Aged about sixty, admitted 9th May 1822. This poor old fellow, who came
from Brentford, in Middlesex, was formerly a patient in St. Luke’s
Hospital, and has at present a son there, who inherits his father’s
derangement, the only paternal heir-loom he is likely ever to enjoy.
The old man was by trade a butcher, and has been, by his own account,
the whole of his life a flighty and unsettled character. During his
period of apprenticeship he had no less than eleven different masters,
and did not complete his term of service at last. He was sent to
sea, the last refuge for hopeless youngsters; was taken prisoner by
the enemy, and carried to a Spanish prison, where he remained a
considerable time; and after his return to England, he resumed his
trade, sometimes as a journeyman, and sometimes on his own account.
As is usual with many of the wretched men in his state of mind, his
fancy is constantly haunted by the recollections of his professional
occupation. He incessantly talks of his killing abilities, and is
very busy in sticking imaginary pigs, knocking down ideal bullocks,
slaughtering suppositious sheep, blowing up visionary veal, and
dressing out conjectural joints, for the shambles of his own mind.
By his own account no pig has been killed for a series of years near
the neighbourhood he lived in, but by himself; for there, it seems,
the fate of the whole swinish multitude was decided by his skilful
hand, and no fierce warrior ever delighted more in bloodshed, than
Taunton in the slaughter of the bristly generation. How strange is it,
that professional vanity should haunt the ambition of so humble an
individual, even in his derangement! but it is a trait from which no
class of mankind is exempt.
The acquirement of great property was probably one amongst the various
reveries that occupied his mind in the season of his sanity. It has
not forsaken his fancy to this hour, and fancy supplies what physical
exertions could never realize. Poor Taunton supposes himself a man
of considerable wealth; in which he enumerates nineteen substantial
brick-built dwelling-houses at Whetstone, an estate at Deptford, an
extensive stock in trade, numerous flocks of sheep and lambs at grass,
and £300 in cash, when he was brought here, and is quite an independent
man. To his wealth, fancy has superadded dignity and authority; for he
says he is a magistrate, and sits with Colonel Clitheroe on the bench
at Quarter Sessions. He complains bitterly of cruel treatment from
his family. It is said that his father bequeathed him at his death a
handsome property, and left himself and a near relative executors to
his will, but Henry mortgaged some parts, neglected others, quarrelled
with his brother, went to law, but had not money to carry the suit to
its conclusion; and twenty years have elapsed without his receiving
any part of the issues. He states his age at no more than forty-five;
although he recollects clearly transactions fifty years back, and has a
daughter aged thirty-two. He feels quite comfortable here, and speaks
highly of his good treatment: but he complains of ill-usage from every
one out of doors; “he has been knocked down, had his skull fractured,
and his bones broken, though quite innocent of any just cause.” He
has lately lost his wife, for which he evinced no grief. In fact, he
is quite a man of business; not much affected by losses: but like
Whennell, Lloyd, and many others of his fellow-patients, is always well
loaded with a general assortment of all manner of rubbish, rags, bones,
wooden spoons, &c. that he can collect; he always appears busy and
cheerful, and is punctually attentive and _industrious_ at his meals.
He was sent here from his parish workhouse at Putney; and on the
26th of last September he obtained a month’s leave of absence, which
was afterwards extended to another month. But during the latter he
fell into a sad mistake, which nearly proved fatal to the keeper
of his workhouse: for whether from some old grudge, or new cause
of irritation, or whether his visit to the former scene of his
professional operations revived his ardour for the exercise of his
knife, and that he mistook the man for a hog, he attempted to kill
the unsuspecting governor, in which purpose he was most fortunately
prevented, and brought back here on the 21st of November.