THE GOAL IN SIGHT.
At 6 o’clock on Sunday morning, Sept. 25, the nurses pulled the covering
from my bed. “Come, it’s time for you to get out of bed,” they said, and
opened the window and let in the cold breeze. My clothing was then
returned to me. After dressing I was shown to a washstand, where all the
other patients were trying to rid their faces of all traces of sleep. At
7 o’clock we were given some horrible mess, which Mary told us was
chicken broth. The cold, from which we had suffered enough the day
previous, was bitter, and when I complained to the nurse she said it was
one of the rules of the institution not to turn the heat on until
October, and so we would have to endure it, as the steam-pipes had not
even been put in order. The night nurses then, arming themselves with
scissors, began to play manicure on the patients. They cut my nails to
the quick, as they did those of several of the other patients. Shortly
after this a handsome young doctor made his appearance and I was
conducted into the sitting-room.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Nellie Moreno,” I replied.
“Then why did you give the name of Brown?” he asked. “What is wrong with
you?”
“Nothing. I did not want to come here, but they brought me. I want to go
away. Won’t you let me out?”
“If I take you out will you stay with me? Won’t you run away from me
when you get on the street?”
“I can’t promise that I will not,” I answered, with a smile and a sigh,
for he was handsome.
He asked me many other questions. Did I ever see faces on the wall? Did
I ever hear voices around? I answered him to the best of my ability.
“Do you ever hear voices at night?” he asked.
“Yes, there is so much talking I cannot sleep.”
“I thought so,” he said to himself. Then turning to me, he asked: “What
do these voices say?”
“Well, I do not listen to them always. But sometimes, very often, they
talk about Nellie Brown, and then on other subjects that do not interest
me half so much,” I answered, truthfully.
“That will do,” he said to Miss Scott, who was just on the outside.
“Can I go away?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, with a satisfied laugh, “we’ll soon send you away.”
“It is so very cold here, I want to go out,” I said.
“That’s true,” he said to Miss Scott. “The cold is almost unbearable in
here, and you will have some cases of pneumonia if you are not careful.”
With this I was led away and another patient was taken in. I sat right
outside the door and waited to hear how he would test the sanity of the
other patients. With little variation the examination was exactly the
same as mine. All the patients were asked if they saw faces on the wall,
heard voices, and what they said. I might also add each patient denied
any such peculiar freaks of sight and hearing. At 10 o’clock we were
given a cup of unsalted beef tea; at noon a bit of cold meat and a
potatoe, at 3 o’clock a cup of oatmeal gruel and at 5.30 a cup of tea
and a slice of unbuttered bread. We were all cold and hungry. After the
physician left we were given shawls and told to walk up and down the
halls in order to get warm. During the day the pavilion was visited by a
number of people who were curious to see the crazy girl from Cuba. I
kept my head covered, on the plea of being cold, for fear some of the
reporters would recognize me. Some of the visitors were apparently in
search of a missing girl, for I was made to take down the shawl
repeatedly, and after they looked at me they would say, “I don’t know
her,” or “she is not the one,” for which I was secretly thankful. Warden
O’Rourke visited me, and tried his arts on an examination. Then he
brought some well-dressed women and some gentlemen at different times to
have a glance at the mysterious Nellie Brown.
The reporters were the most troublesome. Such a number of them! And they
were all so bright and clever that I was terribly frightened lest they
should see that I was sane. They were very kind and nice to me, and very
gentle in all their questionings. My late visitor the night previous
came to the window while some reporters were interviewing me in the
sitting-room, and told the nurse to allow them to see me, as they would
be of assistance in finding some clew as to my identity.
In the afternoon Dr. Field came and examined me. He asked me only a few
questions, and ones that had no bearing on such a case. The chief
question was of my home and friends, and if I had any lovers or had ever
been married. Then he made me stretch out my arms and move my fingers,
which I did without the least hesitation, yet I heard him say my case
was hopeless. The other patients were asked the same questions.
As the doctor was about to leave the pavilion Miss Tillie Mayard
discovered that she was in an insane ward. She went to Dr. Field and
asked him why she had been sent there.
“Have you just found out you are in an insane asylum?” asked the doctor.
“Yes; my friends said they were sending me to a convalescent ward to be
treated for nervous debility, from which I am suffering since my
illness. I want to get out of this place immediately.”
“Well, you won’t get out in a hurry,” he said, with a quick laugh.
“If you know anything at all,” she responded, “you should be able to
tell that I am perfectly sane. Why don’t you test me?”
“We know all we want to on that score,” said the doctor, and he left the
poor girl condemned to an insane asylum, probably for life, without
giving her one feeble chance to prove her sanity.
Sunday night was but a repetition of Saturday. All night long we were
kept awake by the talk of the nurses and their heavy walking through the
uncarpeted halls. On Monday morning we were told that we should be taken
away at 1.30. The nurses questioned me unceasingly about my home, and
all seemed to have an idea that I had a lover who had cast me forth on
the world and wrecked my brain. The morning brought many reporters. How
untiring they are in their efforts to get something new. Miss Scott
refused to allow me to be seen, however, and for this I was thankful.
Had they been given free access to me, I should probably not have been a
mystery long, for many of them knew me by sight. Warden O’Rourke came
for a final visit and had a short conversation with me. He wrote his
name in my notebook, saying to the nurse that I would forget all about
it in an hour. I smiled and thought I wasn’t sure of that. Other people
called to see me, but none knew me or could give any information about
me.
Noon came. I grew nervous as the time approached to leave for the
Island. I dreaded every new arrival, fearful that my secret would be
discovered at the last moment. Then I was given a shawl and my hat and
gloves. I could hardly put them on, my nerves were so unstrung. At last
the attendant arrived, and I bade good-bye to Mary as I slipped “a few
pennies” into her hand. “God bless you,” she said; “I shall pray for
you. Cheer up, dearie. You are young, and will get over this.” I told
her I hoped so, and then I said good-bye to Miss Scott in Spanish. The
rough-looking attendant twisted his arms around mine, and half-led,
half-dragged me to an ambulance. A crowd of the students had assembled,
and they watched us curiously. I put the shawl over my face, and sank
thankfully into the wagon. Miss Neville, Miss Mayard, Mrs. Fox, and Mrs.
Schanz were all put in after me, one at a time. A man got in with us,
the doors were locked, and we were driven out of the gates in great
style on toward the Insane Asylum and victory! The patients made no move
to escape. The odor of the male attendant’s breath was enough to make
one’s head swim.
When we reached the wharf such a mob of people crowded around the wagon
that the police were called to put them away, so that we could reach the
boat. I was the last of the procession. I was escorted down the plank,
the fresh breeze blowing the attendants’ whisky breath into my face
until I staggered. I was taken into a dirty cabin, where I found my
companions seated on a narrow bench. The small windows were closed, and,
with the smell of the filthy room, the air was stifling. At one end of
the cabin was a small bunk in such a condition that I had to hold my
nose when I went near it. A sick girl was put on it. An old woman, with
an enormous bonnet and a dirty basket filled with chunks of bread and
bits of scrap meat, completed our company. The door was guarded by two
female attendants. One was clad in a dress made of bed-ticking and the
other was dressed with some attempt at style. They were coarse, massive
women, and expectorated tobacco juice about on the floor in a manner
more skillful than charming. One of these fearful creatures seemed to
have much faith in the power of the glance on insane people, for, when
any one of us would move or go to look out of the high window she would
say “Sit down,” and would lower her brows and glare in a way that was
simply terrifying. While guarding the door they talked with some men on
the outside. They discussed the number of patients and then their own
affairs in a manner neither edifying nor refined.
[Illustration: ON BOARD THE ISLAND BOAT.]
The boat stopped and the old woman and the sick girl were taken off. The
rest of us were told to sit still. At the next stop my companions were
taken off, one at a time. I was last, and it seemed to require a man and
a woman to lead me up the plank to reach the shore. An ambulance was
standing there, and in it were the four other patients.
“What is this place?” I asked of the man, who had his fingers sunk into
the flesh of my arm.
“Blackwell’s Island, an insane place, where you’ll never get out of.”
With this I was shoved into the ambulance, the springboard was put up,
an officer and a mail-carrier jumped on behind, and I was swiftly driven
to the Insane Asylum on Blackwell’s Island.