INSIDE THE MAD-HOUSE.
As the wagon was rapidly driven through the beautiful lawns up to the
asylum my feelings of satisfaction at having attained the object of my
work were greatly dampened by the look of distress on the faces of my
companions. Poor women, they had no hopes of a speedy delivery. They
were being driven to a prison, through no fault of their own, in all
probability for life. In comparison, how much easier it would be to walk
to the gallows than to this tomb of living horrors! On the wagon sped,
and I, as well as my comrades, gave a despairing farewell glance at
freedom as we came in sight of the long stone buildings. We passed one
low building, and the stench was so horrible that I was compelled to
hold my breath, and I mentally decided that it was the kitchen. I
afterward found I was correct in my surmise, and smiled at the signboard
at the end of the walk: “Visitors are not allowed on this road.” I don’t
think the sign would be necessary if they once tried the road,
especially on a warm day.
The wagon stopped, and the nurse and officer in charge told us to get
out. The nurse added: “Thank God! they came quietly.” We obeyed orders
to go ahead up a flight of narrow, stone steps, which had evidently been
built for the accommodation of people who climb stairs three at a time.
I wondered if my companions knew where we were, so I said to Miss Tillie
Mayard:
“Where are we?”
“At the Blackwell’s Island Lunatic Asylum,” she answered, sadly.
“Are you crazy?” I asked.
“No,” she replied; “but as we have been sent here we will have to be
quiet until we find some means of escape. They will be few, though, if
all the doctors, as Dr. Field, refuse to listen to me or give me a
chance to prove my sanity.” We were ushered into a narrow vestibule, and
the door was locked behind us.
In spite of the knowledge of my sanity and the assurance that I would be
released in a few days, my heart gave a sharp twinge. Pronounced insane
by four expert doctors and shut up behind the unmerciful bolts and bars
of a mad-house! Not to be confined alone, but to be a companion, day and
night, of senseless, chattering lunatics; to sleep with them, to eat
with them, to be considered one of them, was an uncomfortable position.
Timidly we followed the nurse up the long uncarpeted hall to a room
filled by so-called crazy women. We were told to sit down, and some of
the patients kindly made room for us. They looked at us curiously, and
one came up to me and asked:
“Who sent you here?”
“The doctors,” I answered.
“What for?” she persisted.
“Well, they say I am insane,” I admitted.
“Insane!” she repeated, incredulously. “It cannot be seen in your face.”
This woman was too clever, I concluded, and was glad to answer the
roughly given orders to follow the nurse to see the doctor. This nurse,
Miss Grupe, by the way, had a nice German face, and if I had not
detected certain hard lines about the mouth I might have expected, as
did my companions, to receive but kindness from her. She left us in a
small waiting-room at the end of the hall, and left us alone while she
went into a small office opening into the sitting or receiving-room.
“I like to go down in the wagon,” she said to the invisible party on the
inside. “It helps to break up the day.” He answered her that the open
air improved her looks, and she again appeared before us all smiles and
simpers.
[Illustration: THE INSANE ASYLUM.]
“Come here, Tillie Mayard,” she said. Miss Mayard obeyed, and, though I
could not see into the office, I could hear her gently but firmly
pleading her case. All her remarks were as rational as any I ever heard,
and I thought no good physician could help but be impressed with her
story. She told of her recent illness, that she was suffering from
nervous debility. She begged that they try all their tests for insanity,
if they had any, and give her justice. Poor girl, how my heart ached for
her! I determined then and there that I would try by every means to make
my mission of benefit to my suffering sisters; that I would show how
they are committed without ample trial. Without one word of sympathy or
encouragement she was brought back to where we sat.
Mrs. Louise Schanz was taken into the presence of Dr. Kinier, the
medical man.
“Your name?” he asked, loudly. She answered in German, saying she did
not speak English nor could she understand it. However, when he said
Mrs. Louise Schanz, she said “Yah, yah.” Then he tried other questions,
and when he found she could not understand one word of English, he said
to Miss Grupe:
“You are German; speak to her for me.”
Miss Grupe proved to be one of those people who are ashamed of their
nationality, and she refused, saying she could understand but few words
of her mother tongue.
“You know you speak German. Ask this woman what her husband does,” and
they both laughed as if they were enjoying a joke.
“I can’t speak but a few words,” she protested, but at last she managed
to ascertain the occupation of Mr. Schanz.
“Now, what was the use of lying to me?” asked the doctor, with a laugh
which dispelled the rudeness.
“I can’t speak any more,” she said, and she did not.
Thus was Mrs. Louise Schanz consigned to the asylum without a chance of
making herself understood. Can such carelessness be excused, I wonder,
when it is so easy to get an interpreter? If the confinement was but for
a few days one might question the necessity. But here was a woman taken
without her own consent from a free world to an asylum and there given
no chance to prove her sanity. Confined most probably for life behind
asylum bars, without even being told in her language the why and
wherefore. Compare this with a criminal, who is given every chance to
prove his innocence. Who would not rather be a murderer and take the
chance for life than be declared insane, without hope of escape? Mrs.
Schanz begged in German to know where she was, and pleaded for liberty.
Her voice broken by sobs, she was led unheard out to us.
[Illustration: THE FRONT HALLWAY.]
Mrs. Fox was then put through this weak, trifling examination and
brought from the office, convicted. Miss Annie Neville took her turn,
and I was again left to the last. I had by this time determined to act
as I do when free, except that I would refuse to tell who I was or where
my home was.