Library Collections: Document: Full Text

The same day revealed two scenes of extreme exposure and unjustifiable neglect, such as I could not have supposed the whole New England States could furnish.

Wayland. Visited the almshouse. There, as in Sudbury, caged in a woodshed, and also fully exposed upon the public road, was seen a man at that time less violent, but equally debased by exposure and irritation. He then wore a portion of clothing, though the mistress remarked that he was "more likely to be naked than not"; and added that he was "less noisy than usual." I spoke to him, but received no answer. A wild, strange gaze, and impatient movement of the hand, motioned us away. He refused to speak, rejected food, and wrapped over his head a torn coverlet. Want of accommodations for the imperative calls of nature had converted the cage into a place of utter offence. "My husband cleans him out once a week or so; but it's a hard matter to master him sometimes. He does better since the last time he was broken in." I learnt that the confinement and cold together had so affected his limbs that he was often powerless to rise. "You see him," said my conductress, "in his best state." His best state! What, then, was the worst?

Westford. Not many miles from Wayland is a sad spectacle; was told by the family who kept the poorhouse that they had twenty-six paupers, one idiot, one simple, and one insane, an incurable case from Worcester Hospital. I requested to see her, but was answered that she "wasn't fit to be seen. She was naked, and made so much trouble they did not know how to get along." I hesitated but a moment. I must see her, I said. I cannot adopt descriptions of the condition of the insane secondarily. What I assert for fact, I must see for myself. On this I was conducted above stairs into an apartment of decent size, pleasant aspect from abroad, and tolerably comfortable in its general appearance; but the inmates- grant I may never look upon another such scene! A young woman, whose person was partially covered with portions of a blanket, sat upon the floor; her hair dishevelled; her naked arms crossed languidly over the breast; a distracted, unsteady eye and low, murmuring voice betraying both mental and physical disquiet. About the waist was a chain, the extremity of which was fastened into the wall of the house. As I entered, she raised her eyes, blushed, moved uneasily, endeavoring at the same time to draw about her the insufficient fragments of the blanket. I knelt beside her and asked if she did not wish to be dressed. "Yes, I want some clothes." "But you'll tear 'em all up, you know you will," interposed her attendant. "No, I won't, I won't tear them off"; and she tried to rise, but the waist-encircling chain threw her back, and she did not renew the effort, but, bursting into a wild, shrill laugh, pointed to it, exclaiming, "See there, see there, nice clothes!" Hot tears might not dissolve that iron bondage, imposed, to all appearance, most needlessly. As I left the room, the poor creature said, "I want my gown." The response from the attendant might have roused to indignation one not dispossessed of reason and owning self-control.

Groton. A few rods removed from the poorhouse is a wooden building upon the roadside, constructed of heavy board and plank. It contains one room, unfurnished, except so far as a bundle of straw constitutes furnishing. There is no window, save an opening half the size of a sash, and closed by a board shutter. In one corner is some brick-work surrounding an iron stove, which in cold weather serves for warming the room. The occupant of this dreary abode is a young man, who has been declared incurably insane. He can move a measured distance in his prison; that is, so far as a strong, heavy chain, depending from an iron collar which invests his neck permits. In fine weather -- and it was pleasant when I was there in June last -- the door is thrown open, at once giving admission to light and air, and affording some little variety to the solitary in watching the passersby. But that portion of the year which allows of open doors is not the chiefest part; and it may be conceived, without drafting much on the imagination, what is the condition of one who for days and weeks and months sits in darkness and alone, without employment, without object. It may be supposed that paroxysms of frenzy are often exhibited, and that the tranquil state is rare in comparison with that which incites to violence. This, I was told, is the fact.

I may here remark that severe measures, in enforcing rule, have in many places been openly revealed. I have not seen chastisement administered by stripes, and in but few instances have I seen the rods and whips, but I have seen blows inflicted, both passionately and repeatedly.

I have been asked if I have investigated the causes of insanity. I have not; but I have been told that this most calamitous overthrow of reason often is the result of a life of sin; it is sometimes, but rarely, added, they must take the consequences, they deserve no better care. Shall man be more just than God, he who causes his sun and refreshing rains and life-giving influence to fall alike on the good and the evil? Is not the total wreck of reason, a state of distraction, and the loss of all that makes life cherished a retribution sufficiently heavy, without adding to consequences so appalling every indignity that can bring still lower the wretched sufferer? Have pity upon those who, while they were supposed to lie hid in secret sins, "have been scattered under a dark veil of forgetfulness, over whom is spread a heavy night, and who unto themselves are more grievous than the darkness."