THE HOSPITAL DEAD-HOUSE.
DURING my career as a gardener I became very unwell. I attribute this in
a measure to a recurrence of a malady contracted in the tropics, and a
chill I caught from lying on damp grass in a draughty yard. Another
cause of my serious and probably life-long illness may possibly be traced
to an insane and spontaneous act—an over-taxation of nature—many months
previously. I had fined down in the ordinary course of events to the
weight and bulk (according to my theory) that nature clearly intended;
but not content with this satisfactory result, I determined to attain
still slimmer proportions. Many indications convinced me I had found “my
bearings,” and common sense ought to have suggested, _enough_; but vanity
prevailed, and perseverance attained the further desired reduction,
though at a more serious price than I had contemplated. My theory on the
reduction of fat is based on my own case, and had I stopped as I
recommend others, when I had found “my bearings,” I should have retained
my usual health; as it was I went on and on, and like those enthusiasts
who sacrifice health and life to the perfecting of a principle, so I,
regardless of my own convictions, acted in direct opposition to my advice
to others, and may be congratulated on having probed a theory to the very
bottom at considerable personal sacrifice. If any sceptic is disposed to
disparage my system, I ask him to blame me and not it. The latter
consists of a dietary in itself harmless, and certain to produce
diminution. When a certain point is attained it says STOP; and if it is
asked why, I reply because beyond that point it is rash, and if persisted
in, the theory is clearly not to blame. I am aware that many will seize
the opportunity to disparage the system, and endeavour to deter others
from following it. Such a course would be as logical as to condemn a
glass of sherry, because someone had died from _delirium tremens_; or to
abstain from eels because Henry I. had died from a surfeit of lampreys;
or, to carry the absurdity a degree further, to avoid (like the old
woman) apple-tart, because her husband had died of apple-plexy. It was
in the spring that I commenced my campaign against nature, and though I
had ample proof that I had arrived at my “natural bearings,” I determined
(never dreaming of the danger) to persevere a little more. I was then
about 15 stone in weight, and knowing it was a stone in excess of the
average for men of my build, I thought if I could reduce just one stone
more I would rest satisfied. I found, however, that my ordinary daily
diet of mutton broth, a chop, potatoes, bread, and cocoa failed to reduce
me as it had hitherto done, and that, try as I would, I recorded the same
weight a fortnight hence. The remedy that most naturally suggested
itself was to reduce the quantity, and I proceeded to divest my
consumption, of the broth, the fat from the chops, and a portion of the
potatoes and cocoa; but nature still continued to warn me, and I as
persistently ignored her, and, losing all patience, I entered on a course
little short of starvation. I took a solemn oath that I would for one
week confine myself to six ounces of bread and six mouthfuls of water a
day (six ounces of bread will be found to be synonymous to six mouthfuls,
and no more). During the first 48 hours my appetite became ravenous, and
on the third and fourth days the pains of hell did indeed get hold of me;
and it was as much as I could do to resist the temptation of taking one
mouthful of the savoury broth and mutton that was lying untouched on my
table. The trial now became almost more than I could bear, and more than
once I approached the table, where the food would have to remain for an
hour, but at the last moment drew back. So acute, indeed, did I find
this agony that, to avoid temptation and to put it out of my power, I
used to throw the food into the slop-pail. After a few days, the
cravings of appetite began to cease, and I congratulated myself that I
was getting accustomed to it. An accidental circumstance also prevented
my testing the result at the end of the seven days, and I continued in my
madness for another week. On being weighed I then found I had lost nine
or ten pounds. My appetite meanwhile had entirely forsaken me; the smell
and even the sight of meat produced nausea, my eyes seemed to be
affected, my head began to swim, I became giddy without cause. I was now
really ill, and I endeavoured to remedy the evil, but my stomach refused
nourishment, and if I ate I was immediately sick. The possibility of
having fatally injured myself so alarmed me that I saw the surgeon, who
prescribed tonics and a change of diet; and, as all failed in restoring
outraged nature, I was admitted into hospital. During this time Dr.
Tanner and his starvation exhibition were constantly in my mind, and the
man I had once associated with the performance of a wonderful feat of
self-denial descended in my mind to the level of a poor sick man like
myself, absolutely incapable of taking food. Starvation has an ugly
sound, and in its first stages is unquestionably painful; but in a very
few days (three or four at the most) the sensation passes away, and is
succeeded by an absolute aversion to food. When I have seen a
half-starved man in the streets who has told me he has not tasted food
for a week and was “so ’ungry,” my bowels of compassion have always been
moved. If any mendicant was to tell me so now, I should know he was
lying and refuse to assist him; but if he said he had not eaten for two
days and was in agony, I should pity him and give him sixpence if I had
it. I shall give a detailed account of my life in hospital, and the
incredible kindness and consideration I received, later on. Meanwhile I
will confine myself to the assertion, that to such an extent had I
injured myself that in six weeks I had lost two stone. On one’s
admission into hospital one is at once put to bed, and one’s clothes
removed. This latter custom is intended to insure a proper compliance
with the regulation, until the doctor’s sanction is obtained to the
contrary. “Sitting up” has, however, been found to be half way to “going
down”; and, as hospital is the goal to which all prisoners aspire, it
does not require much inducement to commend their observance of this
particular rule. The hospital consists of a large airy ward, fitted up
with twenty beds. Through this, and communicating with a glass door, is
a smaller room with three large windows, which gave a clear view of the
outer world from Holborn Town Hall to St. Pancras Station. It was my
good fortune to be located here, detached and alone, and yet sufficiently
near to see and hear all that was going on. The menial duties of the
hospital are performed by three prisoners selected for good behaviour.
These billets are specially prized, and though associated with the most
unpleasant duties, offer facilities for eating and drinking which, in the
estimation of prisoners, cover a multitude of drawbacks. These cleaners
eat up everything; indeed, so fat do they often become that it is a kind
of unwritten rule that when they have increased a stone in weight they
revert to prison life. The voracity they display is incredible, and
until they become too dainty to care for anything but the best, they may
daily be seen finishing eggs, tea, mutton, milk, beef tea, pudding, and
arrowroot promiscuously, as they pass from patient to patient. The
opportunity for this gluttony is unlimited, and a glance at the fare I
subsisted on for over five months will convince the most sceptical that
kindness and liberality can exist even in a prison; indeed, I attribute
my being alive now to the tender care and medical skill I received, and
can never adequately express my gratitude to the surgeons and the entire
hospital staff.
My dietary consisted of—
6 A.M. —Half-a-tumbler of rum and new milk.
7 ,, —A pint of tea, bread-and-butter, and an egg or two.
11 ,, —A pint of new milk.
12 noon —Beef-tea, rice-pudding, and two glasses of sherry.
(I was offered, when I wished it, to substitute a chop, fish, chicken,
rabbit, or _anything_ I might fancy.)
5 P.M. —A pint of tea, bread-and-butter, and an egg.
7 ,, —A pint of new milk. (This milk was so excellent, that
often when I left it for the night, I skimmed off a thick
coating of cream that would have shamed many dairies.)
8 ,, —A pint of arrowroot.
Every item was the best that money could procure, and unlimited in the
supply, nor could I have lived better at a West-End hotel at thirty
shillings a day; but my health precluded my enjoying it, and I could not
summon the appetite for one-tenth of the dainties. Everything I left was
devoured by the cleaners, and I have seen these cormorants gorging as if
determined to burst rather than waste a scrap. Mine was by no means an
isolated case, for every one was equally cared for, and it seemed as if a
man had only to be really ill to be made to forget that he had fallen
amongst thieves, and was now under the care of the good Samaritan. Sick
men are proverbially impressionable; but now, months after, in a genial
climate, surrounded by every comfort that a kind mother can think of, and
gradually regaining my strength, I cannot look back on the past without
feelings amounting almost to veneration, as I remember the kind friend
and skilful hand that saved me from the jaws of death. The hospital is
unquestionably the best managed of the various departments in Coldbath.
I attribute this to the excellent staff of experienced warders, and the
supervision of the medical officers. Where all seem actuated by the same
desire, it would be invidious to draw comparisons; but the authorities
little know what hard-working, efficient, and trustworthy men they have
in their two night-warders, who week by week relieve each other, and
perform their multifarious duties through the livelong night in a quiet,
unostentatious way, and all for a pittance of an extra shilling a night
beyond that paid to an ordinary turnkey. The many sleepless nights I
passed gave me ample time to study their habits, which never varied, nor
seemed regulated by eye-service; and from 6 in the evening, when they
appeared neatly attired in white jacket and apron, till 6 in the morning,
these living automatons neither slumbered nor slept, but were engaged,
without intermission, in dispensing medicines, preparing plasters and
poultices, and keeping up the fires, without fuss or noise, and with the
regularity of a chronometer. At first my utter prostration prevented me
leaving my bed, but as time wore on, I began to get about and observe
what was going on. The day was a long and dreary one, though it was
optional when one got up, nor could it be divested of the many annoyances
that officialism—spiritual and temporal—seemed unable to forego even in a
hospital. The chief culprit was the Scripture reader (as I understood
was his official designation, though I never saw or heard him so
engaged), who appeared regularly at 2 o’clock, and read a monotonous
harangue, with a religious tendency evidently intended to be
entertaining. I should be sorry to misjudge the worthy man, whom I am
disposed rather to sympathize with, as the passive instrument of an
irreverent exhibition; indeed, he conveyed to me the notion of a man
actuated by a strong desire to fulfil a duty conscientiously which he
felt was contemptible, and that deceived neither himself nor his
audience. This farce and its surroundings were all sprinkled with the
same reverential ceremony, and as he strutted up the passage with his
billycock under his arm, a subdued tone pervaded the room and heads were
uncovered as became the solemn farce. “The subject for our study and
meditation,” began the unhappy man, “is entitled, ‘Jonas, or the bilious
whale,’ or, ‘Cain, the naughty man,’” as the case might be; and then
followed twenty minutes of twaddle, senseless and monotonous, and as
incapable of removing moral stains as would be “Thorley’s Food for
Cattle,” if substituted in things temporal (and seedy) for “Benzine
Collas.” A fervent “Amen” always followed these effusions, loudly joined
in by the cleaners, who felt it might be considered a recommendation for
continued hospital employment, and those patients approaching
convalescence, who hoped it might turn the scale in favour of a few more
days in hospital. By opening the door I could see and hear everything,
and I often caught poor “Bubbling Bill” casting sheep’s eyes in my
direction. Meals were always preceded by a grace (?) said by a turnkey:
“Bless O lor’ th’ things touruse for crysake, Amen!” a refreshing and
commendable adjunct.
It seems peculiarly unfair on religion that it should so often be
presented in a hideous or ridiculous light, and if the same stipulations
were enforced as to quality as at present exist as to quantity, more
things than time might possibly be saved.
At 11, and again at night, the surgeons visited the hospital, when every
case was carefully gone into. The care that prisoners receive in this
hospital puts crime almost at a premium, and though I may indirectly be
accusing those eminent and otherwise irreproachable physicians of
unintentionally aiding and abetting law-breaking, veracity compels me to
say what I think. A case I met goes far to prove it. In the hospital
with me was a broken-down old gardener who had seen better days, and was
in receipt of a pension of five shillings a week from a former employer.
This pittance, however conclusive it might be of his comparative honesty,
was wholly inadequate to procure medical comforts for rheumatic gout, to
which he was a martyr. He next appears at a police court for having a
pig in his yard, which he had driven in from the street, and then
informed the police. There can be only one solution of this act, for he
was a man of sixty, beyond absolute want, and had never seen the inside
of a prison before. He had now attained his object, and was undergoing
three months’ imprisonment, during all which time he was in hospital. I
saw him on admission, a cripple, crumpled up and half-starved, and I saw
him every day swaddled in cotton wool, his limbs frequently fomented, and
fed on the daintiest luxuries. This man was one of the few I met who was
grateful for the care bestowed on him, and honest enough to wish he had
had six instead of three months’ imprisonment. I saw him on the day of
his discharge, comparatively cured, and wondered how long it would be
before he again caught the right sow by the ear. A disadvantage that
patients have to suffer from is the architectural construction of the
ward: it unites the two angles of the prison, and necessitates its being
traversed in its entire length by every official going his rounds. On
these occasions great inconsideration is shown, the orange-peel
delinquent of chapel notoriety being peculiarly offensive in the
unnecessary noise he made. I heard him on one occasion complain to the
warder, that a patient, who was almost _in extremis_ at the time, was
“too lazy to look up.”
During my retirement I saw more than one painful death-scene; the one
that made the most unpleasant impression on me was that of a living
skeleton, who seemed incapable of dying, although too weak to do anything
but blaspheme dreadfully, and keep up one incessant groan. He was a man
of sixty, and had been in his time the best known and expertest of
swell-mobsmen. He had not a relation in the world, and although offered
his discharge months before, had nowhere or no one to whom he could go.
I saw this man dying for weeks, and eventually stood at his bedside when
he took his last gasp. This man had been either a convict or undergoing
imprisonment for the last twenty years, and the crime that led to his
death in Coldbath was the sacrilege of putting a counterfeit half-crown
into a collection plate, and taking out as change a genuine florin. One
of the cleaners—an unmitigated thief, but sufficiently good to have
qualified for staff employ—had told the warder the day before his death
that he knew him to be acquainted with certain persons he named; and with
the consideration that characterizes the treatment of prisoners in
hospital, no pains were spared to discover the creatures. I saw them
next day (two females, known to every policeman in London, the one as the
keeper of a thieves’ lodging-house, the other as a “decoy”), actuated by
no motive but curiosity and the intimation they had received, standing at
the dying man’s bed in their tawdry finery, in company with the priest as
attired in chasuble and stole he pronounced the extreme unction for dying
sinners. The dying man, the kindly priest, the tawdry females, and the
surroundings, formed a picture truly awful, and baffling description.
But the end had not yet come; and as the room was again left to its
normal condition, banter reassumed its sway, and bets began to be made as
to the probable hour of his death. Pots of tea and bread-and-butter were
freely wagered, and yet through the livelong night the dying groans,
getting feebler and feebler, told how the swell-mobsman was still
tussling with death. At five in the morning the end was evidently at
hand, and slipping on my clothes, I joined the knot of men attracted to
the bedside. The man was happily unconscious; and as the excitement of
the sweepstake increased, I can only compare it to the game of roulette,
when the ball almost rolls into one compartment and then topples into the
next; and “He’s dead now,” “No, he isn’t,” “That’s his last,” followed
gasp after gasp, till at a few minutes to six a profound silence
announced that the swell-mobsman was gone. (It is only fair to state
that much of this occurred unknown to the solitary warder, for what was
one amongst so many?) By this time the prison bell was ringing, and the
place was astir as day and night warders relieved one another. To
stretch, strip, and carry him out of bed were the work of a moment; and
what had been a living man a few seconds before had been washed, laid
out, rolled in a blanket, and carried to the dead-house in less time than
I have taken to write it.
The washing and laying out of a corpse is too dreadful to pass unnoticed.
This necessary but revolting ceremony is performed in the kitchen. I saw
the corpse divested of all clothing, lying on the top of the bath, in the
centre of the kitchen, with the kettle boiling within a yard of it, and
surrounded by pots and pans and other paraphernalia in daily use. The
stench that pervaded the kitchen after this ceremony was so apparent (nor
could it be got rid of for days) that I was absolutely unable to eat
anything that had passed through it, and for days subsisted on the
insides of loaves and eggs, as the only places where the flavour of
potted pickpocket did not appear to have penetrated. This washing of
corpses and the “itch bath” in a hospital kitchen is as great a scandal
as ever was perpetrated by any Government.
The dead-house is a primitive establishment, and cannot even be divested
of superfluous officialism. Its entire contents consist of a slab and a
wooden block for the head of the corpse, and yet it boasted of an
inventory board. This latter absurdity is conspicuously displayed, and
reads—
“ONE TABLE.”
“ONE BLOCK.”
Another death I saw was even more awful in its suddenness. It was during
dinner when some five or six patients were devouring their chops. One
man, that was conspicuous for his habitual voracity, had left the table
whilst waiting for the pudding. As he passed his bed he toppled over and
was dead. The cook, with the characteristic officiousness of the
criminal class, rushed out of the kitchen with a saucepan full of rice
pudding in his hand, and began to assist at the ghastly manipulation. I
was within a foot of him, and saw the wretch brush off a tear from the
dead man’s eye, which he then proceeded to close; he then resumed his
culinary duties, and gave the saucepan a stir. Rice pudding, I
understand, is liable to “stick” to the pot; for my part, I made a vow to
“stick” to dry bread; indeed, I never see one now without being reminded
of this disgusting scene.
I was now beginning to yearn for tobacco. For some days past my illness
had indisposed me for it; besides, my arrangements had been upset by my
sudden admission into hospital. To communicate with one of my agents,
although by no means difficult, was a question of opportunity. I was
particularly anxious, too, not to be suspected of breaking a rule, for
though it could only have been interpreted as a breach of discipline to
be dealt with by the Executive, I found it difficult to divest myself of
the notion it would appear ungracious towards my kind physicians if I
transgressed any rule whilst in hospital. But my craving increased, and
as I could not eat, and to smoke I was afraid, and consoling myself with
the assurance that what the eye does not see, the heart does not feel, I
decided, in the burning words of Bishop Heber, to “mind my eye and blaze
away.”
My position necessitated my breaking a fundamental rule of my principle,
and I confided in a rascally cleaner. I had, indeed, no alternative,
for, though by the confidence I increased the chances of detection, I
minimized and almost precluded the possibility of the ownership being
brought home to me. My first anxiety was to find a place, for between my
mattresses was out of the question, and I at length decided on the
flooring; but selecting a plank and removing the nails are two different
things, and I should have been defeated at the very outset. Chance,
however, favoured me; and one day, to my great delight, a ram was caught
in the thicket, in the shape of a carpenter, come to repair a window. As
opportunity offered, I pointed out to him a short plank, and leaving the
room, said, “I shall be back in ten minutes; meanwhile, if you remove
those nails, and replace the plank so as not to be observable, I’ll give
you as much grub as you can carry away.” These instructions would have
been ample, but fearing his zeal to earn the food might outrun his
discretion, I popped my head in and added, “If you’re caught messing
about, kindly remember I know nothing about it.” This will hardly be
deemed chivalrous, though strictly in accordance with etiquette in giddy
Clerkenwell. Being satisfied with his work, but dreading to explore my
secret cave, I told a cleaner to collect all the spare bread-and-butter
he could find. So well did he carry out my request that he shortly
appeared with thirty-eight slices, but so bulky was the quantity that it
was necessary to smuggle it in, and the coal-scuttle was pressed into the
service; but my carpenter did not object, and, removing the lump that
concealed it from the vulgar (turnkey) gaze, proceeded to devour it.
With his mouth full of one slice and shoving in another, he occasionally
gargled out, “This is a treat!” “This is jam!” until sixteen slices had
disappeared. He now began to show signs of distress, and secreted the
rest inside his shirt; but what between the sixteen slices inside and the
twenty-two outside, his dimensions had so increased that detection was a
certainty. I therefore refused to let him leave unless he swallowed
eight more—just to make an even two dozen—and the unhappy man again
began. I can see him now, sitting on the window-sill, pretending to
hammer, his eyes starting out of his head, imploring me to “let it be;”
but I was firm, and had not the remotest intention of jeopardising my
position by any such weakness. As the last piece disappeared, he was
speechless, and I almost feared he was choked; but my mind was
considerably relieved by his asking me, for mercy’s sake, to give him a
drop of water. But there was none in the room, and, telling him it was
all nonsense, and that the walk downstairs would make it all right, saw
him leave the room with considerable satisfaction.
That evening I explored my cavern, which surpassed my fondest
expectations; the architect must have put it there on purpose, so
admirably was it adapted. Lifting up the eighteen-inch plank, I
discovered a hollow place about six inches deep and two feet square. I
now lost no time in getting my supplies, and, making a bag, at once
filled it with paper, envelopes, a knife, pencil, and a cake of tobacco.
From 6 to 7 A.M. was my favourite hour for writing and other business. I
then carefully replaced my treasures, and sent off my letters, leaving
nothing criminating about me except five or six atoms of tobacco, which I
would have swallowed rather than that they should have been discovered.
There were several advantages connected with a choice of this hour. In
it one was perfectly safe from interference; so busy, indeed, was
everybody, that the orange-peel man, who was busy counting and
inspecting, and the other officials sending off night reports, would
never have dreamt of anyone devoting this particular hour to the breach
of a dozen rules.
As time wore on, I began to dread the detection of my hiding-place; so
conspicuous, too, did it appear to my guilty conscience that I determined
to abandon it. The light seemed to pour on its well-worn crevices, the
Governor stood on it twice or thrice a week, the surgeons crossed it a
dozen times a day, warders absolutely hovered over it all day long; so I
communicated with the cleaner, and entered into an arrangement whereby,
for a consideration of food and a piece of tobacco daily, he was to
secrete my bag elsewhere. I felt it was madness to trust a confirmed
thief, but there was no alternative; and within a week I discovered the
fallacy of there being any honour amongst thieves, and the brute I had
treated with the greatest liberality stole my bag, and came to me with a
whining tale of how it had been discovered and taken away. It never
alarmed me, as it would had I really believed him; and shortly after the
whole conspiracy was revealed to me by about the only reliable prisoner
amongst them, and I had undoubted proof of the complicity of every
cleaner in the place.
[Picture: “Whence comest thou, Gehazi?” (An exhortation to repentance)]
My weary afternoons I usually beguiled by pantomimic love-passages with a
frowsy damsel in a neighbouring house. Our acquaintance began as I
watched a portion of her graceful form bulging over a window-sill she was
cleaning at the time, which ripened into such an intimacy, that day by
day we looked out for each other, and exchanged such protestations of
devotion as might be conveyed by her holding up to me portions of her
employer’s eatables, such as eggs and once a steak, which I gracefully
reciprocated by exposing Government property, such as a medicine bottle
and occasionally bread-and-butter. Graceful Selina! may my successor
have been more worthy of your innocent virgin heart!