill Jones's son, who threatened
her with every sort of evil if she left, Ralph wrapped Mrs. Thomson's
blue drilling in Nancy Sawyer's shawl, and bore the feeble woman off to
Lewisburg. And as they drove away, a sad, childlike voice cried from the
gratings of the upper window, "Good-by! good-by!" Ralph turned and saw
that it was Phil, poor Phil, for whom there was no deliverance[25]. And
all the way back Ralph pronounced mental maledictions on the Dorcas
Society, not for sending garments to the Five Points or the South Sea
Islands, whichever it was, but for being so blind to the sorrow and
poverty within its reach. He did not know, for he had not read the
reports of the Boards of State Charities, that nearly all alms-houses
are very much like this, and that the State of New York is not better in
this regard than Indiana. And he did not know that it is true in almost
all other counties, as it was in his own, that "Christian" people do not
think enough of Christ to look for him in these lazar-houses.
And while Ralph denounced the Dorcas Society, the eager, hungry heart of
the mother ran, flew toward the little white-headed boy.
No, I can not do it; I can not tell you about that meeting. I am sure
that Miss Nancy Sawyer's tea tasted exceedingly good to the pauper, who
had known nothing but cold water for years, and that the bread and
butter were delicious to a palate that had eaten poor-house soup for
dinner, and coarse poor-house bread and vile molasses for supper, and
that without change for three years. But I can not tell you how it
seemed that evening to Miss Nancy Sawyer, as the poor English lady sat
in speechless ecstacy, rocking in the old splint-bottomed rocking-chair
in the fire-light, while she pressed to her bosom with all the might of
her enfeebled arms, the form of the little Shocky, who half-sobbed and
half-sang, over and over again, "God ha'n't forgot us, mother; God
ha'n't forgot us."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 24: Some time after this book appeared Dr. Brown-Séquard
announced his theory of the dual brain. A writer in an English magazine
called attention to the fact that the discovery had been anticipated by
an imaginative writer, and cited the passage in the text as proving that
the author of "The Hoosier School-Master" had outrun Dr. Brown-Séquard
in perceiving the duality of the brain. It is a matter for surprise that
an author, even an "imaginative" one, should have made so great a
discovery without suspecting its meaning until it was explained by some
one else.]
[Footnote 25: The reader may be interested to know that "Phil" was drawn
from the life, as was old Mowley and in part "General Jackson" also.
Between 1867 and 1870, I visited many jails and poor-houses with
philanthropic purpose, publishing the results of my examination in some
cases in _The Chicago Tribune_. Some of the abuses pointed out were
reformed, others linger till this day, I believe.]