From Limehouse, commonly called “Jack,” admitted 6th August 1818. This
poor fellow has gone through a great variety of adventures in the
course of his life. He has been a seaman in the Royal Navy, and served
successively on board the Colossus, Canada, Magnanime, and various
other ships of war; and was afterwards a private in the West-Kent
militia. His mind seems so charged with notions of naval and military
glory, and valiant exploits, and he is so full of detail on these
subjects, that it would be impossible to follow him through the history
of himself and his deeds of prowess. According to his story, he has
fought, performed prodigies of valour, and achieved glory in every
quarter of the world. He gained victories and honours at the Nile, at
Trafalgar, at Cadiz, at Rochfort, and various scenes of heroism. He
has won the golden crown, and has, with his own hands, broken many
thousand muskets into pieces, and daily continues to do so, in his own
imagination. He performs these ideal feats of strength and dexterity by
stooping to the ground, seizing an imaginary musket by the breech and
muzzle, raising it above his head, giving it a violent twist, and thus
he thinks he has shivered it to pieces. This operation he will repeat
twenty times a day, to illustrate the tales of his own strength.
As he is easily excited, he is ever prompt for war, and constantly in
some scrape with one or other of his fellow-inmates. Many of those
who are convalescent, sport with him for mere fun; but as soon as
he gets angry, off go his jacket and waistcoat, and he assumes an
attitude of fight, and challenges some one or other to come out and
meet him. “Come on, you rascal! I will fight you for fifteen guineas
in the Isle of Man: come on, you puppy! I’ll let you know who I am;
my name is Sir William Price Holwood; I am the King, I am the Pope,
I am General Holwood, sir; this house is mine, sir; I’ll fight you
for a perpendicular guinea. Mind who you talk to, sir! I’ll let you
know I am your master, sir! I am a dog, sir! my name is Rover;” with
a hundred other wild incoherences. He generally carries about half a
peck of gravel-stones in his shirt, which he calls twist-tobacco. He
is scarcely pacified a moment from one wrangle before he commences
another; and what between this kind of amusement, and singing, chewing
or smoaking tobacco, he spends his days. His nights are equally noisy;
his manner nearly the same through both. He rests but little, and yet
it is astonishing how he has sustained so much exertion for so many
years. He never seems exhausted, but is ever ready to begin a new
freak. His mode of rousing his courage, when he challenges an enemy to
combat, is something like that of the lion, who is said to sharpen his
rage by lashing his sides with his tail. Thus the furious Jack deals
to himself, in these fits of defiance, such tremendous blows on his
breast, as would knock down any ordinary man, yet without seeming to
feel them. He never knows what illness is, but seems in robust health
at all times; and although his blustering manners and fierce aspect
intimidate all visitants to the establishment, still he is one of the
most harmless patients in the hospital, and kind and tender-hearted
to a very great degree. He would nurse and protect even a poor worm,
and if any one should attempt to injure it, off goes his jacket in an
instant, and he is ready for action to protect it.
Nothing affects him so deeply as to see any patient cupped, bled,
leeched, or blistered; or indeed submitted to any necessary operation
that gives pain. He invariably remonstrates, in his way, against such
things; and afterwards condoles and sympathizes with the poor infant,
as he calls the patient. “They should not serve you so,” says he, “’tis
cruel; and I am sure you did not deserve it;” for he always imagines
that such operations are inflicted as punishments, and he cannot be
induced to think them of any benefit.
Sometimes he will run on in a vein of soliloquies, or imaginary
conversations with his old friends and intimates; Lady William Price
Holwood, Nancy Brien, Tom Hincks, Bill Brown, Young Forrester, of
the Magnanime, &c. &c. He sings a number of sea songs; and many of
his own composition, equally exempt from rhyme and reason. They run
generally thus, in a sort of recitativo: “From Spithead we set sail,
my name it is Bill Holwood; I’d have you all to know that I fought and
conquered--at Egypt, and likewise with renown in many places more. I
am a light handsome fellow, as I will let you know; I gained the honour
and victory, as Walsh will let you see.”
The poor fellow seems either wholly forgotten by his friends or
relatives, or he has none: for none ever come to visit him. He is
extremely thankful for any little gift from the visitors; but tobacco
is his delight, and much the most acceptable present that can be
offered him.
The marine poet, Dibdin, in describing a British tar, says:
“A seamen should be, every inch, d’ye see,
All as one as a piece of the ship.”
And this poor distracted “Heart of Oak” seems to consider himself
a piece of every battle and victory in which he bore his part, and
entitled to a prize share in all the glories he helped to win for
his country. He was a patient in Old Bethlem, and time and care have
effected no abatement of his disorder.