To say that this man was murdered, would be saying too much; but it
will _not_ be too much to say, that his death was caused by a spirit
of cruelty that would disgrace a Turk. He entered the prison, a
picture of health, at the age of about twenty-seven. Being a
blacksmith, he was put to that business; but falling sick, he was soon
unable to work at it, and tried to be placed at some employment better
suited to his feeble health. In this he failed. He then applied to the
doctor, and was ordered into the hospital. It was evident to all, that
a consumption was hovering over his lungs, and he soon began to
exhibit the symptoms of that disease fully settled. He coughed very
violently, and raised blood very often, and in large quantities; his
flesh wasted away; his spirits sunk; and his strength departed. In
this condition he was driven out to his shop and compelled to work,
and not permitted to sleep in the hospital, but in a cell much less
suited to his convenience. The excuse for this was, that he was fully
able to do his work, and besides he was an ingenious smith, and might
make tools to break out, if permitted to stay in the hospital during
the night. The tyrant's plea is _necessity_. It is very convenient to
have this, when no better can be found; but where is the necessity to
torture a man because he is sick, and ingenious? This was the only
plea, and on this he was driven out by a mean and unprincipled keeper,
till a few days before he died; and when he went from his work the
last time, he sunk down on the bed as soon as he reached the hospital,
and never rose from it again.
The cry that he was able to work, and was counterfeiting his
appearance, had been rung so long, that it triumphed over all the
science and practice of the doctor, and led _him_ to neglect him under
the impression that he was a hypocrite. At last, his suffering, and
dying, and persecuted patient said,--"Doctor, I wish you would do
something for me."--"I _will_ do something for you," was the
significant and fatal reply; and he immediately ordered him large and
frequent doses of calomel, which every novice in the medical art knew
was a very fatal medicine to that complaint in its present confirmed
stage. It was not long in doing its work, and the victim was laid in
the earth. When the doctor was afterwards asked why he gave the
calomel, he replied; "I knew its nature and effects, and I thought I
would make short work of it."--I do not suppose that the physician
intended to _kill_ the man, but I suppose he meant to try an
_experiment_. His opinion was, that the effect would soon be apparent,
and be _fatal_ if the disease were firmly seated; and I blame him for
listening to those who had an interest in deceiving him, and not
acting from his own _examination_, as he would in other cases.
The keeper who drove this dying man from the place provided for such
sufferers, and made him labor when he ought to have been at rest, I
knew _well_, and I have always considered him to be one of the most
unfeeling, as well as ignorant, and unprincipled of the human race.
This is not the only case in which I shall present him to the contempt
of the reader, for many are the dark records against him, and through
many years was he an infernal spirit in the prison, a Satan to the
sick, and a curse to the well.
A friend of mine watched with this man the night he died. Soon after
he went into his room, he made an effort to rise. There was a
remarkable expression in his countenance, and he was asked if the bell
should be rung to call the keeper? He shook his head. His eyes opened
very wide, and looked wishful and anxious. They then rolled back in
his head and he lay a few minutes and then recovered. He said--"I
thought I was going; if I have another such turn, send for the
keeper." This was his last utterance. He lay for some time very still,
and when the nurse went to him again he was dead.
In the bloom and strength of manhood, this unhappy man was hurried out
of time, by those who should have been his friends and treated him
kindly. No inscription is on his tomb. He sleeps in silent peace near
the room in which he died; and his spirit is where the prisoners hear
not the voice of oppressors.