Library Collections: Document: Full Text

This is the sentiment of my heart, it is as I should myself wish to be treated, or such as I would give my insane friend or relatative, and I think that I know the character of insane hospitals quite as well as Miss Dix, although I have never put my foot into but one of them, and probably she has been into about all in the country except the one in Maine where I was incarcerated. Yes, citizens, these are sober facts, and who of you would send your dearest friend to prison if they were insane if you could possibly keep them at home; and all hospitals are prisons, and nothing else, and of the most barbarous kind, whether they are public or private. I speak what I know is truth, whether you will believe it or not, and I would just us soon vote to establish and maintain the Spanish Inquisition as I would any Insane Hospital.

CHAPTER XII.

DESCRIPTIVE CHARACTER.

Reader, you have followed me through the scenes of cruelty and oppression of myself and others, and now I will change the subject and if you can go with me in your imagination to visit the hospital, I will introduce you to a few of the patients, and give you a short description of them, so far as I know their histories myself. I shall not give you their real names, but in some instances where it will not injure them or wound the feelings of their friends, I shall give you the soubriquet which was given them by some of the patients, as many of them have a nickname which will correspond with the character which they exhibit, or it will be directly the reverse of it.

In the first place we will go round to the south end of the old south wing, and go up three or four stone steps and look in through the guard grates, because visitors are not allowed to enter that gallery -- it is forbidden ground to all excepting, perhaps, the editor of some periodical, or to some clergyman who goes there for the purpose of puffing the officers and the institution, and thus deceiving the public, for they are themselves deceived, or else they are some of the old ones, and understand the gamut and play gammon themselves. Let us look in, but all you will see there will be about twenty human beings, with no reason or understanding; they know nothing more than swine, and are disgusting and loathsome objects; they are demented or imbecile. Many of them are young men, who have ignorantly brought themselves into their present deplorable state, which is worse than death, by their own disgusting habits; or perhaps there are a few who are wild and furious, and are confined in the strong chair, or by the muffs, to keep them from tearing their clothes, or from fighting with the other patients. There you see the perfect wreck of reason, and man in the most disgusting form.

But tarry a moment. Do you see that young man whose hands are confined in that muff of sole leather? You see he takes a circle round his room -- he sings or hums a tune. You ask him a question -- his response is as far as the antipodes from a correct answer. He is a maniac, but he is docile, and wears that muff because he tears his garments, and if he can obtain a good cake to eat his wants are all supplied -- he knows of no care -- all is well with him. But what has deprived him of reason -- he appears smart and active. Well, that young man is one of old Neptune's noble sons, a salt of the first water. Do you see yonder stately and majestic ship, sailing so beautifully upon the blue waves of the ocean. That young man is her chief mate, and every inch of him a sailor, with every prospect ahead that, in due time he will rise to be a captain. But "how mysterious are thy ways, and thy counsels past finding out, O God; and what is man that thou visits him" Although that young man was one of the bravest of the brave in the hurricane and the storm, yet the noble ship approaches and enters a tropical clime, old Sol pours down his rays intense heat upon the devoted head of that young man, who had withstood all dangers of the sea, but the intense heat has penetrated his brain -- he is sun struck -- his reason has deserted her throne -- his fond hopes are in a moment forever abated -- his is as you now see, a maniac. What a thought. Who can contemplate the wreck of reason in mortal man and not thank his Father and his God, that he is still permitted the natural use of those noble faculties, a sound and contemplative mind.

Let us turn from this sad scene. Go round to the front door, ascend to the upper gallery and walk in. The upper gallery is where I was confined for the whole term of my imprisonment, and, of course, those that I describe were my companions of woe and despair. The first to whom I will introduce you is the Captain. He is the man you see yonder walking the gallery, shaking his head and rolling and winking his large white eyes; with a green jacket, and his pants strapped tight to his skin and descending but half way from his knees to his ankles. He is a very loathsome looking object, and perfectly disgusting for an associate. You see that he has set down at the table and is drawing out the picture of a schooner, which is a representation of the craft he used to navigate; but you would not think by his present appearance that he ever knew enough to navigate a wheelbarrow across the door yard. Such is the fallen state of man when reason has departed from its natural channel, and man becomes like the lowest orders of the brute creation, demented or imbecile. Poor mortal, he is now no more, having been one of the victims of the devouring element.