PROMENADING WITH LUNATICS.
I shall never forget my first walk. When all the patients had donned the
white straw hats, such as bathers wear at Coney Island, I could not but
laugh at their comical appearances. I could not distinguish one woman
from another. I lost Miss Neville, and had to take my hat off and search
for her. When we met we put our hats on and laughed at one another. Two
by two we formed in line, and guarded by the attendants we went out a
back way on to the walks.
We had not gone many paces when I saw, proceeding from every walk, long
lines of women guarded by nurses. How many there were! Every way I
looked I could see them in the queer dresses, comical straw hats and
shawls, marching slowly around. I eagerly watched the passing lines and
a thrill of horror crept over me at the sight. Vacant eyes and
meaningless faces, and their tongues uttered meaningless nonsense. One
crowd passed and I noted, by nose as well as eyes, that they were
fearfully dirty.
“Who are they?” I asked of a patient near me.
“They are considered the most violent on the island,” she replied. “They
are from the Lodge, the first building with the high steps.” Some were
yelling, some were cursing, others were singing or praying or preaching,
as the fancy struck them, and they made up the most miserable collection
of humanity I had ever seen. As the din of their passing faded in the
distance there came another sight I can never forget:
A long cable rope fastened to wide leather belts, and these belts locked
around the waists of fifty-two women. At the end of the rope was a heavy
iron cart, and in it two women—one nursing a sore foot, another
screaming at some nurse, saying: “You beat me and I shall not forget it.
You want to kill me,” and then she would sob and cry. The women “on the
rope,” as the patients call it, were each busy on their individual
freaks. Some were yelling all the while. One who had blue eyes saw me
look at her, and she turned as far as she could, talking and smiling,
with that terrible, horrifying look of absolute insanity stamped on her.
The doctors might safely judge on her case. The horror of that sight to
one who had never been near an insane person before, was something
unspeakable.
“God help them!” breathed Miss Neville, “It is so dreadful I cannot
look.”
On they passed, but for their places to be filled by more. Can you
imagine the sight? According to one of the physicians there are 1600
insane women on Blackwell’s Island.
Mad! What can be half so horrible? My heart thrilled with pity when I
looked on old, gray-haired women talking aimlessly to space. One woman
had on a straight-jacket, and two women had to drag her along. Crippled,
blind, old, young, homely, and pretty; one senseless mass of humanity.
No fate could be worse.
I looked at the pretty lawns, which I had once thought was such a
comfort to the poor creatures confined on the Island, and laughed at my
own notions. What enjoyment is it to them? They are not allowed on the
grass—it is only to look at. I saw some patients eagerly and caressingly
lift a nut or a colored leaf that had fallen on the path. But they were
not permitted to keep them. The nurses would always compel them to throw
their little bit of God’s comfort away.
[Illustration: QUIET INMATES OUT FOR A WALK.]
As I passed a low pavilion, where a crowd of helpless lunatics were
confined, I read a motto on the wall, “While I live I hope.” The
absurdity of it struck me forcibly. I would have liked to put above the
gates that open to the asylum, “He who enters here leaveth hope behind.”
During the walk I was annoyed a great deal by nurses who had heard my
romantic story calling to those in charge of us to ask which one I was.
I was pointed out repeatedly.
It was not long until the dinner hour arrived, and I was so hungry that
I felt I could eat anything. The same old story of standing for a half
and three-quarters of an hour in the hall was repeated before we got
down to our dinners. The bowls in which we had had our tea were now
filled with soup, and on a plate was one cold boiled potato and a chunk
of beef, which, on investigation, proved to be slightly spoiled. There
were no knives or forks, and the patients looked fairly savage as they
took the tough beef in their fingers and pulled in opposition to their
teeth. Those toothless or with poor teeth could not eat it. One
tablespoon was given for the soup, and a piece of bread was the final
entree. Butter is never allowed at dinner nor coffee or tea. Miss Mayard
could not eat, and I saw many of the sick ones turn away in disgust. I
was getting very weak from the want of food and tried to eat a slice of
bread. After the first few bites hunger asserted itself, and I was able
to eat all but the crusts of the one slice.
Superintendent Dent went through the sitting-room, giving an occasional
“How do you do?” “How are you to-day?” here and there among the
patients. His voice was as cold as the hall, and the patients made no
movement to tell him of their sufferings. I asked some of them to tell
how they were suffering from the cold and insufficiency of clothing, but
they replied that the nurse would beat them if they told.
I was never so tired as I grew sitting on those benches. Several of the
patients would sit on one foot or sideways to make a change, but they
were always reproved and told to sit up straight. If they talked they
were scolded and told to shut up; if they wanted to walk around in order
to take the stiffness out of them, they were told to sit down and be
still. What, excepting torture, would produce insanity quicker than this
treatment? Here is a class of women sent to be cured. I would like the
expert physicians who are condemning me for my action, which has proven
their ability, to take a perfectly sane and healthy woman, shut her up
and make her sit from 6 A. M. until 8 P. M. on straight-back benches, do
not allow her to talk or move during these hours, give her no reading
and let her know nothing of the world or its doings, give her bad food
and harsh treatment, and see how long it will take to make her insane.
Two months would make her a mental and physical wreck.
I have described my first day in the asylum, and as my other nine were
exactly the same in the general run of things it would be tiresome to
tell about each. In giving this story I expect to be contradicted by
many who are exposed. I merely tell in common words, without
exaggeration, of my life in a mad-house for ten days. The eating was one
of the most horrible things. Excepting the first two days after I
entered the asylum, there was no salt for the food. The hungry and even
famishing women made an attempt to eat the horrible messes. Mustard and
vinegar were put on meat and in soup to give it a taste, but it only
helped to make it worse. Even that was all consumed after two days, and
the patients had to try to choke down fresh fish, just boiled in water,
without salt, pepper or butter; mutton, beef and potatoes without the
faintest seasoning. The most insane refused to swallow the food and were
threatened with punishment. In our short walks we passed the kitchen
where food was prepared for the nurses and doctors. There we got
glimpses of melons and grapes and all kinds of fruits, beautiful white
bread and nice meats, and the hungry feeling would be increased tenfold.
I spoke to some of the physicians, but it had no effect, and when I was
taken away the food was yet unsalted.
My heart ached to see the sick patients grow sicker over the table. I
saw Miss Tillie Mayard so suddenly overcome at a bite that she had to
rush from the dining-room and then got a scolding for doing so. When the
patients complained of the food they were told to shut up; that they
would not have as good if they were at home, and that it was too good
for charity patients.
A German girl, Louise—I have forgotten her last name—did not eat for
several days and at last one morning she was missing. From the
conversation of the nurses I found she was suffering from a high fever.
Poor thing! She told me she unceasingly prayed for death. I watched the
nurses make a patient carry such food as the well ones were refusing up
to Louise’s room. Think of that stuff for a fever patient! Of course,
she refused it. Then I saw a nurse, Miss McCarten, go to test her
temperature, and she returned with the report of it being some 150
degrees. I smiled at the report, and Miss Grupe, seeing it, asked me how
high my temperature had ever run. I refused to answer. Miss Grady then
decided to try her ability. She returned with the report of 99 degrees.
Miss Tillie Mayard suffered more than any of us from the cold, and yet
she tried to follow my advice to be cheerful and try to keep up for a
short time. Superintendent Dent brought in a man to see me. He felt my
pulse and my head and examined my tongue. I told them how cold it was,
and assured them that I did not need medical aid, but that Miss Mayard
did, and they should transfer their attentions to her. They did not
answer me, and I was pleased to see Miss Mayard leave her place and come
forward to them. She spoke to the doctors and told them she was ill, but
they paid no attention to her. The nurses came and dragged her back to
the bench, and after the doctors left they said, “After awhile, when you
see that the doctors will not notice you, you will quit running up to
them.” Before the doctors left me I heard one say—I cannot give it in
his exact words—that my pulse and eyes were not that of an insane girl,
but Superintendent Dent assured him that in cases such as mine such
tests failed. After watching me for awhile he said my face was the
brightest he had ever seen for a lunatic. The nurses had on heavy
undergarments and coats, but they refused to give us shawls.
Nearly all night long I listened to a woman cry about the cold and beg
for God to let her die. Another one yelled “Murder!” at frequent
intervals and “Police!” at others until my flesh felt creepy.
The second morning, after we had begun our endless “set” for the day,
two of the nurses, assisted by some patients, brought the woman in who
had begged the night previous for God to take her home. I was not
surprised at her prayer. She appeared easily seventy years old, and she
was blind. Although the halls were freezing-cold, that old woman had no
more clothing on than the rest of us, which I have described. When she
was brought into the sitting-room and placed on the hard bench, she
cried:
“Oh, what are you doing with me? I am cold, so cold. Why can’t I stay in
bed or have a shawl?” and then she would get up and endeavor to feel her
way to leave the room. Sometimes the attendants would jerk her back to
the bench, and again they would let her walk and heartlessly laugh when
she bumped against the table or the edge of the benches. At one time she
said the heavy shoes which charity provides hurt her feet, and she took
them off. The nurses made two patients put them on her again, and when
she did it several times, and fought against having them on, I counted
seven people at her at once trying to put the shoes on her. The old
woman then tried to lie down on the bench, but they pulled her up again.
It sounded so pitiful to hear her cry:
“Oh, give me a pillow and pull the covers over me, I am so cold.”
At this I saw Miss Grupe sit down on her and run her cold hands over the
old woman’s face and down inside the neck of her dress. At the old
woman’s cries she laughed savagely, as did the other nurses, and
repeated her cruel action. That day the old woman was carried away to
another ward.