facing the flag by jules verne [redactor's note: _facing the flag_ {number v in the t&m listing of verne's works} is an anonymous translation of _face au drapeau_ ( ) first published in the u.s. by f. tennyson neely in , and later (circa ) republished from the same plates by hurst and f.m. lupton (federal book co.). this is a different translation from the one published by sampson & low in england entitled _for the flag_ ( ) translated by mrs. cashel hoey.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ facing the flag by j u l e s v e r n e author of "around the world in eighty days"; "twenty thousand leagues under the sea"; "from the earth to the moon," etc. new york the f. m. lupton publishing company publishers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents chap i. healthful house ii. count d'artigas iii. kidnapped iv. the schooner "ebba" v. where am i.--(notes by simon hart, the engineer.) vi. on deck vii. two days at sea viii. back cup ix. inside back cup x. ker karraje xi. five weeks in back cup xii. engineer serko's advice xiii. god be with it xiv. battle between the "sword" and the tug xv. expectation xvi. only a few more hours xvii. one against five xviii. on board the "tonnant" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ facing the flag. chapter i. healthful house. the _carte de visite_ received that day, june , -, by the director of the establishment of healthful house was a very neat one, and simply bore, without escutcheon or coronet, the name: count d'artigas. below this name, in a corner of the card, the following address was written in lead pencil: "on board the schooner _ebba_, anchored off new-berne, pamlico sound." the capital of north carolina--one of the forty-four states of the union at this epoch--is the rather important town of raleigh, which is about one hundred and fifty miles in the interior of the province. it is owing to its central position that this city has become the seat of the state legislature, for there are others that equal and even surpass it in industrial and commercial importance, such as wilmington, charlotte, fayetteville, edenton, washington, salisbury, tarborough, halifax, and new-berne. the latter town is situated on estuary of the neuse river, which empties itself into pamlico sound, a sort of vast maritime lake protected by a natural dyke formed by the isles and islets of the carolina coast. the director of healthful house could never have imagined why the card should have been sent to him, had it not been accompanied by a note from the count d'artigas soliciting permission to visit the establishment. the personage in question hoped that the director would grant his request, and announced that he would present himself in the afternoon, accompanied by captain spade, commander of the schooner _ebba_. this desire to penetrate to the interior of the celebrated sanitarium, then in great request by the wealthy invalids of the united states, was natural enough on the part of a foreigner. others who did not bear such a high-sounding name as the count d'artigas had visited it, and had been unstinting in their compliments to the director. the latter therefore hastened to accord the authorization demanded, and added that he would be honored to open the doors of the establishment to the count d'artigas. healthful house, which contained a select _personnel_, and was assured of the co-operation of the most celebrated doctors in the country, was a private enterprise. independent of hospitals and almshouses, but subjected to the surveillance of the state, it comprised all the conditions of comfort and salubrity essential to establishments of this description designed to receive an opulent _clientele_. it would have been difficult to find a more agreeable situation than that of healthful house. on the landward slope of a hill extended a park of two hundred acres planted with the magnificent vegetation that grows so luxuriantly in that part of north america, which is equal in latitude to the canary and madeira islands. at the furthermost limit of the park lay the wide estuary of the neuse, swept by the cool breezes of pamlico sound and by the winds that blew from the ocean beyond the narrow _lido_ of the coast. healthful house, where rich invalids were cared for under such excellent hygienic conditions, was more generally reserved for the treatment of chronic complaints; but the management did not decline to admit patients affected by mental troubles, when the latter were not of an incurable nature. it thus happened--a circumstance that was bound to attract a good deal of attention to healthful house, and which perhaps was the motive for the visit of the count d'artigas--that a person of world-wide notoriety had for eighteen months been under special observation there. this person was a frenchman named thomas roch, forty-five years of age. he was, beyond question, suffering from some mental malady, but expert alienists admitted that he had not entirely lost the use of his reasoning faculties. it was only too evident that he had lost all notion of things as far as the ordinary acts of life were concerned; but in regard to subjects demanding the exercise of his genius, his sanity was unimpaired and unassailable--a fact which demonstrates how true is the _dictum_ that genius and madness are often closely allied! otherwise his condition manifested itself by complete loss of memory;--the impossibility of concentrating his attention upon anything, lack of judgment, delirium and incoherence. he no longer even possessed the natural animal instinct of self-preservation, and had to be watched like an infant whom one never permits out of one's sight. therefore a warder was detailed to keep close watch over him by day and by night in pavilion no. , at the end of healthful house park, which had been specially set apart for him. ordinary insanity, when it is not incurable, can only be cured by moral means. medicine and therapeutics are powerless, and their inefficacy has long been recognized by specialists. were these moral means applicable to the case of thomas roch? one may be permitted to doubt it, even amid the tranquil and salubrious surroundings of healthful house. as a matter of fact the very symptoms of uneasiness, changes of temper, irritability, queer traits of character, melancholy, apathy, and a repugnance for serious occupations were distinctly apparent; no treatment seemed capable of curing or even alleviating these symptoms. this was patent to all his medical attendants. it has been justly remarked that madness is an excess of subjectivity; that is to say, a state in which the mind accords too much to mental labor and not enough to outward impressions. in the case of thomas roch this indifference was practically absolute. he lived but within himself, so to speak, a prey to a fixed idea which had brought him to the condition in which we find him. could any circumstance occur to counteract it--to "exteriorize" him, as it were? the thing was improbable, but it was not impossible. it is now necessary to explain how this frenchman came to quit france, what motive attracted him to the united states, why the federal government had judged it prudent and necessary to intern him in this sanitarium, where every utterance that unconsciously escaped him during his crises were noted and recorded with the minutest care. eighteen months previously the secretary of the navy at washington, had received a demand for an audience in regard to a communication that thomas roch desired to make to him. as soon as he glanced at the name, the secretary perfectly understood the nature of the communication and the terms which would accompany it, and an immediate audience was unhesitatingly accorded. thomas roch's notoriety was indeed such that, out of solicitude for the interests confided to his keeping, and which he was bound to safeguard, he could not hesitate to receive the petitioner and listen to the proposals which the latter desired personally to submit to him. thomas roch was an inventor--an inventor of genius. several important discoveries had brought him prominently to the notice of the world. thanks to him, problems that had previously remained purely theoretical had received practical application. he occupied a conspicuous place in the front rank of the army of science. it will be seen how worry, deceptions, mortification, and the outrages with which he was overwhelmed by the cynical wits of the press combined to drive him to that degree of madness which necessitated his internment in healthful house. his latest invention in war-engines bore the name of roch's fulgurator. this apparatus possessed, if he was to be believed, such superiority over all others, that the state which acquired it would become absolute master of earth and ocean. the deplorable difficulties inventors encounter in connection with their inventions are only too well known, especially when they endeavor to get them adopted by governmental commissions. several of the most celebrated examples are still fresh in everybody's memory. it is useless to insist upon this point, because there are sometimes circumstances underlying affairs of this kind upon which it is difficult to obtain any light. in regard to thomas roch, however, it is only fair to say that, as in the case of the majority of his predecessors, his pretensions were excessive. he placed such an exorbitant price upon his new engine that it was practicably impossible to treat with him. this was due to the fact--and it should not be lost sight of--that in respect of previous inventions which had been most fruitful in result, he had been imposed upon with the greatest audacity. being unable to obtain therefrom the profits which he had a right to expect, his temper had become soured. he became suspicious, would give up nothing without knowing just what he was doing, impose conditions that were perhaps unacceptable, wanted his mere assertions accepted as sufficient guarantee, and in any case asked for such a large sum of money on account before condescending to furnish the test of practical experiment that his overtures could not be entertained. in the first place he had offered the fulgurator to france, and made known the nature of it to the commission appointed to pass upon his proposition. the fulgurator was a sort of auto-propulsive engine, of peculiar construction, charged with an explosive composed of new substances and which only produced its effect under the action of a deflagrator that was also new. when this engine, no matter in what way it was launched, exploded, not on striking the object aimed at, but several hundred yards from it, its action upon the atmospheric strata was so terrific that any construction, warship or floating battery, within a zone of twelve thousand square yards, would be blown to atoms. this was the principle of the shell launched by the zalinski pneumatic gun with which experiments had already been made at that epoch, but its results were multiplied at least a hundred-fold. if, therefore, thomas roch's invention possessed this power, it assured the offensive and defensive superiority of his native country. but might not the inventor be exaggerating, notwithstanding that the tests of other engines he had conceived had proved incontestably that they were all he had claimed them to be? this, experiment could alone show, and it was precisely here where the rub came in. roch would not agree to experiment until the millions at which he valued his fulgurator had first been paid to him. it is certain that a sort of disequilibrium had then occurred in his mental faculties. it was felt that he was developing a condition of mind that would gradually lead to definite madness. no government could possibly condescend to treat with him under the conditions he imposed. the french commission was compelled to break off all negotiations with him, and the newspapers, even those of the radical opposition, had to admit that it was difficult to follow up the affair. in view of the excess of subjectivity which was unceasingly augmenting in the profoundly disturbed mind of thomas roch, no one will be surprised at the fact that the cord of patriotism gradually relaxed until it ceased to vibrate. for the honor of human nature be it said that thomas roch was by this time irresponsible for his actions. he preserved his whole consciousness only in so far as subjects bearing directly upon his invention were concerned. in this particular he had lost nothing of his mental power. but in all that related to the most ordinary details of existence his moral decrepitude increased daily and deprived him of complete responsibility for his acts. thomas roch's invention having been refused by the commission, steps ought to have been taken to prevent him from offering it elsewhere. nothing of the kind was done, and there a great mistake was made. the inevitable was bound to happen, and it did. under a growing irritability the sentiment of patriotism, which is the very essence of the citizen--who before belonging to himself belongs to his country-- became extinct in the soul of the disappointed inventor. his thoughts turned towards other nations. he crossed the frontier, and forgetting the ineffaceable past, offered the fulgurator to germany. there, as soon as his exorbitant demands were made known, the government refused to receive his communication. besides, it so happened that the military authorities were just then absorbed by the construction of a new ballistic engine, and imagined they could afford to ignore that of the french inventor. as the result of this second rebuff roch's anger became coupled with hatred--an instinctive hatred of humanity--especially after his _pourparlers_ with the british admiralty came to naught. the english being practical people, did not at first repulse thomas roch. they sounded him and tried to get round him; but roch would listen to nothing. his secret was worth millions, and these millions he would have, or they would not have his secret. the admiralty at last declined to have anything more to do with him. it was in these conditions, when his intellectual trouble was growing daily worse, that he made a last effort by approaching the american government. that was about eighteen months before this story opens. the americans, being even more practical than the english, did not attempt to bargain for roch's fulgurator, to which, in view of the french chemist's reputation, they attached exceptional importance. they rightly esteemed him a man of genius, and took the measures justified by his condition, prepared to indemnify him equitably later. as thomas roch gave only too visible proofs of mental alienation, the administration, in the very interest of his invention, judged it prudent to sequestrate him. as is already known, he was not confined in a lunatic asylum, but was conveyed to healthful house, which offered every guarantee for the proper treatment of his malady. yet, though the most careful attention had been devoted to him, no improvement had manifested itself. thomas roch, let it be again remarked--this point cannot be too often insisted upon--incapable though he was of comprehending and performing the ordinary acts and duties of life, recovered all his powers when the field of his discoveries was touched upon. he became animated, and spoke with the assurance of a man who knows whereof he is descanting, and an authority that carried conviction with it. in the heat of his eloquence he would describe the marvellous qualities of his fulgurator and the truly extraordinary effects it caused. as to the nature of the explosive and of the deflagrator, the elements of which the latter was composed, their manufacture, and the way in which they were employed, he preserved complete silence, and all attempts to worm the secret out of him remained ineffectual. once or twice, during the height of the paroxysms to which he was occasionally subject, there had been reason to believe that his secret would escape him, and every precaution had been taken to note his slightest utterance. but thomas roch had each time disappointed his watchers. if he no longer preserved the sentiment of self-preservation, he at least knew how to preserve the secret of his discovery. pavilion no. was situated in the middle of a garden that was surrounded by hedges, and here roch was accustomed to take exercise under the surveillance of his guardian. this guardian lived in the same pavilion, slept in the same room with him, and kept constant watch upon him, never leaving him for an hour. he hung upon the lightest words uttered by the patient in the course of his hallucinations, which generally occurred in the intermediary state between sleeping and waking--watched and listened while he dreamed. this guardian was known as gaydon. shortly after the sequestration of thomas roch, having learned that an attendant speaking french fluently was wanted, he had applied at healthful house for the place, and had been engaged to look after the new inmate. in reality the alleged gaydon was a french engineer named simon hart, who for several years past had been connected with a manufactory of chemical products in new jersey. simon hart was forty years of age. his high forehead was furrowed with the wrinkle that denoted the thinker, and his resolute bearing denoted energy combined with tenacity. extremely well versed in the various questions relating to the perfecting of modern armaments, hart knew everything that had been invented in the shape of explosives, of which there were over eleven hundred at that time, and was fully able to appreciate such a man as thomas roch. he firmly believed in the power of the latter's fulgurator, and had no doubt whatever that the inventor had conceived an engine that was capable of revolutionizing the condition of both offensive and defensive warfare on land and sea. he was aware that the demon of insanity had respected the man of science, and that in roch's partially diseased brain the flame of genius still burned brightly. then it occurred to him that if, during roch's crises, his secret was revealed, this invention of a frenchman would be seized upon by some other country to the detriment of france. impelled by a spirit of patriotism, he made up his mind to offer himself as thomas roch's guardian, by passing himself off as an american thoroughly conversant with the french language, in order that if the inventor did at any time disclose his secret, france alone should benefit thereby. on pretext of returning to europe, he resigned his position at the new jersey manufactory, and changed his name so that none should know what had become of him. thus it came to pass that simon hart, alias gaydon, had been an attendant at healthful house for fifteen months. it required no little courage on the part of a man of his position and education to perform the menial and exacting duties of an insane man's attendant; but, as has been before remarked, he was actuated by a spirit of the purest and noblest patriotism. the idea of depriving roch of the legitimate benefits due to the inventor, if he succeeded in learning his secret, never for an instant entered his mind. he had kept the patient under the closest possible observation for fifteen months yet had not been able to learn anything from him, or worm out of him a single reply to his questions that was of the slightest value. but he had become more convinced than ever of the importance of thomas roch's discovery, and was extremely apprehensive lest the partial madness of the inventor should become general, or lest he should die during one of his paroxysms and carry his secret with him to the grave. this was simon hart's position, and this the mission to which he had wholly devoted himself in the interest of his native country. however, notwithstanding his deceptions and troubles, thomas roch's physical health, thanks to his vigorous constitution, was not particularly affected. a man of medium height, with a large head, high, wide forehead, strongly-cut features, iron-gray hair and moustache, eyes generally haggard, but which became piercing and imperious when illuminated by his dominant idea, thin lips closely compressed, as though to prevent the escape of a word that could betray his secret--such was the inventor confined in one of the pavilions of healthful house, probably unconscious of his sequestration, and confided to the surveillance of simon hart the engineer, become gaydon the warder. chapter ii. count d'artigas. just who was this count d'artigas? a spaniard? so his name would appear to indicate. yet on the stern of his schooner, in letters of gold, was the name _ebba_, which is of pure norwegian origin. and had you asked him the name of the captain of the _ebba_, he would have replied, spade, and would doubtless have added that that of the boatswain was effrondat, and that of the ship's cook, helim--all singularly dissimilar and indicating very different nationalities. could any plausible hypothesis be deducted from the type presented by count d'artigas? not easily. if the color of his skin, his black hair, and the easy grace of his attitude denoted a spanish origin, the _ensemble_ of his person showed none of the racial characteristics peculiar to the natives of the iberian peninsula. he was a man of about forty-five years of age, about the average height, and robustly constituted. with his calm and haughty demeanor he resembled an hindoo lord in whose blood might mingle that of some superb type of malay. if he was not naturally of a cold temperament, he at least, with his imperious gestures and brevity of speech, endeavored to make it appear that he was. as to the language usually spoken by him and his crew, it was one of those idioms current in the islands of the indian ocean and the adjacent seas. yet when his maritime excursions brought him to the coasts of the old or new world he spoke english with remarkable facility, and with so slight an accent as to scarcely betray his foreign origin. none could have told anything about his past, nor even about his present life, nor from what source he derived his fortune,--obviously a large one, inasmuch as he was able to gratify his every whim and lived in the greatest luxury whenever he visited america,--nor where he resided when at home, nor where was the port from which his schooner hailed, and none would have ventured to question him upon any of these points so little disposed was he to be communicative. he was not the kind of man to give anything away or compromise himself in the slightest degree, even when interviewed by american reporters. all that was known about him was what was published in the papers when the arrival of the _ebba_ was reported in some port, and particularly in the ports of the east coast of the united states, where the schooner was accustomed to put in at regular periods to lay in provisions and stores for a lengthy voyage. she would take on board not only flour, biscuits, preserves, fresh and dried meat, live stock, wines, beers, and spirits, but also clothing, household utensils, and objects of luxury--all of the finest quality and highest price, and which were paid for either in dollars, guineas, or other coins of various countries and denominations. consequently, if no one knew anything about the private life of count d'artigas, he was nevertheless very well known in the various ports of the united states from the florida peninsula to new england. it is therefore in no way surprising that the director of healthful house should have felt greatly flattered by the count's visit, and have received him with every mark of honor and respect. it was the first time that the schooner _ebba_ had dropped anchor in the port of new-berne, and no doubt a mere whim of her owner had brought him to the mouth of the neuse. otherwise why should he have come to such a place? certainly not to lay in stores, for pamlico sound offered neither the resources nor facilities to be found in such ports as boston, new york, dover, savannah, wilmington in north carolina, and charleston in south carolina. what could he have procured with his piastres and bank-notes in the small markets of new-berne? this chief town of craven county contained barely six thousand inhabitants. its commerce consisted principally in the exportation of grain, pigs, furniture, and naval munitions. besides, a few weeks previously, the schooner had loaded up for some destination which, as usual, was unknown. had this enigmatical personage then come solely for the purpose of visiting healthful house? very likely. there would have been nothing surprising in the fact, seeing that the establishment enjoyed a high and well-merited reputation. or perhaps the count had been inspired by curiosity to meet thomas roch? this curiosity would have been legitimate and natural enough in view of the universal renown of the french inventor. fancy--a mad genius who claimed that his discoveries were destined to revolutionize the methods of modern military art! as he had notified the director he would do, the count d'artigas presented himself in the afternoon at the door of healthful house, accompanied by captain spade, the commander of the _ebba_. in conformity with orders given, both were admitted and conducted to the office of the director. the latter received his distinguished visitor with _empressement_, placed himself at his disposal, and intimated his intention of personally conducting him over the establishment, not being willing to concede to anybody else the honor of being his _cicerone_. the count on his part was profuse in the expression of his thanks for the considerations extended to him. they went over the common rooms and private habitations of the establishment, the director prattling unceasingly about the care with which the patients were tended--much better care, if he was to be believed, than they could possibly have had in the bosoms of their families--and priding himself upon the results achieved, and which had earned for the place its well-merited success. the count d'artigas listened to his ceaseless chatter with apparent interest, probably in order the better to dissemble the real motive of his visit. however, after going the rounds for an hour he ventured to remark: "have you not among your patients, sir, one anent whom there was a great deal of talk some time ago, and whose presence here contributed in no small measure to attract public attention to healthful house?" "you refer to thomas roch, i presume, count?" queried the director. "precisely--that frenchman--that inventor--whose mental condition is said to be very precarious." "very precarious, count, and happily so, perhaps! in my opinion humanity has nothing to gain by his discoveries, the application of which would increase the already too numerous means of destruction." "you speak wisely, sir, and i entirely agree with you. real progress does not lie in that direction, and i regard as inimical to society all those who seek to follow it. but has this inventor entirely lost the use of his intellectual faculties?" "entirely, no; save as regards the ordinary things of life. in this respect he no longer possesses either comprehension or responsibility. his genius as an inventor, however, remains intact; it has survived his moral degeneracy, and, had his insensate demands been complied with, i have no doubt he would have produced a new war engine--which the world can get along very well without." "very well without, as you say, sir," re-echoed the count d'artigas, and captain spade nodded approval. "but you will be able to judge for yourself, count, for here is the pavilion occupied by thomas roch. if his confinement is well justified from the point of view of public security he is none the less treated with all the consideration due to him and the attention which his condition necessitates. besides, healthful house is beyond the reach of indiscreet persons who might...." the director completed the phrase with a significant motion of his head--which brought an imperceptible smile to the lips of the stranger. "but," asked the count, "is thomas roch never left alone?" "never, count, never. he has a permanent attendant in whom we have implicit confidence, who speaks his language and keeps the closest possible watch upon him. if in some way or other some indication relative to his discovery were to escape him, it would be immediately noted down and its value would be passed upon by those competent to judge." here the count d'artigas stole a rapid and meaning glance at captain spade, who responded with a gesture which said plainly enough: "i understand." and had any one observed the captain during the visit, they could not have failed to remark that he examined with the greatest minuteness that portion of the park surrounding pavilion no. , and the different paths leading to the latter--probably in view of some prearranged scheme. the garden of the pavilion was near the high wall surrounding the property, from the foot of which on the other side the hill sloped gently to the right bank of the neuse. the pavilion itself was a one-story building surmounted by a terrace in the italian style. it contained two rooms and an ante-room with strongly-barred windows. on each side and in rear of the habitation were clusters of fine trees, which were then in full leaf. in front was a cool, green velvety lawn, ornamented with shrubs and brilliantly tinted flowers. the whole garden extended over about half an acre, and was reserved exclusively for the use of thomas roch, who was free to wander about it at pleasure under the surveillance of his guardian. when the count d'artigas, captain spade, and the director entered the garden, the first person they saw was the warder gaydon, standing at the door of the pavilion. unnoticed by the director the count d'artigas eyed the attendant with singular persistence. it was not the first time that strangers had come to see the occupant of pavilion no. , for the french inventor was justly regarded as the most interesting inmate of healthful house. nevertheless, gaydon's attention was attracted by the originality of the type presented by the two visitors, of whose nationality he was ignorant. if the name of the count d'artigas was not unfamiliar to him, he had never had occasion to meet that wealthy gentleman during the latter's sojourn in the eastern ports. he therefore had no idea as to who the count was. neither was he aware that the schooner _ebba_ was then anchored at the entrance to the neuse, at the foot of the hill upon which healthful house was situated. "gaydon," demanded the director, "where is thomas roch?" "yonder," replied the warder, pointing to a man who was walking meditatively under the trees in rear of the pavilion. "the count d'artigas has been authorized to visit healthful house," the director explained; "and does not wish to go away without having seen thomas roch, who was lately the subject of a good deal too much discussion." "and who would be talked about a great deal more," added the count, "had the federal government not taken the precaution to confine him in this establishment." "a necessary precaution, count." "necessary, as you observe, mr. director. it is better for the peace of the world that his secret should die with him." after having glanced at the count d'artigas, gaydon had not uttered a word; but preceding the two strangers he walked towards the clump of trees where the inventor was pacing back and forth. thomas roch paid no attention to them. he appeared to be oblivious of their presence. meanwhile, captain spade, while being careful not to excite suspicion, had been minutely examining the immediate surroundings of the pavilion and the end of the park in which it was situated. from the top of the sloping alleys he could easily distinguish the peak of a mast which showed above the wall of the park. he recognized the peak at a glance as being that of the _ebba_, and knew therefore that the wall at this part skirted the right bank of the neuse. the count d'artigas' whole attention was concentrated upon the french inventor. the latter's health appeared to have suffered in no way from his eighteen months' confinement; but his queer attitude, his incoherent gestures, his haggard eye, and his indifference to what was passing around him testified only too plainly to the degeneration of his mental faculties. at length thomas roch dropped into a seat and with the end of a switch traced in the sand of the alley the outline of a fortification. then kneeling down he made a number of little mounds that were evidently intended to represent bastions. he next plucked some leaves from a neighboring tree and stuck them in the mounds like so many tiny flags. all this was done with the utmost seriousness and without any attention whatever being paid to the onlookers. it was the amusement of a child, but a child would have lacked this characteristic gravity. "is he then absolutely mad?" demanded the count d'artigas, who in spite of his habitual impassibility appeared to be somewhat disappointed. "i warned you, count, that nothing could be obtained from him." "couldn't he at least pay some attention to us?" "it would perhaps be difficult to induce him to do so." then turning to the attendant: "speak to him, gaydon. perhaps he will answer you." "oh! he'll answer me right enough, sir, never fear," replied gaydon. he went up to the inventor and touching him on the shoulder, said gently: "thomas roch!" the latter raised his head, and of the persons present he doubtless saw but his keeper, though captain spade had come up and all formed a circle about him. "thomas roch," continued gaydon, speaking in english, "here are some visitors to see you. they are interested in your health--in your work." the last word alone seemed to rouse him from his indifference. "my work?" he replied, also in english, which he spoke like a native. then taking a pebble between his index finger and bent thumb, as a boy plays at marbles, he projected it against one of the little sand-heaps. it scattered, and he jumped for joy. "blown to pieces! the bastion is blown to pieces! my explosive has destroyed everything at one blow!" he shouted, the light of triumph flashing in his eyes. "you see," said the director, addressing the count d'artigas. "the idea of his invention never leaves him." "and it will die with him," affirmed the attendant. "couldn't you, gaydon, get him to talk about his fulgurator?" asked his chief. "i will try, if you order me to do so, sir." "well, i do order you, for i think it might interest the count d'artigas." "certainly," assented the count, whose physiognomy betrayed no sign of the sentiments which were agitating him. "i ought to warn you that i risk bringing on another fit," observed gaydon. "you can drop the conversation when you consider it prudent. tell thomas roch that a foreigner wishes to negotiate with him for the purchase of his fulgurator." "but are you not afraid he may give his secret away?" questioned the count. he spoke with such vivacity that gaydon could not restrain a glance of distrust, which, however, did not appear to disturb the equanimity of that impenetrable nobleman. "no fear of that," said the warder. "no promise would induce him to divulge his secret. until the millions he demands are counted into his hand he will remain as mute as a stone." "i don't happen to be carrying those millions about me," remarked the count quietly. gaydon again touched roch on the shoulder and repeated: "thomas roch, here are some foreigners who are anxious to acquire your invention." the madman started. "my invention?" he cried. "my deflagrator?" and his growing animation plainly indicated the imminence of the fit that gaydon had been apprehensive about, and which questions of this character invariably brought on. "how much will you give me for it--how much?" continued roch. "how much--how much?" "ten million dollars," replied gaydon. "ten millions! ten millions! a fulgurator ten million times more powerful than anything hitherto invented! ten millions for an autopropulsive projectile which, when it explodes, destroys everything in sight within a radius of over twelve thousand square yards! ten millions for the only deflagrator that can provoke its explosion! why, all the wealth of the world wouldn't suffice to purchase the secret of my engine, and rather than sell it at such a price i would cut my tongue in half with my teeth. ten millions, when it is worth a billion--a billion--a billion!" it was clear that roch had lost all notion of things, and had gaydon offered him ten billions the madman would have replied in exactly the same manner. the count d'artigas and captain spade had not taken their eyes off him. the count was impassible as usual, though his brow had darkened, but the captain shook his head in a manner that implied plainly: "decidedly there is nothing to hope from this poor devil!" after his outburst roch fled across the garden crying hoarsely: "billions! billions!" gaydon turned to the director and remarked: "i told you how it would be." then he rushed after his patient, caught him by the arm, and led him, without any attempt at resistance, into the pavilion and closed the door. the count d'artigas remained alone with the director, captain spade having strolled off again in the direction of the wall at the bottom of the park. "you see i was not guilty of exaggeration, count," said the director. "it is obvious to every one that thomas roch is becoming daily worse. in my opinion his case is a hopeless one. if all the money he asks for were offered to him, nothing could be got from him." "very likely," replied the count, "still, if his pecuniary demands are supremely absurd, he has none the less invented an engine the power of which is infinite, one might say." "that is the opinion expressed by competent persons, count. but what he has discovered will ere long be lost with himself in one of these fits which are becoming more frequent and intense. very soon even the motive of interest, the only sentiment that appears to have survived in his mind, will become extinct." "mayhap the sentiment of hatred will remain, though," muttered the count, as spade joined them at the garden gate. chapter iii. kidnapped. half an hour later the count d'artigas and captain spade were following the beech-lined road that separated the healthful house estate from the right bank of the neuse. both had taken leave of the director, the latter declaring himself greatly honored by their visit, and the former thanking him warmly for his courteous reception. a hundred-dollar bill left as a tip for the staff of the establishment had certainly not belied the count's reputation for generosity. he was--there could be no doubt about it--a foreigner of the highest distinction, if distinction be measured by generosity. issuing by the gate at the main entrance to healthful house, they had skirted the wall that surrounded the property, and which was high enough to preclude the possibility of climbing it. not a word passed between them for some time; the count was deep in thought and captain spade was not in the habit of addressing him without being first spoken to. at last when they stood beneath the rear wall behind which, though it was not visible, the count knew pavilion no. was situated, he said: "you managed, i presume, to thoroughly explore the place, and are acquainted with every detail of it?" "certainly, _count_" replied captain spade, emphasizing the title. "you are perfectly sure about it?" "perfectly. i could go through the park with my eyes shut. if you still persist in carrying out your scheme the pavilion can be easily reached." "i do persist, spade." "notwithstanding thomas roch's mental condition?" "notwithstanding his condition; and if we succeed in carrying him off----" "that is my affair. when night comes on i undertake to enter the park of healthful house, and then the pavilion garden without being seen by anybody." "by the entrance gate?" "no, on this side." "yes, but on this side there is the wall, and if you succeed in climbing it, how are you going to get over it again with thomas roch? what if the madman cries out--what if he should resist--what if his keeper gives the alarm?" "don't worry yourself in the least about that. we have only got to go in and come out by this door." captain spade pointed to a narrow door let into the wall a few paces distant, and which was doubtless used by the staff of the establishment when they had occasion to go out by the river. "that is the way i propose to go in. it's much easier than scaling the wall with a ladder." "but the door is closed." "it will open." "has it no bolts?" "yes, but i shot them back while we were strolling about, and the director didn't notice what i had done." "how are you going to open it?" queried the count, going to the door. "here is the key," replied spade, producing it. he had withdrawn it from the lock, where it happened to be, when he had unbolted the door. "capital!" exclaimed the count. "it couldn't be better. the business will be easier than i expected. let us get back to the schooner. at eight o'clock one of the boats will put you ashore with five men." "yes, five men will do," said captain spade. "there will be enough of them to effect our object even if the keeper is aroused and it becomes necessary to put him out of the way." "put him out of the way--well, if it becomes absolutely necessary of course you must, but it would be better to seize him too and bring him aboard the _ebba_ who knows but what he has already learned a part of roch's secret?" "true." "besides, thomas roch is used to him, and i don't propose to make him change his habitudes in any way." this observation was accompanied by such a significant smile that captain spade could entertain no doubt as to the rôle reserved for the warder of healthful house. the plan to kidnap them both was thus settled, and appeared to have every chance of being successful; unless during the couple of hours of daylight that yet remained it was noticed that the key of the door had been stolen and the bolts drawn back, captain spade and his men could at least count upon being able to enter the park, and the rest, the captain affirmed, would be easy enough. thomas roch was the only patient in the establishment isolated and kept under special surveillance. all the other invalids lived in the main building, or occupied pavilions in the front of the park. the plan was to try and seize roch and gaydon separately and bind and gag them before they could cry out. the count d'artigas and his companion wended their way to a creek where one of the _ebba's_ boats awaited them. the schooner was anchored two cable lengths from the shore, her sails neatly rolled upon her yards, which were squared as neatly as those of a pleasure yacht or of a man-of-war. at the peak of the mainmast a narrow red pennant was gently swayed by the wind, which came in fitful puffs from the east. the count and the captain jumped into the boat and a few strokes of the four oars brought them alongside of the schooner. they climbed on deck and going forward to the jib-boom, leaned over the starboard bulwark and gazed at an object that floated on the water a few strokes ahead of the vessel. it was a small buoy that was rocked by the ripple of the ebbing tide. twilight gradually set in, and the outline of new-berne on the left bank of the sinuous neuse became more and more indistinct until it disappeared in the deepening shades of night. a mist set in from the sea, but though it obscured the moon it brought no sign of rain. the lights gleamed out one by one in the houses of the town. the fishing smacks came slowly up the river to their anchorage, impelled by the oars of their crews which struck the water with sharp, rhythmical strokes, and with their sails distended on the chance of catching an occasional puff of the dropping wind to help them along. a couple of steamers passed, sending up volumes of black smoke and myriads of sparks from their double stacks, and lashing the water into foam with their powerful paddles. at eight o'clock the count d'artigas appeared on the schooner's deck accompanied by a man about fifty years of age, to whom he remarked: "it is time to go, serko." "very well, i will tell spade," replied serko. at that moment the captain joined them. "you had better get ready to go," said the count. "all is ready." "be careful to prevent any alarm being given, and arrange matters so that no one will for a minute suspect that thomas roch and his keeper have been brought on board the _ebba_." "they wouldn't find them if they came to look for them," observed serko, shrugging his shoulders and laughing heartily as though he had perpetrated a huge joke. "nevertheless, it is better not to arouse their suspicion," said d'artigas. the boat was lowered, and captain spade and five sailors took their places in it. four of the latter got out the oars. the boatswain, effrondat, who was to remain in charge of the boat, went to the stern beside captain spade and took the tiller. "good luck, spade," said serko with a smile, "and don't make more noise about it than if you were a gallant carrying off his lady-love." "i won't--unless that gaydon chap--" "we must have both roch and gaydon," insisted the count d'artigas. "that is understood," replied spade. the boat pushed off, and the sailors on the deck of the schooner watched it till it was lost to sight in the darkness. pending its return, no preparations for the _ebba's_ departure were made. perhaps there was no intention of quitting the port after the men had been kidnapped. besides, how could the vessel have reached the open sea? not a breath of air was now stirring, and in half an hour the tide would be setting in again, and rising strongly and rapidly for several miles above new-berne. anchored, as has already been said, a couple of cable-lengths from the shore, the _ebba_ might have been brought much nearer to it, for the water was deep enough, and this would have facilitated the task of the kidnappers when they returned from their expedition. if, however, the count d'artigas preferred to let the vessel stay where she was, he probably had his reasons. not a soul was in sight on the bank, and the road, with its borders of beech trees that skirted the wall of healthful house estate, was equally deserted. the boat was made fast to the shore. then captain spade and his four sailors landed, leaving the boatswain in charge, and disappeared amid the trees. when they reached the wall captain spade stopped and the sailors drew up on each side of the doorway. the captain had only to turn the key in the lock and push the door, unless one of the servants, noticing that the door was not secured as usual, had bolted it. in this event their task would be an extremely difficult one, even if they succeeded in scaling the high wall. the captain put his ear to the key-hole and listened. not a sound was to be heard in the park. not even a leaf was rustling in the branches of the beeches under which they were standing. the surrounding country was wrapt in the profoundest silence. captain spade drew the key from his pocket, inserted it in the lock and turned it noiselessly. then he cautiously pushed the door, which opened inward. things were, then, just as he had left them, and no one had noticed the theft of the key. after assuring himself that nobody happened to be in the neighborhood of the pavilion the captain entered, followed by his men. the door was left wide open, so that they could beat a hurried and uninterrupted retreat in case of necessity. the trees and bushes in this shady part of the park were very thick, and it was so dark that it would not have been easy to distinguish the pavilion had not a light shone brightly in one of the windows. no doubt this was the window of the room occupied by roch and his guardian, gaydon, seeing that the latter never left the patient placed in his charge either by night or day. captain spade had expected to find him there. the party approached cautiously, taking the utmost precaution to avoid kicking a pebble or stepping on a twig, the noise of which might have revealed their presence. in this way they reached the door of the pavilion near which was the curtained window of the room in which the light was burning. but if the door was locked, how were they going to get in? captain spade must have asked himself. he had no key, and to attempt to effect an entrance through the window would be hazardous, for, unless gaydon could be prevented from giving the alarm, he would rouse the whole establishment. there was no help for it, however. the essential was to get possession of roch. if they could kidnap gaydon, too, in conformity with the intentions of the count d'artigas, so much the better. if not-- captain spade crept stealthily to the window, and standing on tiptoe, looked in. through an aperture in the curtain he could see all over the room. gaydon was standing beside thomas roch, who had not yet recovered from the fit with which he had been attacked during the count d'artigas' visit. his condition necessitated special attention, and the warder was ministering to the patient under the direction of a third person. the latter was one of the doctors attached to healthful house, and had been at once sent to the pavilion by the director when roch's paroxysm came on. his presence of course rendered the situation more complicated and the work of the kidnappers more difficult. roch, fully dressed, was extended upon a sofa. he was now fairly calm. the paroxysm, which was abating, would be followed by several hours of torpor and exhaustion. just as captain spade peeped through the window the doctor was making preparations to leave. the captain heard him say to gaydon that his (the doctor's) presence was not likely to be required any more that night, and that there was nothing to be done beyond following the instructions he had given. the doctor then walked towards the door, which, it will be remembered, was close to the window in front of which spade and his men were standing. if they remained where they were they could not fail to be seen, not only by the doctor, but by the warder, who was accompanying him to the door. before they made their appearance, however, the sailors, at a sign from their chief, had dispersed and hidden themselves behind the bushes, while spade himself crouched in the shadow beneath the window. luckily gaydon had not brought the lamp with him, so that the captain was in no danger of being seen. as he was about to take leave of gaydon, the doctor stopped on the step and remarked: "this is one of the worst attacks our patient has had. one or two more like that and he will lose the little reason he still possesses." "just so," said gaydon. "i wonder that the director doesn't prohibit all visitors from entering the pavilion. roch owes his present attack to a count d'artigas, for whose amusement harmful questions were put to him." "i will call the director's attention to the matter," responded the doctor. he then descended the steps and gaydon, leaving the door of the pavilion ajar, accompanied him to the end of the path. when they had gone captain spade stood up, and his men rejoined him. had they not better profit by the chance thus unexpectedly afforded them to enter the room and secure roch, who was in a semi-comatose condition, and then await gaydon's return, and seize the warder as he entered? this would have involved considerable risk. gaydon, at a glance, would perceive that his patient was missing and raise an alarm; the doctor would come running back; the whole staff of healthful house would turn out, and spade would not have time to escape with his precious prisoner and lock the door in the wall after him. he did not have much chance to deliberate about it, for the warder was heard returning along the gravel path. spade decided that the best thing to be done was to spring upon him as he passed and stifle his cries and overpower him before he could attempt to offer any resistance. the carrying off of the mad inventor would be easy enough, inasmuch as he was unconscious, and could not raise a finger to help himself. gaydon came round a clump of bushes and approached the entrance to the pavilion. as he raised his foot to mount the steps the four sailors sprang upon him, bore him backwards to the ground, and had gagged him, securely bound him hand and foot, and bandaged his eyes before he began to realize what had happened. two of the men then kept guard over him, while captain spade and the others entered the house. as the captain had surmised, thomas roch had sunk into such a torpor that he could have heard nothing of what had been going on outside. reclining at full length, with his eyes closed, he might have been taken for a dead man but for his heavy breathing. there was no need either to bind or gag him. one man took him by the head and another by the feet and started off with him to the schooner. captain spade was the last to quit the house after extinguishing the lamp and closing the door behind him. in this way there was no reason to suppose that the inmates would be missed before morning. gaydon was carried off in the same way as thomas roch had been. the two remaining sailors lifted him and bore him quietly but rapidly down the path to the door in the wall. the park was pitch dark. not even a glimmer of the lights in the windows of healthful house could be seen through the thick foliage. arrived at the wall, spade, who had led the way, stepped aside to allow the sailors with their burdens to pass through, then followed and closed and locked the door. he put the key in his pocket, intending to throw it into the neuse as soon as they were safely on board the schooner. there was no one on the road, nor on the bank of the river. the party made for the boat, and found that effrondat, the boatswain, had made all ready to receive them. thomas roch and gaydon were laid in the bottom of the boat, and the sailors again took their places at the oars. "hurry up, effrondat, and cast off the painter," ordered the captain. the boatswain obeyed, and pushed the boat off with his foot as he scrambled in. the men bent to their oars and rowed rapidly to the schooner, which was easily distinguishable, having hung out a light at her mizzenmast head. in two minutes they were alongside. the count d'artigas was leaning on the bulwarks by the gangway. "all right, spade?" he questioned. "yes, sir, all right!" "both of them?" "both the madman and his keeper." "doesn't anybody know about it up at healthful house? "not a soul." it was not likely that gaydon, whose eyes and ears were bandaged, but who preserved all his sang-froid, could have recognized the voices of the count d'artigas and captain spade. nor did he have the chance to. no attempt was immediately made to hoist him on board. he had been lying in the bottom of the boat alongside the schooner for fully half an hour, he calculated, before he felt himself lifted, and then lowered, doubtless to the bottom of the hold. the kidnapping having been accomplished it would seem that it only remained for the _ebba_ to weigh anchor, descend the estuary and make her way out to sea through pamlico sound. yet no preparations for departure were made. was it not dangerous to stay where they were after their daring raid? had the count d'artigas hidden his prisoners so securely as to preclude the possibility of their being discovered if the _ebba_, whose presence in proximity to healthful house could not fail to excite suspicion, received a visit from the new-berne police? however this might have been, an hour after the return of the expedition, every soul on board save the watch--the count d'artigas, serko, and captain spade in their respective cabins, and the crew in the fore-castle, were sound asleep. chapter iv. the schooner ebba. it was not till the next morning, and then very leisurely, that the _ebba_ began to make preparations for her departure. from the extremity of new-berne quay the crew might have been seen holystoning the deck, after which they loosened the reef lines, under the direction of effrondat, the boatswain, hoisted in the boats and cleared the halyards. at eight o'clock the count d'artigas had not yet appeared on deck. his companion, serko the engineer, as he was called on board, had not quitted his cabin. captain spade was strolling quietly about giving orders. the _ebba_ would have made a splendid racing yacht, though she had never participated in any of the yacht races either on the north american or british coasts. the height of her masts, the extent of the canvas she carried, her shapely, raking hull, denoted her to be a craft of great speed, and her general lines showed that she was also built to weather the roughest gales at sea. in a favorable wind she would probably make twelve knots an hour. notwithstanding these advantages, however, she must in a dead calm necessarily suffer from the same disadvantages as other sailing vessels, and it might have been supposed that the count d'artigas would have preferred a steam-yacht with which he could have gone anywhere, at any time, in any weather. but apparently he was satisfied to stick to the old method, even when he made his long trips across the atlantic. on this particular morning the wind was blowing gently from the west, which was very favorable to the _ebba_, and would enable her to stand straight out of the neuse, across pamlico sound, and through one of the inlets that led to the open sea. at ten o'clock the _ebba_ was still rocking lazily at anchor, her stem up stream and her cable tautened by the rapidly ebbing tide. the small buoy that on the previous evening had been moored near the schooner was no longer to be seen, and had doubtless been hoisted in. suddenly a gun boomed out and a slight wreath of white smoke arose from the battery. it was answered by other reports from the guns on the chain of islands along the coast. at this moment the count d'artigas and engineer serko appeared on deck. captain spade went to meet them. "guns barking," he said laconically. "we expected it," replied serko, shrugging his shoulders. "they are signals to close the passes." "what has that to do with us?" asked the count d'artigas quietly. "nothing at all," said the engineer. they all, of course, knew that the alarm-guns indicated that the disappearance of thomas roch and the warder gaydon from healthful house had been discovered. at daybreak the doctor had gone to pavilion no. to see how his patient had passed the night, and had found no one there. he immediately notified the director, who had the grounds thoroughly searched. it was then discovered that the door in rear of the park was unbolted, and that, though locked, the key had been taken away. it was evident that roch and his attendant had been carried out that way. but who were the kidnappers? no one could possibly imagine. all that could be ascertained was that at half-past seven on the previous night one of the doctors had attended thomas roch, who was suffering from one of his fits, and that when the medical man had left him the invalid was in an unconscious condition. what had happened after the doctor took leave of gaydon at the end of the garden-path could not even be conjectured. the news of the disappearance was telegraphed to new berne, and thence to raleigh. on receipt of it the governor had instantly wired orders that no vessel was to be allowed to quit pamlico sound without having been first subjected to a most rigorous search. another dispatch ordered the cruiser _falcon_, which was stationed in the port, to carry out the governor's instructions in this respect. at the same time measures were taken to keep a strict lookout in every town and village in the state. the count d'artigas could see the _falcon_, which was a couple of miles away to the east in the estuary, getting steam up and making hurried preparations to carry out her mission. it would take at least an hour before the warship could be got ready to steam out, and the schooner might by that time have gained a good start. "shall i weigh anchor?" demanded captain spade. "yes, as we have a fair wind; but you can take your time about it," replied the count d'artigas. "the passes of pamlico sound will be under observation," observed engineer serko, "and no vessel will be able to get out without receiving a visit from gentlemen as inquisitive as they will be indiscreet." "never mind, get under way all the same," ordered the count. "when the officers of the cruiser or the custom-house officers have been over the _ebba_ the embargo will be raised. i shall be indeed surprised if we are not allowed to go about our business." "with a thousand pardons for the liberty taken, and best wishes for a good voyage and speedy return," chuckled engineer serko, following the phrase with a loud and prolonged laugh. when the news was received at new-berne, the authorities at first were puzzled to know whether the missing inventor and his keeper had fled or been carried off. as, however, roch's flight could not have taken place without the connivance of gaydon, this supposition was speedily abandoned. in the opinion of the director and management of healthful house the warder was absolutely above suspicion. they must both, then, have been kidnapped. it can easily be imagined what a sensation the news caused in the town. what! the french inventor who had been so closely guarded had disappeared, and with him the secret of the wonderful fulgurator that nobody had been able to worm out of him? might not the most serious consequences follow? might not the discovery of the new engine be lost to america forever? if the daring act had been perpetrated on behalf of another nation, might not that nation, having thomas roch in its power, be eventually able to extract from him what the federal government had vainly endeavored to obtain? and was it reasonable, was it permissible, to suppose for an instant that he had been carried off for the benefit of a private individual? certainly not, was the emphatic reply to the latter question, which was too ridiculous to be entertained. therefore the whole power of the state was employed in an effort to recover the inventor. in every county of north carolina a special surveillance was organized on every road and at every railroad station, and every house in town and country was searched. every port from wilmington to norfolk was closed, and no craft of any description could leave without being thoroughly overhauled. not only the cruiser _falcon_, but every available cutter and launch was sent out with orders to patrol pamlico sound and board yachts, merchant vessels and fishing smacks indiscriminately whether anchored or not and search them down to the keelson. still the crew of the _ebba_ prepared calmly to weigh anchor, and the count d'artigas did not appear to be in the least concerned at the orders of the authorities and at the consequences that would ensue, if thomas roch and his keeper, gaydon, were found on board. at last all was ready, the crew manned the capstan bars, the sails were hoisted, and the schooner glided gracefully through the water towards the sound. twenty miles from new-berne the estuary curves abruptly and shoots off towards the northwest for about the same distance, gradually widening until it empties itself into pamlico sound. the latter is a vast expanse about seventy miles across from sivan island to roanoke. on the seaward side stretches a chain of long and narrow islands, forming a natural breakwater north and south from cape lookout to cape hatteras and from the latter to cape henry, near norfolk city, in virginia. numerous beacons on the islands and islets form an easy guide for vessels at night seeking refuge from the atlantic gales, and once inside the chain they are certain of finding plenty of good anchoring grounds. several passes afford an outlet from the sound to the sea. beyond sivan island lighthouse is ocracoke inlet, and next is the inlet of hatteras. there are also three others known as logger head inlet, new inlet, and oregon inlet. the ocracoke was the one nearest the _ebba_, and she could make it without tacking, but the _falcon_ was searching all vessels that passed through. this did not, however, make any particular difference, for by this time all the passes, upon which the guns of the forts had been trained, were guarded by government vessels. the _ebba_, therefore, kept on her way, neither trying to avoid nor offering to approach the searchers. she seemed to be merely a pleasure-yacht out for a morning sail. no attempt had up to that time been made to accost her. was she, then, specially privileged, and to be spared the bother of being searched? was the count d'artigas considered too high and mighty a personage to be thus molested, and delayed even for an hour? it was unlikely, for though he was regarded as a distinguished foreigner who lived the life of luxury enjoyed by the favored of fortune, no one, as a matter of fact, knew who he was, nor whence he came, nor whither he was going. the schooner sped gracefully over the calm waters of the sound, her flag--a gold crescent in the angle of a red field--streaming proudly in the breeze. count d'artigas was cosily ensconced in a basket-work chair on the after-deck, conversing with engineer serko and captain spade. "they don't seem in a hurry to board us," remarked serko. "they can come whenever they think proper," said the count in a tone of supreme indifference. "no doubt they are waiting for us at the entrance to the inlet," suggested captain spade. "let them wait," grunted the wealthy nobleman. then he relapsed into his customary unconcerned impassibility. captain spade's hypothesis was doubtless correct. the _falcon_ had as yet made no move towards the schooner, but would almost certainly do so as soon as the latter reached the inlet, and the count would have to submit to a search of his vessel if he wished to reach the open sea. how was it then that he manifested such extraordinary unconcern? were thomas roch and gaydon so safely hidden that their hiding-place could not possibly be discovered? the thing was possible, but perhaps the count d'artigas would not have been quite so confident had he been aware that the _ebba_ had been specially signalled to the warship and revenue cutters as a suspect. the count's visit to healthful house on the previous day had now attracted particular attention to him and his schooner. evidently, at the time, the director could have had no reason to suspect the motive of his visit. but a few hours later, thomas roch and his keeper had been carried off. no one else from outside had been near the pavilion that day. it was admitted that it would have been an easy matter for the count's companion, while the former distracted the director's attention, to push back the bolts of the door in the wall and steal the key. then the fact that the _ebba_ was anchored in rear of, and only a few hundred yards from, the estate, was in itself suspicious. nothing would have been easier for the desperadoes than to enter by the door, surprise their victims, and carry them off to the schooner. these suspicions, neither the director nor the _personnel_ of the establishment had at first liked to give expression to, but when the _ebba_ was seen to weigh anchor and head for the open sea, they appeared to be confirmed. they were communicated to the authorities of new-berne, who immediately ordered the commander of the _falcon_ to intercept the schooner, to search her minutely high and low, and from stem to stern, and on no account to let her proceed, unless he was absolutely certain that roch and gaydon were not on board. assuredly the count d'artigas could have had no idea that his vessel was the object of such stringent orders; but even if he had, it is questionable whether this superbly haughty and disdainful nobleman would have manifested any particular anxiety. towards three o'clock, the warship which was cruising before the inlet, after having sent search parties aboard a few fishing-smacks, suddenly manoeuvred to the entrance of the pass, and awaited the approaching schooner. the latter surely did not imagine that she could force a passage in spite of the cruiser, or escape from a vessel propelled by steam. besides, had she attempted such a foolhardy trick, a couple of shots from the _falcon's_ guns would speedily have constrained her to lay to. presently a boat, manned by two officers and ten sailors, put off from the cruiser and rowed towards the _ebba_. when they were only about half a cable's length off, one of the men rose and waved a flag. "that's a signal to stop," said engineer serko. "precisely," remarked the count d'artigas. "we shall have to lay to." "then lay to." captain spade went forward and gave the necessary orders, and in a few minutes the vessel slackened speed, and was soon merely drifting with the tide. the _falcon's_ boat pulled alongside, and a man in the bows held on to her with a boat-hook. the gangway was lowered by a couple of hands on the schooner, and the two officers, followed by eight of their men, climbed on deck. they found the crew of the _ebba_ drawn up in line on the forecastle. the officer in command of the boarding-party--a first lieutenant--advanced towards the owner of the schooner, and the following questions and answers were exchanged: "this schooner belongs to the count d'artigas, to whom, i presume, i have the honor of speaking?" "yes, sir." "what is her name?" "the _ebba_." "she is commanded by?--" "captain spade." "what is his nationality?" "hindo-malay." the officer scrutinized the schooner's flag, while the count d'artigas added: "will you be good enough to tell me, sir, to what circumstance i owe the pleasure of your visit on board my vessel?" "orders have been received," replied the officer, "to search every vessel now anchored in pamlico sound, or which attempts to leave it." he did not deem it necessary to insist upon this point since the _ebba_, above every other, was to be subjected to the bother of a rigorous examination. "you, of course, sir, have no intention of refusing me permission to go over your schooner?" "assuredly not, sir. my vessel is at your disposal from peaks to bilges. only i should like to know why all the vessels which happen to be in pamlico sound to-day are being subjected to this formality." "i see no reason why you should not be informed, monsieur the count," replied the officer. "the governor of north carolina has been apprised that healthful house has been broken into and two persons kidnapped, and the authorities merely wish to satisfy themselves that the persons carried off have not been embarked during the night." "is it possible?" exclaimed the count, feigning surprise. "and who are the persons who have thus disappeared from healthful house?" "an inventor--a madman--and his keeper." "a madman, sir? do you, may i ask, refer to the frenchman, thomas roch?" "the same." "the thomas roch whom i saw yesterday during my visit to the establishment--whom i questioned in presence of the director--who was seized with a violent paroxysm just as captain spade and i were leaving?" the officer observed the stranger with the keenest attention, in an effort to surprise anything suspicious in his attitude or remarks. "it is incredible!" added the count, as though he had just heard about the outrage for the first time. "i can easily understand, sir, how uneasy the authorities must be," he went on, "in view of thomas roch's personality, and i cannot but approve of the measures taken. i need hardly say that neither the french inventor nor his keeper is on board the _ebba_. however, you can assure yourself of the fact by examining the schooner as minutely as you desire. captain spade, show these gentlemen over the vessel." then saluting the lieutenant of the _falcon_ coldly, the count d'artigas sank into his deck-chair again and replaced his cigar between his lips, while the two officers and eight sailors, conducted by captain spade, began their search. in the first place they descended the main hatchway to the after saloon--a luxuriously-appointed place, filled with art objects of great value, hung with rich tapestries and hangings, and wainscotted with costly woods. it goes without saying that this and the adjoining cabins were searched with a care that could not have been surpassed by the most experienced detectives. moreover, captain spade assisted them by every means in his power, obviously anxious that they should not preserve the slightest suspicion of the _ebba's_ owner. after the grand saloon and cabins, the elegant dining-saloon was visited. then the cook's galley, captain spade's cabin, and the quarters of the crew in the forecastle were overhauled, but no sign of thomas roch or gaydon was to be seen. next, every inch of the hold, etc., was examined, with the aid of a couple of lanterns. water-kegs, wine, brandy, whisky and beer barrels, biscuit-boxes, in fact, all the provision boxes and everything the hold contained, including the stock of coal, was moved and probed, and even the bilges were scrutinized, but all in vain. evidently the suspicion that the count d'artigas had carried off the missing men was unfounded and unjust. even a rat could not have escaped the notice of the vigilant searchers, leave alone two men. when they returned on deck, however, the officers, as a matter of precaution looked into the boats hanging on the davits, and punched the lowered sails, with the same result. it only remained for them, therefore, to take leave of the count d'artigas. "you must pardon us for having disturbed you, monsieur the count," said the lieutenant. "you were compelled to obey your orders, gentlemen." "it was merely a formality, of course," ventured the officer. by a slight inclination of the head the count signified that he was quite willing to accept this euphemism. "i assure you, gentlemen, that i have had no hand in this kidnapping." "we can no longer believe so, monsieur the count, and will withdraw." "as you please. is the _ebba_ now free to proceed?" "certainly." "then _au revoir_, gentlemen, _au revoir_, for i am an _habitué_ of this coast and shall soon be back again. i hope that ere my return you will have discovered the author of the outrage, and have thomas roch safely back in healthful house. it is a consummation devoutly to be wished in the interest of the united states--i might even say of the whole world." the two officers courteously saluted the count, who responded with a nod. captain spade accompanied them to the gangway, and they were soon making for the cruiser, which had steamed near to pick them up. meanwhile the breeze had freshened considerably, and when, at a sign from d'artigas, captain spade set sail again, the _ebba_ skimmed swiftly through the inlet, and half an hour after was standing out to sea. for an hour she continued steering east-northeast, and then, the wind, being merely a land breeze, dropped, and the schooner lay becalmed, her sails limp, and her flag drooping like a wet rag. it seemed that it would be impossible for the vessel to continue her voyage that night unless a breeze sprang up, and of this there was no sign. since the schooner had cleared the inlet captain spade had stood in the bows gazing into the water, now to port, now to starboard, as if on the lookout for something. presently he shouted in a stentorian voice: "furl sail!" the sailors rushed to their posts, and in an instant the sails came rattling down and were furled. was it count d'artigas' intention to wait there till daybreak brought a breeze with it? presumably, or the sails would have remained hoisted to catch the faintest puff. a boat was lowered and captain spade jumped into it, accompanied by a sailor, who paddled it towards an object that was floating on the water a few yards away. this object was a small buoy, similar to that which had floated on the bosom of the neuse when the _ebba_ lay off healthful house. the buoy, with a towline affixed to it, was lifted into the boat that was then paddled to the bow of the _ebba_, from the deck of which another hawser was cast to the captain, who made it fast to the towline of the buoy. having dropped the latter overboard again, the captain and the sailor returned to the ship and the boat was hoisted in. almost immediately the hawser tautened, and the _ebba_, though not a stitch of canvas had been set, sped off in an easterly direction at a speed that could not have been less than ten knots an hour. night was falling fast, and soon the rapidly receding lights along the american coast were lost in the mist on the horizon. chapter v. where am i? (notes by simon hart, the engineer.) where am i? what has happened since the sudden aggression of which i was the victim near the pavilion? i had just quitted the doctor, and was about to mount the steps, close the door and resume my post beside thomas roch when several men sprang upon me and knocked me down. who are they? my eyes having been bandaged i was unable to recognize them. i could not cry for help, having been gagged. i could make no resistance, for they had bound me hand and foot. thus powerless, i felt myself lifted and carried about one hundred paces, then hoisted, then lowered, then laid down. where? where? and thomas roch, what has become of him? it must have been he rather than i they were after. i was but gaydon, the warder. none suspected that i was simon hart, the engineer, nor could they have suspected my nationality. why, therefore, should they have desired to kidnap a mere hospital attendant? there can consequently be no doubt that the french inventor has been carried off; and if he was snatched from healthful house it must have been in the hope of forcing his secret from him. but i am reasoning on the supposition that thomas roch was carried off with me. is it so? yes--it must be--it is. i can entertain no doubt whatever about it. i have not fallen into the hands of malefactors whose only intention is robbery. they would not have acted in this way. after rendering it impossible for me to cry out, after having thrown me into a clump of bushes in the corner of the garden, after having kidnapped thomas roch they would not have shut me up--where i now am. where? this is the question which i have been asking myself for hours without being able to answer it. however, one thing is certain, and that is that i have embarked upon an extraordinary adventure, that will end?--in what manner i know not--i dare not even imagine what the upshot of it will be. anyhow, it is my intention to commit to memory, minute by minute, the least circumstance, and then, if it be possible, to jot down my daily impressions. who knows what the future has in store for me? and who knows but what, in my new position, i may finally discover the secret of roth's fulgurator? if i am to be delivered one day, this secret must be made known, as well as who is the author, or who are the authors, of this criminal outrage, which may be attended with such serious consequences. i continually revert to this question, hoping that some incident will occur to enlighten me: where am i? let me begin from the beginning. after having been carried by the head and feet from healthful house, i felt that i was laid, without any brutality, i must admit, upon the stretchers of a row-boat of small dimensions. the rocking caused by the weight of my body was succeeded shortly afterwards by a further rocking--which i attribute to the embarking of a second person. can there be room for doubt that it was thomas roch? as far as he was concerned they would not have had to take the precaution of gagging him, or of bandaging his eyes, or of binding him. he must still have been in a state of prostration which precluded the possibility of his making any resistance, or even of being conscious of what was being done. the proof that i am not deceiving myself is that i could smell the unmistakable odor of ether. now, yesterday, before taking leave of us, the doctor administered a few drops of ether to the invalid and--i remember distinctly--a little of this extremely volatile substance fell upon his clothing while he was struggling in his fit. there is therefore nothing astonishing in the fact that this odor should have clung to him, nor that i should have distinguished it, even beneath the bandages that covered my face. yes, thomas roch was extended near me in the boat. and to think that had i not returned to the pavilion when i did, had i delayed a few minutes longer, i should have found him gone! let me think. what could have inspired that count d'artigas with the unfortunate curiosity to visit healthful house? if he had not been allowed to see my patient nothing of the kind would have happened. talking to thomas roch about his inventions brought on a fit of exceptional violence. the director is primarily to blame for not heeding my warning. had he listened to me the doctor would not have been called upon to attend him, the door of the pavilion would have been locked, and the attempt of the band would have been frustrated. as to the interest there could have been in carrying off thomas roch, either on behalf of a private person or of one of the states of the old world, it is so evident that there is no need to dwell upon it. however, i can be perfectly easy about the result. no one can possibly succeed in learning what for fifteen months i have been unable to ascertain. in the condition of intellectual collapse into which my fellow-countryman has fallen, all attempts to force his secret from him will be futile. moreover, he is bound to go from bad to worse until he is hopelessly insane, even as regards those points upon which he has hitherto preserved his reason intact. after all, however, it is less about thomas roch than myself that i must think just now, and this is what i have experienced, to resume the thread of my adventure where i dropped it: after more rocking caused by our captors jumping into it, the boat is rowed off. the distance must be very short, for a minute after we bumped against something. i surmise that this something must be the hull of a ship, and that we have run alongside. there is some scurrying and excitement. indistinctly through my bandages i can hear orders being given and a confused murmur of voices that lasts for about five minutes, but i cannot distinguish a word that is said. the only thought that occurs to me now is that they will hoist me on board and lower me to the bottom of the hold and keep me there till the vessel is far out at sea. obviously they will not allow either thomas roch or his keeper to appear on deck as long as she remains in pamlico sound. my conjecture is correct. still gagged and bound i am at last lifted by the legs and shoulders. my impression, however, is that i am not being raised over a ship's bulwark, but on the contrary am being lowered. are they going to drop me overboard to drown like a rat, so as to get rid of a dangerous witness? this thought flashes into my brain, and a quiver of anguish passes through my body from head to foot. instinctively i draw a long breath, and my lungs are filled with the precious air they will speedily lack. no, there is no immediate cause for alarm. i am laid with comparative gentleness upon a hard floor, which gives me the sensation of metallic coldness. i am lying at full length. to my extreme surprise, i find that the ropes with which i was bound have been untied and loosened. the tramping about around me has ceased. the next instant i hear a door closed with a bang. where am i? and, in the first place, am i alone? i tear the gag from my mouth, and the bandages from my head. it is dark--pitch dark. not a ray of light, not even the vague perception of light that the eyes preserve when the lids are tightly closed. i shout--i shout repeatedly. no response. my voice is smothered. the air i breathe is hot, heavy, thick, and the working of my lungs will become difficult, impossible, unless the store of air is renewed. i extend my arms and feel about me, and this is what i conclude: i am in a compartment with sheet-iron walls, which cannot measure more than four cubic yards. i can feel that the walls are of bolted plates, like the sides of a ship's water-tight compartment. i can feel that the entrance to it is by a door on one side, for the hinges protrude somewhat. this door must open inwards, and it is through here, no doubt, that i was carried in. i place my ear to the door, but not a sound can be heard. the silence is as profound as the obscurity--a strange silence that is only broken by the sonorousness of the metallic floor when i move about. none of the dull noises usually to be heard on board a ship is perceptible, not even the rippling of the water along the hull. nor is there the slightest movement to be felt; yet, in the estuary of the neuse, the current is always strong enough, to cause a marked oscillation to any vessel. but does the compartment in which i am confined, really belong to a ship? how do i know that i am afloat on the neuse, though i was conveyed a short distance in a boat? might not the latter, instead of heading for a ship in waiting for it, opposite healthful house, have been rowed to a point further down the river? in this case is it not possible that i was carried into the cellar of a house? this would explain the complete immobility of the compartment. it is true that the walls are of bolted plates, and that there is a vague smell of salt water, that odor _sui generis_ which generally pervades the interior of a ship, and which there is no mistaking. an interval, which i estimate at about four hours, must have passed since my incarceration. it must therefore be near midnight. shall i be left here in this way till morning? luckily, i dined at six o'clock, which is the regular dinner-hour at healthful house. i am not suffering from hunger. in fact i feel more inclined to sleep than to eat. still, i hope i shall have energy enough to resist the inclination. i will not give way to it. i must try and find out what is going on outside. but neither sound nor light can penetrate this iron box. wait a minute, though; perhaps by listening intently i may hear some sound, however feeble. therefore i concentrate all my vital power in my sense of hearing. moreover, i try--in case i should really not be on _terra firma_--to distinguish some movement, some oscillation of my prison. admitting that the ship is still at anchor, it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise i shall have to give up imagining why thomas roch and i have been carried off. at last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond a doubt, that i am not on land. we are evidently moving, but the motion is scarcely perceptible. it is not a jerky, but rather a gliding movement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort, on an even keel. let me consider the matter calmly. i am on board a vessel that was anchored in the neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result of the expedition. a boat brought me aboard, but, i repeat, i did not feel that i was lifted over her bulwarks. was i passed through a porthole? but after all, what does it matter? whether i was lowered into the hold or not, i am certainly upon something that is floating and moving. no doubt i shall soon be let out, together with thomas roch, supposing them to have locked him up as carefully as they have me. by being let out, i mean being accorded permission to go on deck. it will not be for some hours to come, however, that is certain, for they won't want us to be seen, so that there is no chance of getting a whiff of fresh air till we are well out at sea. if it is a sailing vessel, she must have waited for a breeze--for the breeze that freshens off shore at daybreak, and is favorable to ships navigating pamlico sound. it certainly cannot be a steamer. i could not have failed to smell the oil and other odors of the engine-room. and then i should feel the trembling of the machinery, the jerks of the pistons, and the movements of the screws or paddles. the best thing to do is to wait patiently. i shan't be taken out of this hole until to-morrow, anyway. moreover, if i am not released, somebody will surely bring me something to eat. there is no reason to suppose that they intend to starve me to death. they wouldn't have taken the trouble to bring me aboard, but would have dropped me to the bottom of the river had they been desirous of getting rid of me. once we are out at sea, what will they have to fear from me? no one could hear my shouts. as to demanding an explanation and making a fuss, it would be useless. besides, what am i to the men who have carried us off? a mere hospital attendant--one gaydon, who is of no consequence. it is thomas roch they were after. i was taken along too because i happened to return to the pavilion at the critical moment. at any rate, no matter what happens, no matter who our kidnappers may be, no matter where we are taken, i shall stick to this resolution: i will continue to play my role of warder. no one, no! none, can suspect that gaydon is simon hart, the engineer. there are two advantages in this: in the first place, they will take no notice of a poor devil of a warder, and in the second, i may be able to solve the mystery surrounding this plot and turn my knowledge to profit, if i succeed in making my escape. but whither are my thoughts wandering? i must perforce wait till we arrive at our destination before thinking of escaping. it will be time enough to bother about that when the occasion presents itself. until then the essential is that they remain ignorant as to my identity, and they cannot, and shall not, know who i am. i am now certain that we are going through the water. but there is one thing that puzzles me. it is not a sailing vessel, neither can it be a steamer. yet it is incontestably propelled by some powerful machine. there are none of the noises, nor is there the trembling that accompanies the working of steam engines. the movement of the vessel is more continuous and regular, it is a sort of direct rotation that is communicated by the motor, whatever the latter may be. no mistake is possible: the ship is propelled by some special mechanism. but what is it? is it one of those turbines that have been spoken of lately, which, fitted into a submerged tube, are destined to replace the ordinary screw, it being claimed that they utilize the resistance of the water better than the latter and give increased speed to a ship? in a few hours' time i shall doubtless know all about this means of locomotion. meanwhile there is another thing that equally puzzles me. there is not the slightest rolling or pitching. how is it that pamlico sound is so extraordinarily calm? the varying currents continuously ruffle the surface of the sound, even if nothing else does. it is true the tide may be out, and i remember that last night the wind had fallen altogether. still, no matter, the thing is inexplicable, for a ship propelled by machinery, no matter at what speed she may be going, always oscillates more or less, and i cannot perceive the slightest rocking. such are the thoughts with which my mind is persistently filled. despite an almost overpowering desire to sleep, despite the torpor that is coming upon me in this suffocating atmosphere, i am resolved not to close my eyes. i will keep awake till daylight, and there will be no daylight for me till it is let into my prison from the outside. perhaps even if the door were open it would not penetrate to this black hole, and i shall probably not see it again until i am taken on deck. i am squatting in a corner of my prison, for i have no stool or anything to sit upon, but as my eyelids are heavy and i feel somnolent in spite of myself, i get up and walk about. then i wax wrathful, anger fills my soul, i beat upon the iron walls with my fists, and shout for help. in vain! i hurt my hands against the bolts of the plates, and no one answers my cries. such conduct is unworthy of me. i flattered myself that i would remain calm under all circumstances and here i am acting like a child. the absence of any rolling or lurching movement at least proves that we are not yet at sea. instead of crossing pamlico sound, may we not be going in the opposite direction, up the river neuse? no! what would they go further inland for? if thomas roch has been carried off from healthful house, his captors obviously mean to take him out of the united states--probably to a distant island in the atlantic, or to some point on the european continent. it is, therefore, not up the neuse that our maritime machine, whatever it may be, is going, but across pamlico sound, which must be as calm as a mirror. very well, then, when we get to sea i shall soon, know, for the vessel will rock right enough in the swell off shore, even though there be no wind,--unless i am aboard a battleship, or big cruiser, and this i fancy can hardly be! but hark! if i mistake not--no, it was not imagination--i hear footsteps. some one is approaching the side of the compartment where the door is. one of the crew no doubt. are they going to let me out at last? i can now hear voices. a conversation is going on outside the door, but it is carried on in a language that i do not understand. i shout to them--i shout again, but no answer is vouchsafed. there is nothing to do, then, but wait, wait, wait! i keep repeating the word and it rings in my ears like a bell. let me try to calculate how long i have been here. the ship must have been under way for at least four or five hours. i reckon it must be past midnight, but i cannot tell, for unfortunately my watch is of no use to me in this cimmerian darkness. now, if we have been going for five hours, we must have cleared pamlico sound, whether we issued by ocracoke or hatteras inlet, and must be off the coast a good mile, at least. yet i haven't felt any motion from the swell of the sea. it is inexplicable, incredible! come now, have i made a mistake? am i the dupe of an illusion? am i not imprisoned in the hold of a ship under way? another hour has passed and the movement of the ship suddenly ceases; i realize perfectly that she is stationary. has she reached her destination? in this event we can only be in one of the coast ports to the north or south of pamlico sound. but why should thomas roch be landed again? the abduction must soon have been discovered, and our kidnappers would run the greatest risk of falling into the hands of the authorities if they attempted to disembark. however this may be, if the vessel is coming to anchor i shall hear the noise of the chain as it is paid out, and feel the jerk as the ship is brought up. i know that sound and that jerk well from experience, and i am bound to hear and feel them in a minute or two. i wait--i listen. a dead and disquieting silence reigns on board. i begin to wonder whether i am not the only living being in the ship. now i feel an irresistible torpor coming over me. the air is vitiated. i cannot breathe. my chest is bursting. i try to resist, but it is impossible to do so. the temperature rises to such a degree that i am compelled to divest myself of part of my clothing. then i lie me down in a corner. my heavy eyelids close, and i sink into a prostration that eventually forces me into heavy slumber. how long have i been asleep? i cannot say. is it night? is it day? i know not. i remark, however, that i breathe more easily, and that the air is no longer poisoned carbonic acid. was the air renewed while i slept? has the door been opened? has anybody been in here? yes, here is the proof of it! in feeling about, my hand has come in contact with a mug filled with a liquid that exhales an inviting odor. i raise it to my lips, which, are burning, for i am suffering such an agony of thirst that i would even drink brackish water. it is ale--an ale of excellent quality--which refreshes and comforts me, and i drain the pint to the last drop. but if they have not condemned me to die of thirst, neither have they condemned me to die of hunger, i suppose? no, for in one of the corners i find a basket, and this basket contains some bread and cold meat. i fall to, eating greedily, and my strength little by little returns. decidedly, i am not so abandoned as i thought i was. some one entered this obscure hole, and the open door admitted a little of the oxygen from the outside, without which i should have been suffocated. then the wherewithal to quench my thirst and appease the pangs of hunger was placed within my reach. how much longer will this incarceration last? days? months? i cannot estimate the hours that have elapsed since i fell asleep, nor have i any idea as to what time of the day or night it may be. i was careful to wind up my watch, though, and perhaps by feeling the hands--yes, i think the little hand marks eight o'clock--in the morning, no doubt. what i do know, however, is that the ship is not in motion. there is not the slightest quiver. hours and hours, weary, interminable hours go by, and i wonder whether they are again waiting till night comes on to renew my stock of air and provisions. yes, they are waiting to take advantage of my slumbers. but this time i am resolved to resist. i will feign to be asleep--and i shall know how to force an answer from whoever enters! chapter vi. on deck. here i am in the open air, breathing freely once more. i have at last been hauled out of that stifling box and taken on deck. i gaze around me in every direction and see no sign of land. on every hand is that circular line which defines earth and sky. no, there is not even a speck of land to be seen to the west, where the coast of north america extends for thousands of miles. the setting sun now throws but slanting rays upon the bosom of the ocean. it must be about six o'clock in the evening. i take out my watch and it marks thirteen minutes past six. as i have already mentioned, i waited for the door of my prison to open, thoroughly resolved not to fall asleep again, but to spring upon the first person who entered and force him to answer my questions. i was not aware then that it was day, but it was, and hour after hour passed and no one came. i began to suffer again from hunger and thirst, for i had not preserved either bite or sup. as soon as i awoke i felt that the ship was in motion again, after having, i calculated, remained stationary since the previous day--no doubt in some lonely creek, since i had not heard or felt her come to anchor. a few minutes ago--it must therefore have been six o'clock--i again heard footsteps on the other side of the iron wall of my compartment. was anybody coming to my cell? yes, for i heard the creaking of the bolts as they were drawn back, and then the door opened, and the darkness in which i had been plunged since the first hour of my captivity was illumined by the light of a lantern. two men, whom i had no time to look at, entered and seized me by the arms. a thick cloth was thrown over my head, which was enveloped in such a manner that i could see absolutely nothing. what did it all mean? what were they going to do with me? i struggled, but they held me in an iron grasp. i questioned them, but they made no reply. the men spoke to each other in a language that i could not understand, and had never heard before. they stood upon no ceremony with me. it is true i was only a madhouse warder, and they probably did not consider it necessary to do so; but i question very much whether simon hart, the engineer, would have received any more courtesy at their hands. this time, however, no attempt was made to gag me nor to bind either my arms or legs. i was simply restrained by main force from breaking away from them. in a moment i was dragged out of the compartment and pushed along a narrow passage. next, the steps of a metallic stairway resounded under our feet. then the fresh air blew in my face and i inhaled it with avidity. finally they took their hands from off me, and i found myself free. i immediately tore the cloth off my head and gazed about me. i am on board a schooner which is ripping through the water at a great rate and leaving a long white trail behind her. i had to clutch at one of the stays for support, dazzled as i was by the light after my forty-eight hours' imprisonment in complete obscurity. on the deck a dozen men with rough, weather-beaten faces come and go--very dissimilar types of men, to whom it would be impossible to attribute any particular nationality. they scarcely take any notice of me. as to the schooner, i estimate that she registers from two hundred and fifty to three hundred tons. she has a fairly wide beam, her masts are strong and lofty, and her large spread of canvas must carry her along at a spanking rate in a good breeze. aft, a grizzly-faced man is at the wheel, and he is keeping her head to the sea that is running pretty high. i try to find out the name of the vessel, but it is not to be seen anywhere, even on the life-buoys. i walk up to one of the sailors and inquire: "what is the name of this ship?" no answer, and i fancy the man does not understand me. "where is the captain?" i continue. but the sailor pays no more heed to this than he did to the previous question. i turn on my heel and go forward. above the forward hatchway a bell is suspended. maybe the name of the schooner is engraved upon it. i examine it, but can find no name upon it. i then return to the stern and address the man at the wheel. he gazes at me sourly, shrugs his shoulders, and bending, grasps the spokes of the wheel solidly, and brings the schooner, which had been headed off by a large wave from port, stem on to sea again. seeing that nothing is to be got from that quarter, i turn away and look about to see if i can find thomas roch, but i do not perceive him anywhere. is he not on board? he must be. they could have had no reason for carrying me off alone. no one could have had any idea that i was simon hart, the engineer, and even had they known it what interest could they have had in me, and what could they expect of me? therefore, as roch is not on deck, i conclude that he is locked in one of the cabins, and trust he has met with better treatment than his ex-guardian. but what is this--and how on earth could i have failed to notice it before? how is this schooner moving? her sails are furled--there is not an inch of canvas set--the wind has fallen, and the few puffs that occasionally come from the east are unfavorable, in view of the fact that we are going in that very direction. and yet the schooner speeds through the sea, her bows down, throwing off clouds of foam, and leaving a long, milky, undulating trail in her wake. is she a steam-yacht? no--there is not a smokestack about her. is she propelled by electricity--by a battery of accumulators, or by piles of great power that work her screw and send her along at this rate? i can come to no other conclusion. in any case she must be fitted with a screw, and by leaning over the stern i shall be able to see it, and can find out what sets it working afterwards. the man at the wheel watches me ironically as i approach, but makes no effort to prevent me from looking over. i gaze long and earnestly, but there is no foaming and seething of the water such as is invariably caused by the revolutions of the screw--naught but the long white furrow that a sailing vessel leaves behind is discernible in the schooner's wake. then, what kind of a machine is it that imparts such a marvellous speed to the vessel? as i have already said, the wind is against her, and there is a heavy swell on. i must--i will know. no one pays the slightest attention, and i again go forward. as i approach the forecastle i find myself face to face with a man who is leaning nonchalantly on the raised hatchway and who is watching me. he seems to be waiting for me to speak to him. i recognize him instantly. he is the person who accompanied the count d'artigas during the latter's visit to healthful house. there can be no mistake--it is he right enough. it was, then, that rich foreigner who abducted thomas roch, and i am on board the _ebba_ his schooner-yacht which is so well known on the american coast! the man before me will enlighten me about what i want to know. i remember that he and the count spoke english together. i take him to be the captain of the schooner. "captain," i say, "you are the person i saw at healthful house. you remember me, of course?" he looks me up and down but does not condescend to reply. "i am warder gaydon, the attendant of thomas roch," i continue, "and i want to know why you have carried me off and placed me on board this schooner?" the captain interrupts me with a sign. it is not made to me, however, but to some sailors standing near. they catch me by the arms, and taking no notice of the angry movement that i cannot restrain, bundle me down the hatchway. the hatchway stair in reality, i remark, is a perpendicular iron ladder, at the bottom of which, to right and left, are some cabins, and forward, the men's quarters. are they going to put me back in my dark prison at the bottom of the hold? no. they turn to the left and push me into a cabin. it is lighted by a port-hole, which is open, and through which the fresh air comes in gusts from the briny. the furniture consists of a bunk, a chair, a chest of drawers, a wash-hand-stand and a table. the latter is spread for dinner, and i sit down. then the cook's mate comes in with two or three dishes. he is a colored lad, and as he is about to withdraw, i try to question him, but he, too, vouchsafes no reply. perhaps he doesn't understand me. the door is closed, and i fall to and eat with an excellent appetite, with the intention of putting off all further questioning till some future occasion when i shall stand a chance of getting answered. it is true i am a prisoner, but this time i am comfortable enough, and i hope i shall be permitted to occupy this cabin for the remainder of the voyage, and not be lowered into that black hole again. i now give myself up to my thoughts, the first of which is that it was the count d'artigas who planned the abduction; that it was he who is responsible for the kidnapping of thomas roch, and that consequently the french inventor must be just as comfortably installed somewhere on board the schooner. but who is this count d'artigas? where does he hail from? if he has seized thomas roch, is it not because he is determined to secure the secret of the fulgurator at no matter what cost? very likely, and i must therefore be careful not to betray my identity, for if they knew the truth, i should never be afforded a chance to get away. but what a lot of mysteries to clear up, how many inexplicable things to explain--the origin of this d'artigas, his intentions as to the future, whither we are bound, the port to which the schooner belongs, and this mysterious progress through the water without sails and without screws, at a speed of at least ten knots an hour! the air becoming keener as night deepens, i close and secure the port-hole, and as my cabin is bolted on the outside, the best thing i can do is to get into my bunk and let myself be gently rocked to sleep by the broad atlantic in this mysterious cradle, the _ebba_. the next morning i rise at daybreak, and having performed my ablutions, dress myself and wait. presently the idea of trying the door occurs to me. i find that it has been unbolted, and pushing it open, climb the iron ladder and emerge on deck. the crew are washing down the deck, and standing aft and conversing are two men, one of whom is the captain. the latter manifests no surprise at seeing me, and indicates my presence to his companion by a nod. this other man, whom i have never before seen, is an individual of about fifty years of age, whose dark hair is streaked with gray. his features are delicately chiselled, his eyes are bright, and his expression is intelligent and not at all displeasing. he is somewhat of the grecian type, and i have no doubt that he is of hellenic origin when i hear him called serko--engineer serko--by the captain of the _ebba_. as to the latter, he is called spade--captain spade--and this name has an italian twang about it. thus there is a greek, an italian, and a crew recruited from every corner of the earth to man a schooner with a norwegian name! this mixture strikes me as being suspicious. and that count d'artigas, with his spanish name and asiatic type, where does he come from? captain spade and engineer serko continue to converse in a low tone of voice. the former is keeping a sharp eye on the man at the wheel, who does not appear to pay any particular attention to the compass in front of him. he seems to pay more heed to the gestures of one of the sailors stationed forward, and who signals to him to put the helm to port or to starboard. thomas roch is near them, gazing vacantly out upon the vast expanse which is not limited on the horizon by a single speck of land. two sailors watch his every movement. it is evidently feared that the madman may possibly attempt to jump overboard. i wonder whether i shall be permitted to communicate with my ward. i walk towards him, and captain spade and engineer serko watch me. thomas roch doesn't see me coming, and i stand beside him. still he takes no notice of me, and makes no movement. his eyes, which sparkle brightly, wander over the ocean, and he draws in deep breaths of the salt, vivifying atmosphere. added to the air surcharged with oxygen is a magnificent sunset in a cloudless sky. does he perceive the change in his situation? has he already forgotten about healthful house, the pavilion in which he was a prisoner, and gaydon, his keeper? it is highly probable. the past has presumably been effaced from his memory and he lives solely in the present. in my opinion, even on the deck of the _ebba_, in the middle of the sea, thomas roch is still the helpless, irresponsible man whom i tended for fifteen months. his intellectual condition has undergone no change, and his reason will return only when he is spoken to about his inventions. the count d'artigas is perfectly aware of this mental disposition, having had a proof of it during his visit, and he evidently relies thereon to surprise sooner or later the inventor's secret. but with what object? "thomas roch!" i exclaim. my voice seems to strike him, and after gazing at me fixedly for an instant he averts his eyes quickly. i take his hand and press it. he withdraws it brusquely and walks away, without having recognized me, in the direction of captain spade and engineer serko. does he think of speaking to one or other of these men, and if they speak to him will he be more reasonable than he was with me, and reply to them? at this moment his physiognomy lights up with a gleam of intelligence. his attention, obviously, has been attracted by the queer progress of the schooner. he gazes at the masts and the furled sails. then he turns back and stops at the place where, if the _ebba_ were a steamer, the funnel ought to be, and which in this case ought to be belching forth a cloud of black smoke. what appeared so strange to me evidently strikes thomas roch as being strange, too. he cannot explain what i found inexplicable, and, as i did, he walks aft to see if there is a screw. on the flanks of the _ebba_ a shoal of porpoises are sporting. swift as is the schooner's course they easily pass her, leaping and gambolling in their native element with surprising grace and agility. thomas roch pays no attention to them, but leans over the stern. engineer serko and captain spade, fearful lest he should fall overboard, hurry to him and drag him gently, but firmly, away. i observe from long experience that roch is a prey to violent excitement. he turns about and gesticulates, uttering incoherent phrases the while. it is plain to me that another fit is coming on, similar to the one he had in the pavilion of healthful house on the night we were abducted. he will have to be seized and carried down to his cabin, and i shall perhaps be summoned to attend to him. meanwhile engineer serko and captain spade do not lose sight of him for a moment. they are evidently curious to see what he will do. after walking towards the mainmast and assuring himself that the sails are not set, he goes up to it and flinging his arms around it, tries with all his might to shake it, as though seeking to pull it down. finding his efforts futile, he quits it and goes to the foremast, where the same performance is gone through. he waxes more and more excited. his vague utterances are followed by inarticulate cries. suddenly he rushes to the port stays and clings to them, and i begin to fear that he will leap into the rigging and climb to the cross-tree, where he might be precipitated into the sea by a lurch of the ship. on a sign from captain spade, some sailors run up and try to make him relinquish his grasp of the stays, but are unable to do so. i know that during his fits he is endowed with the strength of ten men, and many a time i have been compelled to summon assistance in order to overpower him. other members of the crew, however, come up, and the unhappy madman is borne to the deck, where two big sailors hold him down, despite his extraordinary strength. the only thing to do is to convey him to his cabin, and let him lie there till he gets over his fit. this is what will be done in conformity with orders given by a new-comer whose voice seems familiar to me. i turn and recognize him. he is the count d'artigas, with a frown on his face and an imperious manner, just as i had seen him at healthful house. i at once advance toward him. i want an explanation and mean to have it. "by what right, sir?"--i begin. "by the right of might," replies the count. then he turns on his heel, and thomas roch is carried below. chapter vii. two days at sea. perhaps--should circumstances render it necessary--i may be induced to tell the count d'artigas that i am simon hart, the engineer. who knows but what i may receive more consideration than if i remain warder gaydon? this measure, however, demands reflection. i have always been dominated by the thought that if the owner of the _ebba_ kidnapped the french inventor, it was in the hope of getting possession of roch's fulgurator, for which, neither the old nor new continent would pay the impossible price demanded. in that case the best thing i can do is to remain warder gaydon, on the chance that i may be allowed to continue in attendance upon him. in this way, if thomas roch should ever divulge his secret, i may learn what it was impossible to do at healthful house, and can act accordingly. meanwhile, where is the _ebba_ bound?--first question. who and what is the count d'artigas?--second question. the first will be answered in a few days' time, no doubt, in view of the rapidity with which we are ripping through the water, under the action of a means of propulsion that i shall end by finding out all about. as regards the second, i am by no means so sure that my curiosity will ever be gratified. in my opinion this enigmatical personage has an all important reason for hiding his origin, and i am afraid there is no indication by which i can gauge his nationality. if the count d'artigas speaks english fluently--and i was able to assure myself of that fact during his visit to pavilion no. ,--he pronounces it with a harsh, vibrating accent, which is not to be found among the peoples of northern latitudes. i do not remember ever to have heard anything like it in the course of my travels either in the old or new world--unless it be the harshness characteristic of the idioms in use among the malays. and, in truth, with his olive, verging on copper-tinted skin, his jet-black, crinkly hair, his piercing, deep-set, restless eyes, his square shoulders and marked muscular development, it is by no means unlikely that he belongs to one of the extreme eastern races. i believe this name of d'artigas is an assumed one, and his title of count likewise. if his schooner bears a norwegian name, he at any rate is not of scandinavian origin. he has nothing of the races of northern europe about him. but whoever and whatever he may be, this man abducted thomas roch--and me with him--with no good intention, i'll be bound. but what i should like to know is, has he acted as the agent of a foreign power, or on his own account? does he wish to profit alone by thomas roch's invention, and is he in the position to dispose of it profitably? that is another question that i cannot yet answer. maybe i shall be able to find out from what i hear and see ere i make my escape, if escape be possible. the _ebba_ continues on her way in the same mysterious manner. i am free to walk about the deck, without, however, being able to go beyond the fore hatchway. once i attempted to go as far as the bows where i could, by leaning over, perceive the schooner's stem as it cut through the water, but acting, it was plain, on orders received, the watch on deck turned me back, and one of them, addressing me brusquely in harsh, grating english, said: "go back! go back! you are interfering with the working of the ship!" with the working of the ship! there was no working. did they realize that i was trying to discover by what means the schooner was propelled? very likely, and captain spade, who had looked on, must have known it, too. even a hospital attendant could not fail to be astonished at the fact that a vessel without either screw or sails was going along at such a speed. however this may be, for some reason or other, the bows of the _ebba_ are barred to me. toward ten o'clock a breeze springs up--a northwest wind and very favorable--and captain spade gives an order to the boatswain. the latter immediately pipes all hands on deck, and the mainsail, the foresail, staysail and jibs are hoisted. the work could not have been executed with greater regularity and discipline on board a man-of-war. the _ebba_ now has a slight list to port, and her speed is notably increased. but the motor continues to push her along, as is evident from the fact that the sails are not always as full as they ought to be if the schooner were bowling along solely under their action. however, they continue to render yeoman's service, for the breeze has set in steadily. the sky is clear, for the clouds in the west disappear as soon as they attain the horizon, and the sunlight dances on the water. my preoccupation now is to find out as near as possible where we are bound for. i am a good-enough sailor to be able to estimate the approximate speed of a ship. in my opinion the _ebba_ has been travelling at the rate of from ten to eleven knots an hour. as to the direction we have been going in, it is always the same, and i have been able to verify this by casual glances at the binnacle. if the fore part of the vessel is barred to warder gaydon he has been allowed a free run of the remainder of it. time and again i have glanced at the compass, and noticed that the needle invariably pointed to the east, or to be exact, east-southeast. these are the conditions in which we are navigating this part of the atlantic ocean, which is bounded on the west by the coast of the united states of america. i appeal to my memory. what are the islands or groups of islands to be found in the direction we are going, ere the continent of the old world is reached? north carolina, which the schooner quitted forty-eight hours ago, is traversed by the thirty-fifth parallel of latitude, and this parallel, extending eastward, must, if i mistake not, cut the african coast at morocco. but along the line, about three thousand miles from america, are the azores. is it presumable that the _ebba_ is heading for this archipelago, that the port to which she belongs is somewhere in these islands which constitute one of portugal's insular domains? i cannot admit such an hypothesis. besides, before the azores, on the line of the thirty-fifth parallel, is the bermuda group, which belongs to england. it seems to me to be a good deal less hypothetical that, if the count d'artigas was entrusted with the abduction of thomas roch by a european power at all, it was by the united kingdom of great britain and ireland. the possibility, however, remains that he may be acting solely in his own interest. three or four times during the day count d'artigas has come aft and remained for some time scanning the surrounding horizon attentively. when a sail or the smoke from a steamer heaves in sight he examines the passing vessel for a considerable time with a powerful telescope. i may add that he has not once condescended to notice my presence on deck. now and then captain spade joins him and both exchange a few words in a language that i can neither understand nor recognize. it is with engineer serko, however, that the owner of the _ebba_ converses more readily than with anybody else, and the latter appears to be very intimate with him. the engineer is a good deal more free, more loquacious and less surly than his companions, and i wonder what position he occupies on the schooner. is he a personal friend of the count d'artigas? does he scour the seas with him, sharing the enviable life enjoyed by the rich yachtsman? he is the only man of the lot who seems to manifest, if not sympathy with, at least some interest in me. i have not seen thomas roch all day. he must be shut in his cabin, still under the influence of the fit that came upon him last night. i feel certain that this is so, when about three o'clock in the afternoon, just as he is about to go below, the count beckons me to approach. i do not know what he wishes to say to me, this count d'artigas, but i do know what i will say to him. "do these fits to which thomas roch is subject last long?" he asks me in english. "sometimes forty-eight hours," i reply. "what is to be done?" "nothing at all. let him alone until he falls asleep. after a night's sleep the fit will be over and thomas roch will be his own helpless self again." "very well, warder gaydon, you will continue to attend him as you did at healthful house, if it be necessary." "to attend to him!" "yes--on board the schooner--pending our arrival." "where?" "where we shall be to-morrow afternoon," replies the count. to-morrow, i say to myself. then we are not bound for the coast of africa, nor even the azores. there only remains the hypothesis that we are making for the bermudas. count d'artigas is about to go down the hatchway when i interrogate him in my turn: "sir," i exclaim, "i desire to know, i have the right to know, where i am going, and----" "here, warder gaydon," he interrupted, "you have no rights. all you have to do is to answer when you are spoken to." "i protest!" "protest, then," replies this haughty and imperious personage, glancing at me menacingly. then he disappears down the hatchway, leaving me face to face with engineer serko. "if i were you, warder gaydon, i would resign myself to the inevitable," remarks the latter with a smile. "when one is caught in a trap----" "one can cry out, i suppose?" "what is the use when no one is near to hear you?" "i shall be heard some day, sir." "some day--that's a long way off. however, shout as much as you please." and with this ironical advice, engineer serko leaves me to my own reflections. towards four o'clock a big ship is reported about six miles off to the east, coming in our direction. she is moving rapidly and grows perceptibly larger. black clouds of smoke pour out of her two funnels. she is a warship, for a narrow pennant floats from her main-mast, and though she is not flying any flag i take her to be an american cruiser. i wonder whether the _ebba_ will render her the customary salute as she passes. no; for the schooner suddenly changes her course with the evident intention of avoiding her. this proceeding on the part of such a suspicious yacht does not astonish me greatly. but what does cause me extreme surprise is captain spade's way of manoeuvring. he runs forward to a signalling apparatus in the bows, similar to that by which orders are transmitted to the engine room of a steamer. as soon as he presses one of the buttons of this apparatus the _ebba_ veers off a point to the south-west. evidently an order of "some kind" has been transmitted to the driver of the machine of "some kind" which causes this inexplicable movement of the schooner by the action of a motor of "some kind" the principle of which i cannot guess at. the result of this manoeuvre is that the _ebba_ slants away from the cruiser, whose course does not vary. why should this warship cause a pleasure-yacht to turn out of its way? i have no idea. but the _ebba_ behaves in a very different manner when about six o'clock in the evening a second ship comes in sight on the port bow. this time, instead of seeking to avoid her, captain spade signals an order by means of the apparatus above referred to, and resumes his course to the east--which will bring him close to the said ship. an hour later, the two vessels are only about four miles from each other. the wind has dropped completely. the strange ship, which is a three-masted merchantman, is taking in her top-gallant sails. it is useless to expect the wind to spring up again during the night, and she will lay becalmed till morning. the _ebba_, however, propelled by her mysterious motor, continues to approach her. it goes without saying, that captain spade has also begun to take in sail, and the work, under the direction of the boatswain effrondat, is executed with the same precision and promptness that struck me before. when the twilight deepens into darkness, only a mile and a half separates the vessels. captain spade then comes up to me--i am standing on the starboard side--and unceremoniously orders me to go below. i can but obey. i remark, however, ere i go, that the boatswain has not lighted the head-lamps, whereas the lamps of the three-master shine brightly--green to starboard, and red to port. i entertain no doubt that the schooner intends to pass her without being seen; for though she has slackened speed somewhat, her direction has not been in any way modified. i enter my cabin under the impression of a vague foreboding. my supper is on the table, but uneasy, i know not why, i hardly touch it, and lie down to wait for sleep that does not come. i remain in this condition for two hours. the silence is unbroken save by the water that ripples along the vessel's sides. my mind is full of the events of the past two days, and other thoughts crowd thickly upon me. to-morrow afternoon we shall reach our destination. to-morrow, i shall resume, on land, my attendance upon thomas roch, "if it be necessary," said the count d'artigas. if, when i was thrown into that black hole at the bottom of the hold, i was able to perceive when the schooner started off across pamlico sound, i now feel that she has come to a stop. it must be about ten o'clock. why has she stopped? when captain spade ordered me below, there was no land in sight. in this direction, there is no island until the bermuda group is reached--at least there is none on the map--and we shall have to go another fifty or sixty miles before the bermudas can be sighted by the lookout men. not only has the _ebba_ stopped, but her immobility is almost complete. there is not a breath of wind, and scarcely any swell, and her slight, regular rocking is hardly perceptible. then my thoughts turn to the merchantman, which was only a mile and a half off, on our bow, when i came below. if the schooner continued her course towards her, she must be almost alongside now. we certainly cannot be lying more than one or two cables' length from her. the three-master, which was becalmed at sundown, could not have gone west. she must be close by, and if the night is clear, i shall be able to see her through the porthole. it occurs to me, that perhaps a chance of escape presents itself. why should i not attempt it, since no hope of being restored to liberty is held out to me? it is true i cannot swim, but if i seize a life buoy and jump overboard, i may be able to reach the ship, if i am not observed by the watch on deck. i must quit my cabin and go up by the forward hatchway. i listen. i hear no noise, either in the men's quarters, or on deck. the sailors must all be asleep at this hour. here goes. i try to open the door, and find it is bolted on the outside, as i might have expected. i must give up the attempt, which, after all, had small chance of success. the best thing i can do, is to go to sleep, for i am weary of mind, if not of body. i am restless and racked by conflicting thoughts, and apprehensions of i know not what. oh! if i could but sink into the blessed oblivion of slumber! i must have managed to fall asleep, for i have just been awakened by a noise--an unusual noise, such as i have not hitherto heard on board the schooner. day begins to peer through the glass of my port-hole, which is turned towards the east. i look at my watch. it is half-past four. the first thing i wonder is, whether the _ebba_ has resumed her voyage. no, i am certain she has not, either by sail, or by her motor. the sea is as calm at sunrise as it was at sunset. if the _ebba_ has been going ahead while i slept, she is at any rate, stationary now. the noise to which i referred, is caused by men hurrying to and fro on deck--by men heavily laden. i fancy i can also hear a similar noise in the hold beneath my cabin floor, the entrance to which is situated abaft the foremast. i also feel that something is scraping against the schooner's hull. have boats come alongside? are the crew engaged in loading or unloading merchandise? and yet we cannot possibly have reached our journey's end. the count d'artigas said that we should not reach our destination till this afternoon. now, i repeat, she was, last night, fully fifty or sixty miles from the nearest land, the group of the bermudas. that she could have returned westward, and can be in proximity to the american coast, is inadmissible, in view of the distance. moreover, i have reason to believe that the _ebba_ has remained stationary all night. before i fell asleep, i know she had stopped, and i now know that she is not moving. however, i shall see when i am allowed to go on deck. my cabin door is still bolted, i find on trying it; but i do not think they are likely to keep me here when broad daylight is on. an hour goes by, and it gradually gets lighter. i look out of my porthole. the ocean is covered by a mist, which the first rays of the sun will speedily disperse. i can, however, see for a half a mile, and if the three-masted merchantman is not visible, it is probably because she is lying off the other, or port, side of the _ebba_. presently i hear a key turned in my door, and the bolts drawn. i push the door open and clamber up the iron ladder to the deck, just as the men are battening down the cover of the hold. i look for the count d'artigas, but do not see him. he has not yet left his cabin. aft, captain spade and engineer serko are superintending the stowing of some bales, which have doubtless been hoisted from the hold. this explains the noisy operations that were going on when i was awakened. obviously, if the crew are getting out the cargo, we are approaching the end of our voyage. we are not far from port, and perhaps in a few hours, the schooner will drop anchor. but what about the sailing ship that was to port of us? she ought to be in the same place, seeing that there has been and is no wind. i look for her, but she is nowhere to be seen. there is not a sail, not a speck on the horizon either east, west, north or south. after cogitating upon the circumstance i can only arrive at the following conclusion, which, however, can only be accepted under reserve: although i did not notice it, the _ebba_ resumed her voyage while i slept, leaving the three-master becalmed behind her, and this is why the merchantman is no longer visible. i am careful not to question captain spade about it, nor even engineer serko, as i should certainly receive no answer. besides, at this moment captain spade goes to the signalling apparatus and presses one of the buttons on the upper disk. almost immediately the _ebba_ gives a jerk, then with her sails still furled, she starts off eastward again. two hours later the count d'artigas comes up through the main hatchway and takes his customary place aft. serko and captain spade at once approach and engage in conversation with him. all three raise their telescopes and sweep the horizon from southeast to northeast. no one will be surprised to learn that i gaze intently in the same direction; but having no telescope i cannot distinguish anything. the midday meal over we all return on deck--all with the exception of thomas roch, who has not quitted his cabin. towards one o'clock land is sighted by the lookout man on the foretop cross-tree. inasmuch as the _ebba_ is bowling along at great speed i shall soon be able to make out the coast line. in effect, two hours later a vague semicircular line that curves outward is discernible about eight miles off. as the schooner approaches it becomes more distinct. it is a mountain, or at all events very high ground, and from its summit a cloud of smoke ascends. what! a volcano in these parts? it must then be---- chapter viii. back cup. in my opinion the _ebba_ could have struck no other group of islands but the bermudas in this part of the atlantic. this is clear from the distance covered from the american coast and the direction sailed in since we issued from pamlico sound. this direction has constantly been south-southeast, and the distance, judging from the _ebba's_ rate of speed, which has scarcely varied, is approximately seven hundred and fifty miles. still, the schooner does not slacken speed. the count d'artigas and engineer serko remain aft, by the man at the wheel. captain spade has gone forward. are we not going to leave this island, which appears to be isolated, to the west? it does not seem likely, since it is still broad daylight, and the hour at which the _ebba_ was timed to arrive. all the sailors are drawn up on deck, awaiting orders, and boatswain effrondat is making preparations to anchor. ere a couple of hours have passed i shall know all about it. it will be the first answer to one of the many questions that have perplexed me since the schooner put to sea. and yet it is most unlikely that the port to which the _ebba_ belongs is situated on one of the bermuda islands, in the middle of an english archipelago--unless the count d'artigas has kidnapped thomas roch for the british government, which i cannot believe. i become aware that this extraordinary man is gazing at me with singular persistence. although he can have no suspicion that i am simon hart, the engineer, he must be asking himself what i think of this adventure. if warder gaydon is but a poor devil, this poor devil will manifest as much unconcern as to what is in store for him as any gentleman could--even though he were the proprietor of this queer pleasure yacht. still i am a little uneasy under his gaze. i dare say that if the count d'artigas could guess how certain things have suddenly become clear to me, he would not hesitate to have me thrown overboard. prudence therefore commands me to be more circumspect than ever. without giving rise to any suspicion--even in the mind of engineer serko--i have succeeded in raising a corner of the mysterious veil, and i begin to see ahead a bit. as the _ebba_ draws nearer, the island, or rather islet, towards which she is speeding shows more sharply against the blue background of the sky. the sun which has passed the zenith, shines full upon the western side. the islet is isolated, or at any rate i cannot see any others of the group to which it belongs, either to north or south. this islet, of curious contexture, resembles as near as possible a cup turned upside down, from which a fuliginous vapor arises. its summit--the bottom of the cup, if you like--is about three hundred feet above the level of the sea, and its flanks, which are steep and regular, are as bare as the sea-washed rocks at its base. there is another peculiarity about it which must render the islet easily recognizable by mariners approaching it from the west, and this is a rock which forms a natural arch at the base of the mountain--the handle of the cup, so to speak--and through which the waves wash as freely as the sunshine passes. seen this way the islet fully justifies the name of back cup given to it. well, i know and recognize this islet! it is situated at the extremity of the archipelago of the bermudas. it is the "reversed cup" that i had occasion to visit a few years ago--no, i am not mistaken. i then climbed over the calcareous and crooked rocks at its base on the east side. yes, it is back cup, sure enough! had i been less self-possessed i might have uttered an exclamation of surprise--and satisfaction--which, with good reason, would have excited the attention and suspicion of the count d'artigas. these are the circumstances under which i came to explore back cup while on a visit to bermuda. this archipelago, which is situated about seven hundred and fifty miles from north carolina is composed of several hundred islands or islets. its centre is crossed by the sixty-fourth meridian and the thirty-second parallel. since the englishman lomer was shipwrecked and cast up there in , the bermudas have belonged to the united kingdom, and in consequence the colonial population has increased to ten thousand inhabitants. it was not for its productions of cotton, coffee, indigo, and arrowroot that england annexed the group--seized it, one might say; but because it formed a splendid maritime station in that part of the ocean, and in proximity to the united states of america. possession was taken of it without any protest on the part of other powers, and bermuda is now administered by a british governor with the addition of a council and a general assembly. the principal islands of the archipelago are called st. david, somerset, hamilton, and st. george. the latter has a free port, and the town of the same name is also the capital of the group. the largest of these isles is not more than seventeen miles long and five wide. leaving out the medium-sized ones, there remains but an agglomeration of islets and reefs scattered over an area of twelve square leagues. although the climate of bermuda is very healthy, very salubrious, the isles are nevertheless frightfully beaten by the heavy winter tempests of the atlantic, and their approach by navigators presents certain difficulties. what the archipelago especially lacks are rivers and rios. however, as abundant rains fall frequently, this drawback is got over by the inhabitants, who treasure up the heaven-sent water for household and agricultural purposes. this has necessitated the construction of vast cisterns which the downfalls keep filled. these works of engineering skill justly merit the admiration they receive and do honor to the genius of man. it was in connection with the setting up of these cisterns that i made the trip, as well as out of curiosity to inspect the fine works. i obtained from the company of which i was the engineer in new jersey a vacation of several weeks, and embarked at new york for the bermudas. while i was staying on hamilton island, in the vast port of southampton, an event occurred of great interest to geologists. one day a whole flotilla of fishers, men, women and children, entered southampton harbor. for fifty years these families had lived on the east coast of back cup, where they had erected log-cabins and houses of stone. their position for carrying on their industry was an exceptionally favorable one, for the waters teem with fish all the year round, and in march and april whales abound. nothing had hitherto occurred to disturb their tranquil existence. they were quite contented with their rough lot, which was rendered less onerous by the facility of communication with hamilton and st. george. their solid barks took cargoes of fish there, which they exchanged for the necessities of life. why had they thus abandoned the islet with the intention, as it pretty soon appeared, of never returning to it? the reason turned out to be that they no longer considered themselves in safety there. a couple of months previously they had been at first surprised, then alarmed, by several distinct detonations that appeared to have taken place in the interior of the mountain. at the same time smoke and flames issued from the summit--or the bottom of the reversed cup, if you like. now no one had ever suspected that the islet was of volcanic origin, or that there was a crater at the top, no one having been able to climb its sides. now, however, there could be no possible doubt that the mountain was an ancient volcano that had suddenly become active again and threatened the village with destruction. during the ensuing two months internal rumblings and explosions continued to be heard, which were accompanied by bursts of flame from the top--especially at night. the island was shaken by the explosions--the shocks could be distinctly felt. all these phenomena were indicative of an imminent eruption, and there was no spot at the base of the mountain that could afford any protection from the rivers of lava that would inevitably pour down its smooth, steep slopes and overwhelm the village in their boiling flood. besides, the very mountain might be destroyed in the eruption. there was nothing for the population exposed to such a dire catastrophe to do but leave. this they did. their humble lares and penates, in fact all their belongings, were loaded into the fishing-smacks, and the entire colony sought refuge in southhampton harbor. the news that a volcano, that had presumably been smouldering for centuries at the western extremity of the group, showed signs of breaking out again, caused a sensation throughout the bermudas. but while some were terrified, the curiosity of others was aroused, mine included. the phenomenon was worth investigation, even if the simple fisher-folk had exaggerated. back cup, which, as already stated, lies at the western extremity of the archipelago, is connected therewith by a chain of small islets and reefs, which cannot be approached from the east. being only three hundred feet in altitude, it cannot be seen either from st. george or hamilton. i joined a party of explorers and we embarked in a cutter that landed us on the island, and made our way to the abandoned village of the bermudan fishers. the internal crackings and detonations could be plainly heard, and a sheaf of smoke was swayed by the wind at the summit. beyond a peradventure the ancient volcano had been started again by the subterranean fire, and an eruption at any moment was to be apprehended. in vain we attempted to climb to the mouth of the crater. the mountain sheered down at an angle of from seventy-five to eighty degrees, and its smooth, slippery sides afforded absolutely no foothold. anything more barren than this rocky freak of nature it would be difficult to conceive. only a few tufts of wild herbs were to be seen upon the whole island, and these seemed to have no _raison d'être_. our explorations were therefore necessarily limited, and in view of the active symptoms of danger that manifested themselves, we could but approve the action of the villagers in abandoning the place; for we entertained no doubt that its destruction was imminent. these were the circumstances in which i was led to visit back cup, and no one will consequently be surprised at the fact that i recognized it immediately we hove in sight of the queer structure. no, i repeat, the count d'artigas would probably not be overpleased if he were aware that warder gaydon is perfectly acquainted with this islet, even if the _ebba_ was to anchor there--which, as there is no port, is, to say the least, extremely improbable. as we draw nearer, i attentively examine back cup. not one of its former inhabitants has been induced to return, and, as it is absolutely deserted, i cannot imagine why the schooner should visit the place. perhaps, however, the count d'artigas and his companions have no intention of landing there. even though the _ebba_ should find temporary shelter between the rocky sides of a narrow creek there is nothing to give ground to the supposition that a wealthy yachtsman would have the remotest idea of fixing upon as his residence an arid cone exposed to all the terrible tempests of the western atlantic. to live here is all very well for rustic fishermen, but not for the count d'artigas, engineer serko, captain spade and his crew. back cup is now only half a mile off, and the seaweed thrown up on its rocky base is plainly discernible. the only living things upon it are the sea-gulls and other birds that circle in clouds around the smoking crater. when she is only two cable's lengths off, the schooner slackens speed, and then stops at the entrance of a sort of natural canal formed by a couple of reefs that barely rise above the water. i wonder whether the _ebba_ will venture to try the dangerous feat of passing through it. i do not think so. she will probably lay where she is--though why she should do so i do not know--for a few hours, and then continue her voyage towards the east. however this may be i see no preparations in progress for dropping anchor. the anchors are suspended in their usual places, the cables have not been cleared, and no motion has been made to lower a single boat. at this moment count d'artigas, engineer serko and captain spade go forward and perform some manoeuvre that is inexplicable to me. i walk along the port side of the deck until i am near the foremast, and then i can see a small buoy that the sailors are hoisting in. almost immediately the water, at the same spot becomes dark and i observe a black mass rising to the surface. is it a big whale rising for air, and is the _ebba_ in danger of being shattered by a blow from the monster's tail? now i understand! at last the mystery is solved. i know what was the motor that caused the schooner to go at such an extraordinary speed without sails and without a screw. her indefatigable motor is emerging from the sea, after having towed her from the coast of america to the archipelago of the bermudas. there it is, floating alongside--a submersible boat, a submarine tug, worked by a screw set in motion by the current from a battery of accumulators or powerful electric piles. on the upper part of the long cigar-shaped iron tug is a platform in the middle of which is the "lid" by which an entrance is effected. in the fore part of the platform projects a periscope, or lookout, formed by port-holes or lenses through which an electric searchlight can throw its gleam for some distance under water in front of and on each side of the tug. now relieved of its ballast of water the boat has risen to the surface. its lid will open and fresh air will penetrate it to every part. in all probability, if it remained submerged during the day it rose at night and towed the _ebba_ on the surface. but if the mechanical power of the tug is produced by electricity the latter must be furnished by some manufactory where it is stored, and the means of procuring the batteries is not to be found on back cup, i suppose. and then, why does the _ebba_ have recourse to this submarine towing system? why is she not provided with her own means of propulsion, like other pleasure-boats? these are things, however, upon which i have at present no leisure to ruminate. the lid of the tug opens and several men issue on to the platform. they are the crew of this submarine boat, and captain spade has been able to communicate with them and transmit his orders as to the direction to be taken by means of electric signals connected with the tug by a wire that passes along the stem of the schooner. engineer serko approaches me and says, pointing to the boat: "get in." "get in!" i exclaim. "yes, in the tug, and look sharp about it." as usual there is nothing for it but to obey. i hasten to comply with the order and clamber over the side. at the same time thomas roch appears on deck accompanied by one of the crew. he appears to be very calm, and very indifferent too, and makes no resistance when he is lifted over and lowered into the tug. when he has been taken in, count d'artigas and engineer serko follow. captain spade and the crew of the _ebba_ remain behind, with the exception of four men who man the dinghy, which has been lowered. they have hold of a long hawser, with which the schooner is probably to be towed through the reef. is there then a creek in the middle of the rocks where the vessel is secure from the breakers? is this the port to which she belongs? they row off with the hawser and make the end fast to a ring in the reef. then the crew on board haul on it and in five minutes the schooner is so completely lost to sight among the rocks that even the tip of her mast could not be seen from the sea. who in bermuda imagines that a vessel is accustomed to lay up in this secret creek? who in america would have any idea that the rich yachtsman so well known in all the eastern ports abides in the solitude of back cup mountain? twenty minutes later the dinghy returns with the four men towards the tug which was evidently waiting for them before proceeding--where? they climb on board, the little boat is made fast astern, a movement is felt, the screw revolves rapidly and the tug skims along the surface to back cup, skirting the reefs to the south. three cable's lengths further on, another tortuous canal is seen that leads to the island. into this the tug enters. when it gets close inshore, an order is given to two men who jump out and haul the dinghy up on a narrow sandy beach out of the reach of wave or weed, and where it will be easily get-at-able when wanted. this done the sailors return to the tug and engineer serko signs to me to go below. a short iron ladder leads into a central cabin where various bales and packages are stored, and for which no doubt there was not room in the hold of the schooner. i am pushed into a side cabin, the door is shut upon me, and here i am once more a prisoner in profound darkness. i recognize the cabin the moment i enter it. it is the place in which i spent so many long hours after our abduction from healthful house, and in which i was confined until well out at sea off pamlico sound. it is evident that thomas roch has been placed in a similar compartment. a loud noise is heard, the banging of the lid as it closes, and the tug begins to sink as the water is admitted to the tanks. this movement is succeeded by another--a movement that impels the boat through the water. three minutes later it stops, and i feel that we are rising to the surface again. another noise made by the lid being raised. the door of my cabin opens, and i rush out and clamber on to the platform. i look around and find that the tug has penetrated to the interior of back cup mountain. this is the mysterious retreat where count d'artigas lives with his companions--out of the world, so to speak. chapter ix. inside back cup. the next morning i am able to make a first inspection of the vast cavern of back cup. no one seeks to prevent me. what a night i have passed! what strange visions i have seen! with what impatience i waited for morning! i was conducted to a grotto about a hundred paces from the edge of the lake where the tug stopped. the grotto, twelve feet by ten, was lighted by an incandescent lamp, and fitted with an entrance door that was closed upon me. i am not surprised that electricity is employed in lighting the interior of the cavern, as it is also used in the submarine boat. but where is it generated? where does it come from? is there a manufactory installed somewhere or other in this vast crypt, with machinery, dynamos and accumulators? my cell is neatly furnished with a table on which provisions are spread, a bunk with bedding, a basket chair, a wash-hand-stand with toilet set, and a closet containing linen and various suits of clothes. in a drawer of the table i find paper, ink and pens. my dinner consists of fresh fish, preserved meat, bread of excellent quality, ale and whisky; but i am so excited that i scarcely touch it. yet i feel that i ought to fortify myself and recover my calmness of mind. i must and will solve the mystery surrounding the handful of men who burrow in the bowels of this island. so it is under the carapace of back cup that count d'artigas has established himself! this cavity, the existence of which is not even suspected, is his home when he is not sailing in the _ebba_ along the coasts of the new world or the old. this is the unknown retreat he has discovered, to which access is obtained by a submarine passage twelve or fifteen feet below the surface of the ocean. why has he severed himself from the world? what has been his past? if, as i suspect, this name of d'artigas and this title of count are assumed, what motive has he for hiding his identity? has he been banished, is he an outcast of society that he should have selected this place above all others? am i not in the power of an evildoer anxious to ensure impunity for his crimes and to defy the law by seeking refuge in this undiscoverable burrow? i have the right of supposing anything in the case of this suspicious foreigner, and i exercise it. then the question to which i have never been able to suggest a satisfactory answer once more surges into my mind. why was thomas roch abducted from healthful house in the manner already fully described? does the count d'artigas hope to force from him the secret of his fulgurator with a view to utilizing it for the defence of back cup in case his retreat should by chance be discovered? hardly. it would be easy enough to starve the gang out of back cup, by preventing the tug from supplying them with provisions. on the other hand, the schooner could never break through the investing lines, and if she did her description would be known in every port. in this event, of what possible use would thomas roch's invention be to the count d'artigas decidedly, i cannot understand it! about seven o'clock in the morning i jump out of bed. if i am a prisoner in the cavern i am at least not imprisoned in my grotto cell. the door yields when i turn the handle and push against it, and i walk out. thirty yards in front of me is a rocky plane, forming a sort of quay that extends to right and left. several sailors of the _ebba_ are engaged in landing bales and stores from the interior of the tug, which lays alongside a little stone jetty. a dim light to which my eyes soon grow accustomed envelops the cavern and comes from a hole in the centre of the roof, through which the blue sky can be seen. "it is from that hole that the smoke which can be seen for such a distance issues," i say to myself, and this discovery suggests a whole series of reflections. back cup, then, is not a volcano, as was supposed--as i supposed myself. the flames that were seen a few years ago, and the columns of smoke that still rise were and are produced artificially. the detonations and rumblings that so alarmed the bermudan fishers were not caused by the internal workings of nature. these various phenomena were fictitious. they manifested themselves at the mere will of the owner of the island, who wanted to scare away the inhabitants who resided on the coast. he succeeded, this count d'artigas, and remains the sole and undisputed monarch of the mountain. by exploding gunpowder, and burning seaweed swept up in inexhaustible quantities by the ocean, he has been able to simulate a volcano upon the point of eruption and effectually scare would-be settlers away! the light becomes stronger as the sun rises higher, the daylight streams through the fictitious crater, and i shall soon be able to estimate the cavern's dimensions. this is how i calculate: exteriorly the island of back cup, which is as nearly as possible circular, measures two hundred and fifty yards in circumference, and presents an interior superficies of about six acres. the sides of the mountain at its base vary in thickness from thirty to a hundred yards. it therefore follows that this excavation practically occupies the whole of that part of back cup island which appears above water. as to the length of the submarine tunnel by which communication is obtained with the outside, and through which the tug passed, i estimate that it is fifty yards in length. the size of the cavern can be judged from these approximate figures. but vast as it is, i remember that there are caverns of larger dimensions both in the old and new worlds. for instance in carniole, northumberland, derbyshire, piedmont, the balearics, hungary and california are larger grottoes than back cup, and those at han-sur-lesse in belgium, and the mammoth caves in kentucky, are also more extensive. the latter contain no fewer than two hundred and twenty-six domes, seven rivers, eight cataracts, thirty two wells of unknown depth, and an immense lake which extends over six or seven leagues, the limit of which has never been reached by explorers. i know these kentucky grottoes, having visited them, as many thousands of tourists have done. the principal one will serve as a comparison to back cup. the roof of the former, like that of the latter, is supported by pillars of various lengths, which give it the appearance of a gothic cathedral, with naves and aisles, though it lacks the architectural regularity of a religious edifice. the only difference is that whereas the roof of the kentucky grotto is over four hundred feet high, that of back cup is not above two hundred and twenty at that part of it where the round hole through which issue the smoke and flames is situated. another peculiarity, and a very important one, that requires to be pointed out, is that whereas the majority of the grottoes referred to are easily accessible, and were therefore bound to be discovered some time or other, the same remark does not apply to back cup. although it is marked on the map as an island forming part of the bermuda group, how could any one imagine that it is hollow, that its rocky sides are only the walls of an enormous cavern? in order to make such a discovery it would be necessary to get inside, and to get inside a submarine apparatus similar to that of the count d'artigas would be necessary. in my opinion this strange yachtsman's discovery of the tunnel by which he has been able to found this disquieting colony of back cup must have been due to pure chance. now i turn my attention to the lake and observe that it is a very small one, measuring not more than four hundred yards in circumference. it is, properly speaking, a lagoon, the rocky sides of which are perpendicular. it is large enough for the tug to work about in it, and holds enough water too, for it must be one hundred and twenty-five feet deep. it goes without saying that this crypt, given its position and structure, belongs to the category of those which are due to the encroachments of the sea. it is at once of neptunian and plutonian origin, like the grottoes of crozon and morgate in the bay of douarnenez in france, of bonifacio on the corsican coast, thorgatten in norway, the height of which is estimated at over three hundred feet, the catavaults of greece, the grottoes of gibraltar in spain, and tourana in cochin china, whose carapace indicates that they are all the product of this dual geological labor. the islet of back cup is in great part formed of calcareous rocks, which slope upwards gently from the lagoon towards the sides and are separated from each other by narrow beaches of fine sand. thick layers of seaweed that have been swept through the tunnel by the tide and thrown up around the lake have been piled into heaps, some of which are dry and some still wet, but all of which exhale the strong odor of the briny ocean. this, however, is not the only combustible employed by the inhabitants of back cup, for i see an enormous store of coal that must have been brought by the schooner and the tug. but it is the incineration of masses of dried seaweed that causes the smoke vomited forth by the crater of the mountain. continuing my walk i perceive on the northern side of the lagoon the habitations of this colony of troglodytes--do they not merit the appellation? this part of the cavern, which is known as the beehive, fully justifies its name, for it is honeycombed by cells excavated in the limestone rock and in which these human bees--or perhaps they should rather be called wasps--reside. the lay of the cavern to the east is very different. here hundreds of pillars of all shapes rise to the dome, and form a veritable forest of stone trees through the sinuous avenues of which one can thread one's way to the extreme limit of the place. by counting the cells of the beehive i calculate that count d'artigas' companions number from eighty to one hundred. as my eye wanders over the place i notice that the count is standing in front of one of the cells, which is isolated from the others, and talking to engineer serko and captain spade. after a while they stroll down to the jetty alongside which the tug is lying. a dozen men have been emptying the merchandise out of the tug and transporting the goods in boats to the other side, where great cellars have been excavated in the rocks and form the storehouses of the band. the orifice of the tunnel is not visible in the waters of the lagoon, and i remember that when i was brought here i felt the tug sink several feet before it entered. in this respect therefore back cup does not resemble either the grottoes of staffa or morgate, entrance to which is always open, even at high tide. there may be another passage communicating with the coast, either natural or artificial, and this i shall have to make my business to find out. the island well merits its name of back cup. it is indeed a gigantic cup turned upside down, not only to outward appearance, but inwardly, too, though people are ignorant of the fact. i have already remarked that the beehive is situated to the north of the lagoon, that is to say to the left on entering by the tunnel. on the opposite side are the storerooms filled with provisions of all kinds, bales of merchandise, barrels of wine, beer, and spirits and various packets bearing different marks and labels that show that they came from all parts of the world. one would think that the cargoes of a score of ships had been landed here. a little farther on is a large wooden shed the nature of which is easily distinguishable. from a pole above it a network of thick copper wires extends which conducts the current to the powerful electric lights suspended from the roof or dome, and to the incandescent lamps in each of the cells of the hive. a large number of lamps are also installed among the stone pillars and light up the avenues to their extremities. "shall i be permitted to roam about wherever i please?" i ask myself. i hope so. i cannot for the life of me see why the count d'artigas should prohibit me from doing so, for i cannot get farther than the surrounding walls of his mysterious domain. i question whether there is any other issue than the tunnel, and how on earth could i get through that? besides, admitting that i am able to get through it, i cannot get off the island. my disappearance would be soon noticed, and the tug would take out a dozen men who would explore every nook and cranny. i should inevitably be recaptured, brought back to the beehive, and deprived of my liberty for good. i must therefore give up all idea of making my escape, unless i can see that it has some chance of being successful, and if ever an opportunity does present itself i shall not be slow to take advantage of it. on strolling round by the rows of cells i am able to observe a few of these companions of the count d'artigas who are content to pass their monotonous existence in the depths of back cup. as i said before, calculating from the number of cells in the beehive, there must be between eighty and a hundred of them. they pay no attention whatever to me as i pass, and on examining them closely it seems to me that they must have been recruited from every country. i do not distinguish any community of origin among them, not even a similarity by which they might be classed as north americans, europeans or asiatics. the color of their skin shades from white to yellow and black--the black peculiar to australia rather than to africa. to sum up, they appear for the most part to pertain to the malay races. i may add that the count d'artigas certainly belongs to that particular race which peoples the dutch isles in the west pacific, while engineer serko must be levantine and captain spade of italian origin. but if the inhabitants of back cup are not bound to each other by ties of race, they certainly are by instinct and inclination. what forbidding, savage-looking faces they have, to be sure! they are men of violent character who have probably never placed any restraint upon their passions, nor hesitated at anything, and it occurs to me that in all likelihood they have sought refuge in this cavern, where they fancy they can continue to defy the law with impunity, after a long series of crimes--robbery, murder, arson, and excesses of all descriptions committed together. in this case back cup is nothing but a lair of pirates, the count d'artigas is the leader of the band and serko and spade are his lieutenants. i cannot get this idea out of my head, and the more i consider the more convinced i am that i am right, especially as everything i see during my stroll about the cavern seems to confirm my opinion. however this may be, and whatever may be the circumstances that have brought them together in this place, count d'artigas' companions appear to accept his all-powerful domination without question. on the other hand, if he keeps them under his iron heel by enforcing the severest discipline, certain advantages, some compensation, must accrue from the servitude to which they bow. what can this compensation be? having turned that part of the bank under which the tunnel passes, i find myself on the opposite side of the lagoon, where are situated the storerooms containing the merchandise brought by the _ebba_ on each trip, and which contain a great quantity of bales. beyond is the manufactory of electric energy. i gaze in at the windows as i pass and notice that it contains machines of the latest invention and highest attained perfection, which take up little space. not one steam engine, with its more or less complicated mechanism and need of fuel, is to be seen in the place. as i had surmised, piles of extraordinary power supply the current to the lamps in the cavern, as well as to the dynamos of the tug. no doubt the current is also utilized for domestic purposes, such as warming the beehive and cooking food, i can see that in a neighboring cavity it is applied to the alembics used to produce fresh water. at any rate the colonists of back cup are not reduced to catching the rain water that falls so abundantly upon the exterior of the mountain. a few paces from the electric power house is a large cistern that, save in the matter of proportions, is the counterpart of those i visited in bermuda. in the latter place the cisterns have to supply the needs of over ten thousand people, this one of a hundred--what? i am not sure yet what to call them. that their chief had serious reasons for choosing the bowels of this island for his abiding place is obvious. but what were those reasons? i can understand monks shutting themselves behind their monastery walls with the intention of separating themselves from the world, but these subjects of the count d'artigas have nothing of the monk about them, and would not be mistaken for such by the most simple-minded of mortals. i continue my way through the pillars to the extremity of the cavern. no one has sought to stop me, no one has spoken to me, not a soul apparently has taken the very slightest notice of me. this portion of back cup is extremely curious, and comparable to the most marvellous of the grottoes of kentucky or the balearics. i need hardly say that nowhere is the labor of man apparent. all this is the handiwork of nature, and it is not without wonder, mingled with awe, that i reflect upon the telluric forces capable of engendering such prodigious substructions. the daylight from the crater in the centre only strikes this part of the cavern obliquely, so that it is very imperfectly lighted, but at night, when illuminated by the electric lamps, its aspect must be positively fantastic. i have examined the walls everywhere with minute attention, but have been unable to discover any means of communicating with the outside. quite a colony of birds--gulls, sea-swallows and other feathery denizens of the bermudan beaches have made their home in the cavern. they have apparently never been hunted, for they are in no way disturbed by the presence of man. but besides sea-birds, which are free to come and go as they please by the orifice in the dome, there is a whole farmyard of domestic poultry, and cows and pigs. the food supply is therefore no less assured than it is varied, when the fish of all kinds that abound in the lagoon and around the island are taken into consideration. moreover, a mere glance at the colonists of back cup amply suffices to show that they are not accustomed to fare scantily. they are all vigorous, robust seafaring men, weatherbeaten and seasoned in the burning beat of tropical latitudes, whose rich blood is surcharged with oxygen by the breezes of the ocean. there is not a youth nor an old man among them. they are all in their prime, their ages ranging from thirty to fifty. but why do they submit to such an existence? do they never leave their rocky retreat? perhaps i shall find out ere i am much older. chapter x. ker karraje. the cell in which i reside is about a hundred paces from the habitation of the count d'artigas, which is one of the end ones of this row of the beehive. if i am not to share it with thomas roch, i presume the latter's cell is not far off, for in order that warder gaydon may continue to care for the ex-patient of healthful house, their respective apartments will have to be contiguous. however, i suppose i shall soon be enlightened on this point. captain spade and engineer serko reside separately in proximity to d'artigas' mansion. mansion? yes, why not dignify it with the title since this habitation has been arranged with a certain art? skillful hands have carved an ornamental façade in the rock. a large door affords access to it. colored glass windows in wooden frames let into the limestone walls admit the light. the interior comprises several chambers, a dining-room and a drawing-room lighted by a stained-glass window, the whole being perfectly ventilated. the furniture is of various styles and shapes and of french, english and american make. the kitchen, larder, etc., are in adjoining cells in rear of the beehive. in the afternoon, just as i issue from my cell with the firm intention of "obtaining an audience" of the count d'artigas, i catch sight of him coming along the shore of the lagoon towards the hive. either he does not see me, or wishes to avoid me, for he quickens his steps and i am unable to catch him. "well, he will have to receive me, anyhow!" i mutter to myself. i hurry up to the door through which he has just disappeared and which has closed behind him. it is guarded by a gigantic, dark-skinned malay, who orders me away in no amiable tone of voice. i decline to comply with his injunction, and repeat to him twice the following request in my very best english: "tell the count d'artigas that i desire to be received immediately." i might just as well have addressed myself to the surrounding rock. this savage, no doubt, does not understand a word of english, for he scowls at me and orders me away again with a menacing cry. i have a good mind to attempt to force the door and shout so that the count d'artigas cannot fail to hear me, but in all probability i shall only succeed in rousing the wrath of the malay, who appears to be endowed with herculean strength. i therefore judge discretion to be the better part of valor, and put off the explanation that is owing to me--and which, sooner or later, i will have--to a more propitious occasion. i meander off in front of the beehive towards the east, and my thoughts revert to thomas roch. i am surprised that i have not seen him yet. can he be in the throes of a fresh paroxysm? this hypothesis is hardly admissible, for if the count d'artigas is to be believed, he would in this event have summoned me to attend to the inventor. a little farther on i encounter engineer serko. with his inviting manner and usual good-humor this ironical individual smiles when he perceives me, and does not seek to avoid me. if he knew i was a colleague, an engineer--providing he himself really is one--perhaps he might receive me with more cordiality than i have yet encountered, but i am not going to be such a fool as to tell him who and what i am. he stops, with laughing eyes and mocking mouth, and accompanies a "good day, how do you do?" with a gracious gesture of salutation. i respond coldly to his politeness--a fact which he affects not to notice. "may saint jonathan protect you, mr. gaydon!" he continues in his clear, ringing voice. "you are not, i presume, disposed to regret the fortunate circumstance by which you were permitted to visit this surpassingly marvellous cavern--and it really is one of the finest, although the least known on this spheroid." this word of a scientific language used in conversation with a simple hospital attendant surprises me, i admit, and i merely reply: "i should have no reason to complain, mr. serko, if, after having had the pleasure of visiting this cavern, i were at liberty to quit it." "what! already thinking of leaving us, mr. gaydon,--of returning to your dismal pavilion at healthful house? why, you have scarcely had time to explore our magnificent domain, or to admire the incomparable beauty with which nature has endowed it." "what i have seen suffices," i answer; "and should you perchance be talking seriously i will assure you seriously that i do not want to see any more of it." "come, now, mr. gaydon, permit me to point out that you have not yet had the opportunity of appreciating the advantages of an existence passed in such unrivalled surroundings. it is a quiet life, exempt from care, with an assured future, material conditions such as are not to be met with anywhere, an even climate and no more to fear from the tempests which desolate the coasts in this part of the atlantic than from the cold of winter, or the heat of summer. this temperate and salubrious atmosphere is scarcely affected by changes of season. here we have no need to apprehend the wrath of either pluto or neptune." "sir," i reply, "it is impossible that this climate can suit you, that you can appreciate living in this grotto of----" i was on the point of pronouncing the name of back cup. fortunately i restrained myself in time. what would happen if they suspected that i am aware of the name of their island, and, consequently, of its position at the extremity of the bermuda group? "however," i continue, "if this climate does not suit me, i have, i presume, the right to make a change." "the right, of course." "i understand from your remark that i shall be furnished with the means of returning to america when i want to go?" "i have no reason for opposing your desires, mr. gaydon," engineer serko replies, "and i regard your presumption as a very natural one. observe, however, that we live here in a noble and superb independence, that we acknowledge the authority of no foreign power, that we are subject to no outside authority, that we are the colonists of no state, either of the old or new world. this is worth consideration by whomsoever has a sense of pride and independence. besides, what memories are evoked in a cultivated mind by these grottoes which seem to have been chiselled by the hands of the gods and in which they were wont to render their oracles by the mouth of trophonius." decidedly, engineer serko is fond of citing mythology! trophonius after pluto and neptune? does he imagine that warder gaydon ever heard of trophonius? it is clear this mocker continues to mock, and i have to exercise the greatest patience in order not to reply in the same tone. "a moment ago," i continue shortly, "i wanted to enter yon habitation, which, if i mistake not, is that of the count d'artigas, but i was prevented." "by whom, mr. gaydon?" "by a man in the count's employ." "he probably had received strict orders about it." "possibly, yet whether he likes it or not, count d'artigas will have to see me and listen to me." "maybe it would be difficult, and even impossible to get him to do so," says engineer serko with a smile. "why so?" "because there is no such person as count d'artigas here." "you are jesting, i presume; i have just seen him." "it was not the count d'artigas whom you saw, mr. gaydon." "who was it then, may i ask?" "the pirate ker karraje." this name was thrown at me in a hard tone of voice, and engineer serko walked off before i had presence of mind enough to detain him. the pirate ker karraje! yes, this name is a revelation to me. i know it well, and what memories it evokes! it by itself explains what has hitherto been inexplicable to me. i now know into whose hands i have fallen. with what i already knew, with what i have learned since my arrival in back cup from engineer serko, this is what i am able to tell about the past and present of ker karraje: eight or nine years ago, the west pacific was infested by pirates who acted with the greatest audacity. a band of criminals of various origins, composed of escaped convicts, military and naval deserters, etc., operated with incredible audacity under the orders of a redoubtable chief. the nucleus of the band had been formed by men pertaining to the scum of europe who had been attracted to new south wales, in australia, by the discovery of gold there. among these gold-diggers, were captain spade and engineer serko, two outcasts, whom a certain community of ideas and character soon bound together in close friendship. these intelligent, well educated, resolute men would most assuredly have succeeded in any career. but being without conscience or scruples, and determined to get rich at no matter what cost, deriving from gambling and speculation what they might have earned by patient and steady work, they engaged in all sorts of impossible adventures. one day they were rich, the next day poor, like most of the questionable individuals who had hurried to the gold-fields in search of fortune. among the diggers in new south wales was a man of incomparable audacity, one of those men who stick at nothing--not even at crime--and whose influence upon bad and violent natures is irresistible. that man's name was ker karraje. the origin or nationality or antecedents of this pirate were never established by the investigations ordered in regard to him. he eluded all pursuit, and his name--or at least the name he gave himself--was known all over the world, and inspired horror and terror everywhere, as being that of a legendary personage, a bogey, invisible and unseizable. i have now reason to believe that ker karraje is a malay. however, it is of little consequence, after all. what is certain is that he was with reason regarded as a formidable and dangerous villain who had many crimes, committed in distant seas, to answer for. after spending a few years on the australian goldfields, where he made the acquaintance of engineer serko and captain spade, ker karraje managed to seize a ship in the port of melbourne, in the province of victoria. he was joined by about thirty rascals whose number was speedily tripled. in that part of the pacific ocean where piracy is still carried on with great facility, and i may say, profit, the number of ships pillaged, crews massacred, and raids committed in certain western islands which the colonists were unable to defend, cannot be estimated. although the whereabouts of ker karraje's vessel, commanded by captain spade, was several times made known to the authorities, all attempts to capture it proved futile. the marauder would disappear among the innumerable islands of which he knew every cove and creek, and it was impossible to come across him. he maintained a perfect reign of terror. england, france, germany, russia and america vainly dispatched warships in pursuit of the phantom vessel which disappeared, no one knew whither, after robberies and murders that could not be prevented or punished had been committed by her crew. one day this series of crimes came to an end, and no more was heard of ker karraje. had he abandoned the pacific for other seas? would this pirate break out in a fresh place? it was argued that notwithstanding what they must have spent in orgies and debauchery the pirate and his companions must still have an enormous amount of wealth hidden in some place known only to themselves, and that they were enjoying their ill-gotten gains. where had the band hidden themselves since they had ceased their depredations? this was a question which everybody asked and none was able to answer. all attempts to run them to earth were vain. terror and uneasiness having ceased with the danger, ker karraje's exploits soon began to be forgotten, even in the west pacific. this is what had happened--and what will never be known unless i succeed in escaping from back cup: these wretches were, as a matter of fact, possessed of great wealth when they abandoned the southern seas. having destroyed their ship they dispersed in different directions after having arranged to meet on the american continent. engineer serko, who was well versed in his profession, and was a clever mechanic to boot, and who had made a special study of submarine craft, proposed to ker karraje that they should construct one of these boats in order to continue their criminal exploits with greater secrecy and effectiveness. ker karraje at once saw the practical nature of the proposition, and as they had no lack of money the idea was soon carried out. while the so-called count d'artigas ordered the construction of the schooner _ebba_ at the shipyards of gotteborg, in sweden, he gave to the cramps of philadelphia, in america, the plans of a submarine boat whose construction excited no suspicion. besides, as will be seen, it soon disappeared and was never heard of again. the boat was constructed from a model and under the personal supervision of engineer serko, and fitted with all the known appliances of nautical science. the screw was worked with electric piles of recent invention which imparted enormous propulsive power to the motor. it goes without saying that no one imagined that count d'artigas was none other than ker karraje, the former pirate of the pacific, and that engineer serko was the most formidable and resolute of his accomplices. the former was regarded as a foreigner of noble birth and great fortune, who for several months had been frequenting the ports of the united states, the _ebba_ having been launched long before the tug was ready. work upon the latter occupied fully eighteen months, and when the boat was finished it excited the admiration of all those interested in these engines of submarine navigation. by its external form, its interior arrangements, its air-supply system, the rapidity with which it could be immersed, the facility with which it could be handled and controlled, and its extraordinary speed, it was conceded to be far superior to the _goubet,_ the _gymnote_, the _zede_, and other similar boats which had made great strides towards perfection. after several extremely successful experiments a public test was given in the open sea, four miles off charleston, in presence of several american and foreign warships, merchant vessels, and pleasure boats invited for the occasion. of course the _ebba_ was among them, with the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade on board, and the old crew as well, save half a dozen men who manned the submarine machine, which was worked by a mechanical engineer named gibson, a bold and very clever englishman. the programme of this definite experiment comprised various evolutions on the surface of the water, which were to be followed by an immersion to last several hours, the boat being ordered not to rise again until a certain buoy stationed many miles out at sea had been attained. at the appointed time the lid was closed and the boat at first manoeuvred on the surface. her speed and the ease with which she turned and twisted were loudly praised by all the technical spectators. then at a signal given on board the _ebba_ the tug sank slowly out of sight, and several vessels started for the buoy where she was to reappear. three hours went by, but there was no sign of the boat. no one could suppose that in accordance with instructions received from the count d'artigas and engineer serko this submarine machine, which was destined to act as the invisible tug of the schooner, would not emerge till it had gone several miles beyond the rendezvous. therefore, with the exception of those who were in the secret, no one entertained any doubt that the boat and all inside her had perished as the result of an accident either to her metallic covering or machinery. on board the _ebba_ consternation was admirably simulated. on board the other vessels it was real. drags were used and divers sent down along the course the boat was supposed to have taken, but it could not be found, and it was agreed that it had been swallowed up in the depths of the atlantic. two days later the count d'artigas put to sea again, and in forty-eight hours came up with the tug at the place appointed. this is how ker karraje became possessed of the admirable vessel which was to perform the double function of towing the schooner and attacking ships. with this terrible engine of destruction, whose very existence was ignored, the count d'artigas was able to recommence his career of piracy with security and impunity. these details i have learned from engineer serko, who is very proud of his handiwork,--and also very positive that the prisoner of back cup will never be able to disclose the secret. it will easily be realized how powerful was the offensive weapon ker karraje now possessed. during the night the tug would rush at a merchant vessel, and bore a hole in her with its powerful ram. at the same time the schooner which could not possibly have excited any suspicion, would run alongside and her horde of cutthroats would pour on to the doomed vessel's deck and massacre the helpless crew, after which they would hurriedly transfer that part of the cargo that was worth taking to the _ebba_. thus it happened that ship after ship was added to the long list of those that never reached port and were classed as having gone down with all on board. for a year after the odious comedy in the bay of charleston ker karraje operated in the atlantic, and his wealth increased to enormous proportions. the merchandise for which he had no use was disposed of in distant markets in exchange for gold and silver. but what was sadly needed was a place where the profits could be safely hidden pending the time when they were to be finally divided. chance came to their aid. while exploring the bottom of the sea in the neighborhood of the bermudas, engineer serko and driver gibson discovered at the base of back cup island the tunnel which led to the interior of the mountain. would it have been possible for ker karraje to have found a more admirable refuge than this, absolutely safe as it was from any possible chance of discovery? thus it came to pass that one of the islands of the archipelago of bermuda, erstwhile the haunt of buccaneers, became the lair of another gang a good deal more to be dreaded. this retreat having been definitely adopted, count d'artigas and his companions set about getting their place in order. engineer serko installed an electric power house, without having recourse to machines whose construction abroad might have aroused suspicion, simply employing piles that could be easily mounted and required but metal plates and chemical substances that the _ebba_ procured during her visits to the american coast. what happened on the night of the th inst. can easily be divined. if the three-masted merchantman which lay becalmed was not visible at break of day it was because she had been scuttled by the tug, boarded by the cut-throat band on the _ebba_, and sunk with all on board after being pillaged. the bales and things that i had seen on the schooner were a part of her cargo, and all unknown to me the gallant ship was lying at the bottom of the broad atlantic! how will this adventure end? shall i ever be able to escape from back cup, denounce the false count d'artigas and rid the seas of ker karraje's pirates? and if ker karraje is terrible as it is, how much more so will he become if he ever obtains possession of roch's fulgurator! his power will be increased a hundred-fold! if he were able to employ this new engine of destruction no merchantman could resist him, no warship escape total destruction. i remain for some time absorbed and oppressed by the reflections with which the revelation of ker karraje's name inspires me. all that i have ever heard about this famous pirate recurs to me--his existence when he skimmed the southern seas, the useless expeditions organized by the maritime powers to hunt him down. the unaccountable loss of so many vessels in the atlantic during the past few years is attributable to him. he had merely changed the scene of his exploits. it was supposed that he had been got rid of, whereas he is continuing his piratical practices in the most frequented ocean on the globe, by means of the tug which is believed to be lying at the bottom of charleston bay. "now," i say to myself, "i know his real name and that of his lair--ker karraje and back cup;" and i surmise that if engineer serko has let me into the secret he must have been authorized to do so. am i not meant to understand from this that i must give up all hope of ever recovering my liberty? engineer serko had manifestly remarked the impression created upon me by this revelation. i remember that on leaving me he went towards ker karraje's habitation, no doubt with the intention of apprising him of what had passed. after a rather long walk around the lagoon i am about to return to my cell, when i hear footsteps behind me. i turn and find myself face to face with the count d'artigas, who is accompanied by captain spade. he glances at me sharply, and in a burst of irritation that i cannot suppress, i exclaim: "you are keeping me here, sir, against all right. if it was to wait upon thomas roch that you carried me off from healthful house, i refuse to attend to him, and insist upon being sent back." the pirate chief makes a gesture, but does not reply. then my temper gets the better of me altogether. "answer me, count d'artigas--or rather, for i know who you are--answer me, ker karraje!" i shout. "the count d'artigas is ker karraje," he coolly replies, "just as warder gaydon is engineer simon hart; and ker karraje will never restore to liberty engineer simon hart, who knows his secrets." chapter xi. five weeks in back cup. the situation is plain. ker karraje knows who i am. he knew who i was when he kidnapped thomas roch and his attendant. how did this man manage to find out what i was able to keep from the staff of healthful house? how comes it that he knew that a french engineer was performing the duties of attendant to thomas roch? i do not know how he discovered it, but the fact remains that he did. evidently he had means of information which must have been costly, but from which he has derived considerable profit. besides, men of his kidney do not count the cost when they wish to attain an end they have in view. henceforward ker karraje, or rather engineer serko, will replace me as attendant upon thomas roch. will he succeed better than i did? god grant that he may not, that the civilized world may be spared such a misfortune! i did not reply to ker karraje's parthian shot, for i was stricken dumb. i did not, however, collapse, as the alleged count d'artigas perhaps expected i would. no! i looked him straight in the eyes, which glittered angrily, and crossed my arms defiantly, as he had done. and yet he held my life in his hands! at a sign a bullet would have laid me dead at his feet. then my body, cast into the lagoon, would have been borne out to sea through the tunnel and there would have been an end of me. after this scene i am left at liberty, just as before. no measure is taken against me, i can walk among the pillars to the very end of the cavern, which--it is only too clear--possesses no other issue except the tunnel. when i return to my cell, at the extremity of the beehive, a prey to a thousand thoughts suggested by my situation, i say to myself: "if ker karraje knows i am simon hart, the engineer, he must at any rate never know that i am aware of the position of back cup island." as to the plan of confiding thomas roch to my care, i do not think he ever seriously entertained it, seeing that my identity had been revealed to him. i regret this, inasmuch as the inventor will indubitably be the object of pressing solicitations, and as engineer serko will employ every means in his power to obtain the composition of the explosive and deflagrator, of which he will make such detestable use during future piratical exploits. yes, it would have been far better if i could have remained thomas roch's keeper here, as in healthful house. for fifteen days i see nothing of my late charge. no one, i repeat, has placed any obstacles in the way of my daily peregrinations. i have no need to occupy myself about the material part of my existence. my meals are brought to me regularly, direct from the kitchen of the count d'artigas--i cannot accustom myself to calling him by any other name. the food leaves nothing to be desired, thanks to the provisions that the _ebba_ brings on her return from each voyage. it is very fortunate, too, that i have been supplied with all the writing materials i require, for during my long hours of idleness i have been able to jot down in my notebook the slightest incidents that have occurred since i was abducted from healthful house, and to keep a diary day by day. as long as i am permitted to use a pen i shall continue my notes. mayhap some day, they will help to clear up the mysteries of back cup. _from july to july ._--a fortnight has passed, and all my attempts to get near thomas roch have been frustrated. orders have evidently been given to keep him away from my influence, inefficacious though the latter has hitherto been. my only hope is that the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade will waste their time trying to get at the inventor's secrets. three or four times to my knowledge, at least, thomas roch and engineer serko have walked together around the lagoon. as far as i have been able to judge, the former listened with some attention to what the other was saying to him. serko has conducted him over the whole cavern, shown him the electric power house and the mechanism of the tug. thomas roch's mental condition has visibly improved since his departure from healthful house. thomas roch lives in a private room in ker karraje's "mansion." i have no doubt that he is daily sounded in regard to his discoveries, especially by engineer serko. will he be able to resist the temptation if they offer him the exorbitant price that he demands? has he any idea of the value of money? these wretches may dazzle him with the gold that they have accumulated by years of rapine. in the present state of his mind may he not be induced to disclose the composition of his fulgurator? they would then only have to fetch the necessary substances and thomas roch would have plenty of time in back cup to devote to his chemical combinations. as to the war-engines themselves nothing would be easier than to have them made in sections in different parts of the american continent. my hair stands on end when i think what they could and would do with them if once they gained possession of them. these intolerable apprehensions no longer leave me a minute's peace; they are wearing me out and my health is suffering in consequence. although the air in the interior of back cup is pure, i become subject to attacks of suffocation, and i feel as though my prison walls were falling upon me and crushing me under their weight. i am, besides, oppressed by the feeling that i am cut off from the world, as effectually as though i were no longer upon our planet,--for i know nothing of what is going on outside. ah! if it were only possible to escape through that submarine tunnel, or through the hole in the dome and slide to the base of the mountain! on the morning of the th i at last encounter thomas roch. he is alone on the other side of the lagoon, and i wonder, inasmuch as i have not seen them since the previous day, whether ker karraje, engineer serko, and captain spade have not gone off on some expedition. i walk round towards thomas roch, and before he can see me i examine him attentively. his serious, thoughtful physiognomy is no longer that of a madman. he walks slowly, with his eyes bent on the ground, and under his arm a drawing-board upon which is stretched a sheet of paper covered with designs. suddenly he raises his head, advances a step and recognizes me. "ah! gaydon, it is you, is it?" he cries, "i have then escaped from you! i am free!" he can, indeed, regard himself as being free--a good deal more at liberty in back cup than he was in healthful house. but maybe my presence evokes unpleasant memories, and will bring on another fit, for he continues with extraordinary animation: "yes, i know you, gaydon.--do not approach me! stand off! stand off! you would like to get me back in your clutches, incarcerate me again in your dungeon! never! i have friends here who will protect me. they are powerful, they are rich. the count d'artigas is my backer and engineer serko is my partner. we are going to exploit my invention! we are going to make my fulgurator! hence! get you gone!" thomas roch is in a perfect fury. he raises his voice, agitates his arms, and finally pulls from his pockets many rolls of dollar bills and banknotes, and handfuls of english, french, american and german gold coins, which slip through his fingers and roll about the cavern. how could he get all this money except from ker karraje, and as the price of his secret? the noise he makes attracts a number of men to the scene. they watch us for a moment, then seize thomas roch and drag him away. as soon as i am out of his sight he ceases-to struggle and becomes calm again. _july ._--two hours after meeting with thomas roch, i went down to the lagoon and walked out to the edge of the stone jetty. the tug is not moored in its accustomed place, nor can i see it anywhere about the lake. ker karraje and engineer serko had not gone yesterday, as i supposed, for i saw them in the evening. to-day, however, i have reason to believe that they really have gone away in the tug with captain spade and the crew of the _ebba_, and that the latter must be sailing away. have they set out on a piracy expedition? very likely. it is equally likely that ker karraje, become once more the count d'artigas, travelling for pleasure on board his yacht, intends to put into some port on the american coast to procure the substances necessary to the preparation of roch's fulgurator. ah! if it had only been possible for me to hide in the tug, to slip into the _ebba's_ hold, and stow myself away there until the schooner arrived in port! then perchance i might have escaped and delivered the world from this band of pirates. it will be seen how tenaciously i cling to the thought of escape--of fleeing--fleeing at any cost from this lair. but flight is impossible, except through the tunnel, by means of a submarine boat. is it not folly to think of such a thing? sheer folly, and yet what other way is there of getting out of back cup? while i give myself up to these reflections the water of the lagoon opens a few yards from me and the tug appears. the lid is raised and gibson, the engineer, and the men issue on to the platform. other men come up and catch the line that is thrown to them. they haul upon it, and the tug is soon moored in its accustomed place. this time, therefore, at any rate, the schooner is not being towed, and the tug merely went out to put ker karraje and his companions aboard the _ebba_. this only confirms my impression that the sole object of their trip is to reach an american port where the count d'artigas can procure the materials for making the explosive, and order the machines in some foundry. on the day fixed for their return the tug will go out through the tunnel again to meet the schooner and ker karraje will return to back cup. decidedly, this evildoer is carrying out his designs and has succeeded sooner than i thought would be possible. _august ._--an incident occurred to-day of which the lagoon was the theatre--a very curious incident that must be exceedingly rare. towards three o'clock in the afternoon there was a prodigious bubbling in the water, which ceased for a minute or two and then recommenced in the centre of the lagoon. about fifteen pirates, whose attention had been attracted by this unaccountable phenomenon, hurried down to the bank manifesting signs of astonishment not unmingled with fear--at least i thought so. the agitation of the water was not caused by the tug, as the latter was lying alongside the jetty, and the idea that some other submarine boat had found its way through the tunnel was highly improbable. almost at the same instant cries were heard on the opposite bank. the newcomers shouted something in a hoarse voice to the men on the side where i was standing, and these immediately rushed off towards the beehive. i conjectured that they had caught sight of some sea-monster that had found its way in, and was floundering in the lagoon, and that they had rushed off to fetch arms and harpoons to try and capture it. i was right, for they speedily returned with the latter weapons and rifles loaded with explosive bullets. the monster in question was a whale, of the species that is common enough in bermudan waters, which after swimming through the tunnel was plunging about in the narrow limits of the lake. as it was constrained to take refuge in back cup i concluded that it must have been hard pressed by whalers. some minutes elapsed before the monster rose to the surface. then the green shiny mass appeared spouting furiously and darting to and fro as though fighting with some formidable enemy. "if it was driven in here by whalers," i said to myself, "there must be a vessel in proximity to back cup--peradventure within a stone's throw of it. her boats must have entered the western passes to the very foot of the mountain. and to think i am unable to communicate with them! but even if i could, i fail to see how i could go to them through these massive walls." i soon found, however, that it was not fishers, but sharks that had driven the whale through the tunnel, and which infest these waters in great numbers. i could see them plainly as they darted about, turning upon their backs and displaying their enormous mouths which were bristling with their cruel teeth. there were five or six of the monsters, and they attacked the whale with great viciousness. the latter's only means of defence was its tail, with which it lashed at them with terrific force and rapidity. but the whale had received several wounds and the water was tinged with its life-blood; for plunge and lash as it would, it could not escape the bites of its enemies. however, the voracious sharks were not permitted to vanquish their prey, for man, far more powerful with his instruments of death, was about to take a hand and snatch it from them. gathered around the lagoon were the companions of ker karraje, every whit as ferocious as the sharks themselves, and well deserving the same name, for what else are they? standing amid a group, at the extremity of the jetty, and armed with a harpoon, was the big malay who had prevented me from entering ker karraje's house. when the whale got within shot, he hurled the harpoon with great force and skill, and it sank into the leviathan's flesh just under the left fin. the whale plunged immediately, followed by the relentless sharks. the rope attached to the weapon ran out for about sixty yards, and then slackened. the men at once began to haul on it, and the monster rose to the surface again near the end of the tunnel, struggling desperately in its death agony, and spurting great columns of water tinged with blood. one blow of its tail struck a shark, and hurled it clean out of water against the rocky side, where it dropped in again, badly, if not fatally injured. the harpoon was torn from the flesh by the jerk, and the whale went under. it came up again for the last time, and lashed the water so that it washed up from the tunnel end, disclosing the top of the orifice. then the sharks again rushed on their prey, but were scared off by a hail of the explosive bullets. two men then jumped into a boat and attached a line to the dead monster. the latter was hauled into the jetty, and the malays started to cut it up with a dexterity that showed they were no novices at the work. no more sharks were to be seen, but i concluded that it would be as well to refrain from taking a bath in the lagoon for some days to come. i now know exactly where the entrance to the tunnel is situated. the orifice on this side is only ten feet below the edge of the western bank. but of what use is this knowledge to me? _august _.--twelve days have elapsed since the count d'artigas, engineer serko, and captain spade put to sea. there is nothing to indicate that their return is expected, though the tug is always kept in readiness for immediate departure by gibson, the engine-driver. if the _ebba_ is not afraid to enter the ports of the united states by day, i rather fancy she prefers to enter the rocky channel of back cup at nightfall. i also fancy, somehow, that ker karraje and his companions will return to-night. _august _.--at ten o'clock last night, as i anticipated, the tug went under and out, just in time to meet the _ebba_ and tow her through the channel to her creek, after which she returned with ker karraje and the others. when i look out this morning, i see thomas roch and engineer serko walking down to the lagoon, and talking. what they are talking about i can easily guess. i go forward and take a good look at my ex-patient. he is asking questions of engineer serko with great animation. his eyes gleam, his face is flushed, and he is all eagerness to reach the jetty. engineer serko can hardly keep up with him. the crew of the tug are unloading her, and they have just brought ashore ten medium-sized boxes. these boxes bear a peculiar red mark, which thomas roch examines closely. engineer serko orders the men to transport them to the storehouses on the left bank, and the boxes are forthwith loaded on a boat and rowed over. in my opinion, these boxes contain the substances by the combination or mixture of which, the fulgurator and deflagrator are to be made. the engines, doubtless, are being made in an american foundry, and when they are ready, the schooner will fetch them and bring them to back cup. for once in a while, anyhow, the _ebba_ has not returned with any stolen merchandise. she went out and has returned with a clear bill. but with what terrible power ker karraje will be armed for both offensive and defensive operations at sea! if thomas roch is to be credited, this fulgurator could shatter the terrestrial spheroid at one blow. and who knows but what one day, he will try the experiment? chapter xii. engineer serko's advice. thomas roch has started work and spends hours and hours in a wooden shed on the left bank of the lagoon that has been set apart as his laboratory and workshop. no one enters it except himself. does he insist upon preparing the explosive in secret and does he intend to keep the formula thereof to himself? i should not wonder. the manner of employing roch's fulgurator is, i believe, very simple indeed. the projectile in which it is used requires neither gun nor mortar to launch it, nor pneumatic tube like the zalinski shell. it is autopropulsive, it projects itself, and no ship within a certain zone when the engine explodes could escape utter destruction. with such a weapon as this at his command ker karraje would be invincible. _from august to august _.--during the past week thomas roch has been working without intermission. every morning the inventor goes to his laboratory and does not issue therefrom till night. i have made no attempt to stop him or speak to him, knowing that it would be useless to do so. although he is still indifferent to everything that does not touch upon his work he appears to be perfectly self-possessed. why should he not have recovered his reason? has he not obtained what he has so long sought for? is he not at last able to carry out the plans he formed years and years ago? _august _.--at one o'clock this morning i was roused by several detonations. "has back cup been attacked?" was my first thought. "has the schooner excited suspicion, and been chased to the entrance to the passes? is the island being bombarded with a view to its destruction? has justice at last overtaken these evil-doers ere thomas roch has been able to complete the manufacture of his explosive, and before the autopropulsive engine could be fetched from the continent?" the detonations, which are very violent, continue, succeeding each other at regular intervals, and it occurs to me that if the schooner has been destroyed, all communication with the bases of supply being impossible, back cup cannot be provisioned. it is true the tug would be able to land the count d'artigas somewhere on the american coast where, money being no object, he could easily buy or order another vessel. but no matter. if back cup is only destroyed before ker karraje has roch's fulgurator at his disposal i shall render thanks to heaven. a few hours later, at the usual time, i quit my cell. all is quiet at the beehive. the men are going about their business as usual. the tug is moored near the jetty. thomas roch is going to his laboratory, and ker karraje and engineer serko are tranquilly pacing backwards and forwards by the lake and chatting. the island therefore could not have been attacked during the night. yet i was awakened by the report of cannon, this i will swear. at this moment ker karraje goes off towards his abode and engineer serko, smilingly ironical, as usual, advances to meet me. "well, mr. simon hart," he says, "are you getting accustomed to your tranquil existence? do you appreciate at their just merit the advantages of this enchanted grotto? have you given up all hope of recovering your liberty some day or other?" what is the use of waxing wroth with this jester? i reply calmly: "no, sir. i have not given up hope, and i still expect that i shall be released." "what! mr. hart, separate ourselves from a man whom we all esteem--and i from a colleague who perhaps, in the course of thomas roch's fits of delirium, has learned some of his secrets? you are not serious!" so this is why they are keeping me a prisoner in back cup! they suppose that i am in part familiar with roch's invention, and they hope to force me to tell what i know if thomas roch refuses to give up his secret. this is the reason why i was kidnapped with him, and why i have not been accommodated with an involuntary plunge in the lagoon with a stone fastened to my neck. i see it all now, and it is just as well to know it. "very serious," i affirm, in response to the last remark of my interlocutor. "well," he continues, "if i had the honor to be simon hart, the engineer, i should reason as follows: 'given, on the one hand, the personality of ker karraje, the reasons which incited him to select such a mysterious retreat as this cavern, the necessity of the said cavern being kept from any attempt to discover it, not only in the interest of the count d'artigas, but in that of his companions--'" "of his accomplices, if you please." "'of his accomplices,' then--'and on the other hand, given the fact that i know the real name of the count d'artigas and in what mysterious safe he keeps his riches--'" "riches stolen, and stained with blood, mr. serko." "'riches stolen and stained with blood,' if you like--'i ought to understand that this question of liberty cannot be settled in accordance with my desires.'" it is useless to argue the point under these conditions, and i switch the conversation on to another line. "may i ask," i continue, "how you came to find out that gaydon, the warder, was simon hart, the engineer?" "i see no reason for keeping you in ignorance on the subject, my dear colleague. it was largely by hazard. we had certain relations with the manufactory in new jersey with which you were connected, and which you quitted suddenly one day under somewhat singular circumstances. well, during a visit i made to healthful house some months before the count d'artigas went there, i saw and recognized you." "you?" "my very self, and from that moment i promised myself the pleasure of having you for a fellow-passenger on board the _ebba_." i do not recall ever having seen this serko at healthful house, but what he says is very likely true. "i hope your whim of having me for a companion will cost you dear, some day or other," i say to myself. then, abruptly, i go on: "if i am not mistaken, you have succeeded in inducing thomas roch to disclose the secret of his fulgurator?" "yes, mr. hart. we paid millions for it. but millions, you know, are nothing to us. we have only the trouble of taking them! therefore we filled all his pockets--covered him with millions!" "of what use are these millions to him if he is not allowed to enjoy them outside?" "that, mr. hart, is a matter that does not trouble him a little bit! this man of genius thinks nothing of the future: he lives but in the present. while engines are being constructed from his plans over yonder in america, he is preparing his explosive with chemical substances with which he has been abundantly supplied. he! he! what an invention it is, this autopropulsive engine, which flies through the air of its own power and accelerates its speed till the goal is reached, thanks to the properties of a certain powder of progressive combustion! here we have an invention that will bring about a radical change in the art of war." "defensive war, mr. serko." "and offensive war, mr. hart." "naturally," i answer. then pumping him still more closely, i go on: "so, what no one else has been able to obtain from thomas roch--" "we obtained without much difficulty." "by paying him." "by paying him an incredible price--and, moreover, by causing to vibrate what in him is a very sensitive chord." "what chord?" "that of vengeance!" "vengeance?--against whom?" "against all those who have made themselves his enemies by discouraging him, by spurning him, expelling him, by constraining him to go a-begging from country to country with an invention of incontestable superiority! now all notion of patriotism is extinct in his soul. he has now but one thought, one ferocious desire: to avenge himself upon those who have denied him--and even upon all mankind! really, mr. hart, your governments of europe and america committed a stupendous blunder in refusing to pay roch the price his fulgurator is worth!" and engineer serko describes enthusiastically the various advantages of the new explosive which, he says, is incontestably superior to any yet invented. "and what a destructive effect it has," he adds. "it is analogous to that of the zalinski shell, but is a hundred times more powerful, and requires no machine for firing it, as it flies through the air on its own wings, so to speak." i listen in the hope that engineer serko will give away a part of the secret, but in vain. he is careful not to say more than he wants to. "has thomas roch," i ask, "made you acquainted with the composition of his explosive?" "yes, mr. hart--if it is all the same to you--and we shall shortly have considerable quantities of it stored in a safe place." "but will there not be a great and ever-impending danger in accumulating large quantities of it? if an accident were to happen it would be all up with the island of----!" once more the name of back cup was on the point of escaping me. they might consider me too well-informed if they were aware that in addition to being acquainted with the count d'artigas' real name i also know where his stronghold is situated. luckily engineer serko has not remarked my reticence, and he replies: "there will be no cause for alarm. thomas roch's explosive will not burn unless subjected to a special deflagrator. neither fire nor shock will explode it." "and has thomas roch also sold you the secret of his deflagrator?" "not yet, mr. hart, but it will not be long before the bargain is concluded. therefore, i repeat, no danger is to be apprehended, and you need not keep awake of nights on that account. a thousand devils, sir! we have no desire to be blown up with our cavern and treasures! a few more years of good business and we shall divide the profits, which will be large enough to enable each one of us to live as he thinks proper and enjoy life to the top of his bent--after the dissolution of the firm of ker karraje and co. i may add that though there is no danger of an explosion, we have everything to fear from a denunciation--which you are in the position to make, mr. hart. therefore, if you take my advice, you will, like a sensible man, resign yourself to the inevitable until the disbanding of the company. we shall then see what in the interest of our security is best to be done with you!" it will be admitted that these words are not exactly calculated to reassure me. however, a lot of things may happen ere then. i have learned one good thing from this conversation, and that is that if thomas roch has sold his explosive to ker karraje and co., he has at any rate, kept the secret of his deflagrator, without which the explosive is of no more value than the dust of the highway. but before terminating the interview i think i ought to make a very natural observation to mr. serko. "sir," i say, "you are now acquainted with the composition of thomas roch's explosive. does it really possess the destructive power that the inventor attributes to it? has it ever been tried? may you not have purchased a composition as inert as a pinch of snuff?" "you are doubtless better informed upon this point than you pretend, mr. hart. nevertheless, i thank you for the interest you manifest in our affairs, and am able to reassure you. the other night we made a series of decisive experiments. with only a few grains of this substance great blocks of rock were reduced to impalpable dust!" this explanation evidently applies to the detonation i heard. "thus, my dear colleague," continues engineer serko, "i can assure you that our expectations have been answered. the effects of the explosive surpass anything that could have been imagined. a few thousand tons of it would burst our spheroid and scatter the fragments into space. you can be absolutely certain that it is capable of destroying no matter what vessel at a distance considerably greater than that attained by present projectiles and within a zone of at least a mile. the weak point in the invention is that rather too much time has to be expended in regulating the firing." engineer serko stops short, as though reluctant to give any further information, but finally adds: "therefore, i end as i began, mr. hart. resign yourself to the inevitable. accept your new existence without reserve. give yourself up to the tranquil delights of this subterranean life. if one is in good health, one preserves it; if one has lost one's health, one recovers it here. that is what is happening to your fellow countryman. yes, the best thing you can do is to resign yourself to your lot." thereupon this giver of good advice leaves me, after saluting me with a friendly gesture, like a man whose good intentions merit appreciation. but what irony there is in his words, in his glance, in his attitude. shall i ever be able to get even with him? i now know that at any rate it is not easy to regulate the aim of roch's auto-propulsive engine. it is probable that it always bursts at the same distance, and that beyond the zone in which the effects of the fulgurator are so terrible, and once it has been passed, a ship is safe from its effects. if i could only inform the world of this vital fact! _august _.--for two days no incident worth recording has occurred. i have explored back cup to its extreme limits. at night when the long perspective of arched columns are illuminated by the electric lamps, i am almost religiously impressed when i gaze upon the natural wonders of this cavern, which has become my prison. i have never given up hope of finding somewhere in the walls a fissure of some kind of which the pirates are ignorant and through which i could make my escape. it is true that once outside i should have to wait till a passing ship hove in sight. my evasion would speedily be known at the beehive, and i should soon be recaptured, unless--a happy thought strikes me--unless i could get at the _ebba's_ boat that was drawn up high and dry on the little sandy beach in the creek. in this i might be able to make my way to st. george or hamilton. this evening--it was about nine o'clock--i stretched myself on a bed of sand at the foot of one of the columns, about one hundred yards to the east of the lagoon. shortly afterwards i heard footsteps, then voices. hiding myself as best i could behind the rocky base of the pillar, i listened with all my ears. i recognized the voices as those of ker karraje and engineer serko. the two men stopped close to where i was lying, and continued their conversation in english--which is the language generally used in back cup. i was therefore able to understand all that they said. they were talking about thomas roch, or rather his fulgurator. "in a week's time," said ker karraje, "i shall put to sea in the _ebba_, and fetch the sections of the engines that are being cast in that virginian foundry." "and when they are here," observed engineer serko, "i will piece them together and fix up the frames for firing them. but beforehand, there is a job to be done which it seems to me is indispensable." "what is that?" "to cut a tunnel through the wall of the cavern." "through the wall of the cavern?" "oh! nothing but a narrow passage through which only one man at a time could squeeze, a hole easy enough to block, and the outside end of which would be hidden among the rocks." "of what use could it be to us, serko?" "i have often thought about the utility of having some other way of getting out besides the submarine tunnel. we never know what the future may have in store for us." "but the walls are so thick and hard," objected ker karraje. "oh, with a few grains of roch's explosive i undertake to reduce the rock to such fine powder that we shall be able to blow it away with our breath," serko replied. it can easily be imagined with what interest and eagerness i listened to this. here was a ray of hope. it. was proposed to open up communication with the outside by a tunnel in the wall, and this held out the possibility of escape. as this thought flashed through my mind, ker karraje said: "very well, serko, and if it becomes necessary some day to defend back cup and prevent any ship from approaching it----. it is true," he went on, without finishing the reflection, "our retreat would have to have been discovered by accident--or by denunciation." "we have nothing to fear either from accident or denunciation," affirmed serko. "by one of our band, no, of course not, but by simon hart, perhaps." "hart!" exclaimed serko. "he would have to escape first and no one can escape from back cup. i am, by the bye, interested in this hart. he is a colleague, after all, and i have always suspected that he knows more about roch's invention than he pretends. i will get round him so that we shall soon be discussing physics, mechanics, and matters ballistic like a couple of friends." "no matter," replied the generous and sensible count d'artigas, "when we are in full possession of the secret we had better get rid of the fellow." "we have plenty of time to do that, ker karraje." "if god permits you to, you wretches," i muttered to myself, while my heart thumped against my ribs. and yet, without the intervention of providence, what hope is there for me? the conversation then took another direction. "now that we know the composition of the explosive, serko," said ker karraje, "we must, at all cost, get that of the deflagrator from thomas roch." "yes," replied engineer serko, "that is what i am trying to do. unfortunately, however, roch positively refuses to discuss it. still he has already made a few drops of it with which those experiments were made, and he will furnish as with some more to blow a hole through the wall." "but what about our expeditions at sea?" queried ker karraje. "patience! we shall end by getting roch's thunderbolts entirely in our own hand, and then----" "are you sure, serko?" "quite sure,--by paying the price, ker karraje." the conversation dropped at this point, and they strolled off without having seen me--very luckily for me, i guess. if engineer serko spoke up somewhat in defence of a colleague, ker karraje is apparently animated with much less benevolent sentiments in regard to me. on the least suspicion they would throw me into the lake, and if i ever got through the tunnel, it would only be as a corpse carried out by the ebbing tide. _august _.--engineer serko has been prospecting with a view to piercing the proposed passage through the wall, in such a way that its existence will never be dreamed of outside. after a minute examination he decided to tunnel through the northern end of the cavern about sixty feet from the first cells of the beehive. i am anxious for the passage to be made, for who knows but what it may be the way to freedom for me? ah! if i only knew how to swim, perhaps i should have attempted to escape through the submarine tunnel, as since it was disclosed by the lashing back of the waters by the whale in its death-struggle, i know exactly where the orifice is situated. it seems to me that at the time of the great tides, this orifice must be partly uncovered. at the full and new moon, when the sea attains its maximum depression below the normal level, it is possible that--i must satisfy myself about this. i do not know how the fact will help me in any way, even if the entrance to the tunnel is partly uncovered, but i cannot afford to miss any detail that may possibly aid in my escape from back cup. _august _.--this morning i am witnessing the departure of the tug. the count d'artigas is, no doubt, going off in the _ebba_ to fetch the sections of thomas roch's engines. before embarking, the count converses long and earnestly with engineer serko, who, apparently, is not going to accompany him on this trip, and is evidently giving him some recommendations, of which i may be the object. then, having stepped on to the platform, he goes below, the lid shuts with a bang, and the tug sinks out of sight, leaving a trail of bubbles behind it. the hours go by, night is coming on, yet the tug does not return. i conclude that it has gone to tow the schooner, and perhaps to destroy any merchant vessels that may come in their way. it cannot, however, be absent very long, as the trip to america and back will not take more than a week. besides, if i can judge from the calm atmosphere in the interior of the cavern, the _ebba_ must be favored with beautiful weather. this is, in fact, the fine season in this part of the world. ah! if only i could break out of my prison! chapter xiii. god be with it. _from august to september _.--thirteen days have gone by and the _ebba_ has not returned. did she then not make straight for the american coast? has she been delayed by a buccaneering cruise in the neighborhood of back cup? it seems to me that ker karraje's only desire would be to get back with the sections of roch's engines as soon as possible. maybe the virginian foundry had not quite finished them. engineer serko does not display the least anxiety or impatience. he continues to greet me with his accustomed ironical cordiality, and with a kindly air that i distrust--with good reason. he affects to be solicitous as to my health, urges me to make the best of a bad job, calls me ali baba, assures me that there is not, in the whole world, such an enchanting spot as this arabian nights cavern, observes that i am fed, warmed, lodged, and clothed, that i have no taxes to pay, and that even the inhabitants of the favored principality of monaco do not enjoy an existence more free from care. sometimes this ironical verbiage brings the blood to my face, and i am tempted to seize this cynical banterer by the throat and choke the life out of him. they would kill me afterwards. still, what would that matter! would it not be better to end in this way than to spend years and years amid these infernal and infamous surroundings? however, while there is life there is hope, i reflect, and this thought restrains me. i have scarcely set eyes upon thomas roch since the _ebba_ went away. he shuts himself up in his laboratory and works unceasingly. if he utilizes all the substances placed at his disposition there will be enough to blow up back cup and the whole bermudan archipelago with it! i cling to the hope that he will never consent to give up the secret of his deflagrator, and that engineer serko's efforts to acquire it will remain futile. _september _.--to-day i have been able to witness with my own eyes the power of roch's explosive, and also the manner in which the fulgurator is employed. during the morning the men began to pierce the passage through the wall of the cavern at the spot fixed upon by engineer serko, who superintended the work in person. the work began at the base, where the rock is as hard as granite. to have continued it with pickaxes would have entailed long and arduous labor, inasmuch as the wall at this place is not less than from twenty to thirty yards in thickness, but thanks to roch's fulgurator the passage will be completed easily and rapidly. i may well be astonished at what i have seen. the pickaxes hardly made any impression on the rock, but its disaggregation was effected with really remarkable facility by means of the fulgurator. a few grains of this explosive shattered the rocky mass and reduced it to almost impalpable powder that one's breath could disperse as easily as vapor. the explosion produced an excavation measuring fully a cubic yard. it was accompanied by a sharp detonation that may be compared to the report of a cannon. the first charge used, although a very small one, a mere pinch, blew the men in every direction, and two of them were seriously injured. engineer serko himself was projected several yards, and sustained some rather severe contusions. here is how this substance, whose bursting force surpasses anything hitherto conceived, is employed. a small hole about an inch and a half in length is pierced obliquely in the rock. a few grains of the explosive are then inserted, but no wad is used. then thomas roch steps forward. in his hand is a little glass phial containing a bluish, oily liquid that congeals almost as soon as it comes in contact with the air. he pours one drop on the entrance of the hole, and draws back, but not with undue haste. it takes a certain time--about thirty-five seconds, i reckon--before the combination of the fulgurator and deflagrator is effected. but when the explosion does take place its power of disaggregation is such--i repeat--that it may be regarded as unlimited. it is at any rate a thousand times superior to that of any known explosive. under these circumstances it will probably not take more than a week to complete the tunnel. _september _.--for some time past i have observed that the tide rises and falls twice every twenty-four hours, and that the ebb and flow produce a rather swift current through the submarine tunnel. it is pretty certain therefore that a floating object thrown into the lagoon when the top of the orifice is uncovered would be carried out by the receding tide. it is just possible that during the lowest equinoctial tides the top of the orifice is uncovered. this i shall be able to ascertain, as this is precisely the time they occur. to-day, september , i could almost distinguish the summit of the hole under the water. the day after to-morrow, if ever, it will be uncovered. very well then, if i cannot myself attempt to get through, may be a bottle thrown into the lagoon might be carried out during the last few minutes of the ebb. and might not this bottle by chance--an ultra-providential chance, i must avow--be picked up by a ship passing near back cup? perhaps even it might be borne away by a friendly current and cast upon one of the bermudan beaches. what if that bottle contained a letter? i cannot get this thought out of my mind, and it works me up into a great state of excitement. then objections crop up--this one among others: the bottle might be swept against the rocks and smashed ere ever it could get out of the tunnel. very true, but what if, instead of a bottle a diminutive, tightly closed keg were used? it would not run any danger of being smashed and would besides stand a much better chance of reaching the open sea. _september _.--this evening, i, unperceived, entered one of the store houses containing the booty pillaged from various ships and procured a keg very suitable for my experiment. i hid the keg under my coat, and returned to the beehive and my cell. then without losing an instant i set to work. paper, pen, ink, nothing was wanting, as will be supposed from the fact that for three months i have been making notes and dotting down my impressions daily. i indite the following message: "on june last thomas roch and his keeper gaydon, or rather simon hart, the french engineer who occupied pavilion no. , at healthful house, near new-berne, north carolina, united states of america, were kidnapped and carried on board the schooner _ebba_, belonging to the count d'artigas. both are now confined in the interior of a cavern which serves as a lair for the said count d'artigas--who is really ker karraje, the pirate who some time ago carried on his depredations in the west pacific--and for about a hundred men of which his band is composed. "when he has obtained possession of roch's fulgurator whose power is, so to speak, without limit, ker karraje will be in a position to carry on his crimes with complete impunity. "it is therefore urgent that the states interested should destroy his lair without delay. "the cavern in which the pirate ker karraje has taken refuge is in the interior of the islet of back cup, which is wrongly regarded as an active volcano. it is situated at the western extremity of the archipelago of bermuda, and on the east is bounded by a range of reefs, but on the north, south, and west is open. "communication with the inside of the mountain is only possible through a tunnel a few yards under water in a narrow pass on the west. a submarine apparatus therefore is necessary to effect an entrance, at any rate until a tunnel they are boring through the northwestern wall of the cavern is completed. "the pirate ker karraje employs an apparatus of this kind--the submarine boat that the count d'artigas ordered of the cramps and which was supposed to have been lost during the public experiment with it in charleston bay. this boat is used not only for the purpose of entering and issuing from back cup, but also to tow the schooner and attack merchant vessels in bermudan waters. "this schooner _ebba_, so well known on the american coast, is kept in a small creek on the western side of the island, behind a mass of rocks, and is invisible from the sea. "the best place to land is on the west coast formerly occupied by the colony of bermudan fishers; but it would first be advisable to effect a breach in the side of the cavern by means of the most powerful melinite shells. "the fact that ker karraje may be in the position to use roch's fulgurator for the defence of the island must also be taken into consideration. let it be well borne in mind that if its destructive power surpasses anything ever conceived or dreamed of, it extends over a zone not exceeding a mile in extent. the distance of this dangerous zone is variable, but once the engines have been set, the modification of the distance occupies some time, and a warship that succeeds in passing the zone has nothing further to fear. "this document is written on the twentieth day of september at eight o'clock in the evening and is signed with my name "thomas hart, engineer." the above is the text of the statement i have just drawn up. it says all that is necessary about the island, whose exact situation is marked on all modern charts and maps, and points out the expediency of acting without delay, and what to do in case ker karraje is in the position to employ roch's fulgurator. i add a plan of the cavern showing its internal configuration, the situation of the lagoon, the lay of the beehive, ker karraje's habitation, my cell, and thomas roch's laboratory. i wrap the document in a piece of tarpaulin and insert the package in the little keg, which measures six inches by three and a half. it is perfectly watertight and will stand any amount of knocking about against the rocks. there is one danger, however, and that is, that it may be swept back by the returning tide, cast up on the island, and fall into the hands of the crew of the _ebba_ when the schooner is hauled into her creek. if ker karraje ever gets hold of it, it will be all up with me. it will be readily conceived with what anxiety i have awaited the moment to make the attempt: i am in a perfect fever of excitement, for it is a matter of life or death to me. i calculate from previous observations that the tide will be very low at about a quarter to nine. the top of the tunnel ought then to be a foot and a half above water, which is more than enough to permit of the keg passing through it. it will be another half hour at least before the flow sets in again, and by that time the keg may be far enough away to escape being thrown back on the coast. i peer out of my cell. there is no one about, and i advance to the side of the lagoon, where by the light of a nearby lamp, i perceive the arch of the tunnel, towards which the current seems to be setting pretty swiftly. i go down to the very edge, and cast in the keg which contains the precious document and all my hopes. "god be with it!" i fervently exclaim. "god be with it!" for a minute or two the little barrel remains stationary, and then floats back to the side again. i throw it out once more with all my strength. this time it is in the track of the current, which to my great joy sweeps it along and in twenty seconds, it has disappeared in the tunnel. yes, god be with it! may heaven guide thee, little barrel! may it protect all those whom ker karraje menaces and grant that this band of pirates may not escape from the justice of man! chapter xiv. battle between the "sword" and the tug. through all this sleepless night i have followed the keg in fancy. how many times i seem to see it swept against the rocks in the tunnel into a creek, or some excavation. i am in a cold perspiration from head to foot. then i imagine that it has been carried out to sea. heavens! if the returning tide should sweep it back to the entrance and then through the tunnel into the lagoon! i must be on the lookout for it. i rise before the sun and saunter down to the lagoon. not a single object is floating on its calm surface. the work on the tunnel through the side of the cavern goes on, and at four o'clock in the afternoon on september , engineer serko blows away the last rock obstructing the issue, and communication with the outer world is established. it is only a very narrow hole, and one has to stoop to go through it. the exterior orifice is lost among the crannies of the rocky coast, and it would be easy to obstruct it, if such a measure became necessary. it goes without saying that the passage will be strictly guarded. no one without special authorization will be able either to go out or come in, therefore there is little hope of escape in that direction. _september ._--this morning the tug rose from the depth of the lagoon to the surface, and has now run alongside the jetty. the count d'artigas and captain spade disembark, and the crew set to work to land the provisions--boxes of canned meat, preserves, barrels of wine and spirits, and other things brought by the _ebba,_ among which are several packages destined for thomas roch. the men also land the various sections of roch's engines which are discoid in shape. the inventor watches their operations, and his eyes glisten with eagerness. he seizes one of the sections, examines it, and nods approval. i notice that his joy no longer finds expression in incoherent utterances, that he is completely transformed from what he was while a patient at healthful house. so much is this the case that i begin to ask myself whether his madness which was asserted to be incurable, has not been radically cured. at last thomas roch embarks in the boat used for crossing the lake and is rowed over to his laboratory. engineer serko accompanies him. in an hour's time the tug's cargo has all been taken out and transported to the storehouses. ker karraje exchanges a word or two with engineer serko and then enters his mansion. later, in the afternoon, i see them walking up and down in front of the beehive and talking earnestly together. then they enter the new tunnel, followed by captain spade. if i could but follow them! if i could but breathe for awhile the bracing air of the atlantic, of which the interior of back cup only receives attenuated puffs, so to speak. _from september to october _.--fifteen days have elapsed. under the directions of engineer serko and thomas roch the sections of the engines have been fitted together. then the construction of their supports is begun. these supports are simple trestles, fitted with transverse troughs or grooves of various degrees of inclination, and which could be easily installed on the deck of the _ebba_, or even on the platform of the tug, which can be kept on a level with the surface. thus ker karraje, will be ruler of the seas, with his yacht. no warship, however big, however powerful, will be able to cross the zone of danger, whereas the _ebba_ will be out of range of its guns. if only my notice were found! if only the existence of this lair of back cup were known! means would soon be found, if not of destroying the place, at least of starving the band into submission! _october _.--to my extreme surprise i find this morning that the tug has gone away again. i recall that yesterday the elements of the piles were renewed, but i thought it was only to keep them in order. in view of the fact that the outside can now be reached through the new tunnel, and that thomas roch has everything he requires, i can only conclude that the tug has gone off on another marauding expedition. yet this is the season of the equinoctial gales, and the bermudan waters are swept by frequent tempests. this is evident from the violent gusts that drive back the smoke through the crater and the heavy rain that accompanies it, as well as by the water in the lagoon, which swells and washes over the brown rocks on its shores. but it is by no means sure that the _ebba_ has quitted her cove. however staunch she may be, she is, it seems to me, of too light a build to face such tempests as now rage, even with the help of the tug. on the other hand, although the tug has nothing to fear from the heavy seas, as it would be in calm water a few yards below the surface, it is hardly likely that it has gone on a trip unless to accompany the schooner. i do not know to what its departure can be attributed, but its absence is likely to be prolonged, for it has not yet returned. engineer serko has remained behind, but ker karraje, captain spade, and the crew of the schooner, i find, have left. life in the cavern goes on with its usual dispiriting monotony. i pass hour after hour in my cell, meditating, hoping, despairing, following in fancy the voyage of my little barrel, tossed about at the mercy of the currents and whose chances of being picked up, i fear, are becoming fainter each day, and killing time by writing my diary, which will probably not survive me. thomas roch is constantly occupied in his laboratory manufacturing his deflagrator. i still entertain the conviction that nothing will ever induce him to give up the secret of the liquid's composition; but i am perfectly aware that he will not hesitate to place his invention at ker karraje's service. i often meet engineer serko when my strolls take me in the direction of the beehive. he always shows himself disposed to chat with me, though, it is true, he does so in a tone of impertinent frivolity. we converse upon all sorts of subjects, but rarely of my position. recrimination thereanent is useless and only subjects me to renewed bantering. _october _.--to-day i asked engineer serko whether the _ebba_ had put to sea again with the tug. "yes, mr. simon hart," he replied, "and though the clouds gather and loud the tempest roars, be in no uneasiness in regard to our dear _ebba_." "will she be gone long?" "we expect her back within forty-eight hours. it is the last voyage count d'artigas proposes to make before the winter gales render navigation in these parts impracticable." "is her voyage one of business or pleasure?" "of business, mr. hart, of business," answered engineer serko with a smile. "our engines are now completed, and when the fine weather returns we shall resume offensive operations." "against unfortunate merchantmen." "as unfortunate as they are richly laden." "acts of piracy, whose impunity will, i trust, not always be assured," i cried.. "calm yourself, dear colleague, be calm! be calm! no one, you know, can ever discover our retreat, and none can ever disclose the secret! besides, with these engines, which are so easily handled and are of such terrible power, it would be easy for us to blow to pieces any ship that attempted to get within a certain radius of the island." "providing," i said, "that thomas roch has sold you the composition of his deflagrator as he has sold you that of his fulgurator." "that he has done, mr. hart, and it behooves me to set your mind at rest upon that point." from this categorical response i ought to have concluded that the misfortune had been consummated, but a certain hesitation in the intonation of his voice warned me that implicit reliance was not to be placed upon engineer serko's assertions. _october _.--what a frightful adventure i have just been mixed up in, and what a wonder i did not lose my life! it is only by a miracle that i am able to resume these notes, which have been interrupted for forty-eight hours. with a little luck, i should have been delivered! i should now be in one of the bermudan ports--st. george or hamilton. the mysteries of back cup would have been cleared up. the description of the schooner would have been wired all over the world, and she would not dare to put into any port. the provisioning of back cup would be impossible, and ker karraje's bandits would be condemned to starve to death! this is what occurred: at eight o'clock in the evening on october , i quitted my cell in an indefinable state of nervousness, and with a presentiment that a serious event was imminent. in vain i had tried to seek calmness in sleep. it was impossible to do so, and i rose and went out. outside back cup the weather must have been very rough. violent gusts of wind swept in through the crater and agitated the water of the lagoon. i walked along the shore on the beehive side. no one was about. it was rather cold, and the air was damp. the pirates were all snugly ensconced in their cells, with the exception of one man, who stood guard over the new passage, notwithstanding that the outer entrance had been blocked. from where he was this man could not see the lagoon, moreover there were only two lamps alight, one on each side of the lake, and the forest of pillars was wrapt in the profoundest obscurity. i was walking about in the shadow, when some one passed me. i saw that he was thomas roch. he was walking slowly, absorbed by his thoughts, his brain at work, as usual. was this not a favorable opportunity to talk to him, to enlighten him about what he was probably ignorant, namely, the character of the people into whose hands he had fallen? "he cannot," i argued, "know that the count d'artigas is none other than ker karraje, the pirate. he cannot be aware that he has given up a part of his invention to such a bandit. i must open his eyes to the fact that he will never be able to enjoy his millions, that he is a prisoner in back cup, and will never be allowed to leave it, any more than i shall. yes, i will make an appeal to his sentiments of humanity, and point out to him what frightful misfortunes he will be responsible for if he does not keep the secret of his deflagrator." all this i had said to myself, and was preparing to carry out my resolution, when i suddenly felt myself seized from behind. two men held me by the arms, and another appeared in front of me. before i had time to cry out the man exclaimed in english: "hush! not a word! are you not simon hart?" "yes, how did you know?" "i saw you come out of your cell." "who are you, then?" "lieutenant davon, of the british navy, of h.m.s. _standard_, which is stationed at the bermudas." emotion choked me so that it was impossible for me to utter a word. "we have come to rescue you from ker karraje, and also propose to carry off thomas roch," he added. "thomas roch?" i stammered. "yes, the document signed by you was found on the beach at st. george----" "in a keg, lieutenant davon, which i committed to the waters of the lagoon." "and which contained," went on the officer, "the notice by which we were apprised that the island of back cup served as a refuge for ker karraje and his band--ker karraje, this false count d'artigas, the author of the double abduction from healthful house." "ah! lieutenant davon----" "now we have not a moment to spare, we must profit by the obscurity." "one word, lieutenant davon, how did you penetrate to the interior of back cup?" "by means of the submarine boat _sword_, with which we have been making experiments at st. george for six months past." "a submarine boat!" "yes, it awaits us at the foot of the rocks. and now, mr. hart, where is ker karraje's tug?" "it has been away for three weeks." "ker karraje is not here, then?" "no, but we expect him back every day--every hour, i might say." "it matters little," replied lieutenant davon. "it is not after ker karraje, but thomas roch, we have come--and you also, mr. hart. the _sword_ will not leave the lagoon till you are both on board. if she does not turn up at st. george again, they will know that i have failed--and they will try again." "where is the _sword_, lieutenant?" "on this side, in the shadow of the bank, where it cannot be seen. thanks to your directions, i and my crew were able to locate the tunnel. we came through all right, and ten minutes ago rose to the surface of the lake. two men landed with me. i saw you issue from the cell marked on your plan. do you know where thomas roch is?" "a few paces off. he has just passed me, on his way to his laboratory." "god be praised, mr. hart!" "amen, lieutenant davon." the lieutenant, the two men and i took the path around the lagoon. we had not gone far when we perceived thomas roch in front of us. to throw ourselves upon him, gag him before he could utter a cry, bind him before he could offer any resistance, and bear him off to the place where the _sword_ was moored was the work of a minute. the _sword_ was a submersible boat of only twelve tons, and consequently much inferior to the tug, both in respect of dimensions and power. her screw was worked by a couple of dynamos fitted with accumulators that had been charged twelve hours previously in the port of st. george. however, the _sword_ would suffice to take us out of this prison, to restore us to liberty--that liberty of which i had given up all hope. thomas roch was at last to be rescued from the clutches of ker karraje and engineer serko. the rascals would not be able to utilize his invention, and nothing could prevent the warships from landing a storming party on the island, who would force the tunnel in the wall and secure the pirates! we saw no one while the two men were conveying thomas roch to the _sword_, and all got on board without incident. the lid was shut and secured, the water compartments filled, and the _sword_ sank out of sight. we were saved! the _sword_ was divided into three water-tight compartments. the after one contained the accumulators and machinery. the middle one, occupied by the pilot, was surmounted by a periscope fitted with lenticular portholes, through which an electric search-lamp lighted the way through the water. forward, in the other compartment, thomas roch and i were shut in. my companion, though the gag which was choking him had been removed, was still bound, and, i thought, knew what was going on. but we were in a hurry to be off, and hoped to reach st. george that very night if no obstacle was encountered. i pushed open the door of the compartment and rejoined lieutenant davon, who was standing by the man at the wheel. in the after compartment three other men, including the engineer, awaited the lieutenant's orders to set the machinery in motion. "lieutenant davon," i said, "i do not think there is any particular reason why i should stay in there with roch. if i can help you to get through the tunnel, pray command me." "yes, i shall be glad to have you by me, mr. hart." it was then exactly thirty-seven minutes past eight. the search-lamp threw a vague light through the water ahead of the _sword_. from where we were, we had to cross the lagoon through its entire length to get to the tunnel. it would be pretty difficult to fetch it, we knew, but, if necessary, we could hug the sides of the lake until we located it. once outside the tunnel the _sword_ would rise to the surface and make for st. george at full speed. "at what depth are we now?" i asked the lieutenant. "about a fathom." "it is not necessary to go any lower," i said. "from what i was able to observe during the equinoctial tides, i should think that we are in the axis of the tunnel." "all right," he replied. yes, it was all right, and i felt that providence was speaking by the mouth of the officer. certainly providence could not have chosen a better agent to work its will. in the light of the lamp i examined him. he was about thirty years of age, cool, phlegmatic, with resolute physiognomy--the english officer in all his native impassibility--no more disturbed than if he had been on board the _standard_, operating with extraordinary _sang-froid,_ i might even say, with the precision of a machine. "on coming through the tunnel i estimated its length at about fifty yards," he remarked. "yes, lieutenant, about fifty yards from one extremity to the other." this calculation must have been pretty exact, since the new tunnel cut on a level with the coast is thirty-five feet in length. the order was given to go ahead, and the _sword_ moved forward very slowly for fear of colliding against the rocky side. sometimes we came near enough to it to distinguish a black mass ahead of it, but a turn of the wheel put us in the right direction again. navigating a submarine boat in the open sea is difficult enough. how much more so in the confines of a lagoon! after five minutes' manoeuvring, the _sword_, which was kept at about a fathom below the surface, had not succeeded in sighting the orifice. "perhaps it would be better to return to the surface, lieutenant," i said. "we should then be able to see where we are." "i think you are right, mr. hart, if you can point out just about where the tunnel is located." "i think i can." "very well, then." as a precaution the light was turned off. the engineer set the pumps in motion, and, lightened of its water ballast, the boat slowly rose in the darkness to the surface. i remained at my post so that i could peer through the lookouts. at last the ascensional movement of the _sword_ stopped, and the periscope emerged about a foot. on one side of me, lighted by the lamp by the shore, i could see the beehive. "what is your opinion?" demanded the lieutenant. "we are too far north. the orifice is in the west side of the cavern." "is anybody about?" "not a soul." "capital, mr. hart. then we will keep on a level with the surface, and when we are in front of the tunnel, and you give the signal, we will sink." it was the best thing to be done. we moved off again and the pilot kept her head towards the tunnel. when we were about twelve yards off i gave the signal to stop. as soon as the current was turned off the _sword_ stopped, opened her water tanks and slowly sank again. then the light in the lookout was turned on again, and there in front of us was a black circle that did not reflect the lamp's rays. "there it is, there is the tunnel!" i cried. was it not the door by which i was going to escape from my prison? was not liberty awaiting me on the other side? gently the _sword_ moved towards the orifice. oh! the horrible mischance! how have i survived it? how is it that my heart is not broken? a dim light appeared in the depth of the tunnel, about twenty-five yards in front of us. the advancing light could be none other than that, projected through the lookout of ker karraje's submarine boat. "the tug! the tug!" i exclaimed. "lieutenant, here is the tug returning to back cup!" "full speed astern," ordered the officer, and the _sword_ drew back just as she was about to enter the tunnel. one chance remained. the lieutenant had swiftly turned off the light, and it was just possible that we had not been seen by the people in the tug. perhaps, in the dark waters of the lagoon, we should escape notice, and when the oncoming boat had risen and moored to the jetty, we should be able to slip out unperceived. we had backed close in to the south side and the _sword_ was about to stop, but alas, for our hopes! captain spade had seen that another submarine boat was about to issue through the tunnel, and he was making preparations to chase us. how could a frail craft like the _sword_ defend itself against the attacks of ker karraje's powerful machine? lieutenant davon turned to me and said: "go back to the compartment where thomas roch is and shut yourself in. i will close the after-door. there is just a chance that if the tug rams us the water-tight compartments will keep us up." after shaking hands with the lieutenant, who was as cool as though we were in no danger, i went forward and rejoined thomas roch. i closed the door and awaited the issue in profound darkness. then i could feel the desperate efforts made by the _sword_ to escape from or ram her enemy. i could feel her rushing, gyrating and plunging. now she would twist to avoid a collision. now she would rise to the surface, then sink to the bottom of the lagoon. can any one conceive such a struggle as that in which, like two marine monsters, these machines were engaged in beneath the troubled waters of this inland lake? a few minutes elapsed, and i began to think that the _sword_ had eluded the tug and was rushing through the tunnel. suddenly there was a collision. the shock was not, it seemed to me, very violent, but i could be under no illusion: the _sword_ had been struck on her starboard quarter. perhaps her plates had resisted, and if not, the water would only invade one of her compartments, i thought. almost immediately after, however, there was another shock that pushed the _sword_ with extreme violence. she was raised by the ram of the tug which sawed and ripped its way into her side. then i could feel her heel over and sink straight down, stern foremost. thomas roch and i were tumbled over violently by. this movement. there was another bump, another ripping sound, and the _sword_ lay still. just what happened after that i am unable to say, for i lost consciousness. i have since learned that all this occurred many hours ago. i however distinctly remember that my last thought was: "if i am to die, at any rate thomas roch and his secret perish with me--and the pirates of back cup will not escape punishment for their crimes." chapter xv. expectation. as soon as i recover my senses i find myself lying on my bed in my cell, where it appears i have been lying for thirty-six hours. i am not alone. engineer serko is near me. he has attended to me himself, not because he regards me as a friend, i surmise, but as a man from whom indispensable explanations are awaited, and who afterwards can be done away with if necessary. i am still so weak that i could not walk a step. a little more and i should have been asphyxiated in that narrow compartment of the _sword_ at the bottom of the lagoon. am i in condition to reply to the questions that engineer serko is dying to put to me? yes--but i shall maintain the utmost reserve. in the first place i wonder what has become of lieutenant davon and the crew of the _sword_. did those brave englishmen perish in the collision? are they safe and sound like us--for i suppose that thomas roch has also survived? the first question that engineer serko puts to me is this: "will you explain to me what happened, mr. hart?" instead of replying it occurs to me to question him myself. "and thomas roch?" i inquire. "in good health, mr. hart." then he adds in an imperious tone: "tell me what occurred!" "in the first place, tell me what became of the others." "what others?" replies serko, glancing at me savagely. "why, those men who threw themselves upon thomas roch and me, who gagged, bound, and carried us off and shut us up, i know not where?" on reflection i had come to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to pretend that i had been surprised before i knew where i was or who my aggressors were. "you will know what became of them later. but first, tell me how, the thing was done." by the threatening tone of his voice, as he for the third time puts this question, i understand the nature of the suspicions entertained of me. yet to be in the position to accuse me of having had relations with the outside he would have had to get possession of my keg. this he could not have done, seeing that it is in the hands of the bermudan authorities. the pirates cannot, i am convinced, have a single proof to back up their suspicions. i therefore recount how about eight o'clock on the previous evening i was walking along the edge of the lagoon, after thomas roch had passed me, going towards his laboratory, when i felt myself seized from behind; how having been gagged, bound, and blindfolded, i felt myself carried off and lowered into a hole with another person whom i thought i recognized from his groans as thomas roch; how i soon felt that i was on board a boat of some description and naturally concluded that it was the tug; how i felt it sink; how i felt a shock that threw me violently against the side, and how i felt myself suffocating and lost consciousness, since i remember nothing further. engineer serko listens with profound attention, a stern look in his eyes and a frown on his brow; and yet he can have no reason that authorizes him to doubt my word. "you claim that three men threw themselves upon you?" he asks. "yes. i thought they were some of your people, for i did not see them coming. who were they?" "strangers, as you must have known from their language." "they did not utter a word!" "have you no idea as to their nationality?" "not the remotest." do you know what were their intentions in entering the cavern?" "i do not." "what is your opinion about it?" "my opinion, mr. serko? i repeat i thought they were two or three of your pirates who had come to throw me into the lagoon by the count d'artigas' orders, and that they were going to do the same thing to thomas roch. i supposed that having obtained his secrets--as you informed me was the case--you had no further use for him and were about to get rid of us both." "is it possible, mr. hart, that you could have thought such a thing!" continued serko in his sarcastic way. "i did, until having been able to remove the bandage from my eyes, i perceived that i was in the tug." "it was not the tug, but a boat of the same kind that had got through the tunnel." "a submarine boat?" i ejaculate. "yes, and manned by persons whose mission was to kidnap you and thomas roch." "kidnap us?" i echo, continuing to feign surprise. "and," adds engineer serko, "i want to know what you think about the matter." "what i think about it? well, it appears to me that there is only one plausible explanation possible. if the secret of your retreat has not been betrayed--and i cannot conceive how you could have been betrayed or what imprudence you or yours could have committed--my opinion is that this submarine boat was exploring the bottom of the sea in this neighborhood, that she must have found her way into the tunnel, that she rose to the surface of the lagoon, that her crew, greatly surprised to find themselves inside an inhabited cavern, seized hold of the first persons they came across, thomas roch and myself, and others as well perhaps, for of course i do not know----" engineer serko has become serious again. does he realize the inanity of the hypothesis i try to pass off on him? does he think i know more than i will say? however this may be, he accepts my professed view, and says: "in effect, mr. hart, it must have happened as you suggest, and when the stranger tried to make her way out through the tunnel just as the tug was entering, there was a collision--a collision of which she was the victim. but we are not the kind of people to allow our fellow-men to perish before our eyes. moreover, the disappearance of thomas roch and yourself was almost immediately discovered. two such valuable lives had to be saved at all hazards. we set to work. there are many expert divers among our men. they hastily donned their suits and descended to the bottom of the lagoon. they passed lines around the hull of the _sword_----" "the _sword_?" i exclaim. "that is the name we saw painted on the bow of the vessel when we raised her to the surface. what satisfaction we experienced when we recovered you--unconscious, it is true, but still breathing--and were able to bring you back to life! unfortunately all our attentions to the officer who commanded the _sword_, and to his crew were useless. the shock had torn open the after and middle compartments, and they paid with their lives the misfortune--due to chance, as you observe--of having discovered our mysterious retreat." on learning that lieutenant davon and his companions are dead, my heart is filled with anguish; but to keep up my role--as they were persons with whom, presumably, i was not acquainted, and had never seen--i am careful not to display any emotion. i must, on no account, afford ground for the suspicion that there was any connivance between the commander of the _sword_ and me. for aught i know, engineer serko may have reason to be very skeptical about the discovery of the tunnel being accidental. what, however, i am most concerned about is that the unlooked-for occasion to recover my liberty was lost. shall i ever be afforded another chance? however this may be, my notice reached the english authorities of the archipelago, and they now know where ker karraje is to be found. when it is seen that the _sword_ does not return to bermuda, there can be no doubt that another attempt will be made to get inside back cup, in which, had it not been for the inopportune return of the tug, i should no longer be a prisoner. i have resumed my usual existence, and having allayed all mistrust, am permitted to wander freely about the cavern, as usual. it is patent that the adventure has had no ill effect upon thomas roch. intelligent nursing brought him around, as it did me. in full possession of his mental faculties he has returned to work, and spends the entire day in his laboratory. the _ebba_ brought back from her last trip bales, boxes, and a quantity of objects of varied origin, and i conclude that a number of ships must have been pillaged during this marauding expedition. the work on the trestles for roch's engine goes steadily forward, and there are now no fewer than fifty engines. if ker karraje and engineer serko are under the necessity of defending back cup, three or four will be sufficient to render the island unapproachable, as they will cover a zone which no vessel could enter without being blown to pieces. and it occurs to me that they intend to put back cup in a state of defence after having argued as follows: "if the appearance of the _sword_ in the lagoon was due to chance the situation remains unchanged, and no power, not even england, will think of seeking for the _sword_ inside the cavern. if, on the other hand, as the result of an incomprehensible revelation, it has been learned that back cup is become the retreat of ker karraje, if the expedition of the _sword_ was a first effort against the island, another of a different kind--either a bombardment from a distance, or an attack by a landing party--is to be expected. therefore, ere we can quit back cup and carry away our plunder, we shall have to defend ourselves by means of roch's fulgurator." in my opinion the rascals must have gone on to reason still further in this wise: "is there any connection between the disclosure of our secret--if it was, and however it may have been made--and the double abduction from healthful house? is it known that thomas roch and his keeper are confined in back cup? is it known that the abduction was effected in the interest of ker karraje? have americans, english, french, germans, and russians reason to fear that an attack in force against the island would be doomed to failure?" ker karraje must know very well that these powers would not hesitate to attack him, however great the danger might be. the destruction of his lair is an urgent duty in the interest of public security and of humanity. after sweeping the west pacific the pirate and his companions are infesting the west atlantic, and must be wiped out at all costs. in any case, it is imperative that the inhabitants of back cup should be on their guard. this fact is realized, and, from the day on which the _sword_ was destroyed, strict watch has been kept. thanks to the new passage, they are able to hide among the rocks without having recourse to the submarine tunnel to get there, and day and night a dozen sentries are posted about the island. the moment a ship appears in sight the fact is at once made known inside the cavern. nothing occurs for some days, and the latter succeed each other with dreadful monotony. the pirates, however, feel that back cup no longer enjoys its former security. every moment an alarm from the sentries posted outside is expected. the situation is no longer the same since the advent of the _sword_. gallant lieutenant davon, gallant crew, may england, may the civilized nations, never forget that you have sacrificed your lives in the cause of humanity! it is evident that now, however powerful may be their means of defence, even more powerful than a network of torpedoes, engineer serko and captain spade are filled with an anxiety that they vainly essay to dissemble. they hold frequent conferences together. maybe they discuss the advisability of quitting back cup with their wealth, for they are aware that if the existence of the cavern is known means will be found to reduce it, even if the inmates have to be starved out. this is, of course, mere conjecture on my part. what is essential to me is that they do not suspect me of having launched the keg that was so providentially picked up at bermuda. never, i must say, has engineer serko ever made any allusion to any such probability. no, i am not even suspected. if the contrary were the case i am sufficiently acquainted with ker karraje to know that he would long ago have sent me to rejoin lieutenant davon and the _sword_ at the bottom of the lagoon. the winter tempests have set in with a vengeance. the wind howls though the hole in the roof, and rude gusts sweep through the forest of pillars producing sonorous sounds, so sonorous, so deep, that one might sometimes almost fancy they were produced by the firing of the guns of a squadron. flocks of seabirds take refuge in the cavern from the gale, and at intervals, when it lulls, almost deafen us with their screaming. it is to be presumed that in such weather the schooner will make no attempt to put to sea, for the stock of provisions is ample enough to last all the season. moreover, i imagine the count d'artigas will not be so eager in future to show his _ebba_ along the american coast, where he risks being received, not, as hitherto, with the consideration due to a wealthy yachtsman, but in the manner ker karraje so richly merits. it occurs to me that if the apparition of the _sword_ was the commencement of a campaign against the island, a question of great moment relative to the future of back cup arises. therefore, one day, prudently, so as not to excite any suspicion, i ventured to pump engineer serko about it. we were in the neighborhood of thomas roch's laboratory, and had been conversing for some time, when engineer serko touched upon the extraordinary apparition of an english submarine boat in the lagoon. on this occasion he seemed to incline to the view that it might have been a premeditated expedition against ker karraje. "that is not my opinion," i replied, in order to bring him to the question that i wanted to put to him. "why?" he demanded. "because if your retreat were known a fresh attempt, if not to penetrate to the cavern, at least to destroy back cup, would ere this have been made." "destroy it!" cried serko. "it would be a dangerous undertaking, in view of the means of defence of which we now dispose." "they can know nothing about this matter, mr. serko. it is not imagined, either in the new world or the old, that the abduction from healthful house was effected for your especial benefit, or that you have succeeded in coming to terms with thomas roch for his invention." engineer serko made no response to this observation, which, for that matter, was unanswerable. i continued: "therefore a squadron sent by the maritime powers who have an interest in breaking up this island would not hesitate to approach and shell it. now, i argue from this that as this squadron has not yet appeared, it is not likely to come at all, and that nothing is known as to ker karraje's whereabouts, and you must admit that this hypothesis is the most cheerful one, as far as you are concerned." "that may be," engineer serko replied, "but what is, is. whether they are aware of the fact or no, if warships approach within five or six miles of this island they will be sunk before they have had time to fire a single shot!" "well, and what then?" "what then? why the probability is that no others would care to repeat the experiment." "that, again, may be. but these warships would invest you beyond the dangerous zone, and the _ebba_ would not be able to put in to the ports she previously visited with the count d'artigas. in this event, how would you be able to provision the island?" engineer serko remained silent. this argument, which he must already have brooded over, was too logical to be refuted or dismissed, and i have an idea that the pirates contemplate abandoning back cup. nevertheless, not relishing being cornered, he continued: "we should still have the tug, and what the _ebba_ could not do, this would." "the tug?" i cried. "but if ker karraje's secrets are known, do you suppose the powers are not also aware of the existence of the count d'artigas' submarine boat?" engineer serko looked at me suspiciously. "mr. hart," he said, "you appear to me to carry your deductions rather far." "i, mr. serko?" "yes, and i think you talk about all this like a man who knows more than he ought to." this remark brought me up abruptly. it was evident that my arguments might give rise to the suspicion that i was not altogether irresponsible for the recent incident. engineer serko scrutinized me sharply as though he would read my innermost thoughts. "mr. serko," i observed, "by profession, as well as by inclination, i am accustomed to reason upon everything. this is why i communicated to you the result of my reasoning, which you can take into consideration or not, as you like." thereupon we separate. but i fancy my lack of reserve may have excited suspicions which may not be easy to allay. from this interview, however, i gleaned a precious bit of information, namely, that the dangerous zone of roch's fulgurator is between five and six miles off. perhaps, during the next equinoctial tides, another notice to this effect in another keg may also reach a safe destination. but how many weary months to wait before the orifice of the tunnel will again be uncovered! the rough weather continues, and the squalls are more violent than ever. is it the state of the sea that delays another campaign against back cup? lieutenant davon certainly assured me that if his expedition failed, if the _sword_ did not return to st. george, another attempt under different conditions would be made with a view to breaking up this bandits' lair. sooner or later the work of justice must be done, and back cup be destroyed, even though i may not survive its destruction. ah! why can i not go and breathe, if only for a single instant, the vivifying air outside? why am i not permitted to cast one glance over the ocean towards the distant horizon of the bermudas? my whole life is concentrated in one desire: to get through the tunnel in the wall and hide myself among the rocks. perchance i might be the first to catch sight of the smoke of a squadron heading for the island. this project, alas! is unrealizable, as sentries are posted day and night at each extremity of the passage. no one can enter it without engineer serko's authorization. were i to attempt it, i should risk being deprived of my liberty to walk about the cavern, and even worse might happen to me. since our last conversation, engineer serko's attitude towards me has undergone a change. his gaze has lost its old-time sarcasm and is distrustful, suspicious, searching and as stern as ker karraje's. _november _.--this afternoon there was a great commotion in the beehive, and the men rushed out of their cells with loud cries. i was reclining on my bed, but immediately rose and hurried out. all the pirates were making for the passage, in front of which were ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, boatswain effrondat, engine-driver gibson and the count d'artigas' big malay attendant. i soon learn the reason for the tumult, for the sentries rush in with shouts of alarm. several vessels have been sighted to the northwest--warships steaming at full speed in the direction of back cup. chapter xvi. only a few more hours. what effect this news has upon me, and what emotion it awakens within my soul! the end, i feel, is at hand. may it be such as civilization and humanity are entitled to. up to the present i have indited my notes day by day. henceforward it is imperative that i should inscribe them hour by hour, minute by minute. who knows but what thomas roch's last secret may be revealed to me and that i shall have time to commit it to paper! should i die during the attack god grant that the account of the five months i have passed in back cup may be found upon my body! at first ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, and several of their companions took up position on the exterior base of the island. what would i not give to be able follow to them, and in the friendly shelter of a rook watch the on-coming warships! an hour later they return after having left a score of men to keep watch. as the days at this season of the year are very short there is nothing to fear before the morrow. it is not likely that the ships will attempt a night attack and land a storming party, for they must imagine that the place is in a thorough condition of defence. all night long the pirates work, installing the trestles at different points of the coast. six have been taken through the passage to places selected in advance. this done, engineer serko joins thomas roch in his laboratory. is he going to tell him what is passing, that a squadron is in view of back cup, and that his fulgurator will be employed to defend the island? what is certain is that half a hundred engines, each charged with several pounds of the explosive and of the substance that ensures a trajectory superior to that of any other projectile, are ready for their work of destruction. as to the deflagrator liquid, thomas roch has a certain number of phials of it, and--i know only too well--will not refuse to help ker karraje's pirates with it. during these preparations night has come on. only the lamps of the beehive are lighted and a semi-obscurity reigns in the cavern. i return to my cell. it is to my interest to keep out of the way as much as possible, for engineer serko's suspicions might be revived now that the squadron is approaching back cup. but will the vessels sighted continue on their course in this direction? may they not be merely passing on their way to bermuda? for an instant this doubt enters my mind. no, no, it cannot be! besides, i have just heard captain spade declare that they are lying to in view of the island. to what nation do they belong? have the english, desirous of avenging the destruction of the _sword_, alone undertaken the expedition? may not cruisers of other nations be with them? i know not, and it is impossible to ascertain. and what does it matter, after all, so long as this haunt is destroyed, even though i should perish in the ruins like the heroic lieutenant davon and his brave crew? preparations for defence continue with coolness and method under engineer serko's superintendence. these pirates are obviously certain that they will be able to annihilate their assailants as soon as the latter enter the dangerous zone. their confidence in roch's fulgurator is absolute. absorbed by the idea that these warship are powerless against them, they think neither of the difficulties nor menaces held out by the future. i surmise that the trestles have been set up on the northwest coast with the grooves turned to send the engines to the north, west, and south. on the east, as already stated, the island is defended by the chain of reefs that stretches away to the bermudas. about nine o'clock i venture out of my cell. they will pay little attention to me, and perhaps i may escape notice in the obscurity. ah! if i could get through that passage and hide behind some rock, so that i could witness what goes on at daybreak! and why should i not succeed now that ker karraje, engineer serko, captain spade, and the pirates have taken their posts outside? the shores of the lake are deserted, but the entrance to the passage is kept by count d'artigas' malay. i saunter, without any fixed idea, towards thomas roch's laboratory. this reminds me of my compatriot. i am, on reflection, disposed to think that he knows nothing about the presence of a squadron off back cup. probably not until the last moment will engineer serko apprise him of its proximity, not till he brusquely points out to him the vengeance he can accomplish. then i conceive the idea of enlightening thomas roch, myself, of the responsibility he is incurring and of revealing to him in this supreme hour the character of the men who want him to co-operate in their criminal projects. yes, i will, attempt it, and may i succeed in fanning into a flame any spark of patriotism that may still linger in his rebellious soul! roch is shut up in his laboratory. he must be alone, for never does he allow any one to enter while he is preparing his deflagrator. as i pass the jetty i notice that the tug is moored in its accustomed place. here i judge it prudent to walk behind the first row of pillars and approach the laboratory laterally--which will enable me to see whether anybody is with him. when i have gone a short distance along the sombre avenue i see a bright light on the opposite side of the lagoon. it is the electric light in roch's laboratory as seen through a narrow window in the front. except in that particular spot, the southern shore of the lake is in darkness, whereas, in the opposite direction, the beehive is lit up to its extremity at the northern wall. through the opening in the dome, over the lake i can see the stars shining. the sky is clear, the tempest has abated, and the squalls no longer penetrate to the interior of back cup. when near the laboratory, i creep along the wall and peep in at the window. thomas roch is there alone. the light shines full on his face. if it is somewhat drawn, and the lines on the forehead are more pronounced, his physiognomy, at least, denotes perfect calmness and self-possession. no, he is no longer the inmate of pavilion no. , the madman of healthful house, and i ask myself whether he is not radically cured, whether there is no further danger of his reason collapsing in a final paroxysm. he has just laid two glass phials upon the table, and holds a third in his hand. he holds it up to the light, and observes the limpidity of the liquid it contains. i have half a mind to rush in, seize the tubes and smash them, but i reflect that he would have time to make some more of the stuff. better stick to my first plan. i push the door open and enter. "thomas roch!" i exclaim. he has not heard, nor has he seen me. "thomas roch!" i repeat. he raises his head, turns and gazes at me. "ah! it is you, simon hart!" he replies calmly, even indifferently. he knows my name. engineer serko must have informed him that it was simon hart, and not keeper gaydon who was watching over him at healthful house. "you know who i am?" i say. "yes, as i know what your object was in undertaking such a position. you lived in hopes of surprising a secret that they would not pay for at its just value!" thomas roch knows everything, and perhaps it is just as well, in view of what i am going to say. "well, you did not succeed, simon hart, and as far as this is concerned," he added, flourishing the phial, "no one else has succeeded, or ever will succeed." as i conjectured, he has not, then, made known the composition of his deflagrator. looking him straight in the face, i reply: "you know who i am, thomas roch, but do you know in whose place you are?" "in my own place!" he cries. that is what ker karraje has permitted him to believe. the inventor thinks he is at home in back cup, that the riches accumulated in this cavern are his, and that if an attack is made upon the place, it will be with the object of stealing what belongs to him! and he will defend it under the impression that he has the right to do so! "thomas roch," i continue, "listen to me." "what do you want to say to me, simon hart?" "this cavern into which we have been dragged, is occupied by a band of pirates, and--" roch does not give me time to complete the sentence--i doubt even whether he has understood me. "i repeat," he interrupts vehemently, "that the treasures stored here are the price of my invention. they have paid me what i asked for my fulgurator--what i was everywhere else refused--even in my own country--which is also yours--and i will not allow myself to be despoiled!" what can i reply to such insensate assertions? i, however, go on: "thomas roch, do you remember healthful house?" "healthful house, where i was sequestrated after warder gaydon had been entrusted with the mission of spying upon me in order to rob me of my secret? i do, indeed." "i never dreamed of depriving you of the benefit of your secret, thomas roch. i would never have accepted such a mission. but you were ill, your reason was affected, and your invention was too valuable to be lost. yes, had you disclosed the secret during one of your fits you would have preserved all the benefit and all the honor of it." "really, simon hart!" roch replies disdainfully. "honor and benefit! your assurances come somewhat late in the day. you forget that on the pretext of insanity, i was thrown into a dungeon. yes, it was a pretext; for my reason has never left me, even for an hour, as you can see from what i have accomplished since i am free." "free! do you imagine you are free, thomas roch? are you not more closely confined within the walls of this cavern than you ever were at healthful house?" "a man who is in his own home," he replies angrily, "goes out as he likes and when he likes. i have only to say the word and all the doors will open before me. this place is mine. count d'artigas gave it to me with everything it contains. woe to those who attempt to attack it. i have here the wherewithal to annihilate them, simon hart!" the inventor waves the phial feverishly as he speaks." "the count d'artigas has deceived you," i cry, "as he has deceived so many others. under this name is dissembled one of the most formidable monsters who ever scoured the pacific and atlantic oceans. he is a bandit steeped in crime--he is the odious ker karraje!" "ker karraje!" echoes thomas roch. and i wonder if this name has not impressed him, if he remembers who the man is who bears it. if it did impress him, it was only momentarily. "i do not know this ker karraje," he says, pointing towards the door to order me out. "i only know the count d'artigas." "thomas roch," i persist, in a final effort, "the count d'artigas and ker karraje are one and the same person. if this man has purchased your secret, it is with the intention of ensuring impunity for his crimes and facilities for committing fresh ones. he is the chief of these pirates." "pirates!" cries roch, whose irritation increases the more i press him. "the real pirates are those who dare to menace me even in this retreat, who tried it on with the _sword_--for serko has told me everything--who sought to steal in my own home what belongs to me, what is but the just price of my discovery." "no, thomas roch, the pirates are those who have imprisoned you in this cavern of back cup, who will utilize your genius to defend it, and who will get rid of you when they are in entire possession of your secrets!" thomas roch here interrupts me. he does not appear to listen to what i say. he has a fixed idea, that of vengeance, which has been skilfully worked upon by engineer serko, and in which his hatred is concentrated to the exclusion of everything else. "the bandits," he hisses, "are those who spurned me without a hearing, who heaped injustice and ignominy upon me, who drove me from country to country, whereas i offered them superiority, invincibleness, omnipotence!" it is the eternal story of the unappreciated inventor, to whom the indifferent or envious refuse the means of testing his inventions, to pay him the value he sets upon them. i know it well--and also know all the exaggeration that has been written upon this subject. it is clearly no time for reasoning with thomas roch. my arguments are entirely lost upon the hapless dupe of ker karraje and his accomplices. in revealing to him the real name of the count d'artigas, and denouncing to him this band and their chief i had hoped to wean him from their influence and make him realize the criminal end they have in view. my hope was vain. he does not believe me. and then what does he care whether the brigand's name is count 'd'artigas or ker karraje? is not he, thomas roch, master of back cup? is he not the owner of these riches accumulated by twenty years of murder and rapine? disarmed before such moral degeneracy, knowing not how i can touch his ulcerated, irresponsible heart, i turn towards the door. it only remains for me to withdraw. what is to be, will be, since it is out of my power to prevent the frightful _dénouement_ that will occur in a few hours. thomas roch takes no more notice of me. he seems to have forgotten that i am here. he has resumed his manipulations without realizing that he is not alone. there is only one means of preventing the imminent catastrophe. throw myself upon roch, place him beyond the power of doing harm--strike him--kill him--yes, kill him! it is my right--it is my duty! i have no arms, but on a near-by shelf i see some tools--a chisel and a hammer. what is to prevent me from knocking his brains out? once he is dead i have but to smash the phials and his invention dies with him. the warships can approach, land their men upon the island, demolish back cup with their shells. ker karraje and his band will be killed to a man. can i hesitate at a murder that will bring about the chastisement of so many crimes? i advance to the shelf and stretch forth my hand to seize the chisel. as i do so, thomas roch turns round. it is too late to strike. a struggle would ensue. the noise and his cries would be heard, for there are still some pirates not far off, i can even now hear some one approaching, and have only just time to fly if i would not be seen. nevertheless, i make one last attempt to awaken the sentiment of patriotism within him. "thomas roch," i say, "warships are in sight. they have come to destroy this lair. maybe one of them flies the french flag!" he gazes at me. he was not aware that back cup is going to be attacked, and i have just apprised him of the fact. his brow darkens and his eyes flash. "thomas roch, would you dare to fire upon your country's flag--the tricolor flag?" he raises his head, shakes it nervously, and with a disdainful gesture: "what do you mean by 'your country?' i no longer have any country, simon hart. the inventor spurned no longer has a country. where he finds an asylum, there is his fatherland! they seek to take what is mine. i will defend it, and woe, woe to those who dare to attack me!" then rushing to the door of the laboratory and throwing it violently open he shouts so loudly that he must be heard at the beehive: "go! get you gone!" i have not a second to lose, and i dash out. chapter xvii. one against five. for a whole hour i wander about among back cup's dark vaults, amid the stone trees, to the extreme limit of the cavern. it is here that i have so often sought an issue, a crevice, a crack through which i might squeeze to the shore of the island. my search has been futile. in my present condition, a prey to indefinable hallucinations it seems to me that these walls are thicker than ever, that they are gradually closing in upon and will crush me. how long this mental trouble lasts i cannot say. but i afterwards find myself on the beehive side, opposite the cell in which i cannot hope for either repose or sleep. sleep, when my brain is in a whirl of excitement? sleep, when i am near the end of a situation that threatened to be prolonged for years and years? what will the end be as far as i am personally concerned? what am i to expect from the attack upon back cup, the success of which i have been unable to assure by placing thomas roch beyond the possibility of doing harm? his engines are ready to be launched, and as soon as the vessels have reached the dangerous zone they will be blown to atoms. however this may be, i am condemned to pass the remaining hours of the night in my cell. the time has come for me to go in. at daybreak i shall see what is best for me to do. meanwhile, for aught i know i may hear the thunder of roch's fulgurator as it destroys the ships approaching to make a night attack. i take a last look round. on the opposite side a light, a single light, is burning. it is the lamp in roch's laboratory and it casts its reflection upon the waters of the lake. no one is about, and it occurs to me that the pirates must have taken up their lighting positions outside and that the beehive is empty. then, impelled by an irresistible instinct, instead of returning to my cell, i creep along the wall, listening, spying, ready to hide if i hear voices or footsteps. i at length reach the passage. god in heaven! no one is on guard there--the passage is free! without giving myself time to reflect i dart into the dark hole, and grope my way along it. soon i feel a fresher air--the salt, vivifying air of the sea, that i have not breathed for five months. i inspire it with avidity, with all the power of my lungs. the outer extremity of the passage appears against the star-studded sky. there is not even a shadow in the way. perhaps i shall be able to get outside. i lay down, and crawl along noiselessly to the orifice and peer out. not a soul is in sight! by skirting the rocks towards the east, to the side which cannot be approached from the sea on account of the reefs and which is not likely to be watched, i reach a narrow excavation about two hundred and twenty-five yards from where the point of the coast extends towards the northwest. at last i am out of the cavern. i am not free, but it is the beginning of freedom. on the point the forms of a few sentries stand out against the clear sky, so motionless that they might be mistaken for pieces of the rock. on the horizon to the west the position lights of the warship show in a luminous line. from a few gray patches discernable in the east, i calculate that it must be about five o'clock in the morning. _november _.--it is now light enough for me to be able to complete my notes relating the details of my visit to thomas roch's laboratory--the last lines my hand will trace, perhaps. i have begun to write, and shall dot down the incidents of the attack as they occur. the light damp mist that hangs over the water soon lifts under the influence of the breeze, and at last i can distinguish the warships. there are five of them, and they are lying in a line about six miles off, and consequently beyond the range of roch's engines. my fear that after passing in sight of the bermudas the squadron would continue on its way to the antilles or mexico was therefore unfounded. no, there it is, awaiting broad daylight in order to attack back cup. there is a movement on the coast. three or four pirates emerge from the rocks, the sentries are recalled and draw in, and the entire band is soon assembled. they do not seek shelter inside the cavern, knowing full well that the ships can never get near enough for the shells of the big guns to reach, the island. i run no risk of being discovered, for only my head protrudes above the hole in the rock and no one is likely to come this way. the only thing that worries me is that serko, or somebody else may take it into his head to see if i am in my cell, and if necessary to lock me in, though what they have to fear from me i cannot conceive. at twenty-five minutes past seven: ker karraje, engineer serko and captain spade advance to the extremity of the point, where they sweep the north-western horizon with their telescopes. behind them the six trestles are installed, in the grooves of which are roch's autopropulsive engines. thirty-five minutes past seven: smoke arises from the stacks of the warships, which are getting under way and will soon be within range of the engines. horrible cries of joy, salvos of hurrahs--howls of wild beasts i might more appropriately say--arise from the pirate horde. at this moment engineer serko quits ker karraje, whom he leaves with captain spade, and enters the cavern, no doubt to fetch thomas roch. when ker karraje orders the latter to launch his engines against the ships will he remember what i told him? will not his crime appear to him in all its horror? will he refuse to obey? no, i am only too convinced of the contrary. it is useless to entertain any illusion on the subject. the inventor believes he is on his own property. they are going to attack it. he will defend it. the five warships slowly advance, making for the point. perhaps they imagine on board that thomas roch has not given up his last and greatest secret to the pirates--and, as a matter of fact, he had not done so when i threw the keg into the lagoon. if the commanders propose to land storming parties and the ships advance into the zone of danger there will soon be nothing left of them but bits of shapeless floating wreckage. here comes thomas roch accompanied by engineer serko. on issuing from the passage both go to the trestle that is pointing towards the leading warship. ker karraje and captain spade are awaiting them. as far as i am able to judge, roch is calm. he knows what he is going to do. no hesitation troubles the soul of the hapless man whom hatred has led astray. between his fingers shines the glass phial containing the deflagrator liquid. he then gazes towards the nearest ship, which is about five miles' distant. she is a cruiser of about two thousand five hundred tons--not more. she flies no flag, but from her build i take her to belong to a nation for which no frenchman can entertain any particular regard. the four other warships remain behind. it is this cruiser which is to begin the attack. let her use her guns, then, since the pirates allow her to approach, and may the first of her projectiles strike thomas roch! while engineer serko is estimating the distance, roch places himself behind the trestle. three engines are resting on it, charged with the explosive, and which are assured a long trajectory by the fusing matter without it being necessary to impart a gyratory movement to them--as in the case of inventor turpin's gyroscopic projectiles. besides, if they drop within a few hundred yards of the vessel, they will be quite near enough to utterly destroy it. the time has come. "thomas roch!" engineer serko cries, and points to the cruiser. the latter is steaming slowly towards the northwestern point of the island and is between four and five miles off. roch nods assent, and waves them back from the trestle. ker karraje, captain spade and the others draw back about fifty paces. thomas roch then takes the stopper from the phial which he holds in his right hand, and successively pours into a hole in the rear-end of each engine a few drops of the liquid, which mixes with the fusing matter. forty-five seconds elapse--the time necessary for the combination to be effected--forty-five seconds during which it seems to me that my heart ceases to beat. a frightful whistling is then heard, and the three engines tear through the air, describing a prolonged curve at a height of three hundred feet, and pass the cruiser. have they missed it? is the danger over? no! the engines, after the manner of artillery captain chapel's discoid projectile, return towards the doomed vessel like an australian boomerang. the next instant the air is shaken with a violence comparable to that which would be caused by the explosion of a magazine of melinite or dynamite, back cup island trembles to its very foundations. the cruiser has disappeared,--blown to pieces. the effect is that of the zalinski shell, but centupled by the infinite power of roch's fulgurator. what shouts the bandits raise as they rush towards the extremity of the point! ker karraje, engineer serko, and captain spade remain rooted to the spot, hardly able to credit the evidence of their own eyes. as to thomas roch, he stands with folded arms, and flashing eyes, his face radiant with pride and triumph. i understand, while i abhor his feelings. if the other warships approach they will share the same fate as the cruiser. they will inevitably be destroyed. oh! if they would but give up the struggle and withdraw to safety, even though my last hope would go with them! the nations can consult and arrive at some other plan for destroying the island. they can surround the place with a belt of ships that the pirates cannot break through and starve them to death like so many rats in a hole. but i know that the warships will not retire, even though they know they are going to certain death. one after the other they will all make the attempt. and i am right. signals are exchanged between them. almost immediately clouds of black smoke arise and the vessels again advance. one of them, under forced draught, distances the others in her anxiety to bring her big guns quickly into action. at all risks i issue from my hole, and gaze at the on-coming warship with feverish eyes, awaiting, without being able to prevent it, another catastrophe. this vessel, which visibly grows larger as it comes nearer, is a cruiser of about the same tonnage as the one that preceded her. no flag is flying and i cannot guess her nationality. she continues steaming at full speed in an effort to pass the zone of danger before other engines can be launched. but how can she escape them since they will swoop back upon her? thomas roch places himself behind the second trestle as the cruiser passes on to the surface of the abysm in which she will in turn soon be swallowed up. no sound disturbs the stillness. suddenly the rolling of drums and the blare of bugles is heard on board the warship. i know those bugle calls: they are french bugles! great god! she is one of the ships of my own country's navy and a french inventor is about to destroy her! no! it shall not be. i will rush towards thomas roch--shout to him that she is a french ship. he does not, cannot, know it. at a sign from engineer serko the inventor has raised the phial. the bugles sound louder and more strident. it is the salute to the flag. a flag unfurls to the breeze--the tricolor, whose blue, white and red sections stand out luminously against the sky. ah! what is this? i understand! thomas roch is fascinated at the sight of his national emblem. slowly he lowers his arm as the flag flutters up to the mast-head. then he draws back and covers his eyes with his hand. heavens above! all sentiment of patriotism is not then dead in his ulcerated heart, seeing that it beats at the sight of his country's flag! my emotion is not less than his. at the risk of being seen--and what do i now care if i am seen?--i creep over the rocks. i will be there to sustain thomas roch and prevent him from weakening. if i pay for it with my life i will once more adjure him in the name of his country. i will cry to him: "frenchman, it is the tricolor that flies on yonder ship! frenchman, it is a very part of france that is approaching you! frenchman, would you be so criminal as to strike it?" but my intervention will not be necessary. thomas roch is not a prey to one of the fits to which he was formerly subject. he is perfectly sane. when he found himself facing the flag he understood--and drew back. a few pirates approach to lead him to the trestle again. he struggles and pushes them from him. ker karraje and engineer serko run up. they point to the rapidly advancing ship. they order him to launch his engines. thomas roch refuses. captain spade and the others, mad with rage, menace him--curse him--strike him--try to wrest the phial from him. roch throws it on the ground and crushes it under foot. then panic seizes upon the crowd of wretches. the cruiser has passed the zone and they cannot return her fire. shells begin to rain all over the island, bursting the rocks in every direction. but where is thomas roch? has he been killed by one of the projectiles? no, i see him for the last time as he dashes into the passage. ker karraje, engineer serko and the others follow him to seek shelter inside of back cup. i will not return to the cavern at any price, even if i get killed by staying where i am. i will jot down my final notes and when the french sailors land on the point i will go-- end of engineer simon hart's notes. chapter xviii. on board the "tonnant." after the failure of lieutenant davon's mission with the _sword_, the english authorities waited in vain for the expedition to return, and the conviction at length gained ground that the bold sailors had perished; but whether the _sword_ had been lost by striking against a rock or had been destroyed by ker karraje's pirates, could not, of course, be ascertained. the object of the expedition, based upon the indications of the document found in the keg that was thrown up on the shore at st. george, was to carry off thomas roch ere his engines were completed. the french inventor having been recovered--without forgetting engineer simon hart--he was to be handed over to the care of the bermudan authorities. that done, there would be nothing to fear from his fulgurator when the island was attacked. when, however, the _sword_ had been given up for lost, another expedition of a different kind, was decided upon. the time that had elapsed--nearly eight weeks--from the date of the document found in the keg, had to be taken into consideration. it was thought that during the interval, ker karraje might have gained possession of roch's secrets. an _entente_ concluded between the maritime powers, resulted in the sending of five warships to bermudan waters. as there was a vast cavern inside back cup mountain, it was decided to attempt to bring the latter down like the walls of a bastion, by bombarding it with powerful modern artillery. the squadron assembled at the entrance to the chesapeake, in virginia, and sailed for the archipelago, which was sighted on the evening of november . the next morning the vessel selected for the first attack, steamed forward. it was about four and a half miles from the island, when three engines, after passing the vessel, swerved round and exploded about sixty yards from her. she sank immediately. the effect of the explosion, which was superior to any previously obtained by new explosives, was instantaneous. even at the distance they were from the spot where it occurred, the four remaining ships felt the shock severely. two things were to be deduced from this sudden catastrophe: .--the pirate ker karraje was in possession of roch's fulgurator. .--the new engine possessed the destructive power attributed to it by its inventor. after the disappearance of the unfortunate cruiser, the other vessels lowered boats to pick up a few survivors who were clinging to the floating wreckage. then it was that the signals were exchanged and the warships started towards the island. the swiftest of them, the _tonnant_, a french cruiser, forged ahead while the others forced their draught in an effort to catch up with her. the _tonnant_, at the risk of being blown to pieces in turn, penetrated the danger zone half a mile, and then ran up her flag while manoeuvring to bring her heavy guns into action. from the bridge the officers could see ker karraje's band scattered on the rocks of the island. the occasion was an excellent one for getting a shot at them before the bombardment of their retreat was begun, and fire was opened with the result that the pirates made a rush to get into the cavern. a few minutes later there was a shock terrific enough to shake the sky down. where the mountain had been, naught but a heap of smoking, crumbling rocks was to be seen. back cup had become a group of jagged reefs against which the sea, that had been thrown back like a gigantic tidal wave, was beating and frothing. what was the cause of the explosion? had it been voluntarily caused by the pirates when they realized that escape was impossible? the _tonnant_ had not been seriously damaged by the flying rocks. her boats were lowered and made towards all that was left of back cup. the landing parties explored the ruins, and found a few horribly mangled corpses. not a vestige of the cavern was to be seen. one body, and one only, was found intact. it was lying on the northeast side of the reefs. in one hand, tightly clasped, was a note-book, the last line of which was incomplete. a close examination showed that the man was still breathing. he was conveyed on board the _tonnant_, where it was learned from the note-book that he was simon hart. for some time his life was despaired of, but he was eventually brought round, and from the answers made to the questions addressed to him the following conclusion was reached: moved to his very soul at the sight of the tricolor flag, being at last conscious of the crime of _lèse-patrie_ he was about to commit, thomas roch rushed through the passage to the magazine where a considerable quantity of his explosive was stored. then, before he could be prevented, brought about the terrible explosion which destroyed the island of back cup. and now ker karraje and his pirates have disappeared--and with them thomas roch and the secret of his invention. the end. end of the voyage extraordinaire the invisible man a grotesque romance by h. g. wells contents i the strange man's arrival ii mr. teddy henfrey's first impressions iii the thousand and one bottles iv mr. cuss interviews the stranger v the burglary at the vicarage vi the furniture that went mad vii the unveiling of the stranger viii in transit ix mr. thomas marvel x mr. marvel's visit to iping xi in the "coach and horses" xii the invisible man loses his temper xiii mr. marvel discusses his resignation xiv at port stowe xv the man who was running xvi in the "jolly cricketers" xvii dr. kemp's visitor xviii the invisible man sleeps xix certain first principles xx at the house in great portland street xxi in oxford street xxii in the emporium xxiii in drury lane xxiv the plan that failed xxv the hunting of the invisible man xxvi the wicksteed murder xxvii the siege of kemp's house xxviii the hunter hunted the epilogue chapter i the strange man's arrival the stranger came early in february, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. he was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. he staggered into the "coach and horses" more dead than alive, and flung his portmanteau down. "a fire," he cried, "in the name of human charity! a room and a fire!" he stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed mrs. hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. and with that much introduction, that and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn. mrs. hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him a meal with her own hands. a guest to stop at iping in the wintertime was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no "haggler," and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good fortune. as soon as the bacon was well under way, and millie, her lymphatic maid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost _eclat_. although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. his gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in thought. she noticed that the melting snow that still sprinkled his shoulders dripped upon her carpet. "can i take your hat and coat, sir?" she said, "and give them a good dry in the kitchen?" "no," he said without turning. she was not sure she had heard him, and was about to repeat her question. he turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. "i prefer to keep them on," he said with emphasis, and she noticed that he wore big blue spectacles with sidelights, and had a bush side-whisker over his coat-collar that completely hid his cheeks and face. "very well, sir," she said. "_as_ you like. in a bit the room will be warmer." he made no answer, and had turned his face away from her again, and mrs. hall, feeling that her conversational advances were ill-timed, laid the rest of the table things in a quick staccato and whisked out of the room. when she returned he was still standing there, like a man of stone, his back hunched, his collar turned up, his dripping hat-brim turned down, hiding his face and ears completely. she put down the eggs and bacon with considerable emphasis, and called rather than said to him, "your lunch is served, sir." "thank you," he said at the same time, and did not stir until she was closing the door. then he swung round and approached the table with a certain eager quickness. as she went behind the bar to the kitchen she heard a sound repeated at regular intervals. chirk, chirk, chirk, it went, the sound of a spoon being rapidly whisked round a basin. "that girl!" she said. "there! i clean forgot it. it's her being so long!" and while she herself finished mixing the mustard, she gave millie a few verbal stabs for her excessive slowness. she had cooked the ham and eggs, laid the table, and done everything, while millie (help indeed!) had only succeeded in delaying the mustard. and him a new guest and wanting to stay! then she filled the mustard pot, and, putting it with a certain stateliness upon a gold and black tea-tray, carried it into the parlour. she rapped and entered promptly. as she did so her visitor moved quickly, so that she got but a glimpse of a white object disappearing behind the table. it would seem he was picking something from the floor. she rapped down the mustard pot on the table, and then she noticed the overcoat and hat had been taken off and put over a chair in front of the fire, and a pair of wet boots threatened rust to her steel fender. she went to these things resolutely. "i suppose i may have them to dry now," she said in a voice that brooked no denial. "leave the hat," said her visitor, in a muffled voice, and turning she saw he had raised his head and was sitting and looking at her. for a moment she stood gaping at him, too surprised to speak. he held a white cloth--it was a serviette he had brought with him--over the lower part of his face, so that his mouth and jaws were completely hidden, and that was the reason of his muffled voice. but it was not that which startled mrs. hall. it was the fact that all his forehead above his blue glasses was covered by a white bandage, and that another covered his ears, leaving not a scrap of his face exposed excepting only his pink, peaked nose. it was bright, pink, and shiny just as it had been at first. he wore a dark-brown velvet jacket with a high, black, linen-lined collar turned up about his neck. the thick black hair, escaping as it could below and between the cross bandages, projected in curious tails and horns, giving him the strangest appearance conceivable. this muffled and bandaged head was so unlike what she had anticipated, that for a moment she was rigid. he did not remove the serviette, but remained holding it, as she saw now, with a brown gloved hand, and regarding her with his inscrutable blue glasses. "leave the hat," he said, speaking very distinctly through the white cloth. her nerves began to recover from the shock they had received. she placed the hat on the chair again by the fire. "i didn't know, sir," she began, "that--" and she stopped embarrassed. "thank you," he said drily, glancing from her to the door and then at her again. "i'll have them nicely dried, sir, at once," she said, and carried his clothes out of the room. she glanced at his white-swathed head and blue goggles again as she was going out of the door; but his napkin was still in front of his face. she shivered a little as she closed the door behind her, and her face was eloquent of her surprise and perplexity. "i _never_," she whispered. "there!" she went quite softly to the kitchen, and was too preoccupied to ask millie what she was messing about with _now_, when she got there. the visitor sat and listened to her retreating feet. he glanced inquiringly at the window before he removed his serviette, and resumed his meal. he took a mouthful, glanced suspiciously at the window, took another mouthful, then rose and, taking the serviette in his hand, walked across the room and pulled the blind down to the top of the white muslin that obscured the lower panes. this left the room in a twilight. this done, he returned with an easier air to the table and his meal. "the poor soul's had an accident or an op'ration or somethin'," said mrs. hall. "what a turn them bandages did give me, to be sure!" she put on some more coal, unfolded the clothes-horse, and extended the traveller's coat upon this. "and they goggles! why, he looked more like a divin' helmet than a human man!" she hung his muffler on a corner of the horse. "and holding that handkerchief over his mouth all the time. talkin' through it! ... perhaps his mouth was hurt too--maybe." she turned round, as one who suddenly remembers. "bless my soul alive!" she said, going off at a tangent; "ain't you done them taters _yet_, millie?" when mrs. hall went to clear away the stranger's lunch, her idea that his mouth must also have been cut or disfigured in the accident she supposed him to have suffered, was confirmed, for he was smoking a pipe, and all the time that she was in the room he never loosened the silk muffler he had wrapped round the lower part of his face to put the mouthpiece to his lips. yet it was not forgetfulness, for she saw he glanced at it as it smouldered out. he sat in the corner with his back to the window-blind and spoke now, having eaten and drunk and being comfortably warmed through, with less aggressive brevity than before. the reflection of the fire lent a kind of red animation to his big spectacles they had lacked hitherto. "i have some luggage," he said, "at bramblehurst station," and he asked her how he could have it sent. he bowed his bandaged head quite politely in acknowledgment of her explanation. "to-morrow?" he said. "there is no speedier delivery?" and seemed quite disappointed when she answered, "no." was she quite sure? no man with a trap who would go over? mrs. hall, nothing loath, answered his questions and developed a conversation. "it's a steep road by the down, sir," she said in answer to the question about a trap; and then, snatching at an opening, said, "it was there a carriage was upsettled, a year ago and more. a gentleman killed, besides his coachman. accidents, sir, happen in a moment, don't they?" but the visitor was not to be drawn so easily. "they do," he said through his muffler, eyeing her quietly through his impenetrable glasses. "but they take long enough to get well, don't they? ... there was my sister's son, tom, jest cut his arm with a scythe, tumbled on it in the 'ayfield, and, bless me! he was three months tied up sir. you'd hardly believe it. it's regular given me a dread of a scythe, sir." "i can quite understand that," said the visitor. "he was afraid, one time, that he'd have to have an op'ration--he was that bad, sir." the visitor laughed abruptly, a bark of a laugh that he seemed to bite and kill in his mouth. "_was_ he?" he said. "he was, sir. and no laughing matter to them as had the doing for him, as i had--my sister being took up with her little ones so much. there was bandages to do, sir, and bandages to undo. so that if i may make so bold as to say it, sir--" "will you get me some matches?" said the visitor, quite abruptly. "my pipe is out." mrs. hall was pulled up suddenly. it was certainly rude of him, after telling him all she had done. she gasped at him for a moment, and remembered the two sovereigns. she went for the matches. "thanks," he said concisely, as she put them down, and turned his shoulder upon her and stared out of the window again. it was altogether too discouraging. evidently he was sensitive on the topic of operations and bandages. she did not "make so bold as to say," however, after all. but his snubbing way had irritated her, and millie had a hot time of it that afternoon. the visitor remained in the parlour until four o'clock, without giving the ghost of an excuse for an intrusion. for the most part he was quite still during that time; it would seem he sat in the growing darkness smoking in the firelight--perhaps dozing. once or twice a curious listener might have heard him at the coals, and for the space of five minutes he was audible pacing the room. he seemed to be talking to himself. then the armchair creaked as he sat down again. chapter ii mr. teddy henfrey's first impressions at four o'clock, when it was fairly dark and mrs. hall was screwing up her courage to go in and ask her visitor if he would take some tea, teddy henfrey, the clock-jobber, came into the bar. "my sakes! mrs. hall," said he, "but this is terrible weather for thin boots!" the snow outside was falling faster. mrs. hall agreed, and then noticed he had his bag with him. "now you're here, mr. teddy," said she, "i'd be glad if you'd give th' old clock in the parlour a bit of a look. 'tis going, and it strikes well and hearty; but the hour-hand won't do nuthin' but point at six." and leading the way, she went across to the parlour door and rapped and entered. her visitor, she saw as she opened the door, was seated in the armchair before the fire, dozing it would seem, with his bandaged head drooping on one side. the only light in the room was the red glow from the fire--which lit his eyes like adverse railway signals, but left his downcast face in darkness--and the scanty vestiges of the day that came in through the open door. everything was ruddy, shadowy, and indistinct to her, the more so since she had just been lighting the bar lamp, and her eyes were dazzled. but for a second it seemed to her that the man she looked at had an enormous mouth wide open--a vast and incredible mouth that swallowed the whole of the lower portion of his face. it was the sensation of a moment: the white-bound head, the monstrous goggle eyes, and this huge yawn below it. then he stirred, started up in his chair, put up his hand. she opened the door wide, so that the room was lighter, and she saw him more clearly, with the muffler held up to his face just as she had seen him hold the serviette before. the shadows, she fancied, had tricked her. "would you mind, sir, this man a-coming to look at the clock, sir?" she said, recovering from the momentary shock. "look at the clock?" he said, staring round in a drowsy manner, and speaking over his hand, and then, getting more fully awake, "certainly." mrs. hall went away to get a lamp, and he rose and stretched himself. then came the light, and mr. teddy henfrey, entering, was confronted by this bandaged person. he was, he says, "taken aback." "good afternoon," said the stranger, regarding him--as mr. henfrey says, with a vivid sense of the dark spectacles--"like a lobster." "i hope," said mr. henfrey, "that it's no intrusion." "none whatever," said the stranger. "though, i understand," he said turning to mrs. hall, "that this room is really to be mine for my own private use." "i thought, sir," said mrs. hall, "you'd prefer the clock--" "certainly," said the stranger, "certainly--but, as a rule, i like to be alone and undisturbed. "but i'm really glad to have the clock seen to," he said, seeing a certain hesitation in mr. henfrey's manner. "very glad." mr. henfrey had intended to apologise and withdraw, but this anticipation reassured him. the stranger turned round with his back to the fireplace and put his hands behind his back. "and presently," he said, "when the clock-mending is over, i think i should like to have some tea. but not till the clock-mending is over." mrs. hall was about to leave the room--she made no conversational advances this time, because she did not want to be snubbed in front of mr. henfrey--when her visitor asked her if she had made any arrangements about his boxes at bramblehurst. she told him she had mentioned the matter to the postman, and that the carrier could bring them over on the morrow. "you are certain that is the earliest?" he said. she was certain, with a marked coldness. "i should explain," he added, "what i was really too cold and fatigued to do before, that i am an experimental investigator." "indeed, sir," said mrs. hall, much impressed. "and my baggage contains apparatus and appliances." "very useful things indeed they are, sir," said mrs. hall. "and i'm very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries." "of course, sir." "my reason for coming to iping," he proceeded, with a certain deliberation of manner, "was ... a desire for solitude. i do not wish to be disturbed in my work. in addition to my work, an accident--" "i thought as much," said mrs. hall to herself. "--necessitates a certain retirement. my eyes--are sometimes so weak and painful that i have to shut myself up in the dark for hours together. lock myself up. sometimes--now and then. not at present, certainly. at such times the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the room, is a source of excruciating annoyance to me--it is well these things should be understood." "certainly, sir," said mrs. hall. "and if i might make so bold as to ask--" "that i think, is all," said the stranger, with that quietly irresistible air of finality he could assume at will. mrs. hall reserved her question and sympathy for a better occasion. after mrs. hall had left the room, he remained standing in front of the fire, glaring, so mr. henfrey puts it, at the clock-mending. mr. henfrey not only took off the hands of the clock, and the face, but extracted the works; and he tried to work in as slow and quiet and unassuming a manner as possible. he worked with the lamp close to him, and the green shade threw a brilliant light upon his hands, and upon the frame and wheels, and left the rest of the room shadowy. when he looked up, coloured patches swam in his eyes. being constitutionally of a curious nature, he had removed the works--a quite unnecessary proceeding--with the idea of delaying his departure and perhaps falling into conversation with the stranger. but the stranger stood there, perfectly silent and still. so still, it got on henfrey's nerves. he felt alone in the room and looked up, and there, grey and dim, was the bandaged head and huge blue lenses staring fixedly, with a mist of green spots drifting in front of them. it was so uncanny to henfrey that for a minute they remained staring blankly at one another. then henfrey looked down again. very uncomfortable position! one would like to say something. should he remark that the weather was very cold for the time of year? he looked up as if to take aim with that introductory shot. "the weather--" he began. "why don't you finish and go?" said the rigid figure, evidently in a state of painfully suppressed rage. "all you've got to do is to fix the hour-hand on its axle. you're simply humbugging--" "certainly, sir--one minute more. i overlooked--" and mr. henfrey finished and went. but he went feeling excessively annoyed. "damn it!" said mr. henfrey to himself, trudging down the village through the thawing snow; "a man must do a clock at times, surely." and again, "can't a man look at you?--ugly!" and yet again, "seemingly not. if the police was wanting you you couldn't be more wropped and bandaged." at gleeson's corner he saw hall, who had recently married the stranger's hostess at the "coach and horses," and who now drove the iping conveyance, when occasional people required it, to sidderbridge junction, coming towards him on his return from that place. hall had evidently been "stopping a bit" at sidderbridge, to judge by his driving. "'ow do, teddy?" he said, passing. "you got a rum un up home!" said teddy. hall very sociably pulled up. "what's that?" he asked. "rum-looking customer stopping at the 'coach and horses,'" said teddy. "my sakes!" and he proceeded to give hall a vivid description of his grotesque guest. "looks a bit like a disguise, don't it? i'd like to see a man's face if i had him stopping in _my_ place," said henfrey. "but women are that trustful--where strangers are concerned. he's took your rooms and he ain't even given a name, hall." "you don't say so!" said hall, who was a man of sluggish apprehension. "yes," said teddy. "by the week. whatever he is, you can't get rid of him under the week. and he's got a lot of luggage coming to-morrow, so he says. let's hope it won't be stones in boxes, hall." he told hall how his aunt at hastings had been swindled by a stranger with empty portmanteaux. altogether he left hall vaguely suspicious. "get up, old girl," said hall. "i s'pose i must see 'bout this." teddy trudged on his way with his mind considerably relieved. instead of "seeing 'bout it," however, hall on his return was severely rated by his wife on the length of time he had spent in sidderbridge, and his mild inquiries were answered snappishly and in a manner not to the point. but the seed of suspicion teddy had sown germinated in the mind of mr. hall in spite of these discouragements. "you wim' don't know everything," said mr. hall, resolved to ascertain more about the personality of his guest at the earliest possible opportunity. and after the stranger had gone to bed, which he did about half-past nine, mr. hall went very aggressively into the parlour and looked very hard at his wife's furniture, just to show that the stranger wasn't master there, and scrutinised closely and a little contemptuously a sheet of mathematical computations the stranger had left. when retiring for the night he instructed mrs. hall to look very closely at the stranger's luggage when it came next day. "you mind your own business, hall," said mrs. hall, "and i'll mind mine." she was all the more inclined to snap at hall because the stranger was undoubtedly an unusually strange sort of stranger, and she was by no means assured about him in her own mind. in the middle of the night she woke up dreaming of huge white heads like turnips, that came trailing after her, at the end of interminable necks, and with vast black eyes. but being a sensible woman, she subdued her terrors and turned over and went to sleep again. chapter iii the thousand and one bottles so it was that on the twenty-ninth day of february, at the beginning of the thaw, this singular person fell out of infinity into iping village. next day his luggage arrived through the slush--and very remarkable luggage it was. there were a couple of trunks indeed, such as a rational man might need, but in addition there were a box of books--big, fat books, of which some were just in an incomprehensible handwriting--and a dozen or more crates, boxes, and cases, containing objects packed in straw, as it seemed to hall, tugging with a casual curiosity at the straw--glass bottles. the stranger, muffled in hat, coat, gloves, and wrapper, came out impatiently to meet fearenside's cart, while hall was having a word or so of gossip preparatory to helping bring them in. out he came, not noticing fearenside's dog, who was sniffing in a _dilettante_ spirit at hall's legs. "come along with those boxes," he said. "i've been waiting long enough." and he came down the steps towards the tail of the cart as if to lay hands on the smaller crate. no sooner had fearenside's dog caught sight of him, however, than it began to bristle and growl savagely, and when he rushed down the steps it gave an undecided hop, and then sprang straight at his hand. "whup!" cried hall, jumping back, for he was no hero with dogs, and fearenside howled, "lie down!" and snatched his whip. they saw the dog's teeth had slipped the hand, heard a kick, saw the dog execute a flanking jump and get home on the stranger's leg, and heard the rip of his trousering. then the finer end of fearenside's whip reached his property, and the dog, yelping with dismay, retreated under the wheels of the waggon. it was all the business of a swift half-minute. no one spoke, everyone shouted. the stranger glanced swiftly at his torn glove and at his leg, made as if he would stoop to the latter, then turned and rushed swiftly up the steps into the inn. they heard him go headlong across the passage and up the uncarpeted stairs to his bedroom. "you brute, you!" said fearenside, climbing off the waggon with his whip in his hand, while the dog watched him through the wheel. "come here," said fearenside--"you'd better." hall had stood gaping. "he wuz bit," said hall. "i'd better go and see to en," and he trotted after the stranger. he met mrs. hall in the passage. "carrier's darg," he said "bit en." he went straight upstairs, and the stranger's door being ajar, he pushed it open and was entering without any ceremony, being of a naturally sympathetic turn of mind. the blind was down and the room dim. he caught a glimpse of a most singular thing, what seemed a handless arm waving towards him, and a face of three huge indeterminate spots on white, very like the face of a pale pansy. then he was struck violently in the chest, hurled back, and the door slammed in his face and locked. it was so rapid that it gave him no time to observe. a waving of indecipherable shapes, a blow, and a concussion. there he stood on the dark little landing, wondering what it might be that he had seen. a couple of minutes after, he rejoined the little group that had formed outside the "coach and horses." there was fearenside telling about it all over again for the second time; there was mrs. hall saying his dog didn't have no business to bite her guests; there was huxter, the general dealer from over the road, interrogative; and sandy wadgers from the forge, judicial; besides women and children, all of them saying fatuities: "wouldn't let en bite _me_, i knows"; "'tasn't right _have_ such dargs"; "whad _'e_ bite 'n for, then?" and so forth. mr. hall, staring at them from the steps and listening, found it incredible that he had seen anything so very remarkable happen upstairs. besides, his vocabulary was altogether too limited to express his impressions. "he don't want no help, he says," he said in answer to his wife's inquiry. "we'd better be a-takin' of his luggage in." "he ought to have it cauterised at once," said mr. huxter; "especially if it's at all inflamed." "i'd shoot en, that's what i'd do," said a lady in the group. suddenly the dog began growling again. "come along," cried an angry voice in the doorway, and there stood the muffled stranger with his collar turned up, and his hat-brim bent down. "the sooner you get those things in the better i'll be pleased." it is stated by an anonymous bystander that his trousers and gloves had been changed. "was you hurt, sir?" said fearenside. "i'm rare sorry the darg--" "not a bit," said the stranger. "never broke the skin. hurry up with those things." he then swore to himself, so mr. hall asserts. directly the first crate was, in accordance with his directions, carried into the parlour, the stranger flung himself upon it with extraordinary eagerness, and began to unpack it, scattering the straw with an utter disregard of mrs. hall's carpet. and from it he began to produce bottles--little fat bottles containing powders, small and slender bottles containing coloured and white fluids, fluted blue bottles labeled poison, bottles with round bodies and slender necks, large green-glass bottles, large white-glass bottles, bottles with glass stoppers and frosted labels, bottles with fine corks, bottles with bungs, bottles with wooden caps, wine bottles, salad-oil bottles--putting them in rows on the chiffonnier, on the mantel, on the table under the window, round the floor, on the bookshelf--everywhere. the chemist's shop in bramblehurst could not boast half so many. quite a sight it was. crate after crate yielded bottles, until all six were empty and the table high with straw; the only things that came out of these crates besides the bottles were a number of test-tubes and a carefully packed balance. and directly the crates were unpacked, the stranger went to the window and set to work, not troubling in the least about the litter of straw, the fire which had gone out, the box of books outside, nor for the trunks and other luggage that had gone upstairs. when mrs. hall took his dinner in to him, he was already so absorbed in his work, pouring little drops out of the bottles into test-tubes, that he did not hear her until she had swept away the bulk of the straw and put the tray on the table, with some little emphasis perhaps, seeing the state that the floor was in. then he half turned his head and immediately turned it away again. but she saw he had removed his glasses; they were beside him on the table, and it seemed to her that his eye sockets were extraordinarily hollow. he put on his spectacles again, and then turned and faced her. she was about to complain of the straw on the floor when he anticipated her. "i wish you wouldn't come in without knocking," he said in the tone of abnormal exasperation that seemed so characteristic of him. "i knocked, but seemingly--" "perhaps you did. but in my investigations--my really very urgent and necessary investigations--the slightest disturbance, the jar of a door--i must ask you--" "certainly, sir. you can turn the lock if you're like that, you know. any time." "a very good idea," said the stranger. "this stror, sir, if i might make so bold as to remark--" "don't. if the straw makes trouble put it down in the bill." and he mumbled at her--words suspiciously like curses. he was so odd, standing there, so aggressive and explosive, bottle in one hand and test-tube in the other, that mrs. hall was quite alarmed. but she was a resolute woman. "in which case, i should like to know, sir, what you consider--" "a shilling--put down a shilling. surely a shilling's enough?" "so be it," said mrs. hall, taking up the table-cloth and beginning to spread it over the table. "if you're satisfied, of course--" he turned and sat down, with his coat-collar toward her. all the afternoon he worked with the door locked and, as mrs. hall testifies, for the most part in silence. but once there was a concussion and a sound of bottles ringing together as though the table had been hit, and the smash of a bottle flung violently down, and then a rapid pacing athwart the room. fearing "something was the matter," she went to the door and listened, not caring to knock. "i can't go on," he was raving. "i _can't_ go on. three hundred thousand, four hundred thousand! the huge multitude! cheated! all my life it may take me! ... patience! patience indeed! ... fool! fool!" there was a noise of hobnails on the bricks in the bar, and mrs. hall had very reluctantly to leave the rest of his soliloquy. when she returned the room was silent again, save for the faint crepitation of his chair and the occasional clink of a bottle. it was all over; the stranger had resumed work. when she took in his tea she saw broken glass in the corner of the room under the concave mirror, and a golden stain that had been carelessly wiped. she called attention to it. "put it down in the bill," snapped her visitor. "for god's sake don't worry me. if there's damage done, put it down in the bill," and he went on ticking a list in the exercise book before him. "i'll tell you something," said fearenside, mysteriously. it was late in the afternoon, and they were in the little beer-shop of iping hanger. "well?" said teddy henfrey. "this chap you're speaking of, what my dog bit. well--he's black. leastways, his legs are. i seed through the tear of his trousers and the tear of his glove. you'd have expected a sort of pinky to show, wouldn't you? well--there wasn't none. just blackness. i tell you, he's as black as my hat." "my sakes!" said henfrey. "it's a rummy case altogether. why, his nose is as pink as paint!" "that's true," said fearenside. "i knows that. and i tell 'ee what i'm thinking. that marn's a piebald, teddy. black here and white there--in patches. and he's ashamed of it. he's a kind of half-breed, and the colour's come off patchy instead of mixing. i've heard of such things before. and it's the common way with horses, as any one can see." chapter iv mr. cuss interviews the stranger i have told the circumstances of the stranger's arrival in iping with a certain fulness of detail, in order that the curious impression he created may be understood by the reader. but excepting two odd incidents, the circumstances of his stay until the extraordinary day of the club festival may be passed over very cursorily. there were a number of skirmishes with mrs. hall on matters of domestic discipline, but in every case until late april, when the first signs of penury began, he over-rode her by the easy expedient of an extra payment. hall did not like him, and whenever he dared he talked of the advisability of getting rid of him; but he showed his dislike chiefly by concealing it ostentatiously, and avoiding his visitor as much as possible. "wait till the summer," said mrs. hall sagely, "when the artisks are beginning to come. then we'll see. he may be a bit overbearing, but bills settled punctual is bills settled punctual, whatever you'd like to say." the stranger did not go to church, and indeed made no difference between sunday and the irreligious days, even in costume. he worked, as mrs. hall thought, very fitfully. some days he would come down early and be continuously busy. on others he would rise late, pace his room, fretting audibly for hours together, smoke, sleep in the armchair by the fire. communication with the world beyond the village he had none. his temper continued very uncertain; for the most part his manner was that of a man suffering under almost unendurable provocation, and once or twice things were snapped, torn, crushed, or broken in spasmodic gusts of violence. he seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest intensity. his habit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily upon him, but though mrs. hall listened conscientiously she could make neither head nor tail of what she heard. he rarely went abroad by daylight, but at twilight he would go out muffled up invisibly, whether the weather were cold or not, and he chose the loneliest paths and those most overshadowed by trees and banks. his goggling spectacles and ghastly bandaged face under the penthouse of his hat, came with a disagreeable suddenness out of the darkness upon one or two home-going labourers, and teddy henfrey, tumbling out of the "scarlet coat" one night, at half-past nine, was scared shamefully by the stranger's skull-like head (he was walking hat in hand) lit by the sudden light of the opened inn door. such children as saw him at nightfall dreamt of bogies, and it seemed doubtful whether he disliked boys more than they disliked him, or the reverse; but there was certainly a vivid enough dislike on either side. it was inevitable that a person of so remarkable an appearance and bearing should form a frequent topic in such a village as iping. opinion was greatly divided about his occupation. mrs. hall was sensitive on the point. when questioned, she explained very carefully that he was an "experimental investigator," going gingerly over the syllables as one who dreads pitfalls. when asked what an experimental investigator was, she would say with a touch of superiority that most educated people knew such things as that, and would thus explain that he "discovered things." her visitor had had an accident, she said, which temporarily discoloured his face and hands, and being of a sensitive disposition, he was averse to any public notice of the fact. out of her hearing there was a view largely entertained that he was a criminal trying to escape from justice by wrapping himself up so as to conceal himself altogether from the eye of the police. this idea sprang from the brain of mr. teddy henfrey. no crime of any magnitude dating from the middle or end of february was known to have occurred. elaborated in the imagination of mr. gould, the probationary assistant in the national school, this theory took the form that the stranger was an anarchist in disguise, preparing explosives, and he resolved to undertake such detective operations as his time permitted. these consisted for the most part in looking very hard at the stranger whenever they met, or in asking people who had never seen the stranger, leading questions about him. but he detected nothing. another school of opinion followed mr. fearenside, and either accepted the piebald view or some modification of it; as, for instance, silas durgan, who was heard to assert that "if he chooses to show enself at fairs he'd make his fortune in no time," and being a bit of a theologian, compared the stranger to the man with the one talent. yet another view explained the entire matter by regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic. that had the advantage of accounting for everything straight away. between these main groups there were waverers and compromisers. sussex folk have few superstitions, and it was only after the events of early april that the thought of the supernatural was first whispered in the village. even then it was only credited among the women folk. but whatever they thought of him, people in iping, on the whole, agreed in disliking him. his irritability, though it might have been comprehensible to an urban brain-worker, was an amazing thing to these quiet sussex villagers. the frantic gesticulations they surprised now and then, the headlong pace after nightfall that swept him upon them round quiet corners, the inhuman bludgeoning of all tentative advances of curiosity, the taste for twilight that led to the closing of doors, the pulling down of blinds, the extinction of candles and lamps--who could agree with such goings on? they drew aside as he passed down the village, and when he had gone by, young humourists would up with coat-collars and down with hat-brims, and go pacing nervously after him in imitation of his occult bearing. there was a song popular at that time called "the bogey man". miss statchell sang it at the schoolroom concert (in aid of the church lamps), and thereafter whenever one or two of the villagers were gathered together and the stranger appeared, a bar or so of this tune, more or less sharp or flat, was whistled in the midst of them. also belated little children would call "bogey man!" after him, and make off tremulously elated. cuss, the general practitioner, was devoured by curiosity. the bandages excited his professional interest, the report of the thousand and one bottles aroused his jealous regard. all through april and may he coveted an opportunity of talking to the stranger, and at last, towards whitsuntide, he could stand it no longer, but hit upon the subscription-list for a village nurse as an excuse. he was surprised to find that mr. hall did not know his guest's name. "he give a name," said mrs. hall--an assertion which was quite unfounded--"but i didn't rightly hear it." she thought it seemed so silly not to know the man's name. cuss rapped at the parlour door and entered. there was a fairly audible imprecation from within. "pardon my intrusion," said cuss, and then the door closed and cut mrs. hall off from the rest of the conversation. she could hear the murmur of voices for the next ten minutes, then a cry of surprise, a stirring of feet, a chair flung aside, a bark of laughter, quick steps to the door, and cuss appeared, his face white, his eyes staring over his shoulder. he left the door open behind him, and without looking at her strode across the hall and went down the steps, and she heard his feet hurrying along the road. he carried his hat in his hand. she stood behind the door, looking at the open door of the parlour. then she heard the stranger laughing quietly, and then his footsteps came across the room. she could not see his face where she stood. the parlour door slammed, and the place was silent again. cuss went straight up the village to bunting the vicar. "am i mad?" cuss began abruptly, as he entered the shabby little study. "do i look like an insane person?" "what's happened?" said the vicar, putting the ammonite on the loose sheets of his forth-coming sermon. "that chap at the inn--" "well?" "give me something to drink," said cuss, and he sat down. when his nerves had been steadied by a glass of cheap sherry--the only drink the good vicar had available--he told him of the interview he had just had. "went in," he gasped, "and began to demand a subscription for that nurse fund. he'd stuck his hands in his pockets as i came in, and he sat down lumpily in his chair. sniffed. i told him i'd heard he took an interest in scientific things. he said yes. sniffed again. kept on sniffing all the time; evidently recently caught an infernal cold. no wonder, wrapped up like that! i developed the nurse idea, and all the while kept my eyes open. bottles--chemicals--everywhere. balance, test-tubes in stands, and a smell of--evening primrose. would he subscribe? said he'd consider it. asked him, point-blank, was he researching. said he was. a long research? got quite cross. 'a damnable long research,' said he, blowing the cork out, so to speak. 'oh,' said i. and out came the grievance. the man was just on the boil, and my question boiled him over. he had been given a prescription, most valuable prescription--what for he wouldn't say. was it medical? 'damn you! what are you fishing after?' i apologised. dignified sniff and cough. he resumed. he'd read it. five ingredients. put it down; turned his head. draught of air from window lifted the paper. swish, rustle. he was working in a room with an open fireplace, he said. saw a flicker, and there was the prescription burning and lifting chimneyward. rushed towards it just as it whisked up the chimney. so! just at that point, to illustrate his story, out came his arm." "well?" "no hand--just an empty sleeve. lord! i thought, _that's_ a deformity! got a cork arm, i suppose, and has taken it off. then, i thought, there's something odd in that. what the devil keeps that sleeve up and open, if there's nothing in it? there was nothing in it, i tell you. nothing down it, right down to the joint. i could see right down it to the elbow, and there was a glimmer of light shining through a tear of the cloth. 'good god!' i said. then he stopped. stared at me with those black goggles of his, and then at his sleeve." "well?" "that's all. he never said a word; just glared, and put his sleeve back in his pocket quickly. 'i was saying,' said he, 'that there was the prescription burning, wasn't i?' interrogative cough. 'how the devil,' said i, 'can you move an empty sleeve like that?' 'empty sleeve?' 'yes,' said i, 'an empty sleeve.' "'it's an empty sleeve, is it? you saw it was an empty sleeve?' he stood up right away. i stood up too. he came towards me in three very slow steps, and stood quite close. sniffed venomously. i didn't flinch, though i'm hanged if that bandaged knob of his, and those blinkers, aren't enough to unnerve any one, coming quietly up to you. "'you said it was an empty sleeve?' he said. 'certainly,' i said. at staring and saying nothing a barefaced man, unspectacled, starts scratch. then very quietly he pulled his sleeve out of his pocket again, and raised his arm towards me as though he would show it to me again. he did it very, very slowly. i looked at it. seemed an age. 'well?' said i, clearing my throat, 'there's nothing in it.' "had to say something. i was beginning to feel frightened. i could see right down it. he extended it straight towards me, slowly, slowly--just like that--until the cuff was six inches from my face. queer thing to see an empty sleeve come at you like that! and then--" "well?" "something--exactly like a finger and thumb it felt--nipped my nose." bunting began to laugh. "there wasn't anything there!" said cuss, his voice running up into a shriek at the "there." "it's all very well for you to laugh, but i tell you i was so startled, i hit his cuff hard, and turned around, and cut out of the room--i left him--" cuss stopped. there was no mistaking the sincerity of his panic. he turned round in a helpless way and took a second glass of the excellent vicar's very inferior sherry. "when i hit his cuff," said cuss, "i tell you, it felt exactly like hitting an arm. and there wasn't an arm! there wasn't the ghost of an arm!" mr. bunting thought it over. he looked suspiciously at cuss. "it's a most remarkable story," he said. he looked very wise and grave indeed. "it's really," said mr. bunting with judicial emphasis, "a most remarkable story." chapter v the burglary at the vicarage the facts of the burglary at the vicarage came to us chiefly through the medium of the vicar and his wife. it occurred in the small hours of whit monday, the day devoted in iping to the club festivities. mrs. bunting, it seems, woke up suddenly in the stillness that comes before the dawn, with the strong impression that the door of their bedroom had opened and closed. she did not arouse her husband at first, but sat up in bed listening. she then distinctly heard the pad, pad, pad of bare feet coming out of the adjoining dressing-room and walking along the passage towards the staircase. as soon as she felt assured of this, she aroused the rev. mr. bunting as quietly as possible. he did not strike a light, but putting on his spectacles, her dressing-gown and his bath slippers, he went out on the landing to listen. he heard quite distinctly a fumbling going on at his study desk down-stairs, and then a violent sneeze. at that he returned to his bedroom, armed himself with the most obvious weapon, the poker, and descended the staircase as noiselessly as possible. mrs. bunting came out on the landing. the hour was about four, and the ultimate darkness of the night was past. there was a faint shimmer of light in the hall, but the study doorway yawned impenetrably black. everything was still except the faint creaking of the stairs under mr. bunting's tread, and the slight movements in the study. then something snapped, the drawer was opened, and there was a rustle of papers. then came an imprecation, and a match was struck and the study was flooded with yellow light. mr. bunting was now in the hall, and through the crack of the door he could see the desk and the open drawer and a candle burning on the desk. but the robber he could not see. he stood there in the hall undecided what to do, and mrs. bunting, her face white and intent, crept slowly downstairs after him. one thing kept mr. bunting's courage; the persuasion that this burglar was a resident in the village. they heard the chink of money, and realised that the robber had found the housekeeping reserve of gold--two pounds ten in half sovereigns altogether. at that sound mr. bunting was nerved to abrupt action. gripping the poker firmly, he rushed into the room, closely followed by mrs. bunting. "surrender!" cried mr. bunting, fiercely, and then stooped amazed. apparently the room was perfectly empty. yet their conviction that they had, that very moment, heard somebody moving in the room had amounted to a certainty. for half a minute, perhaps, they stood gaping, then mrs. bunting went across the room and looked behind the screen, while mr. bunting, by a kindred impulse, peered under the desk. then mrs. bunting turned back the window-curtains, and mr. bunting looked up the chimney and probed it with the poker. then mrs. bunting scrutinised the waste-paper basket and mr. bunting opened the lid of the coal-scuttle. then they came to a stop and stood with eyes interrogating each other. "i could have sworn--" said mr. bunting. "the candle!" said mr. bunting. "who lit the candle?" "the drawer!" said mrs. bunting. "and the money's gone!" she went hastily to the doorway. "of all the strange occurrences--" there was a violent sneeze in the passage. they rushed out, and as they did so the kitchen door slammed. "bring the candle," said mr. bunting, and led the way. they both heard a sound of bolts being hastily shot back. as he opened the kitchen door he saw through the scullery that the back door was just opening, and the faint light of early dawn displayed the dark masses of the garden beyond. he is certain that nothing went out of the door. it opened, stood open for a moment, and then closed with a slam. as it did so, the candle mrs. bunting was carrying from the study flickered and flared. it was a minute or more before they entered the kitchen. the place was empty. they refastened the back door, examined the kitchen, pantry, and scullery thoroughly, and at last went down into the cellar. there was not a soul to be found in the house, search as they would. daylight found the vicar and his wife, a quaintly-costumed little couple, still marvelling about on their own ground floor by the unnecessary light of a guttering candle. chapter vi the furniture that went mad now it happened that in the early hours of whit monday, before millie was hunted out for the day, mr. hall and mrs. hall both rose and went noiselessly down into the cellar. their business there was of a private nature, and had something to do with the specific gravity of their beer. they had hardly entered the cellar when mrs. hall found she had forgotten to bring down a bottle of sarsaparilla from their joint-room. as she was the expert and principal operator in this affair, hall very properly went upstairs for it. on the landing he was surprised to see that the stranger's door was ajar. he went on into his own room and found the bottle as he had been directed. but returning with the bottle, he noticed that the bolts of the front door had been shot back, that the door was in fact simply on the latch. and with a flash of inspiration he connected this with the stranger's room upstairs and the suggestions of mr. teddy henfrey. he distinctly remembered holding the candle while mrs. hall shot these bolts overnight. at the sight he stopped, gaping, then with the bottle still in his hand went upstairs again. he rapped at the stranger's door. there was no answer. he rapped again; then pushed the door wide open and entered. it was as he expected. the bed, the room also, was empty. and what was stranger, even to his heavy intelligence, on the bedroom chair and along the rail of the bed were scattered the garments, the only garments so far as he knew, and the bandages of their guest. his big slouch hat even was cocked jauntily over the bed-post. as hall stood there he heard his wife's voice coming out of the depth of the cellar, with that rapid telescoping of the syllables and interrogative cocking up of the final words to a high note, by which the west sussex villager is wont to indicate a brisk impatience. "george! you gart whad a wand?" at that he turned and hurried down to her. "janny," he said, over the rail of the cellar steps, "'tas the truth what henfrey sez. 'e's not in uz room, 'e en't. and the front door's onbolted." at first mrs. hall did not understand, and as soon as she did she resolved to see the empty room for herself. hall, still holding the bottle, went first. "if 'e en't there," he said, "'is close are. and what's 'e doin' 'ithout 'is close, then? 'tas a most curious business." as they came up the cellar steps they both, it was afterwards ascertained, fancied they heard the front door open and shut, but seeing it closed and nothing there, neither said a word to the other about it at the time. mrs. hall passed her husband in the passage and ran on first upstairs. someone sneezed on the staircase. hall, following six steps behind, thought that he heard her sneeze. she, going on first, was under the impression that hall was sneezing. she flung open the door and stood regarding the room. "of all the curious!" she said. she heard a sniff close behind her head as it seemed, and turning, was surprised to see hall a dozen feet off on the topmost stair. but in another moment he was beside her. she bent forward and put her hand on the pillow and then under the clothes. "cold," she said. "he's been up this hour or more." as she did so, a most extraordinary thing happened. the bed-clothes gathered themselves together, leapt up suddenly into a sort of peak, and then jumped headlong over the bottom rail. it was exactly as if a hand had clutched them in the centre and flung them aside. immediately after, the stranger's hat hopped off the bed-post, described a whirling flight in the air through the better part of a circle, and then dashed straight at mrs. hall's face. then as swiftly came the sponge from the washstand; and then the chair, flinging the stranger's coat and trousers carelessly aside, and laughing drily in a voice singularly like the stranger's, turned itself up with its four legs at mrs. hall, seemed to take aim at her for a moment, and charged at her. she screamed and turned, and then the chair legs came gently but firmly against her back and impelled her and hall out of the room. the door slammed violently and was locked. the chair and bed seemed to be executing a dance of triumph for a moment, and then abruptly everything was still. mrs. hall was left almost in a fainting condition in mr. hall's arms on the landing. it was with the greatest difficulty that mr. hall and millie, who had been roused by her scream of alarm, succeeded in getting her downstairs, and applying the restoratives customary in such cases. "'tas sperits," said mrs. hall. "i know 'tas sperits. i've read in papers of en. tables and chairs leaping and dancing..." "take a drop more, janny," said hall. "'twill steady ye." "lock him out," said mrs. hall. "don't let him come in again. i half guessed--i might ha' known. with them goggling eyes and bandaged head, and never going to church of a sunday. and all they bottles--more'n it's right for any one to have. he's put the sperits into the furniture.... my good old furniture! 'twas in that very chair my poor dear mother used to sit when i was a little girl. to think it should rise up against me now!" "just a drop more, janny," said hall. "your nerves is all upset." they sent millie across the street through the golden five o'clock sunshine to rouse up mr. sandy wadgers, the blacksmith. mr. hall's compliments and the furniture upstairs was behaving most extraordinary. would mr. wadgers come round? he was a knowing man, was mr. wadgers, and very resourceful. he took quite a grave view of the case. "arm darmed if thet ent witchcraft," was the view of mr. sandy wadgers. "you warnt horseshoes for such gentry as he." he came round greatly concerned. they wanted him to lead the way upstairs to the room, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry. he preferred to talk in the passage. over the way huxter's apprentice came out and began taking down the shutters of the tobacco window. he was called over to join the discussion. mr. huxter naturally followed over in the course of a few minutes. the anglo-saxon genius for parliamentary government asserted itself; there was a great deal of talk and no decisive action. "let's have the facts first," insisted mr. sandy wadgers. "let's be sure we'd be acting perfectly right in bustin' that there door open. a door onbust is always open to bustin', but ye can't onbust a door once you've busted en." and suddenly and most wonderfully the door of the room upstairs opened of its own accord, and as they looked up in amazement, they saw descending the stairs the muffled figure of the stranger staring more blackly and blankly than ever with those unreasonably large blue glass eyes of his. he came down stiffly and slowly, staring all the time; he walked across the passage staring, then stopped. "look there!" he said, and their eyes followed the direction of his gloved finger and saw a bottle of sarsaparilla hard by the cellar door. then he entered the parlour, and suddenly, swiftly, viciously, slammed the door in their faces. not a word was spoken until the last echoes of the slam had died away. they stared at one another. "well, if that don't lick everything!" said mr. wadgers, and left the alternative unsaid. "i'd go in and ask'n 'bout it," said wadgers, to mr. hall. "i'd d'mand an explanation." it took some time to bring the landlady's husband up to that pitch. at last he rapped, opened the door, and got as far as, "excuse me--" "go to the devil!" said the stranger in a tremendous voice, and "shut that door after you." so that brief interview terminated. chapter vii the unveiling of the stranger the stranger went into the little parlour of the "coach and horses" about half-past five in the morning, and there he remained until near midday, the blinds down, the door shut, and none, after hall's repulse, venturing near him. all that time he must have fasted. thrice he rang his bell, the third time furiously and continuously, but no one answered him. "him and his 'go to the devil' indeed!" said mrs. hall. presently came an imperfect rumour of the burglary at the vicarage, and two and two were put together. hall, assisted by wadgers, went off to find mr. shuckleforth, the magistrate, and take his advice. no one ventured upstairs. how the stranger occupied himself is unknown. now and then he would stride violently up and down, and twice came an outburst of curses, a tearing of paper, and a violent smashing of bottles. the little group of scared but curious people increased. mrs. huxter came over; some gay young fellows resplendent in black ready-made jackets and _pique_ paper ties--for it was whit monday--joined the group with confused interrogations. young archie harker distinguished himself by going up the yard and trying to peep under the window-blinds. he could see nothing, but gave reason for supposing that he did, and others of the iping youth presently joined him. it was the finest of all possible whit mondays, and down the village street stood a row of nearly a dozen booths, a shooting gallery, and on the grass by the forge were three yellow and chocolate waggons and some picturesque strangers of both sexes putting up a cocoanut shy. the gentlemen wore blue jerseys, the ladies white aprons and quite fashionable hats with heavy plumes. wodger, of the "purple fawn," and mr. jaggers, the cobbler, who also sold old second-hand ordinary bicycles, were stretching a string of union-jacks and royal ensigns (which had originally celebrated the first victorian jubilee) across the road. and inside, in the artificial darkness of the parlour, into which only one thin jet of sunlight penetrated, the stranger, hungry we must suppose, and fearful, hidden in his uncomfortable hot wrappings, pored through his dark glasses upon his paper or chinked his dirty little bottles, and occasionally swore savagely at the boys, audible if invisible, outside the windows. in the corner by the fireplace lay the fragments of half a dozen smashed bottles, and a pungent twang of chlorine tainted the air. so much we know from what was heard at the time and from what was subsequently seen in the room. about noon he suddenly opened his parlour door and stood glaring fixedly at the three or four people in the bar. "mrs. hall," he said. somebody went sheepishly and called for mrs. hall. mrs. hall appeared after an interval, a little short of breath, but all the fiercer for that. hall was still out. she had deliberated over this scene, and she came holding a little tray with an unsettled bill upon it. "is it your bill you're wanting, sir?" she said. "why wasn't my breakfast laid? why haven't you prepared my meals and answered my bell? do you think i live without eating?" "why isn't my bill paid?" said mrs. hall. "that's what i want to know." "i told you three days ago i was awaiting a remittance--" "i told you two days ago i wasn't going to await no remittances. you can't grumble if your breakfast waits a bit, if my bill's been waiting these five days, can you?" the stranger swore briefly but vividly. "nar, nar!" from the bar. "and i'd thank you kindly, sir, if you'd keep your swearing to yourself, sir," said mrs. hall. the stranger stood looking more like an angry diving-helmet than ever. it was universally felt in the bar that mrs. hall had the better of him. his next words showed as much. "look here, my good woman--" he began. "don't 'good woman' _me_," said mrs. hall. "i've told you my remittance hasn't come." "remittance indeed!" said mrs. hall. "still, i daresay in my pocket--" "you told me three days ago that you hadn't anything but a sovereign's worth of silver upon you." "well, i've found some more--" "'ul-lo!" from the bar. "i wonder where you found it," said mrs. hall. that seemed to annoy the stranger very much. he stamped his foot. "what do you mean?" he said. "that i wonder where you found it," said mrs. hall. "and before i take any bills or get any breakfasts, or do any such things whatsoever, you got to tell me one or two things i don't understand, and what nobody don't understand, and what everybody is very anxious to understand. i want to know what you been doing t'my chair upstairs, and i want to know how 'tis your room was empty, and how you got in again. them as stops in this house comes in by the doors--that's the rule of the house, and that you _didn't_ do, and what i want to know is how you _did_ come in. and i want to know--" suddenly the stranger raised his gloved hands clenched, stamped his foot, and said, "stop!" with such extraordinary violence that he silenced her instantly. "you don't understand," he said, "who i am or what i am. i'll show you. by heaven! i'll show you." then he put his open palm over his face and withdrew it. the centre of his face became a black cavity. "here," he said. he stepped forward and handed mrs. hall something which she, staring at his metamorphosed face, accepted automatically. then, when she saw what it was, she screamed loudly, dropped it, and staggered back. the nose--it was the stranger's nose! pink and shining--rolled on the floor. then he removed his spectacles, and everyone in the bar gasped. he took off his hat, and with a violent gesture tore at his whiskers and bandages. for a moment they resisted him. a flash of horrible anticipation passed through the bar. "oh, my gard!" said some one. then off they came. it was worse than anything. mrs. hall, standing open-mouthed and horror-struck, shrieked at what she saw, and made for the door of the house. everyone began to move. they were prepared for scars, disfigurements, tangible horrors, but nothing! the bandages and false hair flew across the passage into the bar, making a hobbledehoy jump to avoid them. everyone tumbled on everyone else down the steps. for the man who stood there shouting some incoherent explanation, was a solid gesticulating figure up to the coat-collar of him, and then--nothingness, no visible thing at all! people down the village heard shouts and shrieks, and looking up the street saw the "coach and horses" violently firing out its humanity. they saw mrs. hall fall down and mr. teddy henfrey jump to avoid tumbling over her, and then they heard the frightful screams of millie, who, emerging suddenly from the kitchen at the noise of the tumult, had come upon the headless stranger from behind. these increased suddenly. forthwith everyone all down the street, the sweetstuff seller, cocoanut shy proprietor and his assistant, the swing man, little boys and girls, rustic dandies, smart wenches, smocked elders and aproned gipsies--began running towards the inn, and in a miraculously short space of time a crowd of perhaps forty people, and rapidly increasing, swayed and hooted and inquired and exclaimed and suggested, in front of mrs. hall's establishment. everyone seemed eager to talk at once, and the result was babel. a small group supported mrs. hall, who was picked up in a state of collapse. there was a conference, and the incredible evidence of a vociferous eye-witness. "o bogey!" "what's he been doin', then?" "ain't hurt the girl, 'as 'e?" "run at en with a knife, i believe." "no 'ed, i tell ye. i don't mean no manner of speaking. i mean _marn 'ithout a 'ed_!" "narnsense! 'tis some conjuring trick." "fetched off 'is wrapping, 'e did--" in its struggles to see in through the open door, the crowd formed itself into a straggling wedge, with the more adventurous apex nearest the inn. "he stood for a moment, i heerd the gal scream, and he turned. i saw her skirts whisk, and he went after her. didn't take ten seconds. back he comes with a knife in uz hand and a loaf; stood just as if he was staring. not a moment ago. went in that there door. i tell 'e, 'e ain't gart no 'ed at all. you just missed en--" there was a disturbance behind, and the speaker stopped to step aside for a little procession that was marching very resolutely towards the house; first mr. hall, very red and determined, then mr. bobby jaffers, the village constable, and then the wary mr. wadgers. they had come now armed with a warrant. people shouted conflicting information of the recent circumstances. "'ed or no 'ed," said jaffers, "i got to 'rest en, and 'rest en i _will_." mr. hall marched up the steps, marched straight to the door of the parlour and flung it open. "constable," he said, "do your duty." jaffers marched in. hall next, wadgers last. they saw in the dim light the headless figure facing them, with a gnawed crust of bread in one gloved hand and a chunk of cheese in the other. "that's him!" said hall. "what the devil's this?" came in a tone of angry expostulation from above the collar of the figure. "you're a damned rum customer, mister," said mr. jaffers. "but 'ed or no 'ed, the warrant says 'body,' and duty's duty--" "keep off!" said the figure, starting back. abruptly he whipped down the bread and cheese, and mr. hall just grasped the knife on the table in time to save it. off came the stranger's left glove and was slapped in jaffers' face. in another moment jaffers, cutting short some statement concerning a warrant, had gripped him by the handless wrist and caught his invisible throat. he got a sounding kick on the shin that made him shout, but he kept his grip. hall sent the knife sliding along the table to wadgers, who acted as goal-keeper for the offensive, so to speak, and then stepped forward as jaffers and the stranger swayed and staggered towards him, clutching and hitting in. a chair stood in the way, and went aside with a crash as they came down together. "get the feet," said jaffers between his teeth. mr. hall, endeavouring to act on instructions, received a sounding kick in the ribs that disposed of him for a moment, and mr. wadgers, seeing the decapitated stranger had rolled over and got the upper side of jaffers, retreated towards the door, knife in hand, and so collided with mr. huxter and the sidderbridge carter coming to the rescue of law and order. at the same moment down came three or four bottles from the chiffonnier and shot a web of pungency into the air of the room. "i'll surrender," cried the stranger, though he had jaffers down, and in another moment he stood up panting, a strange figure, headless and handless--for he had pulled off his right glove now as well as his left. "it's no good," he said, as if sobbing for breath. it was the strangest thing in the world to hear that voice coming as if out of empty space, but the sussex peasants are perhaps the most matter-of-fact people under the sun. jaffers got up also and produced a pair of handcuffs. then he stared. "i say!" said jaffers, brought up short by a dim realization of the incongruity of the whole business, "darn it! can't use 'em as i can see." the stranger ran his arm down his waistcoat, and as if by a miracle the buttons to which his empty sleeve pointed became undone. then he said something about his shin, and stooped down. he seemed to be fumbling with his shoes and socks. "why!" said huxter, suddenly, "that's not a man at all. it's just empty clothes. look! you can see down his collar and the linings of his clothes. i could put my arm--" he extended his hand; it seemed to meet something in mid-air, and he drew it back with a sharp exclamation. "i wish you'd keep your fingers out of my eye," said the aerial voice, in a tone of savage expostulation. "the fact is, i'm all here--head, hands, legs, and all the rest of it, but it happens i'm invisible. it's a confounded nuisance, but i am. that's no reason why i should be poked to pieces by every stupid bumpkin in iping, is it?" the suit of clothes, now all unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon its unseen supports, stood up, arms akimbo. several other of the men folks had now entered the room, so that it was closely crowded. "invisible, eh?" said huxter, ignoring the stranger's abuse. "who ever heard the likes of that?" "it's strange, perhaps, but it's not a crime. why am i assaulted by a policeman in this fashion?" "ah! that's a different matter," said jaffers. "no doubt you are a bit difficult to see in this light, but i got a warrant and it's all correct. what i'm after ain't no invisibility,--it's burglary. there's a house been broke into and money took." "well?" "and circumstances certainly point--" "stuff and nonsense!" said the invisible man. "i hope so, sir; but i've got my instructions." "well," said the stranger, "i'll come. i'll _come_. but no handcuffs." "it's the regular thing," said jaffers. "no handcuffs," stipulated the stranger. "pardon me," said jaffers. abruptly the figure sat down, and before any one could realise was was being done, the slippers, socks, and trousers had been kicked off under the table. then he sprang up again and flung off his coat. "here, stop that," said jaffers, suddenly realising what was happening. he gripped at the waistcoat; it struggled, and the shirt slipped out of it and left it limp and empty in his hand. "hold him!" said jaffers, loudly. "once he gets the things off--" "hold him!" cried everyone, and there was a rush at the fluttering white shirt which was now all that was visible of the stranger. the shirt-sleeve planted a shrewd blow in hall's face that stopped his open-armed advance, and sent him backward into old toothsome the sexton, and in another moment the garment was lifted up and became convulsed and vacantly flapping about the arms, even as a shirt that is being thrust over a man's head. jaffers clutched at it, and only helped to pull it off; he was struck in the mouth out of the air, and incontinently threw his truncheon and smote teddy henfrey savagely upon the crown of his head. "look out!" said everybody, fencing at random and hitting at nothing. "hold him! shut the door! don't let him loose! i got something! here he is!" a perfect babel of noises they made. everybody, it seemed, was being hit all at once, and sandy wadgers, knowing as ever and his wits sharpened by a frightful blow in the nose, reopened the door and led the rout. the others, following incontinently, were jammed for a moment in the corner by the doorway. the hitting continued. phipps, the unitarian, had a front tooth broken, and henfrey was injured in the cartilage of his ear. jaffers was struck under the jaw, and, turning, caught at something that intervened between him and huxter in the melee, and prevented their coming together. he felt a muscular chest, and in another moment the whole mass of struggling, excited men shot out into the crowded hall. "i got him!" shouted jaffers, choking and reeling through them all, and wrestling with purple face and swelling veins against his unseen enemy. men staggered right and left as the extraordinary conflict swayed swiftly towards the house door, and went spinning down the half-dozen steps of the inn. jaffers cried in a strangled voice--holding tight, nevertheless, and making play with his knee--spun around, and fell heavily undermost with his head on the gravel. only then did his fingers relax. there were excited cries of "hold him!" "invisible!" and so forth, and a young fellow, a stranger in the place whose name did not come to light, rushed in at once, caught something, missed his hold, and fell over the constable's prostrate body. half-way across the road a woman screamed as something pushed by her; a dog, kicked apparently, yelped and ran howling into huxter's yard, and with that the transit of the invisible man was accomplished. for a space people stood amazed and gesticulating, and then came panic, and scattered them abroad through the village as a gust scatters dead leaves. but jaffers lay quite still, face upward and knees bent, at the foot of the steps of the inn. chapter viii in transit the eighth chapter is exceedingly brief, and relates that gibbons, the amateur naturalist of the district, while lying out on the spacious open downs without a soul within a couple of miles of him, as he thought, and almost dozing, heard close to him the sound as of a man coughing, sneezing, and then swearing savagely to himself; and looking, beheld nothing. yet the voice was indisputable. it continued to swear with that breadth and variety that distinguishes the swearing of a cultivated man. it grew to a climax, diminished again, and died away in the distance, going as it seemed to him in the direction of adderdean. it lifted to a spasmodic sneeze and ended. gibbons had heard nothing of the morning's occurrences, but the phenomenon was so striking and disturbing that his philosophical tranquillity vanished; he got up hastily, and hurried down the steepness of the hill towards the village, as fast as he could go. chapter ix mr. thomas marvel you must picture mr. thomas marvel as a person of copious, flexible visage, a nose of cylindrical protrusion, a liquorish, ample, fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling eccentricity. his figure inclined to embonpoint; his short limbs accentuated this inclination. he wore a furry silk hat, and the frequent substitution of twine and shoe-laces for buttons, apparent at critical points of his costume, marked a man essentially bachelor. mr. thomas marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside over the down towards adderdean, about a mile and a half out of iping. his feet, save for socks of irregular open-work, were bare, his big toes were broad, and pricked like the ears of a watchful dog. in a leisurely manner--he did everything in a leisurely manner--he was contemplating trying on a pair of boots. they were the soundest boots he had come across for a long time, but too large for him; whereas the ones he had were, in dry weather, a very comfortable fit, but too thin-soled for damp. mr. thomas marvel hated roomy shoes, but then he hated damp. he had never properly thought out which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. so he put the four shoes in a graceful group on the turf and looked at them. and seeing them there among the grass and springing agrimony, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were exceedingly ugly to see. he was not at all startled by a voice behind him. "they're boots, anyhow," said the voice. "they are--charity boots," said mr. thomas marvel, with his head on one side regarding them distastefully; "and which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed universe, i'm darned if i know!" "h'm," said the voice. "i've worn worse--in fact, i've worn none. but none so owdacious ugly--if you'll allow the expression. i've been cadging boots--in particular--for days. because i was sick of _them_. they're sound enough, of course. but a gentleman on tramp sees such a thundering lot of his boots. and if you'll believe me, i've raised nothing in the whole blessed country, try as i would, but _them_. look at 'em! and a good country for boots, too, in a general way. but it's just my promiscuous luck. i've got my boots in this country ten years or more. and then they treat you like this." "it's a beast of a country," said the voice. "and pigs for people." "ain't it?" said mr. thomas marvel. "lord! but them boots! it beats it." he turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor with a view to comparisons, and lo! where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. he was irradiated by the dawn of a great amazement. "where _are_ yer?" said mr. thomas marvel over his shoulder and coming on all fours. he saw a stretch of empty downs with the wind swaying the remote green-pointed furze bushes. "am i drunk?" said mr. marvel. "have i had visions? was i talking to myself? what the--" "don't be alarmed," said a voice. "none of your ventriloquising _me_," said mr. thomas marvel, rising sharply to his feet. "where _are_ yer? alarmed, indeed!" "don't be alarmed," repeated the voice. "_you'll_ be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool," said mr. thomas marvel. "where _are_ yer? lemme get my mark on yer... "are yer _buried_?" said mr. thomas marvel, after an interval. there was no answer. mr. thomas marvel stood bootless and amazed, his jacket nearly thrown off. "peewit," said a peewit, very remote. "peewit, indeed!" said mr. thomas marvel. "this ain't no time for foolery." the down was desolate, east and west, north and south; the road with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too. "so help me," said mr. thomas marvel, shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. "it's the drink! i might ha' known." "it's not the drink," said the voice. "you keep your nerves steady." "ow!" said mr. marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches. "it's the drink!" his lips repeated noiselessly. he remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. "i could have _swore_ i heard a voice," he whispered. "of course you did." "it's there again," said mr. marvel, closing his eyes and clasping his hand on his brow with a tragic gesture. he was suddenly taken by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever. "don't be a fool," said the voice. "i'm--off--my--blooming--chump," said mr. marvel. "it's no good. it's fretting about them blarsted boots. i'm off my blessed blooming chump. or it's spirits." "neither one thing nor the other," said the voice. "listen!" "chump," said mr. marvel. "one minute," said the voice, penetratingly, tremulous with self-control. "well?" said mr. thomas marvel, with a strange feeling of having been dug in the chest by a finger. "you think i'm just imagination? just imagination?" "what else _can_ you be?" said mr. thomas marvel, rubbing the back of his neck. "very well," said the voice, in a tone of relief. "then i'm going to throw flints at you till you think differently." "but where _are_ yer?" the voice made no answer. whizz came a flint, apparently out of the air, and missed mr. marvel's shoulder by a hair's-breadth. mr. marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet with almost invisible rapidity. he was too amazed to dodge. whizz it came, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. mr. thomas marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. then he started to run, tripped over an unseen obstacle, and came head over heels into a sitting position. "_now_," said the voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the air above the tramp. "am i imagination?" mr. marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was immediately rolled over again. he lay quiet for a moment. "if you struggle any more," said the voice, "i shall throw the flint at your head." "it's a fair do," said mr. thomas marvel, sitting up, taking his wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. "i don't understand it. stones flinging themselves. stones talking. put yourself down. rot away. i'm done." the third flint fell. "it's very simple," said the voice. "i'm an invisible man." "tell us something i don't know," said mr. marvel, gasping with pain. "where you've hid--how you do it--i _don't_ know. i'm beat." "that's all," said the voice. "i'm invisible. that's what i want you to understand." "anyone could see that. there is no need for you to be so confounded impatient, mister. _now_ then. give us a notion. how are you hid?" "i'm invisible. that's the great point. and what i want you to understand is this--" "but whereabouts?" interrupted mr. marvel. "here! six yards in front of you." "oh, _come_! i ain't blind. you'll be telling me next you're just thin air. i'm not one of your ignorant tramps--" "yes, i am--thin air. you're looking through me." "what! ain't there any stuff to you. _vox et_--what is it?--jabber. is it that?" "i am just a human being--solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too--but i'm invisible. you see? invisible. simple idea. invisible." "what, real like?" "yes, real." "let's have a hand of you," said marvel, "if you _are_ real. it won't be so darn out-of-the-way like, then--_lord_!" he said, "how you made me jump!--gripping me like that!" he felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his fingers went timorously up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. marvel's face was astonishment. "i'm dashed!" he said. "if this don't beat cock-fighting! most remarkable!--and there i can see a rabbit clean through you, 'arf a mile away! not a bit of you visible--except--" he scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. "you 'aven't been eatin' bread and cheese?" he asked, holding the invisible arm. "you're quite right, and it's not quite assimilated into the system." "ah!" said mr. marvel. "sort of ghostly, though." "of course, all this isn't half so wonderful as you think." "it's quite wonderful enough for _my_ modest wants," said mr. thomas marvel. "howjer manage it! how the dooce is it done?" "it's too long a story. and besides--" "i tell you, the whole business fairly beats me," said mr. marvel. "what i want to say at present is this: i need help. i have come to that--i came upon you suddenly. i was wandering, mad with rage, naked, impotent. i could have murdered. and i saw you--" "_lord_!" said mr. marvel. "i came up behind you--hesitated--went on--" mr. marvel's expression was eloquent. "--then stopped. 'here,' i said, 'is an outcast like myself. this is the man for me.' so i turned back and came to you--you. and--" "_lord_!" said mr. marvel. "but i'm all in a tizzy. may i ask--how is it? and what you may be requiring in the way of help?--invisible!" "i want you to help me get clothes--and shelter--and then, with other things. i've left them long enough. if you won't--well! but you _will--must_." "look here," said mr. marvel. "i'm too flabbergasted. don't knock me about any more. and leave me go. i must get steady a bit. and you've pretty near broken my toe. it's all so unreasonable. empty downs, empty sky. nothing visible for miles except the bosom of nature. and then comes a voice. a voice out of heaven! and stones! and a fist--lord!" "pull yourself together," said the voice, "for you have to do the job i've chosen for you." mr. marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were round. "i've chosen you," said the voice. "you are the only man except some of those fools down there, who knows there is such a thing as an invisible man. you have to be my helper. help me--and i will do great things for you. an invisible man is a man of power." he stopped for a moment to sneeze violently. "but if you betray me," he said, "if you fail to do as i direct you--" he paused and tapped mr. marvel's shoulder smartly. mr. marvel gave a yelp of terror at the touch. "i don't want to betray you," said mr. marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. "don't you go a-thinking that, whatever you do. all i want to do is to help you--just tell me what i got to do. (lord!) whatever you want done, that i'm most willing to do." chapter x mr. marvel's visit to iping after the first gusty panic had spent itself iping became argumentative. scepticism suddenly reared its head--rather nervous scepticism, not at all assured of its back, but scepticism nevertheless. it is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man; and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two hands. and of these witnesses mr. wadgers was presently missing, having retired impregnably behind the bolts and bars of his own house, and jaffers was lying stunned in the parlour of the "coach and horses." great and strange ideas transcending experience often have less effect upon men and women than smaller, more tangible considerations. iping was gay with bunting, and everybody was in gala dress. whit monday had been looked forward to for a month or more. by the afternoon even those who believed in the unseen were beginning to resume their little amusements in a tentative fashion, on the supposition that he had quite gone away, and with the sceptics he was already a jest. but people, sceptics and believers alike, were remarkably sociable all that day. haysman's meadow was gay with a tent, in which mrs. bunting and other ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the sunday-school children ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and the misses cuss and sackbut. no doubt there was a slight uneasiness in the air, but people for the most part had the sense to conceal whatever imaginative qualms they experienced. on the village green an inclined strong [rope?], down which, clinging the while to a pulley-swung handle, one could be hurled violently against a sack at the other end, came in for considerable favour among the adolescents, as also did the swings and the cocoanut shies. there was also promenading, and the steam organ attached to a small roundabout filled the air with a pungent flavour of oil and with equally pungent music. members of the club, who had attended church in the morning, were splendid in badges of pink and green, and some of the gayer-minded had also adorned their bowler hats with brilliant-coloured favours of ribbon. old fletcher, whose conceptions of holiday-making were severe, was visible through the jasmine about his window or through the open door (whichever way you chose to look), poised delicately on a plank supported on two chairs, and whitewashing the ceiling of his front room. about four o'clock a stranger entered the village from the direction of the downs. he was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily shabby top hat, and he appeared to be very much out of breath. his cheeks were alternately limp and tightly puffed. his mottled face was apprehensive, and he moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. he turned the corner of the church, and directed his way to the "coach and horses." among others old fletcher remembers seeing him, and indeed the old gentleman was so struck by his peculiar agitation that he inadvertently allowed a quantity of whitewash to run down the brush into the sleeve of his coat while regarding him. this stranger, to the perceptions of the proprietor of the cocoanut shy, appeared to be talking to himself, and mr. huxter remarked the same thing. he stopped at the foot of the "coach and horses" steps, and, according to mr. huxter, appeared to undergo a severe internal struggle before he could induce himself to enter the house. finally he marched up the steps, and was seen by mr. huxter to turn to the left and open the door of the parlour. mr. huxter heard voices from within the room and from the bar apprising the man of his error. "that room's private!" said hall, and the stranger shut the door clumsily and went into the bar. in the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction that somehow impressed mr. huxter as assumed. he stood looking about him for some moments, and then mr. huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window opened. the stranger, after some hesitation, leant against one of the gate-posts, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. his fingers trembled while doing so. he lit it clumsily, and folding his arms began to smoke in a languid attitude, an attitude which his occasional glances up the yard altogether belied. all this mr. huxter saw over the canisters of the tobacco window, and the singularity of the man's behaviour prompted him to maintain his observation. presently the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his pocket. then he vanished into the yard. forthwith mr. huxter, conceiving he was witness of some petty larceny, leapt round his counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. as he did so, mr. marvel reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together--as it proved afterwards with the vicar's braces--in the other. directly he saw huxter he gave a sort of gasp, and turning sharply to the left, began to run. "stop, thief!" cried huxter, and set off after him. mr. huxter's sensations were vivid but brief. he saw the man just before him and spurting briskly for the church corner and the hill road. he saw the village flags and festivities beyond, and a face or so turned towards him. he bawled, "stop!" again. he had hardly gone ten strides before his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer running, but flying with inconceivable rapidity through the air. he saw the ground suddenly close to his face. the world seemed to splash into a million whirling specks of light, and subsequent proceedings interested him no more. chapter xi in the "coach and horses" now in order clearly to understand what had happened in the inn, it is necessary to go back to the moment when mr. marvel first came into view of mr. huxter's window. at that precise moment mr. cuss and mr. bunting were in the parlour. they were seriously investigating the strange occurrences of the morning, and were, with mr. hall's permission, making a thorough examination of the invisible man's belongings. jaffers had partially recovered from his fall and had gone home in the charge of his sympathetic friends. the stranger's scattered garments had been removed by mrs. hall and the room tidied up. and on the table under the window where the stranger had been wont to work, cuss had hit almost at once on three big books in manuscript labelled "diary." "diary!" said cuss, putting the three books on the table. "now, at any rate, we shall learn something." the vicar stood with his hands on the table. "diary," repeated cuss, sitting down, putting two volumes to support the third, and opening it. "h'm--no name on the fly-leaf. bother!--cypher. and figures." the vicar came round to look over his shoulder. cuss turned the pages over with a face suddenly disappointed. "i'm--dear me! it's all cypher, bunting." "there are no diagrams?" asked mr. bunting. "no illustrations throwing light--" "see for yourself," said mr. cuss. "some of it's mathematical and some of it's russian or some such language (to judge by the letters), and some of it's greek. now the greek i thought _you_--" "of course," said mr. bunting, taking out and wiping his spectacles and feeling suddenly very uncomfortable--for he had no greek left in his mind worth talking about; "yes--the greek, of course, may furnish a clue." "i'll find you a place." "i'd rather glance through the volumes first," said mr. bunting, still wiping. "a general impression first, cuss, and _then_, you know, we can go looking for clues." he coughed, put on his glasses, arranged them fastidiously, coughed again, and wished something would happen to avert the seemingly inevitable exposure. then he took the volume cuss handed him in a leisurely manner. and then something did happen. the door opened suddenly. both gentlemen started violently, looked round, and were relieved to see a sporadically rosy face beneath a furry silk hat. "tap?" asked the face, and stood staring. "no," said both gentlemen at once. "over the other side, my man," said mr. bunting. and "please shut that door," said mr. cuss, irritably. "all right," said the intruder, as it seemed in a low voice curiously different from the huskiness of its first inquiry. "right you are," said the intruder in the former voice. "stand clear!" and he vanished and closed the door. "a sailor, i should judge," said mr. bunting. "amusing fellows, they are. stand clear! indeed. a nautical term, referring to his getting back out of the room, i suppose." "i daresay so," said cuss. "my nerves are all loose to-day. it quite made me jump--the door opening like that." mr. bunting smiled as if he had not jumped. "and now," he said with a sigh, "these books." someone sniffed as he did so. "one thing is indisputable," said bunting, drawing up a chair next to that of cuss. "there certainly have been very strange things happen in iping during the last few days--very strange. i cannot of course believe in this absurd invisibility story--" "it's incredible," said cuss--"incredible. but the fact remains that i saw--i certainly saw right down his sleeve--" "but did you--are you sure? suppose a mirror, for instance-- hallucinations are so easily produced. i don't know if you have ever seen a really good conjuror--" "i won't argue again," said cuss. "we've thrashed that out, bunting. and just now there's these books--ah! here's some of what i take to be greek! greek letters certainly." he pointed to the middle of the page. mr. bunting flushed slightly and brought his face nearer, apparently finding some difficulty with his glasses. suddenly he became aware of a strange feeling at the nape of his neck. he tried to raise his head, and encountered an immovable resistance. the feeling was a curious pressure, the grip of a heavy, firm hand, and it bore his chin irresistibly to the table. "don't move, little men," whispered a voice, "or i'll brain you both!" he looked into the face of cuss, close to his own, and each saw a horrified reflection of his own sickly astonishment. "i'm sorry to handle you so roughly," said the voice, "but it's unavoidable." "since when did you learn to pry into an investigator's private memoranda," said the voice; and two chins struck the table simultaneously, and two sets of teeth rattled. "since when did you learn to invade the private rooms of a man in misfortune?" and the concussion was repeated. "where have they put my clothes?" "listen," said the voice. "the windows are fastened and i've taken the key out of the door. i am a fairly strong man, and i have the poker handy--besides being invisible. there's not the slightest doubt that i could kill you both and get away quite easily if i wanted to--do you understand? very well. if i let you go will you promise not to try any nonsense and do what i tell you?" the vicar and the doctor looked at one another, and the doctor pulled a face. "yes," said mr. bunting, and the doctor repeated it. then the pressure on the necks relaxed, and the doctor and the vicar sat up, both very red in the face and wriggling their heads. "please keep sitting where you are," said the invisible man. "here's the poker, you see." "when i came into this room," continued the invisible man, after presenting the poker to the tip of the nose of each of his visitors, "i did not expect to find it occupied, and i expected to find, in addition to my books of memoranda, an outfit of clothing. where is it? no--don't rise. i can see it's gone. now, just at present, though the days are quite warm enough for an invisible man to run about stark, the evenings are quite chilly. i want clothing--and other accommodation; and i must also have those three books." chapter xii the invisible man loses his temper it is unavoidable that at this point the narrative should break off again, for a certain very painful reason that will presently be apparent. while these things were going on in the parlour, and while mr. huxter was watching mr. marvel smoking his pipe against the gate, not a dozen yards away were mr. hall and teddy henfrey discussing in a state of cloudy puzzlement the one iping topic. suddenly there came a violent thud against the door of the parlour, a sharp cry, and then--silence. "hul-lo!" said teddy henfrey. "hul-lo!" from the tap. mr. hall took things in slowly but surely. "that ain't right," he said, and came round from behind the bar towards the parlour door. he and teddy approached the door together, with intent faces. their eyes considered. "summat wrong," said hall, and henfrey nodded agreement. whiffs of an unpleasant chemical odour met them, and there was a muffled sound of conversation, very rapid and subdued. "you all right thur?" asked hall, rapping. the muttered conversation ceased abruptly, for a moment silence, then the conversation was resumed, in hissing whispers, then a sharp cry of "no! no, you don't!" there came a sudden motion and the oversetting of a chair, a brief struggle. silence again. "what the dooce?" exclaimed henfrey, _sotto voce_. "you--all--right thur?" asked mr. hall, sharply, again. the vicar's voice answered with a curious jerking intonation: "quite ri-right. please don't--interrupt." "odd!" said mr. henfrey. "odd!" said mr. hall. "says, 'don't interrupt,'" said henfrey. "i heerd'n," said hall. "and a sniff," said henfrey. they remained listening. the conversation was rapid and subdued. "i _can't_," said mr. bunting, his voice rising; "i tell you, sir, i _will_ not." "what was that?" asked henfrey. "says he wi' nart," said hall. "warn't speaking to us, wuz he?" "disgraceful!" said mr. bunting, within. "'disgraceful,'" said mr. henfrey. "i heard it--distinct." "who's that speaking now?" asked henfrey. "mr. cuss, i s'pose," said hall. "can you hear--anything?" silence. the sounds within indistinct and perplexing. "sounds like throwing the table-cloth about," said hall. mrs. hall appeared behind the bar. hall made gestures of silence and invitation. this aroused mrs. hall's wifely opposition. "what yer listenin' there for, hall?" she asked. "ain't you nothin' better to do--busy day like this?" hall tried to convey everything by grimaces and dumb show, but mrs. hall was obdurate. she raised her voice. so hall and henfrey, rather crestfallen, tiptoed back to the bar, gesticulating to explain to her. at first she refused to see anything in what they had heard at all. then she insisted on hall keeping silence, while henfrey told her his story. she was inclined to think the whole business nonsense--perhaps they were just moving the furniture about. "i heerd'n say 'disgraceful'; _that_ i did," said hall. "_i_ heerd that, mrs. hall," said henfrey. "like as not--" began mrs. hall. "hsh!" said mr. teddy henfrey. "didn't i hear the window?" "what window?" asked mrs. hall. "parlour window," said henfrey. everyone stood listening intently. mrs. hall's eyes, directed straight before her, saw without seeing the brilliant oblong of the inn door, the road white and vivid, and huxter's shop-front blistering in the june sun. abruptly huxter's door opened and huxter appeared, eyes staring with excitement, arms gesticulating. "yap!" cried huxter. "stop thief!" and he ran obliquely across the oblong towards the yard gates, and vanished. simultaneously came a tumult from the parlour, and a sound of windows being closed. hall, henfrey, and the human contents of the tap rushed out at once pell-mell into the street. they saw someone whisk round the corner towards the road, and mr. huxter executing a complicated leap in the air that ended on his face and shoulder. down the street people were standing astonished or running towards them. mr. huxter was stunned. henfrey stopped to discover this, but hall and the two labourers from the tap rushed at once to the corner, shouting incoherent things, and saw mr. marvel vanishing by the corner of the church wall. they appear to have jumped to the impossible conclusion that this was the invisible man suddenly become visible, and set off at once along the lane in pursuit. but hall had hardly run a dozen yards before he gave a loud shout of astonishment and went flying headlong sideways, clutching one of the labourers and bringing him to the ground. he had been charged just as one charges a man at football. the second labourer came round in a circle, stared, and conceiving that hall had tumbled over of his own accord, turned to resume the pursuit, only to be tripped by the ankle just as huxter had been. then, as the first labourer struggled to his feet, he was kicked sideways by a blow that might have felled an ox. as he went down, the rush from the direction of the village green came round the corner. the first to appear was the proprietor of the cocoanut shy, a burly man in a blue jersey. he was astonished to see the lane empty save for three men sprawling absurdly on the ground. and then something happened to his rear-most foot, and he went headlong and rolled sideways just in time to graze the feet of his brother and partner, following headlong. the two were then kicked, knelt on, fallen over, and cursed by quite a number of over-hasty people. now when hall and henfrey and the labourers ran out of the house, mrs. hall, who had been disciplined by years of experience, remained in the bar next the till. and suddenly the parlour door was opened, and mr. cuss appeared, and without glancing at her rushed at once down the steps toward the corner. "hold him!" he cried. "don't let him drop that parcel." he knew nothing of the existence of marvel. for the invisible man had handed over the books and bundle in the yard. the face of mr. cuss was angry and resolute, but his costume was defective, a sort of limp white kilt that could only have passed muster in greece. "hold him!" he bawled. "he's got my trousers! and every stitch of the vicar's clothes!" "'tend to him in a minute!" he cried to henfrey as he passed the prostrate huxter, and, coming round the corner to join the tumult, was promptly knocked off his feet into an indecorous sprawl. somebody in full flight trod heavily on his finger. he yelled, struggled to regain his feet, was knocked against and thrown on all fours again, and became aware that he was involved not in a capture, but a rout. everyone was running back to the village. he rose again and was hit severely behind the ear. he staggered and set off back to the "coach and horses" forthwith, leaping over the deserted huxter, who was now sitting up, on his way. behind him as he was halfway up the inn steps he heard a sudden yell of rage, rising sharply out of the confusion of cries, and a sounding smack in someone's face. he recognised the voice as that of the invisible man, and the note was that of a man suddenly infuriated by a painful blow. in another moment mr. cuss was back in the parlour. "he's coming back, bunting!" he said, rushing in. "save yourself!" mr. bunting was standing in the window engaged in an attempt to clothe himself in the hearth-rug and a _west surrey gazette_. "who's coming?" he said, so startled that his costume narrowly escaped disintegration. "invisible man," said cuss, and rushed on to the window. "we'd better clear out from here! he's fighting mad! mad!" in another moment he was out in the yard. "good heavens!" said mr. bunting, hesitating between two horrible alternatives. he heard a frightful struggle in the passage of the inn, and his decision was made. he clambered out of the window, adjusted his costume hastily, and fled up the village as fast as his fat little legs would carry him. from the moment when the invisible man screamed with rage and mr. bunting made his memorable flight up the village, it became impossible to give a consecutive account of affairs in iping. possibly the invisible man's original intention was simply to cover marvel's retreat with the clothes and books. but his temper, at no time very good, seems to have gone completely at some chance blow, and forthwith he set to smiting and overthrowing, for the mere satisfaction of hurting. you must figure the street full of running figures, of doors slamming and fights for hiding-places. you must figure the tumult suddenly striking on the unstable equilibrium of old fletcher's planks and two chairs--with cataclysmic results. you must figure an appalled couple caught dismally in a swing. and then the whole tumultuous rush has passed and the iping street with its gauds and flags is deserted save for the still raging unseen, and littered with cocoanuts, overthrown canvas screens, and the scattered stock in trade of a sweetstuff stall. everywhere there is a sound of closing shutters and shoving bolts, and the only visible humanity is an occasional flitting eye under a raised eyebrow in the corner of a window pane. the invisible man amused himself for a little while by breaking all the windows in the "coach and horses," and then he thrust a street lamp through the parlour window of mrs. gribble. he it must have been who cut the telegraph wire to adderdean just beyond higgins' cottage on the adderdean road. and after that, as his peculiar qualities allowed, he passed out of human perceptions altogether, and he was neither heard, seen, nor felt in iping any more. he vanished absolutely. but it was the best part of two hours before any human being ventured out again into the desolation of iping street. chapter xiii mr. marvel discusses his resignation when the dusk was gathering and iping was just beginning to peep timorously forth again upon the shattered wreckage of its bank holiday, a short, thick-set man in a shabby silk hat was marching painfully through the twilight behind the beechwoods on the road to bramblehurst. he carried three books bound together by some sort of ornamental elastic ligature, and a bundle wrapped in a blue table-cloth. his rubicund face expressed consternation and fatigue; he appeared to be in a spasmodic sort of hurry. he was accompanied by a voice other than his own, and ever and again he winced under the touch of unseen hands. "if you give me the slip again," said the voice, "if you attempt to give me the slip again--" "lord!" said mr. marvel. "that shoulder's a mass of bruises as it is." "on my honour," said the voice, "i will kill you." "i didn't try to give you the slip," said marvel, in a voice that was not far remote from tears. "i swear i didn't. i didn't know the blessed turning, that was all! how the devil was i to know the blessed turning? as it is, i've been knocked about--" "you'll get knocked about a great deal more if you don't mind," said the voice, and mr. marvel abruptly became silent. he blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were eloquent of despair. "it's bad enough to let these floundering yokels explode my little secret, without _your_ cutting off with my books. it's lucky for some of them they cut and ran when they did! here am i ... no one knew i was invisible! and now what am i to do?" "what am _i_ to do?" asked marvel, _sotto voce_. "it's all about. it will be in the papers! everybody will be looking for me; everyone on their guard--" the voice broke off into vivid curses and ceased. the despair of mr. marvel's face deepened, and his pace slackened. "go on!" said the voice. mr. marvel's face assumed a greyish tint between the ruddier patches. "don't drop those books, stupid," said the voice, sharply--overtaking him. "the fact is," said the voice, "i shall have to make use of you.... you're a poor tool, but i must." "i'm a _miserable_ tool," said marvel. "you are," said the voice. "i'm the worst possible tool you could have," said marvel. "i'm not strong," he said after a discouraging silence. "i'm not over strong," he repeated. "no?" "and my heart's weak. that little business--i pulled it through, of course--but bless you! i could have dropped." "well?" "i haven't the nerve and strength for the sort of thing you want." "_i'll_ stimulate you." "i wish you wouldn't. i wouldn't like to mess up your plans, you know. but i might--out of sheer funk and misery." "you'd better not," said the voice, with quiet emphasis. "i wish i was dead," said marvel. "it ain't justice," he said; "you must admit.... it seems to me i've a perfect right--" "_get_ on!" said the voice. mr. marvel mended his pace, and for a time they went in silence again. "it's devilish hard," said mr. marvel. this was quite ineffectual. he tried another tack. "what do i make by it?" he began again in a tone of unendurable wrong. "oh! _shut up_!" said the voice, with sudden amazing vigour. "i'll see to you all right. you do what you're told. you'll do it all right. you're a fool and all that, but you'll do--" "i tell you, sir, i'm not the man for it. respectfully--but it _is_ so--" "if you don't shut up i shall twist your wrist again," said the invisible man. "i want to think." presently two oblongs of yellow light appeared through the trees, and the square tower of a church loomed through the gloaming. "i shall keep my hand on your shoulder," said the voice, "all through the village. go straight through and try no foolery. it will be the worse for you if you do." "i know that," sighed mr. marvel, "i know all that." the unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat passed up the street of the little village with his burdens, and vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows. chapter xiv at port stowe ten o'clock the next morning found mr. marvel, unshaven, dirty, and travel-stained, sitting with the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets, looking very weary, nervous, and uncomfortable, and inflating his cheeks at infrequent intervals, on the bench outside a little inn on the outskirts of port stowe. beside him were the books, but now they were tied with string. the bundle had been abandoned in the pine-woods beyond bramblehurst, in accordance with a change in the plans of the invisible man. mr. marvel sat on the bench, and although no one took the slightest notice of him, his agitation remained at fever heat. his hands would go ever and again to his various pockets with a curious nervous fumbling. when he had been sitting for the best part of an hour, however, an elderly mariner, carrying a newspaper, came out of the inn and sat down beside him. "pleasant day," said the mariner. mr. marvel glanced about him with something very like terror. "very," he said. "just seasonable weather for the time of year," said the mariner, taking no denial. "quite," said mr. marvel. the mariner produced a toothpick, and (saving his regard) was engrossed thereby for some minutes. his eyes meanwhile were at liberty to examine mr. marvel's dusty figure, and the books beside him. as he had approached mr. marvel he had heard a sound like the dropping of coins into a pocket. he was struck by the contrast of mr. marvel's appearance with this suggestion of opulence. thence his mind wandered back again to a topic that had taken a curiously firm hold of his imagination. "books?" he said suddenly, noisily finishing with the toothpick. mr. marvel started and looked at them. "oh, yes," he said. "yes, they're books." "there's some extra-ordinary things in books," said the mariner. "i believe you," said mr. marvel. "and some extra-ordinary things out of 'em," said the mariner. "true likewise," said mr. marvel. he eyed his interlocutor, and then glanced about him. "there's some extra-ordinary things in newspapers, for example," said the mariner. "there are." "in _this_ newspaper," said the mariner. "ah!" said mr. marvel. "there's a story," said the mariner, fixing mr. marvel with an eye that was firm and deliberate; "there's a story about an invisible man, for instance." mr. marvel pulled his mouth askew and scratched his cheek and felt his ears glowing. "what will they be writing next?" he asked faintly. "ostria, or america?" "neither," said the mariner. "_here_." "lord!" said mr. marvel, starting. "when i say _here_," said the mariner, to mr. marvel's intense relief, "i don't of course mean here in this place, i mean hereabouts." "an invisible man!" said mr. marvel. "and what's _he_ been up to?" "everything," said the mariner, controlling marvel with his eye, and then amplifying, "every--blessed--thing." "i ain't seen a paper these four days," said marvel. "iping's the place he started at," said the mariner. "in-_deed_!" said mr. marvel. "he started there. and where he came from, nobody don't seem to know. here it is: 'pe-culiar story from iping.' and it says in this paper that the evidence is extra-ordinary strong--extra-ordinary." "lord!" said mr. marvel. "but then, it's an extra-ordinary story. there is a clergyman and a medical gent witnesses--saw 'im all right and proper--or leastways didn't see 'im. he was staying, it says, at the 'coach an' horses,' and no one don't seem to have been aware of his misfortune, it says, aware of his misfortune, until in an altercation in the inn, it says, his bandages on his head was torn off. it was then ob-served that his head was invisible. attempts were at once made to secure him, but casting off his garments, it says, he succeeded in escaping, but not until after a desperate struggle, in which he had inflicted serious injuries, it says, on our worthy and able constable, mr. j. a. jaffers. pretty straight story, eh? names and everything." "lord!" said mr. marvel, looking nervously about him, trying to count the money in his pockets by his unaided sense of touch, and full of a strange and novel idea. "it sounds most astonishing." "don't it? extra-ordinary, _i_ call it. never heard tell of invisible men before, i haven't, but nowadays one hears such a lot of extra-ordinary things--that--" "that all he did?" asked marvel, trying to seem at his ease. "it's enough, ain't it?" said the mariner. "didn't go back by any chance?" asked marvel. "just escaped and that's all, eh?" "all!" said the mariner. "why!--ain't it enough?" "quite enough," said marvel. "i should think it was enough," said the mariner. "i should think it was enough." "he didn't have any pals--it don't say he had any pals, does it?" asked mr. marvel, anxious. "ain't one of a sort enough for you?" asked the mariner. "no, thank heaven, as one might say, he didn't." he nodded his head slowly. "it makes me regular uncomfortable, the bare thought of that chap running about the country! he is at present at large, and from certain evidence it is supposed that he has--taken--_took_, i suppose they mean--the road to port stowe. you see we're right _in_ it! none of your american wonders, this time. and just think of the things he might do! where'd you be, if he took a drop over and above, and had a fancy to go for you? suppose he wants to rob--who can prevent him? he can trespass, he can burgle, he could walk through a cordon of policemen as easy as me or you could give the slip to a blind man! easier! for these here blind chaps hear uncommon sharp, i'm told. and wherever there was liquor he fancied--" "he's got a tremenjous advantage, certainly," said mr. marvel. "and--well..." "you're right," said the mariner. "he _has_." all this time mr. marvel had been glancing about him intently, listening for faint footfalls, trying to detect imperceptible movements. he seemed on the point of some great resolution. he coughed behind his hand. he looked about him again, listened, bent towards the mariner, and lowered his voice: "the fact of it is--i happen--to know just a thing or two about this invisible man. from private sources." "oh!" said the mariner, interested. "_you_?" "yes," said mr. marvel. "me." "indeed!" said the mariner. "and may i ask--" "you'll be astonished," said mr. marvel behind his hand. "it's tremenjous." "indeed!" said the mariner. "the fact is," began mr. marvel eagerly in a confidential undertone. suddenly his expression changed marvellously. "ow!" he said. he rose stiffly in his seat. his face was eloquent of physical suffering. "wow!" he said. "what's up?" said the mariner, concerned. "toothache," said mr. marvel, and put his hand to his ear. he caught hold of his books. "i must be getting on, i think," he said. he edged in a curious way along the seat away from his interlocutor. "but you was just a-going to tell me about this here invisible man!" protested the mariner. mr. marvel seemed to consult with himself. "hoax," said a voice. "it's a hoax," said mr. marvel. "but it's in the paper," said the mariner. "hoax all the same," said marvel. "i know the chap that started the lie. there ain't no invisible man whatsoever--blimey." "but how 'bout this paper? d'you mean to say--?" "not a word of it," said marvel, stoutly. the mariner stared, paper in hand. mr. marvel jerkily faced about. "wait a bit," said the mariner, rising and speaking slowly, "d'you mean to say--?" "i do," said mr. marvel. "then why did you let me go on and tell you all this blarsted stuff, then? what d'yer mean by letting a man make a fool of himself like that for? eh?" mr. marvel blew out his cheeks. the mariner was suddenly very red indeed; he clenched his hands. "i been talking here this ten minutes," he said; "and you, you little pot-bellied, leathery-faced son of an old boot, couldn't have the elementary manners--" "don't you come bandying words with _me_," said mr. marvel. "bandying words! i'm a jolly good mind--" "come up," said a voice, and mr. marvel was suddenly whirled about and started marching off in a curious spasmodic manner. "you'd better move on," said the mariner. "who's moving on?" said mr. marvel. he was receding obliquely with a curious hurrying gait, with occasional violent jerks forward. some way along the road he began a muttered monologue, protests and recriminations. "silly devil!" said the mariner, legs wide apart, elbows akimbo, watching the receding figure. "i'll show you, you silly ass--hoaxing _me_! it's here--on the paper!" mr. marvel retorted incoherently and, receding, was hidden by a bend in the road, but the mariner still stood magnificent in the midst of the way, until the approach of a butcher's cart dislodged him. then he turned himself towards port stowe. "full of extra-ordinary asses," he said softly to himself. "just to take me down a bit--that was his silly game--it's on the paper!" and there was another extraordinary thing he was presently to hear, that had happened quite close to him. and that was a vision of a "fist full of money" (no less) travelling without visible agency, along by the wall at the corner of st. michael's lane. a brother mariner had seen this wonderful sight that very morning. he had snatched at the money forthwith and had been knocked headlong, and when he had got to his feet the butterfly money had vanished. our mariner was in the mood to believe anything, he declared, but that was a bit _too_ stiff. afterwards, however, he began to think things over. the story of the flying money was true. and all about that neighbourhood, even from the august london and country banking company, from the tills of shops and inns--doors standing that sunny weather entirely open--money had been quietly and dexterously making off that day in handfuls and rouleaux, floating quietly along by walls and shady places, dodging quickly from the approaching eyes of men. and it had, though no man had traced it, invariably ended its mysterious flight in the pocket of that agitated gentleman in the obsolete silk hat, sitting outside the little inn on the outskirts of port stowe. it was ten days after--and indeed only when the burdock story was already old--that the mariner collated these facts and began to understand how near he had been to the wonderful invisible man. chapter xv the man who was running in the early evening time dr. kemp was sitting in his study in the belvedere on the hill overlooking burdock. it was a pleasant little room, with three windows--north, west, and south--and bookshelves covered with books and scientific publications, and a broad writing-table, and, under the north window, a microscope, glass slips, minute instruments, some cultures, and scattered bottles of reagents. dr. kemp's solar lamp was lit, albeit the sky was still bright with the sunset light, and his blinds were up because there was no offence of peering outsiders to require them pulled down. dr. kemp was a tall and slender young man, with flaxen hair and a moustache almost white, and the work he was upon would earn him, he hoped, the fellowship of the royal society, so highly did he think of it. and his eye, presently wandering from his work, caught the sunset blazing at the back of the hill that is over against his own. for a minute perhaps he sat, pen in mouth, admiring the rich golden colour above the crest, and then his attention was attracted by the little figure of a man, inky black, running over the hill-brow towards him. he was a shortish little man, and he wore a high hat, and he was running so fast that his legs verily twinkled. "another of those fools," said dr. kemp. "like that ass who ran into me this morning round a corner, with the ''visible man a-coming, sir!' i can't imagine what possesses people. one might think we were in the thirteenth century." he got up, went to the window, and stared at the dusky hillside, and the dark little figure tearing down it. "he seems in a confounded hurry," said dr. kemp, "but he doesn't seem to be getting on. if his pockets were full of lead, he couldn't run heavier." "spurted, sir," said dr. kemp. in another moment the higher of the villas that had clambered up the hill from burdock had occulted the running figure. he was visible again for a moment, and again, and then again, three times between the three detached houses that came next, and then the terrace hid him. "asses!" said dr. kemp, swinging round on his heel and walking back to his writing-table. but those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject terror on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway, did not share in the doctor's contempt. by the man pounded, and as he ran he chinked like a well-filled purse that is tossed to and fro. he looked neither to the right nor the left, but his dilated eyes stared straight downhill to where the lamps were being lit, and the people were crowded in the street. and his ill-shaped mouth fell apart, and a glairy foam lay on his lips, and his breath came hoarse and noisy. all he passed stopped and began staring up the road and down, and interrogating one another with an inkling of discomfort for the reason of his haste. and then presently, far up the hill, a dog playing in the road yelped and ran under a gate, and as they still wondered something--a wind--a pad, pad, pad,--a sound like a panting breathing, rushed by. people screamed. people sprang off the pavement: it passed in shouts, it passed by instinct down the hill. they were shouting in the street before marvel was halfway there. they were bolting into houses and slamming the doors behind them, with the news. he heard it and made one last desperate spurt. fear came striding by, rushed ahead of him, and in a moment had seized the town. "the invisible man is coming! the invisible man!" chapter xvi in the "jolly cricketers" the "jolly cricketers" is just at the bottom of the hill, where the tram-lines begin. the barman leant his fat red arms on the counter and talked of horses with an anaemic cabman, while a black-bearded man in grey snapped up biscuit and cheese, drank burton, and conversed in american with a policeman off duty. "what's the shouting about!" said the anaemic cabman, going off at a tangent, trying to see up the hill over the dirty yellow blind in the low window of the inn. somebody ran by outside. "fire, perhaps," said the barman. footsteps approached, running heavily, the door was pushed open violently, and marvel, weeping and dishevelled, his hat gone, the neck of his coat torn open, rushed in, made a convulsive turn, and attempted to shut the door. it was held half open by a strap. "coming!" he bawled, his voice shrieking with terror. "he's coming. the 'visible man! after me! for gawd's sake! 'elp! 'elp! 'elp!" "shut the doors," said the policeman. "who's coming? what's the row?" he went to the door, released the strap, and it slammed. the american closed the other door. "lemme go inside," said marvel, staggering and weeping, but still clutching the books. "lemme go inside. lock me in--somewhere. i tell you he's after me. i give him the slip. he said he'd kill me and he will." "_you're_ safe," said the man with the black beard. "the door's shut. what's it all about?" "lemme go inside," said marvel, and shrieked aloud as a blow suddenly made the fastened door shiver and was followed by a hurried rapping and a shouting outside. "hullo," cried the policeman, "who's there?" mr. marvel began to make frantic dives at panels that looked like doors. "he'll kill me--he's got a knife or something. for gawd's sake--!" "here you are," said the barman. "come in here." and he held up the flap of the bar. mr. marvel rushed behind the bar as the summons outside was repeated. "don't open the door," he screamed. "_please_ don't open the door. _where_ shall i hide?" "this, this invisible man, then?" asked the man with the black beard, with one hand behind him. "i guess it's about time we saw him." the window of the inn was suddenly smashed in, and there was a screaming and running to and fro in the street. the policeman had been standing on the settee staring out, craning to see who was at the door. he got down with raised eyebrows. "it's that," he said. the barman stood in front of the bar-parlour door which was now locked on mr. marvel, stared at the smashed window, and came round to the two other men. everything was suddenly quiet. "i wish i had my truncheon," said the policeman, going irresolutely to the door. "once we open, in he comes. there's no stopping him." "don't you be in too much hurry about that door," said the anaemic cabman, anxiously. "draw the bolts," said the man with the black beard, "and if he comes--" he showed a revolver in his hand. "that won't do," said the policeman; "that's murder." "i know what country i'm in," said the man with the beard. "i'm going to let off at his legs. draw the bolts." "not with that blinking thing going off behind me," said the barman, craning over the blind. "very well," said the man with the black beard, and stooping down, revolver ready, drew them himself. barman, cabman, and policeman faced about. "come in," said the bearded man in an undertone, standing back and facing the unbolted doors with his pistol behind him. no one came in, the door remained closed. five minutes afterwards when a second cabman pushed his head in cautiously, they were still waiting, and an anxious face peered out of the bar-parlour and supplied information. "are all the doors of the house shut?" asked marvel. "he's going round--prowling round. he's as artful as the devil." "good lord!" said the burly barman. "there's the back! just watch them doors! i say--!" he looked about him helplessly. the bar-parlour door slammed and they heard the key turn. "there's the yard door and the private door. the yard door--" he rushed out of the bar. in a minute he reappeared with a carving-knife in his hand. "the yard door was open!" he said, and his fat underlip dropped. "he may be in the house now!" said the first cabman. "he's not in the kitchen," said the barman. "there's two women there, and i've stabbed every inch of it with this little beef slicer. and they don't think he's come in. they haven't noticed--" "have you fastened it?" asked the first cabman. "i'm out of frocks," said the barman. the man with the beard replaced his revolver. and even as he did so the flap of the bar was shut down and the bolt clicked, and then with a tremendous thud the catch of the door snapped and the bar-parlour door burst open. they heard marvel squeal like a caught leveret, and forthwith they were clambering over the bar to his rescue. the bearded man's revolver cracked and the looking-glass at the back of the parlour starred and came smashing and tinkling down. as the barman entered the room he saw marvel, curiously crumpled up and struggling against the door that led to the yard and kitchen. the door flew open while the barman hesitated, and marvel was dragged into the kitchen. there was a scream and a clatter of pans. marvel, head down, and lugging back obstinately, was forced to the kitchen door, and the bolts were drawn. then the policeman, who had been trying to pass the barman, rushed in, followed by one of the cabmen, gripped the wrist of the invisible hand that collared marvel, was hit in the face and went reeling back. the door opened, and marvel made a frantic effort to obtain a lodgment behind it. then the cabman collared something. "i got him," said the cabman. the barman's red hands came clawing at the unseen. "here he is!" said the barman. mr. marvel, released, suddenly dropped to the ground and made an attempt to crawl behind the legs of the fighting men. the struggle blundered round the edge of the door. the voice of the invisible man was heard for the first time, yelling out sharply, as the policeman trod on his foot. then he cried out passionately and his fists flew round like flails. the cabman suddenly whooped and doubled up, kicked under the diaphragm. the door into the bar-parlour from the kitchen slammed and covered mr. marvel's retreat. the men in the kitchen found themselves clutching at and struggling with empty air. "where's he gone?" cried the man with the beard. "out?" "this way," said the policeman, stepping into the yard and stopping. a piece of tile whizzed by his head and smashed among the crockery on the kitchen table. "i'll show him," shouted the man with the black beard, and suddenly a steel barrel shone over the policeman's shoulder, and five bullets had followed one another into the twilight whence the missile had come. as he fired, the man with the beard moved his hand in a horizontal curve, so that his shots radiated out into the narrow yard like spokes from a wheel. a silence followed. "five cartridges," said the man with the black beard. "that's the best of all. four aces and a joker. get a lantern, someone, and come and feel about for his body." chapter xvii dr. kemp's visitor dr. kemp had continued writing in his study until the shots aroused him. crack, crack, crack, they came one after the other. "hullo!" said dr. kemp, putting his pen into his mouth again and listening. "who's letting off revolvers in burdock? what are the asses at now?" he went to the south window, threw it up, and leaning out stared down on the network of windows, beaded gas-lamps and shops, with its black interstices of roof and yard that made up the town at night. "looks like a crowd down the hill," he said, "by 'the cricketers,'" and remained watching. thence his eyes wandered over the town to far away where the ships' lights shone, and the pier glowed--a little illuminated, facetted pavilion like a gem of yellow light. the moon in its first quarter hung over the westward hill, and the stars were clear and almost tropically bright. after five minutes, during which his mind had travelled into a remote speculation of social conditions of the future, and lost itself at last over the time dimension, dr. kemp roused himself with a sigh, pulled down the window again, and returned to his writing desk. it must have been about an hour after this that the front-door bell rang. he had been writing slackly, and with intervals of abstraction, since the shots. he sat listening. he heard the servant answer the door, and waited for her feet on the staircase, but she did not come. "wonder what that was," said dr. kemp. he tried to resume his work, failed, got up, went downstairs from his study to the landing, rang, and called over the balustrade to the housemaid as she appeared in the hall below. "was that a letter?" he asked. "only a runaway ring, sir," she answered. "i'm restless to-night," he said to himself. he went back to his study, and this time attacked his work resolutely. in a little while he was hard at work again, and the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock and the subdued shrillness of his quill, hurrying in the very centre of the circle of light his lampshade threw on his table. it was two o'clock before dr. kemp had finished his work for the night. he rose, yawned, and went downstairs to bed. he had already removed his coat and vest, when he noticed that he was thirsty. he took a candle and went down to the dining-room in search of a syphon and whiskey. dr. kemp's scientific pursuits have made him a very observant man, and as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs. he went on upstairs, and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask himself what the spot on the linoleum might be. apparently some subconscious element was at work. at any rate, he turned with his burden, went back to the hall, put down the syphon and whiskey, and bending down, touched the spot. without any great surprise he found it had the stickiness and colour of drying blood. he took up his burden again, and returned upstairs, looking about him and trying to account for the blood-spot. on the landing he saw something and stopped astonished. the door-handle of his own room was blood-stained. he looked at his own hand. it was quite clean, and then he remembered that the door of his room had been open when he came down from his study, and that consequently he had not touched the handle at all. he went straight into his room, his face quite calm--perhaps a trifle more resolute than usual. his glance, wandering inquisitively, fell on the bed. on the counterpane was a mess of blood, and the sheet had been torn. he had not noticed this before because he had walked straight to the dressing-table. on the further side the bedclothes were depressed as if someone had been recently sitting there. then he had an odd impression that he had heard a low voice say, "good heavens!--kemp!" but dr. kemp was no believer in voices. he stood staring at the tumbled sheets. was that really a voice? he looked about again, but noticed nothing further than the disordered and blood-stained bed. then he distinctly heard a movement across the room, near the wash-hand stand. all men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings. the feeling that is called "eerie" came upon him. he closed the door of the room, came forward to the dressing-table, and put down his burdens. suddenly, with a start, he perceived a coiled and blood-stained bandage of linen rag hanging in mid-air, between him and the wash-hand stand. he stared at this in amazement. it was an empty bandage, a bandage properly tied but quite empty. he would have advanced to grasp it, but a touch arrested him, and a voice speaking quite close to him. "kemp!" said the voice. "eh?" said kemp, with his mouth open. "keep your nerve," said the voice. "i'm an invisible man." kemp made no answer for a space, simply stared at the bandage. "invisible man," he said. "i am an invisible man," repeated the voice. the story he had been active to ridicule only that morning rushed through kemp's brain. he does not appear to have been either very much frightened or very greatly surprised at the moment. realisation came later. "i thought it was all a lie," he said. the thought uppermost in his mind was the reiterated arguments of the morning. "have you a bandage on?" he asked. "yes," said the invisible man. "oh!" said kemp, and then roused himself. "i say!" he said. "but this is nonsense. it's some trick." he stepped forward suddenly, and his hand, extended towards the bandage, met invisible fingers. he recoiled at the touch and his colour changed. "keep steady, kemp, for god's sake! i want help badly. stop!" the hand gripped his arm. he struck at it. "kemp!" cried the voice. "kemp! keep steady!" and the grip tightened. a frantic desire to free himself took possession of kemp. the hand of the bandaged arm gripped his shoulder, and he was suddenly tripped and flung backwards upon the bed. he opened his mouth to shout, and the corner of the sheet was thrust between his teeth. the invisible man had him down grimly, but his arms were free and he struck and tried to kick savagely. "listen to reason, will you?" said the invisible man, sticking to him in spite of a pounding in the ribs. "by heaven! you'll madden me in a minute! "lie still, you fool!" bawled the invisible man in kemp's ear. kemp struggled for another moment and then lay still. "if you shout, i'll smash your face," said the invisible man, relieving his mouth. "i'm an invisible man. it's no foolishness, and no magic. i really am an invisible man. and i want your help. i don't want to hurt you, but if you behave like a frantic rustic, i must. don't you remember me, kemp? griffin, of university college?" "let me get up," said kemp. "i'll stop where i am. and let me sit quiet for a minute." he sat up and felt his neck. "i am griffin, of university college, and i have made myself invisible. i am just an ordinary man--a man you have known--made invisible." "griffin?" said kemp. "griffin," answered the voice. a younger student than you were, almost an albino, six feet high, and broad, with a pink and white face and red eyes, who won the medal for chemistry." "i am confused," said kemp. "my brain is rioting. what has this to do with griffin?" "i _am_ griffin." kemp thought. "it's horrible," he said. "but what devilry must happen to make a man invisible?" "it's no devilry. it's a process, sane and intelligible enough--" "it's horrible!" said kemp. "how on earth--?" "it's horrible enough. but i'm wounded and in pain, and tired ... great god! kemp, you are a man. take it steady. give me some food and drink, and let me sit down here." kemp stared at the bandage as it moved across the room, then saw a basket chair dragged across the floor and come to rest near the bed. it creaked, and the seat was depressed the quarter of an inch or so. he rubbed his eyes and felt his neck again. "this beats ghosts," he said, and laughed stupidly. "that's better. thank heaven, you're getting sensible!" "or silly," said kemp, and knuckled his eyes. "give me some whiskey. i'm near dead." "it didn't feel so. where are you? if i get up shall i run into you? _there_! all right. whiskey? here. where shall i give it to you?" the chair creaked and kemp felt the glass drawn away from him. he let go by an effort; his instinct was all against it. it came to rest poised twenty inches above the front edge of the seat of the chair. he stared at it in infinite perplexity. "this is--this must be--hypnotism. you have suggested you are invisible." "nonsense," said the voice. "it's frantic." "listen to me." "i demonstrated conclusively this morning," began kemp, "that invisibility--" "never mind what you've demonstrated!--i'm starving," said the voice, "and the night is chilly to a man without clothes." "food?" said kemp. the tumbler of whiskey tilted itself. "yes," said the invisible man rapping it down. "have you a dressing-gown?" kemp made some exclamation in an undertone. he walked to a wardrobe and produced a robe of dingy scarlet. "this do?" he asked. it was taken from him. it hung limp for a moment in mid-air, fluttered weirdly, stood full and decorous buttoning itself, and sat down in his chair. "drawers, socks, slippers would be a comfort," said the unseen, curtly. "and food." "anything. but this is the insanest thing i ever was in, in my life!" he turned out his drawers for the articles, and then went downstairs to ransack his larder. he came back with some cold cutlets and bread, pulled up a light table, and placed them before his guest. "never mind knives," said his visitor, and a cutlet hung in mid-air, with a sound of gnawing. "invisible!" said kemp, and sat down on a bedroom chair. "i always like to get something about me before i eat," said the invisible man, with a full mouth, eating greedily. "queer fancy!" "i suppose that wrist is all right," said kemp. "trust me," said the invisible man. "of all the strange and wonderful--" "exactly. but it's odd i should blunder into _your_ house to get my bandaging. my first stroke of luck! anyhow i meant to sleep in this house to-night. you must stand that! it's a filthy nuisance, my blood showing, isn't it? quite a clot over there. gets visible as it coagulates, i see. it's only the living tissue i've changed, and only for as long as i'm alive.... i've been in the house three hours." "but how's it done?" began kemp, in a tone of exasperation. "confound it! the whole business--it's unreasonable from beginning to end." "quite reasonable," said the invisible man. "perfectly reasonable." he reached over and secured the whiskey bottle. kemp stared at the devouring dressing gown. a ray of candle-light penetrating a torn patch in the right shoulder, made a triangle of light under the left ribs. "what were the shots?" he asked. "how did the shooting begin?" "there was a real fool of a man--a sort of confederate of mine--curse him!--who tried to steal my money. _has_ done so." "is _he_ invisible too?" "no." "well?" "can't i have some more to eat before i tell you all that? i'm hungry--in pain. and you want me to tell stories!" kemp got up. "_you_ didn't do any shooting?" he asked. "not me," said his visitor. "some fool i'd never seen fired at random. a lot of them got scared. they all got scared at me. curse them!--i say--i want more to eat than this, kemp." "i'll see what there is to eat downstairs," said kemp. "not much, i'm afraid." after he had done eating, and he made a heavy meal, the invisible man demanded a cigar. he bit the end savagely before kemp could find a knife, and cursed when the outer leaf loosened. it was strange to see him smoking; his mouth, and throat, pharynx and nares, became visible as a sort of whirling smoke cast. "this blessed gift of smoking!" he said, and puffed vigorously. "i'm lucky to have fallen upon you, kemp. you must help me. fancy tumbling on you just now! i'm in a devilish scrape--i've been mad, i think. the things i have been through! but we will do things yet. let me tell you--" he helped himself to more whiskey and soda. kemp got up, looked about him, and fetched a glass from his spare room. "it's wild--but i suppose i may drink." "you haven't changed much, kemp, these dozen years. you fair men don't. cool and methodical--after the first collapse. i must tell you. we will work together!" "but how was it all done?" said kemp, "and how did you get like this?" "for god's sake, let me smoke in peace for a little while! and then i will begin to tell you." but the story was not told that night. the invisible man's wrist was growing painful; he was feverish, exhausted, and his mind came round to brood upon his chase down the hill and the struggle about the inn. he spoke in fragments of marvel, he smoked faster, his voice grew angry. kemp tried to gather what he could. "he was afraid of me, i could see that he was afraid of me," said the invisible man many times over. "he meant to give me the slip--he was always casting about! what a fool i was! "the cur! "i should have killed him!" "where did you get the money?" asked kemp, abruptly. the invisible man was silent for a space. "i can't tell you to-night," he said. he groaned suddenly and leant forward, supporting his invisible head on invisible hands. "kemp," he said, "i've had no sleep for near three days, except a couple of dozes of an hour or so. i must sleep soon." "well, have my room--have this room." "but how can i sleep? if i sleep--he will get away. ugh! what does it matter?" "what's the shot wound?" asked kemp, abruptly. "nothing--scratch and blood. oh, god! how i want sleep!" "why not?" the invisible man appeared to be regarding kemp. "because i've a particular objection to being caught by my fellow-men," he said slowly. kemp started. "fool that i am!" said the invisible man, striking the table smartly. "i've put the idea into your head." chapter xviii the invisible man sleeps exhausted and wounded as the invisible man was, he refused to accept kemp's word that his freedom should be respected. he examined the two windows of the bedroom, drew up the blinds and opened the sashes, to confirm kemp's statement that a retreat by them would be possible. outside the night was very quiet and still, and the new moon was setting over the down. then he examined the keys of the bedroom and the two dressing-room doors, to satisfy himself that these also could be made an assurance of freedom. finally he expressed himself satisfied. he stood on the hearth rug and kemp heard the sound of a yawn. "i'm sorry," said the invisible man, "if i cannot tell you all that i have done to-night. but i am worn out. it's grotesque, no doubt. it's horrible! but believe me, kemp, in spite of your arguments of this morning, it is quite a possible thing. i have made a discovery. i meant to keep it to myself. i can't. i must have a partner. and you.... we can do such things ... but to-morrow. now, kemp, i feel as though i must sleep or perish." kemp stood in the middle of the room staring at the headless garment. "i suppose i must leave you," he said. "it's--incredible. three things happening like this, overturning all my preconceptions--would make me insane. but it's real! is there anything more that i can get you?" "only bid me good-night," said griffin. "good-night," said kemp, and shook an invisible hand. he walked sideways to the door. suddenly the dressing-gown walked quickly towards him. "understand me!" said the dressing-gown. "no attempts to hamper me, or capture me! or--" kemp's face changed a little. "i thought i gave you my word," he said. kemp closed the door softly behind him, and the key was turned upon him forthwith. then, as he stood with an expression of passive amazement on his face, the rapid feet came to the door of the dressing-room and that too was locked. kemp slapped his brow with his hand. "am i dreaming? has the world gone mad--or have i?" he laughed, and put his hand to the locked door. "barred out of my own bedroom, by a flagrant absurdity!" he said. he walked to the head of the staircase, turned, and stared at the locked doors. "it's fact," he said. he put his fingers to his slightly bruised neck. "undeniable fact! "but--" he shook his head hopelessly, turned, and went downstairs. he lit the dining-room lamp, got out a cigar, and began pacing the room, ejaculating. now and then he would argue with himself. "invisible!" he said. "is there such a thing as an invisible animal? ... in the sea, yes. thousands--millions. all the larvae, all the little nauplii and tornarias, all the microscopic things, the jelly-fish. in the sea there are more things invisible than visible! i never thought of that before. and in the ponds too! all those little pond-life things--specks of colourless translucent jelly! but in air? no! "it can't be. "but after all--why not? "if a man was made of glass he would still be visible." his meditation became profound. the bulk of three cigars had passed into the invisible or diffused as a white ash over the carpet before he spoke again. then it was merely an exclamation. he turned aside, walked out of the room, and went into his little consulting-room and lit the gas there. it was a little room, because dr. kemp did not live by practice, and in it were the day's newspapers. the morning's paper lay carelessly opened and thrown aside. he caught it up, turned it over, and read the account of a "strange story from iping" that the mariner at port stowe had spelt over so painfully to mr. marvel. kemp read it swiftly. "wrapped up!" said kemp. "disguised! hiding it! 'no one seems to have been aware of his misfortune.' what the devil _is_ his game?" he dropped the paper, and his eye went seeking. "ah!" he said, and caught up the _st. james' gazette_, lying folded up as it arrived. "now we shall get at the truth," said dr. kemp. he rent the paper open; a couple of columns confronted him. "an entire village in sussex goes mad" was the heading. "good heavens!" said kemp, reading eagerly an incredulous account of the events in iping, of the previous afternoon, that have already been described. over the leaf the report in the morning paper had been reprinted. he re-read it. "ran through the streets striking right and left. jaffers insensible. mr. huxter in great pain--still unable to describe what he saw. painful humiliation--vicar. woman ill with terror! windows smashed. this extraordinary story probably a fabrication. too good not to print--_cum grano_!" he dropped the paper and stared blankly in front of him. "probably a fabrication!" he caught up the paper again, and re-read the whole business. "but when does the tramp come in? why the deuce was he chasing a tramp?" he sat down abruptly on the surgical bench. "he's not only invisible," he said, "but he's mad! homicidal!" when dawn came to mingle its pallor with the lamp-light and cigar smoke of the dining-room, kemp was still pacing up and down, trying to grasp the incredible. he was altogether too excited to sleep. his servants, descending sleepily, discovered him, and were inclined to think that over-study had worked this ill on him. he gave them extraordinary but quite explicit instructions to lay breakfast for two in the belvedere study--and then to confine themselves to the basement and ground-floor. then he continued to pace the dining-room until the morning's paper came. that had much to say and little to tell, beyond the confirmation of the evening before, and a very badly written account of another remarkable tale from port burdock. this gave kemp the essence of the happenings at the "jolly cricketers," and the name of marvel. "he has made me keep with him twenty-four hours," marvel testified. certain minor facts were added to the iping story, notably the cutting of the village telegraph-wire. but there was nothing to throw light on the connexion between the invisible man and the tramp; for mr. marvel had supplied no information about the three books, or the money with which he was lined. the incredulous tone had vanished and a shoal of reporters and inquirers were already at work elaborating the matter. kemp read every scrap of the report and sent his housemaid out to get every one of the morning papers she could. these also he devoured. "he is invisible!" he said. "and it reads like rage growing to mania! the things he may do! the things he may do! and he's upstairs free as the air. what on earth ought i to do?" "for instance, would it be a breach of faith if--? no." he went to a little untidy desk in the corner, and began a note. he tore this up half written, and wrote another. he read it over and considered it. then he took an envelope and addressed it to "colonel adye, port burdock." the invisible man awoke even as kemp was doing this. he awoke in an evil temper, and kemp, alert for every sound, heard his pattering feet rush suddenly across the bedroom overhead. then a chair was flung over and the wash-hand stand tumbler smashed. kemp hurried upstairs and rapped eagerly. chapter xix certain first principles "what's the matter?" asked kemp, when the invisible man admitted him. "nothing," was the answer. "but, confound it! the smash?" "fit of temper," said the invisible man. "forgot this arm; and it's sore." "you're rather liable to that sort of thing." "i am." kemp walked across the room and picked up the fragments of broken glass. "all the facts are out about you," said kemp, standing up with the glass in his hand; "all that happened in iping, and down the hill. the world has become aware of its invisible citizen. but no one knows you are here." the invisible man swore. "the secret's out. i gather it was a secret. i don't know what your plans are, but of course i'm anxious to help you." the invisible man sat down on the bed. "there's breakfast upstairs," said kemp, speaking as easily as possible, and he was delighted to find his strange guest rose willingly. kemp led the way up the narrow staircase to the belvedere. "before we can do anything else," said kemp, "i must understand a little more about this invisibility of yours." he had sat down, after one nervous glance out of the window, with the air of a man who has talking to do. his doubts of the sanity of the entire business flashed and vanished again as he looked across to where griffin sat at the breakfast-table--a headless, handless dressing-gown, wiping unseen lips on a miraculously held serviette. "it's simple enough--and credible enough," said griffin, putting the serviette aside and leaning the invisible head on an invisible hand. "no doubt, to you, but--" kemp laughed. "well, yes; to me it seemed wonderful at first, no doubt. but now, great god! ... but we will do great things yet! i came on the stuff first at chesilstowe." "chesilstowe?" "i went there after i left london. you know i dropped medicine and took up physics? no; well, i did. _light_ fascinated me." "ah!" "optical density! the whole subject is a network of riddles--a network with solutions glimmering elusively through. and being but two-and-twenty and full of enthusiasm, i said, 'i will devote my life to this. this is worth while.' you know what fools we are at two-and-twenty?" "fools then or fools now," said kemp. "as though knowing could be any satisfaction to a man! "but i went to work--like a slave. and i had hardly worked and thought about the matter six months before light came through one of the meshes suddenly--blindingly! i found a general principle of pigments and refraction--a formula, a geometrical expression involving four dimensions. fools, common men, even common mathematicians, do not know anything of what some general expression may mean to the student of molecular physics. in the books--the books that tramp has hidden--there are marvels, miracles! but this was not a method, it was an idea, that might lead to a method by which it would be possible, without changing any other property of matter--except, in some instances colours--to lower the refractive index of a substance, solid or liquid, to that of air--so far as all practical purposes are concerned." "phew!" said kemp. "that's odd! but still i don't see quite ... i can understand that thereby you could spoil a valuable stone, but personal invisibility is a far cry." "precisely," said griffin. "but consider, visibility depends on the action of the visible bodies on light. either a body absorbs light, or it reflects or refracts it, or does all these things. if it neither reflects nor refracts nor absorbs light, it cannot of itself be visible. you see an opaque red box, for instance, because the colour absorbs some of the light and reflects the rest, all the red part of the light, to you. if it did not absorb any particular part of the light, but reflected it all, then it would be a shining white box. silver! a diamond box would neither absorb much of the light nor reflect much from the general surface, but just here and there where the surfaces were favourable the light would be reflected and refracted, so that you would get a brilliant appearance of flashing reflections and translucencies--a sort of skeleton of light. a glass box would not be so brilliant, nor so clearly visible, as a diamond box, because there would be less refraction and reflection. see that? from certain points of view you would see quite clearly through it. some kinds of glass would be more visible than others, a box of flint glass would be brighter than a box of ordinary window glass. a box of very thin common glass would be hard to see in a bad light, because it would absorb hardly any light and refract and reflect very little. and if you put a sheet of common white glass in water, still more if you put it in some denser liquid than water, it would vanish almost altogether, because light passing from water to glass is only slightly refracted or reflected or indeed affected in any way. it is almost as invisible as a jet of coal gas or hydrogen is in air. and for precisely the same reason!" "yes," said kemp, "that is pretty plain sailing." "and here is another fact you will know to be true. if a sheet of glass is smashed, kemp, and beaten into a powder, it becomes much more visible while it is in the air; it becomes at last an opaque white powder. this is because the powdering multiplies the surfaces of the glass at which refraction and reflection occur. in the sheet of glass there are only two surfaces; in the powder the light is reflected or refracted by each grain it passes through, and very little gets right through the powder. but if the white powdered glass is put into water, it forthwith vanishes. the powdered glass and water have much the same refractive index; that is, the light undergoes very little refraction or reflection in passing from one to the other. "you make the glass invisible by putting it into a liquid of nearly the same refractive index; a transparent thing becomes invisible if it is put in any medium of almost the same refractive index. and if you will consider only a second, you will see also that the powder of glass might be made to vanish in air, if its refractive index could be made the same as that of air; for then there would be no refraction or reflection as the light passed from glass to air." "yes, yes," said kemp. "but a man's not powdered glass!" "no," said griffin. "he's more transparent!" "nonsense!" "that from a doctor! how one forgets! have you already forgotten your physics, in ten years? just think of all the things that are transparent and seem not to be so. paper, for instance, is made up of transparent fibres, and it is white and opaque only for the same reason that a powder of glass is white and opaque. oil white paper, fill up the interstices between the particles with oil so that there is no longer refraction or reflection except at the surfaces, and it becomes as transparent as glass. and not only paper, but cotton fibre, linen fibre, wool fibre, woody fibre, and _bone_, kemp, _flesh_, kemp, _hair_, kemp, _nails_ and _nerves_, kemp, in fact the whole fabric of a man except the red of his blood and the black pigment of hair, are all made up of transparent, colourless tissue. so little suffices to make us visible one to the other. for the most part the fibres of a living creature are no more opaque than water." "great heavens!" cried kemp. "of course, of course! i was thinking only last night of the sea larvae and all jelly-fish!" "_now_ you have me! and all that i knew and had in mind a year after i left london--six years ago. but i kept it to myself. i had to do my work under frightful disadvantages. oliver, my professor, was a scientific bounder, a journalist by instinct, a thief of ideas--he was always prying! and you know the knavish system of the scientific world. i simply would not publish, and let him share my credit. i went on working; i got nearer and nearer making my formula into an experiment, a reality. i told no living soul, because i meant to flash my work upon the world with crushing effect and become famous at a blow. i took up the question of pigments to fill up certain gaps. and suddenly, not by design but by accident, i made a discovery in physiology." "yes?" "you know the red colouring matter of blood; it can be made white--colourless--and remain with all the functions it has now!" kemp gave a cry of incredulous amazement. the invisible man rose and began pacing the little study. "you may well exclaim. i remember that night. it was late at night--in the daytime one was bothered with the gaping, silly students--and i worked then sometimes till dawn. it came suddenly, splendid and complete in my mind. i was alone; the laboratory was still, with the tall lights burning brightly and silently. in all my great moments i have been alone. 'one could make an animal--a tissue--transparent! one could make it invisible! all except the pigments--i could be invisible!' i said, suddenly realising what it meant to be an albino with such knowledge. it was overwhelming. i left the filtering i was doing, and went and stared out of the great window at the stars. 'i could be invisible!' i repeated. "to do such a thing would be to transcend magic. and i beheld, unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility might mean to a man--the mystery, the power, the freedom. drawbacks i saw none. you have only to think! and i, a shabby, poverty-struck, hemmed-in demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might suddenly become--this. i ask you, kemp if _you_ ... anyone, i tell you, would have flung himself upon that research. and i worked three years, and every mountain of difficulty i toiled over showed another from its summit. the infinite details! and the exasperation! a professor, a provincial professor, always prying. 'when are you going to publish this work of yours?' was his everlasting question. and the students, the cramped means! three years i had of it-- "and after three years of secrecy and exasperation, i found that to complete it was impossible--impossible." "how?" asked kemp. "money," said the invisible man, and went again to stare out of the window. he turned around abruptly. "i robbed the old man--robbed my father. "the money was not his, and he shot himself." chapter xx at the house in great portland street for a moment kemp sat in silence, staring at the back of the headless figure at the window. then he started, struck by a thought, rose, took the invisible man's arm, and turned him away from the outlook. "you are tired," he said, "and while i sit, you walk about. have my chair." he placed himself between griffin and the nearest window. for a space griffin sat silent, and then he resumed abruptly: "i had left the chesilstowe cottage already," he said, "when that happened. it was last december. i had taken a room in london, a large unfurnished room in a big ill-managed lodging-house in a slum near great portland street. the room was soon full of the appliances i had bought with his money; the work was going on steadily, successfully, drawing near an end. i was like a man emerging from a thicket, and suddenly coming on some unmeaning tragedy. i went to bury him. my mind was still on this research, and i did not lift a finger to save his character. i remember the funeral, the cheap hearse, the scant ceremony, the windy frost-bitten hillside, and the old college friend of his who read the service over him--a shabby, black, bent old man with a snivelling cold. "i remember walking back to the empty house, through the place that had once been a village and was now patched and tinkered by the jerry builders into the ugly likeness of a town. every way the roads ran out at last into the desecrated fields and ended in rubble heaps and rank wet weeds. i remember myself as a gaunt black figure, going along the slippery, shiny pavement, and the strange sense of detachment i felt from the squalid respectability, the sordid commercialism of the place. "i did not feel a bit sorry for my father. he seemed to me to be the victim of his own foolish sentimentality. the current cant required my attendance at his funeral, but it was really not my affair. "but going along the high street, my old life came back to me for a space, for i met the girl i had known ten years since. our eyes met. "something moved me to turn back and talk to her. she was a very ordinary person. "it was all like a dream, that visit to the old places. i did not feel then that i was lonely, that i had come out from the world into a desolate place. i appreciated my loss of sympathy, but i put it down to the general inanity of things. re-entering my room seemed like the recovery of reality. there were the things i knew and loved. there stood the apparatus, the experiments arranged and waiting. and now there was scarcely a difficulty left, beyond the planning of details. "i will tell you, kemp, sooner or later, all the complicated processes. we need not go into that now. for the most part, saving certain gaps i chose to remember, they are written in cypher in those books that tramp has hidden. we must hunt him down. we must get those books again. but the essential phase was to place the transparent object whose refractive index was to be lowered between two radiating centres of a sort of ethereal vibration, of which i will tell you more fully later. no, not those roentgen vibrations--i don't know that these others of mine have been described. yet they are obvious enough. i needed two little dynamos, and these i worked with a cheap gas engine. my first experiment was with a bit of white wool fabric. it was the strangest thing in the world to see it in the flicker of the flashes soft and white, and then to watch it fade like a wreath of smoke and vanish. "i could scarcely believe i had done it. i put my hand into the emptiness, and there was the thing as solid as ever. i felt it awkwardly, and threw it on the floor. i had a little trouble finding it again. "and then came a curious experience. i heard a miaow behind me, and turning, saw a lean white cat, very dirty, on the cistern cover outside the window. a thought came into my head. 'everything ready for you,' i said, and went to the window, opened it, and called softly. she came in, purring--the poor beast was starving--and i gave her some milk. all my food was in a cupboard in the corner of the room. after that she went smelling round the room, evidently with the idea of making herself at home. the invisible rag upset her a bit; you should have seen her spit at it! but i made her comfortable on the pillow of my truckle-bed. and i gave her butter to get her to wash." "and you processed her?" "i processed her. but giving drugs to a cat is no joke, kemp! and the process failed." "failed!" "in two particulars. these were the claws and the pigment stuff, what is it?--at the back of the eye in a cat. you know?" "_tapetum_." "yes, the _tapetum_. it didn't go. after i'd given the stuff to bleach the blood and done certain other things to her, i gave the beast opium, and put her and the pillow she was sleeping on, on the apparatus. and after all the rest had faded and vanished, there remained two little ghosts of her eyes." "odd!" "i can't explain it. she was bandaged and clamped, of course--so i had her safe; but she woke while she was still misty, and miaowed dismally, and someone came knocking. it was an old woman from downstairs, who suspected me of vivisecting--a drink-sodden old creature, with only a white cat to care for in all the world. i whipped out some chloroform, applied it, and answered the door. 'did i hear a cat?' she asked. 'my cat?' 'not here,' said i, very politely. she was a little doubtful and tried to peer past me into the room; strange enough to her no doubt--bare walls, uncurtained windows, truckle-bed, with the gas engine vibrating, and the seethe of the radiant points, and that faint ghastly stinging of chloroform in the air. she had to be satisfied at last and went away again." "how long did it take?" asked kemp. "three or four hours--the cat. the bones and sinews and the fat were the last to go, and the tips of the coloured hairs. and, as i say, the back part of the eye, tough, iridescent stuff it is, wouldn't go at all. "it was night outside long before the business was over, and nothing was to be seen but the dim eyes and the claws. i stopped the gas engine, felt for and stroked the beast, which was still insensible, and then, being tired, left it sleeping on the invisible pillow and went to bed. i found it hard to sleep. i lay awake thinking weak aimless stuff, going over the experiment over and over again, or dreaming feverishly of things growing misty and vanishing about me, until everything, the ground i stood on, vanished, and so i came to that sickly falling nightmare one gets. about two, the cat began miaowing about the room. i tried to hush it by talking to it, and then i decided to turn it out. i remember the shock i had when striking a light--there were just the round eyes shining green--and nothing round them. i would have given it milk, but i hadn't any. it wouldn't be quiet, it just sat down and miaowed at the door. i tried to catch it, with an idea of putting it out of the window, but it wouldn't be caught, it vanished. then it began miaowing in different parts of the room. at last i opened the window and made a bustle. i suppose it went out at last. i never saw any more of it. "then--heaven knows why--i fell thinking of my father's funeral again, and the dismal windy hillside, until the day had come. i found sleeping was hopeless, and, locking my door after me, wandered out into the morning streets." "you don't mean to say there's an invisible cat at large!" said kemp. "if it hasn't been killed," said the invisible man. "why not?" "why not?" said kemp. "i didn't mean to interrupt." "it's very probably been killed," said the invisible man. "it was alive four days after, i know, and down a grating in great titchfield street; because i saw a crowd round the place, trying to see whence the miaowing came." he was silent for the best part of a minute. then he resumed abruptly: "i remember that morning before the change very vividly. i must have gone up great portland street. i remember the barracks in albany street, and the horse soldiers coming out, and at last i found the summit of primrose hill. it was a sunny day in january--one of those sunny, frosty days that came before the snow this year. my weary brain tried to formulate the position, to plot out a plan of action. "i was surprised to find, now that my prize was within my grasp, how inconclusive its attainment seemed. as a matter of fact i was worked out; the intense stress of nearly four years' continuous work left me incapable of any strength of feeling. i was apathetic, and i tried in vain to recover the enthusiasm of my first inquiries, the passion of discovery that had enabled me to compass even the downfall of my father's grey hairs. nothing seemed to matter. i saw pretty clearly this was a transient mood, due to overwork and want of sleep, and that either by drugs or rest it would be possible to recover my energies. "all i could think clearly was that the thing had to be carried through; the fixed idea still ruled me. and soon, for the money i had was almost exhausted. i looked about me at the hillside, with children playing and girls watching them, and tried to think of all the fantastic advantages an invisible man would have in the world. after a time i crawled home, took some food and a strong dose of strychnine, and went to sleep in my clothes on my unmade bed. strychnine is a grand tonic, kemp, to take the flabbiness out of a man." "it's the devil," said kemp. "it's the palaeolithic in a bottle." "i awoke vastly invigorated and rather irritable. you know?" "i know the stuff." "and there was someone rapping at the door. it was my landlord with threats and inquiries, an old polish jew in a long grey coat and greasy slippers. i had been tormenting a cat in the night, he was sure--the old woman's tongue had been busy. he insisted on knowing all about it. the laws in this country against vivisection were very severe--he might be liable. i denied the cat. then the vibration of the little gas engine could be felt all over the house, he said. that was true, certainly. he edged round me into the room, peering about over his german-silver spectacles, and a sudden dread came into my mind that he might carry away something of my secret. i tried to keep between him and the concentrating apparatus i had arranged, and that only made him more curious. what was i doing? why was i always alone and secretive? was it legal? was it dangerous? i paid nothing but the usual rent. his had always been a most respectable house--in a disreputable neighbourhood. suddenly my temper gave way. i told him to get out. he began to protest, to jabber of his right of entry. in a moment i had him by the collar; something ripped, and he went spinning out into his own passage. i slammed and locked the door and sat down quivering. "he made a fuss outside, which i disregarded, and after a time he went away. "but this brought matters to a crisis. i did not know what he would do, nor even what he had the power to do. to move to fresh apartments would have meant delay; altogether i had barely twenty pounds left in the world, for the most part in a bank--and i could not afford that. vanish! it was irresistible. then there would be an inquiry, the sacking of my room. "at the thought of the possibility of my work being exposed or interrupted at its very climax, i became very angry and active. i hurried out with my three books of notes, my cheque-book--the tramp has them now--and directed them from the nearest post office to a house of call for letters and parcels in great portland street. i tried to go out noiselessly. coming in, i found my landlord going quietly upstairs; he had heard the door close, i suppose. you would have laughed to see him jump aside on the landing as i came tearing after him. he glared at me as i went by him, and i made the house quiver with the slamming of my door. i heard him come shuffling up to my floor, hesitate, and go down. i set to work upon my preparations forthwith. "it was all done that evening and night. while i was still sitting under the sickly, drowsy influence of the drugs that decolourise blood, there came a repeated knocking at the door. it ceased, footsteps went away and returned, and the knocking was resumed. there was an attempt to push something under the door--a blue paper. then in a fit of irritation i rose and went and flung the door wide open. 'now then?' said i. "it was my landlord, with a notice of ejectment or something. he held it out to me, saw something odd about my hands, i expect, and lifted his eyes to my face. "for a moment he gaped. then he gave a sort of inarticulate cry, dropped candle and writ together, and went blundering down the dark passage to the stairs. i shut the door, locked it, and went to the looking-glass. then i understood his terror.... my face was white--like white stone. "but it was all horrible. i had not expected the suffering. a night of racking anguish, sickness and fainting. i set my teeth, though my skin was presently afire, all my body afire; but i lay there like grim death. i understood now how it was the cat had howled until i chloroformed it. lucky it was i lived alone and untended in my room. there were times when i sobbed and groaned and talked. but i stuck to it.... i became insensible and woke languid in the darkness. "the pain had passed. i thought i was killing myself and i did not care. i shall never forget that dawn, and the strange horror of seeing that my hands had become as clouded glass, and watching them grow clearer and thinner as the day went by, until at last i could see the sickly disorder of my room through them, though i closed my transparent eyelids. my limbs became glassy, the bones and arteries faded, vanished, and the little white nerves went last. i gritted my teeth and stayed there to the end. at last only the dead tips of the fingernails remained, pallid and white, and the brown stain of some acid upon my fingers. "i struggled up. at first i was as incapable as a swathed infant--stepping with limbs i could not see. i was weak and very hungry. i went and stared at nothing in my shaving-glass, at nothing save where an attenuated pigment still remained behind the retina of my eyes, fainter than mist. i had to hang on to the table and press my forehead against the glass. "it was only by a frantic effort of will that i dragged myself back to the apparatus and completed the process. "i slept during the forenoon, pulling the sheet over my eyes to shut out the light, and about midday i was awakened again by a knocking. my strength had returned. i sat up and listened and heard a whispering. i sprang to my feet and as noiselessly as possible began to detach the connections of my apparatus, and to distribute it about the room, so as to destroy the suggestions of its arrangement. presently the knocking was renewed and voices called, first my landlord's, and then two others. to gain time i answered them. the invisible rag and pillow came to hand and i opened the window and pitched them out on to the cistern cover. as the window opened, a heavy crash came at the door. someone had charged it with the idea of smashing the lock. but the stout bolts i had screwed up some days before stopped him. that startled me, made me angry. i began to tremble and do things hurriedly. "i tossed together some loose paper, straw, packing paper and so forth, in the middle of the room, and turned on the gas. heavy blows began to rain upon the door. i could not find the matches. i beat my hands on the wall with rage. i turned down the gas again, stepped out of the window on the cistern cover, very softly lowered the sash, and sat down, secure and invisible, but quivering with anger, to watch events. they split a panel, i saw, and in another moment they had broken away the staples of the bolts and stood in the open doorway. it was the landlord and his two step-sons, sturdy young men of three or four and twenty. behind them fluttered the old hag of a woman from downstairs. "you may imagine their astonishment to find the room empty. one of the younger men rushed to the window at once, flung it up and stared out. his staring eyes and thick-lipped bearded face came a foot from my face. i was half minded to hit his silly countenance, but i arrested my doubled fist. he stared right through me. so did the others as they joined him. the old man went and peered under the bed, and then they all made a rush for the cupboard. they had to argue about it at length in yiddish and cockney english. they concluded i had not answered them, that their imagination had deceived them. a feeling of extraordinary elation took the place of my anger as i sat outside the window and watched these four people--for the old lady came in, glancing suspiciously about her like a cat, trying to understand the riddle of my behaviour. "the old man, so far as i could understand his _patois_, agreed with the old lady that i was a vivisectionist. the sons protested in garbled english that i was an electrician, and appealed to the dynamos and radiators. they were all nervous about my arrival, although i found subsequently that they had bolted the front door. the old lady peered into the cupboard and under the bed, and one of the young men pushed up the register and stared up the chimney. one of my fellow lodgers, a coster-monger who shared the opposite room with a butcher, appeared on the landing, and he was called in and told incoherent things. "it occurred to me that the radiators, if they fell into the hands of some acute well-educated person, would give me away too much, and watching my opportunity, i came into the room and tilted one of the little dynamos off its fellow on which it was standing, and smashed both apparatus. then, while they were trying to explain the smash, i dodged out of the room and went softly downstairs. "i went into one of the sitting-rooms and waited until they came down, still speculating and argumentative, all a little disappointed at finding no 'horrors,' and all a little puzzled how they stood legally towards me. then i slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my heap of paper and rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the gas to the affair, by means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a farewell to the room left it for the last time." "you fired the house!" exclaimed kemp. "fired the house. it was the only way to cover my trail--and no doubt it was insured. i slipped the bolts of the front door quietly and went out into the street. i was invisible, and i was only just beginning to realise the extraordinary advantage my invisibility gave me. my head was already teeming with plans of all the wild and wonderful things i had now impunity to do." chapter xxi in oxford street "in going downstairs the first time i found an unexpected difficulty because i could not see my feet; indeed i stumbled twice, and there was an unaccustomed clumsiness in gripping the bolt. by not looking down, however, i managed to walk on the level passably well. "my mood, i say, was one of exaltation. i felt as a seeing man might do, with padded feet and noiseless clothes, in a city of the blind. i experienced a wild impulse to jest, to startle people, to clap men on the back, fling people's hats astray, and generally revel in my extraordinary advantage. "but hardly had i emerged upon great portland street, however (my lodging was close to the big draper's shop there), when i heard a clashing concussion and was hit violently behind, and turning saw a man carrying a basket of soda-water syphons, and looking in amazement at his burden. although the blow had really hurt me, i found something so irresistible in his astonishment that i laughed aloud. 'the devil's in the basket,' i said, and suddenly twisted it out of his hand. he let go incontinently, and i swung the whole weight into the air. "but a fool of a cabman, standing outside a public house, made a sudden rush for this, and his extending fingers took me with excruciating violence under the ear. i let the whole down with a smash on the cabman, and then, with shouts and the clatter of feet about me, people coming out of shops, vehicles pulling up, i realised what i had done for myself, and cursing my folly, backed against a shop window and prepared to dodge out of the confusion. in a moment i should be wedged into a crowd and inevitably discovered. i pushed by a butcher boy, who luckily did not turn to see the nothingness that shoved him aside, and dodged behind the cab-man's four-wheeler. i do not know how they settled the business. i hurried straight across the road, which was happily clear, and hardly heeding which way i went, in the fright of detection the incident had given me, plunged into the afternoon throng of oxford street. "i tried to get into the stream of people, but they were too thick for me, and in a moment my heels were being trodden upon. i took to the gutter, the roughness of which i found painful to my feet, and forthwith the shaft of a crawling hansom dug me forcibly under the shoulder blade, reminding me that i was already bruised severely. i staggered out of the way of the cab, avoided a perambulator by a convulsive movement, and found myself behind the hansom. a happy thought saved me, and as this drove slowly along i followed in its immediate wake, trembling and astonished at the turn of my adventure. and not only trembling, but shivering. it was a bright day in january and i was stark naked and the thin slime of mud that covered the road was freezing. foolish as it seems to me now, i had not reckoned that, transparent or not, i was still amenable to the weather and all its consequences. "then suddenly a bright idea came into my head. i ran round and got into the cab. and so, shivering, scared, and sniffing with the first intimations of a cold, and with the bruises in the small of my back growing upon my attention, i drove slowly along oxford street and past tottenham court road. my mood was as different from that in which i had sallied forth ten minutes ago as it is possible to imagine. this invisibility indeed! the one thought that possessed me was--how was i to get out of the scrape i was in. "we crawled past mudie's, and there a tall woman with five or six yellow-labelled books hailed my cab, and i sprang out just in time to escape her, shaving a railway van narrowly in my flight. i made off up the roadway to bloomsbury square, intending to strike north past the museum and so get into the quiet district. i was now cruelly chilled, and the strangeness of my situation so unnerved me that i whimpered as i ran. at the northward corner of the square a little white dog ran out of the pharmaceutical society's offices, and incontinently made for me, nose down. "i had never realised it before, but the nose is to the mind of a dog what the eye is to the mind of a seeing man. dogs perceive the scent of a man moving as men perceive his vision. this brute began barking and leaping, showing, as it seemed to me, only too plainly that he was aware of me. i crossed great russell street, glancing over my shoulder as i did so, and went some way along montague street before i realised what i was running towards. "then i became aware of a blare of music, and looking along the street saw a number of people advancing out of russell square, red shirts, and the banner of the salvation army to the fore. such a crowd, chanting in the roadway and scoffing on the pavement, i could not hope to penetrate, and dreading to go back and farther from home again, and deciding on the spur of the moment, i ran up the white steps of a house facing the museum railings, and stood there until the crowd should have passed. happily the dog stopped at the noise of the band too, hesitated, and turned tail, running back to bloomsbury square again. "on came the band, bawling with unconscious irony some hymn about 'when shall we see his face?' and it seemed an interminable time to me before the tide of the crowd washed along the pavement by me. thud, thud, thud, came the drum with a vibrating resonance, and for the moment i did not notice two urchins stopping at the railings by me. 'see 'em,' said one. 'see what?' said the other. 'why--them footmarks--bare. like what you makes in mud.' "i looked down and saw the youngsters had stopped and were gaping at the muddy footmarks i had left behind me up the newly whitened steps. the passing people elbowed and jostled them, but their confounded intelligence was arrested. 'thud, thud, thud, when, thud, shall we see, thud, his face, thud, thud.' 'there's a barefoot man gone up them steps, or i don't know nothing,' said one. 'and he ain't never come down again. and his foot was a-bleeding.' "the thick of the crowd had already passed. 'looky there, ted,' quoth the younger of the detectives, with the sharpness of surprise in his voice, and pointed straight to my feet. i looked down and saw at once the dim suggestion of their outline sketched in splashes of mud. for a moment i was paralysed. "'why, that's rum,' said the elder. 'dashed rum! it's just like the ghost of a foot, ain't it?' he hesitated and advanced with outstretched hand. a man pulled up short to see what he was catching, and then a girl. in another moment he would have touched me. then i saw what to do. i made a step, the boy started back with an exclamation, and with a rapid movement i swung myself over into the portico of the next house. but the smaller boy was sharp-eyed enough to follow the movement, and before i was well down the steps and upon the pavement, he had recovered from his momentary astonishment and was shouting out that the feet had gone over the wall. "they rushed round and saw my new footmarks flash into being on the lower step and upon the pavement. 'what's up?' asked someone. 'feet! look! feet running!' "everybody in the road, except my three pursuers, was pouring along after the salvation army, and this blow not only impeded me but them. there was an eddy of surprise and interrogation. at the cost of bowling over one young fellow i got through, and in another moment i was rushing headlong round the circuit of russell square, with six or seven astonished people following my footmarks. there was no time for explanation, or else the whole host would have been after me. "twice i doubled round corners, thrice i crossed the road and came back upon my tracks, and then, as my feet grew hot and dry, the damp impressions began to fade. at last i had a breathing space and rubbed my feet clean with my hands, and so got away altogether. the last i saw of the chase was a little group of a dozen people perhaps, studying with infinite perplexity a slowly drying footprint that had resulted from a puddle in tavistock square, a footprint as isolated and incomprehensible to them as crusoe's solitary discovery. "this running warmed me to a certain extent, and i went on with a better courage through the maze of less frequented roads that runs hereabouts. my back had now become very stiff and sore, my tonsils were painful from the cabman's fingers, and the skin of my neck had been scratched by his nails; my feet hurt exceedingly and i was lame from a little cut on one foot. i saw in time a blind man approaching me, and fled limping, for i feared his subtle intuitions. once or twice accidental collisions occurred and i left people amazed, with unaccountable curses ringing in their ears. then came something silent and quiet against my face, and across the square fell a thin veil of slowly falling flakes of snow. i had caught a cold, and do as i would i could not avoid an occasional sneeze. and every dog that came in sight, with its pointing nose and curious sniffing, was a terror to me. "then came men and boys running, first one and then others, and shouting as they ran. it was a fire. they ran in the direction of my lodging, and looking back down a street i saw a mass of black smoke streaming up above the roofs and telephone wires. it was my lodging burning; my clothes, my apparatus, all my resources indeed, except my cheque-book and the three volumes of memoranda that awaited me in great portland street, were there. burning! i had burnt my boats--if ever a man did! the place was blazing." the invisible man paused and thought. kemp glanced nervously out of the window. "yes?" he said. "go on." chapter xxii in the emporium "so last january, with the beginning of a snowstorm in the air about me--and if it settled on me it would betray me!--weary, cold, painful, inexpressibly wretched, and still but half convinced of my invisible quality, i began this new life to which i am committed. i had no refuge, no appliances, no human being in the world in whom i could confide. to have told my secret would have given me away--made a mere show and rarity of me. nevertheless, i was half-minded to accost some passer-by and throw myself upon his mercy. but i knew too clearly the terror and brutal cruelty my advances would evoke. i made no plans in the street. my sole object was to get shelter from the snow, to get myself covered and warm; then i might hope to plan. but even to me, an invisible man, the rows of london houses stood latched, barred, and bolted impregnably. "only one thing could i see clearly before me--the cold exposure and misery of the snowstorm and the night. "and then i had a brilliant idea. i turned down one of the roads leading from gower street to tottenham court road, and found myself outside omniums, the big establishment where everything is to be bought--you know the place: meat, grocery, linen, furniture, clothing, oil paintings even--a huge meandering collection of shops rather than a shop. i had thought i should find the doors open, but they were closed, and as i stood in the wide entrance a carriage stopped outside, and a man in uniform--you know the kind of personage with 'omnium' on his cap--flung open the door. i contrived to enter, and walking down the shop--it was a department where they were selling ribbons and gloves and stockings and that kind of thing--came to a more spacious region devoted to picnic baskets and wicker furniture. "i did not feel safe there, however; people were going to and fro, and i prowled restlessly about until i came upon a huge section in an upper floor containing multitudes of bedsteads, and over these i clambered, and found a resting-place at last among a huge pile of folded flock mattresses. the place was already lit up and agreeably warm, and i decided to remain where i was, keeping a cautious eye on the two or three sets of shopmen and customers who were meandering through the place, until closing time came. then i should be able, i thought, to rob the place for food and clothing, and disguised, prowl through it and examine its resources, perhaps sleep on some of the bedding. that seemed an acceptable plan. my idea was to procure clothing to make myself a muffled but acceptable figure, to get money, and then to recover my books and parcels where they awaited me, take a lodging somewhere and elaborate plans for the complete realisation of the advantages my invisibility gave me (as i still imagined) over my fellow-men. "closing time arrived quickly enough. it could not have been more than an hour after i took up my position on the mattresses before i noticed the blinds of the windows being drawn, and customers being marched doorward. and then a number of brisk young men began with remarkable alacrity to tidy up the goods that remained disturbed. i left my lair as the crowds diminished, and prowled cautiously out into the less desolate parts of the shop. i was really surprised to observe how rapidly the young men and women whipped away the goods displayed for sale during the day. all the boxes of goods, the hanging fabrics, the festoons of lace, the boxes of sweets in the grocery section, the displays of this and that, were being whipped down, folded up, slapped into tidy receptacles, and everything that could not be taken down and put away had sheets of some coarse stuff like sacking flung over them. finally all the chairs were turned up on to the counters, leaving the floor clear. directly each of these young people had done, he or she made promptly for the door with such an expression of animation as i have rarely observed in a shop assistant before. then came a lot of youngsters scattering sawdust and carrying pails and brooms. i had to dodge to get out of the way, and as it was, my ankle got stung with the sawdust. for some time, wandering through the swathed and darkened departments, i could hear the brooms at work. and at last a good hour or more after the shop had been closed, came a noise of locking doors. silence came upon the place, and i found myself wandering through the vast and intricate shops, galleries, show-rooms of the place, alone. it was very still; in one place i remember passing near one of the tottenham court road entrances and listening to the tapping of boot-heels of the passers-by. "my first visit was to the place where i had seen stockings and gloves for sale. it was dark, and i had the devil of a hunt after matches, which i found at last in the drawer of the little cash desk. then i had to get a candle. i had to tear down wrappings and ransack a number of boxes and drawers, but at last i managed to turn out what i sought; the box label called them lambswool pants, and lambswool vests. then socks, a thick comforter, and then i went to the clothing place and got trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat and a slouch hat--a clerical sort of hat with the brim turned down. i began to feel a human being again, and my next thought was food. "upstairs was a refreshment department, and there i got cold meat. there was coffee still in the urn, and i lit the gas and warmed it up again, and altogether i did not do badly. afterwards, prowling through the place in search of blankets--i had to put up at last with a heap of down quilts--i came upon a grocery section with a lot of chocolate and candied fruits, more than was good for me indeed--and some white burgundy. and near that was a toy department, and i had a brilliant idea. i found some artificial noses--dummy noses, you know, and i thought of dark spectacles. but omniums had no optical department. my nose had been a difficulty indeed--i had thought of paint. but the discovery set my mind running on wigs and masks and the like. finally i went to sleep in a heap of down quilts, very warm and comfortable. "my last thoughts before sleeping were the most agreeable i had had since the change. i was in a state of physical serenity, and that was reflected in my mind. i thought that i should be able to slip out unobserved in the morning with my clothes upon me, muffling my face with a white wrapper i had taken, purchase, with the money i had taken, spectacles and so forth, and so complete my disguise. i lapsed into disorderly dreams of all the fantastic things that had happened during the last few days. i saw the ugly little jew of a landlord vociferating in his rooms; i saw his two sons marvelling, and the wrinkled old woman's gnarled face as she asked for her cat. i experienced again the strange sensation of seeing the cloth disappear, and so i came round to the windy hillside and the sniffing old clergyman mumbling 'earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,' at my father's open grave. "'you also,' said a voice, and suddenly i was being forced towards the grave. i struggled, shouted, appealed to the mourners, but they continued stonily following the service; the old clergyman, too, never faltered droning and sniffing through the ritual. i realised i was invisible and inaudible, that overwhelming forces had their grip on me. i struggled in vain, i was forced over the brink, the coffin rang hollow as i fell upon it, and the gravel came flying after me in spadefuls. nobody heeded me, nobody was aware of me. i made convulsive struggles and awoke. "the pale london dawn had come, the place was full of a chilly grey light that filtered round the edges of the window blinds. i sat up, and for a time i could not think where this ample apartment, with its counters, its piles of rolled stuff, its heap of quilts and cushions, its iron pillars, might be. then, as recollection came back to me, i heard voices in conversation. "then far down the place, in the brighter light of some department which had already raised its blinds, i saw two men approaching. i scrambled to my feet, looking about me for some way of escape, and even as i did so the sound of my movement made them aware of me. i suppose they saw merely a figure moving quietly and quickly away. 'who's that?' cried one, and 'stop there!' shouted the other. i dashed around a corner and came full tilt--a faceless figure, mind you!--on a lanky lad of fifteen. he yelled and i bowled him over, rushed past him, turned another corner, and by a happy inspiration threw myself behind a counter. in another moment feet went running past and i heard voices shouting, 'all hands to the doors!' asking what was 'up,' and giving one another advice how to catch me. "lying on the ground, i felt scared out of my wits. but--odd as it may seem--it did not occur to me at the moment to take off my clothes as i should have done. i had made up my mind, i suppose, to get away in them, and that ruled me. and then down the vista of the counters came a bawling of 'here he is!' "i sprang to my feet, whipped a chair off the counter, and sent it whirling at the fool who had shouted, turned, came into another round a corner, sent him spinning, and rushed up the stairs. he kept his footing, gave a view hallo, and came up the staircase hot after me. up the staircase were piled a multitude of those bright-coloured pot things--what are they?" "art pots," suggested kemp. "that's it! art pots. well, i turned at the top step and swung round, plucked one out of a pile and smashed it on his silly head as he came at me. the whole pile of pots went headlong, and i heard shouting and footsteps running from all parts. i made a mad rush for the refreshment place, and there was a man in white like a man cook, who took up the chase. i made one last desperate turn and found myself among lamps and ironmongery. i went behind the counter of this, and waited for my cook, and as he bolted in at the head of the chase, i doubled him up with a lamp. down he went, and i crouched down behind the counter and began whipping off my clothes as fast as i could. coat, jacket, trousers, shoes were all right, but a lambswool vest fits a man like a skin. i heard more men coming, my cook was lying quiet on the other side of the counter, stunned or scared speechless, and i had to make another dash for it, like a rabbit hunted out of a wood-pile. "'this way, policeman!' i heard someone shouting. i found myself in my bedstead storeroom again, and at the end of a wilderness of wardrobes. i rushed among them, went flat, got rid of my vest after infinite wriggling, and stood a free man again, panting and scared, as the policeman and three of the shopmen came round the corner. they made a rush for the vest and pants, and collared the trousers. 'he's dropping his plunder,' said one of the young men. 'he _must_ be somewhere here.' "but they did not find me all the same. "i stood watching them hunt for me for a time, and cursing my ill-luck in losing the clothes. then i went into the refreshment-room, drank a little milk i found there, and sat down by the fire to consider my position. "in a little while two assistants came in and began to talk over the business very excitedly and like the fools they were. i heard a magnified account of my depredations, and other speculations as to my whereabouts. then i fell to scheming again. the insurmountable difficulty of the place, especially now it was alarmed, was to get any plunder out of it. i went down into the warehouse to see if there was any chance of packing and addressing a parcel, but i could not understand the system of checking. about eleven o'clock, the snow having thawed as it fell, and the day being finer and a little warmer than the previous one, i decided that the emporium was hopeless, and went out again, exasperated at my want of success, with only the vaguest plans of action in my mind." chapter xxiii in drury lane "but you begin now to realise," said the invisible man, "the full disadvantage of my condition. i had no shelter--no covering--to get clothing was to forego all my advantage, to make myself a strange and terrible thing. i was fasting; for to eat, to fill myself with unassimilated matter, would be to become grotesquely visible again." "i never thought of that," said kemp. "nor had i. and the snow had warned me of other dangers. i could not go abroad in snow--it would settle on me and expose me. rain, too, would make me a watery outline, a glistening surface of a man--a bubble. and fog--i should be like a fainter bubble in a fog, a surface, a greasy glimmer of humanity. moreover, as i went abroad--in the london air--i gathered dirt about my ankles, floating smuts and dust upon my skin. i did not know how long it would be before i should become visible from that cause also. but i saw clearly it could not be for long. "not in london at any rate. "i went into the slums towards great portland street, and found myself at the end of the street in which i had lodged. i did not go that way, because of the crowd halfway down it opposite to the still smoking ruins of the house i had fired. my most immediate problem was to get clothing. what to do with my face puzzled me. then i saw in one of those little miscellaneous shops--news, sweets, toys, stationery, belated christmas tomfoolery, and so forth--an array of masks and noses. i realised that problem was solved. in a flash i saw my course. i turned about, no longer aimless, and went--circuitously in order to avoid the busy ways, towards the back streets north of the strand; for i remembered, though not very distinctly where, that some theatrical costumiers had shops in that district. "the day was cold, with a nipping wind down the northward running streets. i walked fast to avoid being overtaken. every crossing was a danger, every passenger a thing to watch alertly. one man as i was about to pass him at the top of bedford street, turned upon me abruptly and came into me, sending me into the road and almost under the wheel of a passing hansom. the verdict of the cab-rank was that he had had some sort of stroke. i was so unnerved by this encounter that i went into covent garden market and sat down for some time in a quiet corner by a stall of violets, panting and trembling. i found i had caught a fresh cold, and had to turn out after a time lest my sneezes should attract attention. "at last i reached the object of my quest, a dirty, fly-blown little shop in a by-way near drury lane, with a window full of tinsel robes, sham jewels, wigs, slippers, dominoes and theatrical photographs. the shop was old-fashioned and low and dark, and the house rose above it for four storeys, dark and dismal. i peered through the window and, seeing no one within, entered. the opening of the door set a clanking bell ringing. i left it open, and walked round a bare costume stand, into a corner behind a cheval glass. for a minute or so no one came. then i heard heavy feet striding across a room, and a man appeared down the shop. "my plans were now perfectly definite. i proposed to make my way into the house, secrete myself upstairs, watch my opportunity, and when everything was quiet, rummage out a wig, mask, spectacles, and costume, and go into the world, perhaps a grotesque but still a credible figure. and incidentally of course i could rob the house of any available money. "the man who had just entered the shop was a short, slight, hunched, beetle-browed man, with long arms and very short bandy legs. apparently i had interrupted a meal. he stared about the shop with an expression of expectation. this gave way to surprise, and then to anger, as he saw the shop empty. 'damn the boys!' he said. he went to stare up and down the street. he came in again in a minute, kicked the door to with his foot spitefully, and went muttering back to the house door. "i came forward to follow him, and at the noise of my movement he stopped dead. i did so too, startled by his quickness of ear. he slammed the house door in my face. "i stood hesitating. suddenly i heard his quick footsteps returning, and the door reopened. he stood looking about the shop like one who was still not satisfied. then, murmuring to himself, he examined the back of the counter and peered behind some fixtures. then he stood doubtful. he had left the house door open and i slipped into the inner room. "it was a queer little room, poorly furnished and with a number of big masks in the corner. on the table was his belated breakfast, and it was a confoundedly exasperating thing for me, kemp, to have to sniff his coffee and stand watching while he came in and resumed his meal. and his table manners were irritating. three doors opened into the little room, one going upstairs and one down, but they were all shut. i could not get out of the room while he was there; i could scarcely move because of his alertness, and there was a draught down my back. twice i strangled a sneeze just in time. "the spectacular quality of my sensations was curious and novel, but for all that i was heartily tired and angry long before he had done his eating. but at last he made an end and putting his beggarly crockery on the black tin tray upon which he had had his teapot, and gathering all the crumbs up on the mustard stained cloth, he took the whole lot of things after him. his burden prevented his shutting the door behind him--as he would have done; i never saw such a man for shutting doors--and i followed him into a very dirty underground kitchen and scullery. i had the pleasure of seeing him begin to wash up, and then, finding no good in keeping down there, and the brick floor being cold on my feet, i returned upstairs and sat in his chair by the fire. it was burning low, and scarcely thinking, i put on a little coal. the noise of this brought him up at once, and he stood aglare. he peered about the room and was within an ace of touching me. even after that examination, he scarcely seemed satisfied. he stopped in the doorway and took a final inspection before he went down. "i waited in the little parlour for an age, and at last he came up and opened the upstairs door. i just managed to get by him. "on the staircase he stopped suddenly, so that i very nearly blundered into him. he stood looking back right into my face and listening. 'i could have sworn,' he said. his long hairy hand pulled at his lower lip. his eye went up and down the staircase. then he grunted and went on up again. "his hand was on the handle of a door, and then he stopped again with the same puzzled anger on his face. he was becoming aware of the faint sounds of my movements about him. the man must have had diabolically acute hearing. he suddenly flashed into rage. 'if there's anyone in this house--' he cried with an oath, and left the threat unfinished. he put his hand in his pocket, failed to find what he wanted, and rushing past me went blundering noisily and pugnaciously downstairs. but i did not follow him. i sat on the head of the staircase until his return. "presently he came up again, still muttering. he opened the door of the room, and before i could enter, slammed it in my face. "i resolved to explore the house, and spent some time in doing so as noiselessly as possible. the house was very old and tumble-down, damp so that the paper in the attics was peeling from the walls, and rat infested. some of the door handles were stiff and i was afraid to turn them. several rooms i did inspect were unfurnished, and others were littered with theatrical lumber, bought second-hand, i judged, from its appearance. in one room next to his i found a lot of old clothes. i began routing among these, and in my eagerness forgot again the evident sharpness of his ears. i heard a stealthy footstep and, looking up just in time, saw him peering in at the tumbled heap and holding an old-fashioned revolver in his hand. i stood perfectly still while he stared about open-mouthed and suspicious. 'it must have been her,' he said slowly. 'damn her!' "he shut the door quietly, and immediately i heard the key turn in the lock. then his footsteps retreated. i realised abruptly that i was locked in. for a minute i did not know what to do. i walked from door to window and back, and stood perplexed. a gust of anger came upon me. but i decided to inspect the clothes before i did anything further, and my first attempt brought down a pile from an upper shelf. this brought him back, more sinister than ever. that time he actually touched me, jumped back with amazement and stood astonished in the middle of the room. "presently he calmed a little. 'rats,' he said in an undertone, fingers on lips. he was evidently a little scared. i edged quietly out of the room, but a plank creaked. then the infernal little brute started going all over the house, revolver in hand and locking door after door and pocketing the keys. when i realised what he was up to i had a fit of rage--i could hardly control myself sufficiently to watch my opportunity. by this time i knew he was alone in the house, and so i made no more ado, but knocked him on the head." "knocked him on the head?" exclaimed kemp. "yes--stunned him--as he was going downstairs. hit him from behind with a stool that stood on the landing. he went downstairs like a bag of old boots." "but--i say! the common conventions of humanity--" "are all very well for common people. but the point was, kemp, that i had to get out of that house in a disguise without his seeing me. i couldn't think of any other way of doing it. and then i gagged him with a louis quatorze vest and tied him up in a sheet." "tied him up in a sheet!" "made a sort of bag of it. it was rather a good idea to keep the idiot scared and quiet, and a devilish hard thing to get out of--head away from the string. my dear kemp, it's no good your sitting glaring as though i was a murderer. it had to be done. he had his revolver. if once he saw me he would be able to describe me--" "but still," said kemp, "in england--to-day. and the man was in his own house, and you were--well, robbing." "robbing! confound it! you'll call me a thief next! surely, kemp, you're not fool enough to dance on the old strings. can't you see my position?" "and his too," said kemp. the invisible man stood up sharply. "what do you mean to say?" kemp's face grew a trifle hard. he was about to speak and checked himself. "i suppose, after all," he said with a sudden change of manner, "the thing had to be done. you were in a fix. but still--" "of course i was in a fix--an infernal fix. and he made me wild too--hunting me about the house, fooling about with his revolver, locking and unlocking doors. he was simply exasperating. you don't blame me, do you? you don't blame me?" "i never blame anyone," said kemp. "it's quite out of fashion. what did you do next?" "i was hungry. downstairs i found a loaf and some rank cheese--more than sufficient to satisfy my hunger. i took some brandy and water, and then went up past my impromptu bag--he was lying quite still--to the room containing the old clothes. this looked out upon the street, two lace curtains brown with dirt guarding the window. i went and peered out through their interstices. outside the day was bright--by contrast with the brown shadows of the dismal house in which i found myself, dazzlingly bright. a brisk traffic was going by, fruit carts, a hansom, a four-wheeler with a pile of boxes, a fishmonger's cart. i turned with spots of colour swimming before my eyes to the shadowy fixtures behind me. my excitement was giving place to a clear apprehension of my position again. the room was full of a faint scent of benzoline, used, i suppose, in cleaning the garments. "i began a systematic search of the place. i should judge the hunchback had been alone in the house for some time. he was a curious person. everything that could possibly be of service to me i collected in the clothes storeroom, and then i made a deliberate selection. i found a handbag i thought a suitable possession, and some powder, rouge, and sticking-plaster. "i had thought of painting and powdering my face and all that there was to show of me, in order to render myself visible, but the disadvantage of this lay in the fact that i should require turpentine and other appliances and a considerable amount of time before i could vanish again. finally i chose a mask of the better type, slightly grotesque but not more so than many human beings, dark glasses, greyish whiskers, and a wig. i could find no underclothing, but that i could buy subsequently, and for the time i swathed myself in calico dominoes and some white cashmere scarfs. i could find no socks, but the hunchback's boots were rather a loose fit and sufficed. in a desk in the shop were three sovereigns and about thirty shillings' worth of silver, and in a locked cupboard i burst in the inner room were eight pounds in gold. i could go forth into the world again, equipped. "then came a curious hesitation. was my appearance really credible? i tried myself with a little bedroom looking-glass, inspecting myself from every point of view to discover any forgotten chink, but it all seemed sound. i was grotesque to the theatrical pitch, a stage miser, but i was certainly not a physical impossibility. gathering confidence, i took my looking-glass down into the shop, pulled down the shop blinds, and surveyed myself from every point of view with the help of the cheval glass in the corner. "i spent some minutes screwing up my courage and then unlocked the shop door and marched out into the street, leaving the little man to get out of his sheet again when he liked. in five minutes a dozen turnings intervened between me and the costumier's shop. no one appeared to notice me very pointedly. my last difficulty seemed overcome." he stopped again. "and you troubled no more about the hunchback?" said kemp. "no," said the invisible man. "nor have i heard what became of him. i suppose he untied himself or kicked himself out. the knots were pretty tight." he became silent and went to the window and stared out. "what happened when you went out into the strand?" "oh!--disillusionment again. i thought my troubles were over. practically i thought i had impunity to do whatever i chose, everything--save to give away my secret. so i thought. whatever i did, whatever the consequences might be, was nothing to me. i had merely to fling aside my garments and vanish. no person could hold me. i could take my money where i found it. i decided to treat myself to a sumptuous feast, and then put up at a good hotel, and accumulate a new outfit of property. i felt amazingly confident; it's not particularly pleasant recalling that i was an ass. i went into a place and was already ordering lunch, when it occurred to me that i could not eat unless i exposed my invisible face. i finished ordering the lunch, told the man i should be back in ten minutes, and went out exasperated. i don't know if you have ever been disappointed in your appetite." "not quite so badly," said kemp, "but i can imagine it." "i could have smashed the silly devils. at last, faint with the desire for tasteful food, i went into another place and demanded a private room. 'i am disfigured,' i said. 'badly.' they looked at me curiously, but of course it was not their affair--and so at last i got my lunch. it was not particularly well served, but it sufficed; and when i had had it, i sat over a cigar, trying to plan my line of action. and outside a snowstorm was beginning. "the more i thought it over, kemp, the more i realised what a helpless absurdity an invisible man was--in a cold and dirty climate and a crowded civilised city. before i made this mad experiment i had dreamt of a thousand advantages. that afternoon it seemed all disappointment. i went over the heads of the things a man reckons desirable. no doubt invisibility made it possible to get them, but it made it impossible to enjoy them when they are got. ambition--what is the good of pride of place when you cannot appear there? what is the good of the love of woman when her name must needs be delilah? i have no taste for politics, for the blackguardisms of fame, for philanthropy, for sport. what was i to do? and for this i had become a wrapped-up mystery, a swathed and bandaged caricature of a man!" he paused, and his attitude suggested a roving glance at the window. "but how did you get to iping?" said kemp, anxious to keep his guest busy talking. "i went there to work. i had one hope. it was a half idea! i have it still. it is a full blown idea now. a way of getting back! of restoring what i have done. when i choose. when i have done all i mean to do invisibly. and that is what i chiefly want to talk to you about now." "you went straight to iping?" "yes. i had simply to get my three volumes of memoranda and my cheque-book, my luggage and underclothing, order a quantity of chemicals to work out this idea of mine--i will show you the calculations as soon as i get my books--and then i started. jove! i remember the snowstorm now, and the accursed bother it was to keep the snow from damping my pasteboard nose." "at the end," said kemp, "the day before yesterday, when they found you out, you rather--to judge by the papers--" "i did. rather. did i kill that fool of a constable?" "no," said kemp. "he's expected to recover." "that's his luck, then. i clean lost my temper, the fools! why couldn't they leave me alone? and that grocer lout?" "there are no deaths expected," said kemp. "i don't know about that tramp of mine," said the invisible man, with an unpleasant laugh. "by heaven, kemp, you don't know what rage _is_! ... to have worked for years, to have planned and plotted, and then to get some fumbling purblind idiot messing across your course! ... every conceivable sort of silly creature that has ever been created has been sent to cross me. "if i have much more of it, i shall go wild--i shall start mowing 'em. "as it is, they've made things a thousand times more difficult." "no doubt it's exasperating," said kemp, drily. chapter xxiv the plan that failed "but now," said kemp, with a side glance out of the window, "what are we to do?" he moved nearer his guest as he spoke in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of a sudden glimpse of the three men who were advancing up the hill road--with an intolerable slowness, as it seemed to kemp. "what were you planning to do when you were heading for port burdock? _had_ you any plan?" "i was going to clear out of the country. but i have altered that plan rather since seeing you. i thought it would be wise, now the weather is hot and invisibility possible, to make for the south. especially as my secret was known, and everyone would be on the lookout for a masked and muffled man. you have a line of steamers from here to france. my idea was to get aboard one and run the risks of the passage. thence i could go by train into spain, or else get to algiers. it would not be difficult. there a man might always be invisible--and yet live. and do things. i was using that tramp as a money box and luggage carrier, until i decided how to get my books and things sent over to meet me." "that's clear." "and then the filthy brute must needs try and rob me! he _has_ hidden my books, kemp. hidden my books! if i can lay my hands on him!" "best plan to get the books out of him first." "but where is he? do you know?" "he's in the town police station, locked up, by his own request, in the strongest cell in the place." "cur!" said the invisible man. "but that hangs up your plans a little." "we must get those books; those books are vital." "certainly," said kemp, a little nervously, wondering if he heard footsteps outside. "certainly we must get those books. but that won't be difficult, if he doesn't know they're for you." "no," said the invisible man, and thought. kemp tried to think of something to keep the talk going, but the invisible man resumed of his own accord. "blundering into your house, kemp," he said, "changes all my plans. for you are a man that can understand. in spite of all that has happened, in spite of this publicity, of the loss of my books, of what i have suffered, there still remain great possibilities, huge possibilities--" "you have told no one i am here?" he asked abruptly. kemp hesitated. "that was implied," he said. "no one?" insisted griffin. "not a soul." "ah! now--" the invisible man stood up, and sticking his arms akimbo began to pace the study. "i made a mistake, kemp, a huge mistake, in carrying this thing through alone. i have wasted strength, time, opportunities. alone--it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! to rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end. "what i want, kemp, is a goal-keeper, a helper, and a hiding-place, an arrangement whereby i can sleep and eat and rest in peace, and unsuspected. i must have a confederate. with a confederate, with food and rest--a thousand things are possible. "hitherto i have gone on vague lines. we have to consider all that invisibility means, all that it does not mean. it means little advantage for eavesdropping and so forth--one makes sounds. it's of little help--a little help perhaps--in housebreaking and so forth. once you've caught me you could easily imprison me. but on the other hand i am hard to catch. this invisibility, in fact, is only good in two cases: it's useful in getting away, it's useful in approaching. it's particularly useful, therefore, in killing. i can walk round a man, whatever weapon he has, choose my point, strike as i like. dodge as i like. escape as i like." kemp's hand went to his moustache. was that a movement downstairs? "and it is killing we must do, kemp." "it is killing we must do," repeated kemp. "i'm listening to your plan, griffin, but i'm not agreeing, mind. _why_ killing?" "not wanton killing, but a judicious slaying. the point is, they know there is an invisible man--as well as we know there is an invisible man. and that invisible man, kemp, must now establish a reign of terror. yes; no doubt it's startling. but i mean it. a reign of terror. he must take some town like your burdock and terrify and dominate it. he must issue his orders. he can do that in a thousand ways--scraps of paper thrust under doors would suffice. and all who disobey his orders he must kill, and kill all who would defend them." "humph!" said kemp, no longer listening to griffin but to the sound of his front door opening and closing. "it seems to me, griffin," he said, to cover his wandering attention, "that your confederate would be in a difficult position." "no one would know he was a confederate," said the invisible man, eagerly. and then suddenly, "hush! what's that downstairs?" "nothing," said kemp, and suddenly began to speak loud and fast. "i don't agree to this, griffin," he said. "understand me, i don't agree to this. why dream of playing a game against the race? how can you hope to gain happiness? don't be a lone wolf. publish your results; take the world--take the nation at least--into your confidence. think what you might do with a million helpers--" the invisible man interrupted--arm extended. "there are footsteps coming upstairs," he said in a low voice. "nonsense," said kemp. "let me see," said the invisible man, and advanced, arm extended, to the door. and then things happened very swiftly. kemp hesitated for a second and then moved to intercept him. the invisible man started and stood still. "traitor!" cried the voice, and suddenly the dressing-gown opened, and sitting down the unseen began to disrobe. kemp made three swift steps to the door, and forthwith the invisible man--his legs had vanished--sprang to his feet with a shout. kemp flung the door open. as it opened, there came a sound of hurrying feet downstairs and voices. with a quick movement kemp thrust the invisible man back, sprang aside, and slammed the door. the key was outside and ready. in another moment griffin would have been alone in the belvedere study, a prisoner. save for one little thing. the key had been slipped in hastily that morning. as kemp slammed the door it fell noisily upon the carpet. kemp's face became white. he tried to grip the door handle with both hands. for a moment he stood lugging. then the door gave six inches. but he got it closed again. the second time it was jerked a foot wide, and the dressing-gown came wedging itself into the opening. his throat was gripped by invisible fingers, and he left his hold on the handle to defend himself. he was forced back, tripped and pitched heavily into the corner of the landing. the empty dressing-gown was flung on the top of him. halfway up the staircase was colonel adye, the recipient of kemp's letter, the chief of the burdock police. he was staring aghast at the sudden appearance of kemp, followed by the extraordinary sight of clothing tossing empty in the air. he saw kemp felled, and struggling to his feet. he saw him rush forward, and go down again, felled like an ox. then suddenly he was struck violently. by nothing! a vast weight, it seemed, leapt upon him, and he was hurled headlong down the staircase, with a grip on his throat and a knee in his groin. an invisible foot trod on his back, a ghostly patter passed downstairs, he heard the two police officers in the hall shout and run, and the front door of the house slammed violently. he rolled over and sat up staring. he saw, staggering down the staircase, kemp, dusty and disheveled, one side of his face white from a blow, his lip bleeding, and a pink dressing-gown and some underclothing held in his arms. "my god!" cried kemp, "the game's up! he's gone!" chapter xxv the hunting of the invisible man for a space kemp was too inarticulate to make adye understand the swift things that had just happened. they stood on the landing, kemp speaking swiftly, the grotesque swathings of griffin still on his arm. but presently adye began to grasp something of the situation. "he is mad," said kemp; "inhuman. he is pure selfishness. he thinks of nothing but his own advantage, his own safety. i have listened to such a story this morning of brutal self-seeking.... he has wounded men. he will kill them unless we can prevent him. he will create a panic. nothing can stop him. he is going out now--furious!" "he must be caught," said adye. "that is certain." "but how?" cried kemp, and suddenly became full of ideas. "you must begin at once. you must set every available man to work; you must prevent his leaving this district. once he gets away, he may go through the countryside as he wills, killing and maiming. he dreams of a reign of terror! a reign of terror, i tell you. you must set a watch on trains and roads and shipping. the garrison must help. you must wire for help. the only thing that may keep him here is the thought of recovering some books of notes he counts of value. i will tell you of that! there is a man in your police station--marvel." "i know," said adye, "i know. those books--yes. but the tramp...." "says he hasn't them. but he thinks the tramp has. and you must prevent him from eating or sleeping; day and night the country must be astir for him. food must be locked up and secured, all food, so that he will have to break his way to it. the houses everywhere must be barred against him. heaven send us cold nights and rain! the whole country-side must begin hunting and keep hunting. i tell you, adye, he is a danger, a disaster; unless he is pinned and secured, it is frightful to think of the things that may happen." "what else can we do?" said adye. "i must go down at once and begin organising. but why not come? yes--you come too! come, and we must hold a sort of council of war--get hopps to help--and the railway managers. by jove! it's urgent. come along--tell me as we go. what else is there we can do? put that stuff down." in another moment adye was leading the way downstairs. they found the front door open and the policemen standing outside staring at empty air. "he's got away, sir," said one. "we must go to the central station at once," said adye. "one of you go on down and get a cab to come up and meet us--quickly. and now, kemp, what else?" "dogs," said kemp. "get dogs. they don't see him, but they wind him. get dogs." "good," said adye. "it's not generally known, but the prison officials over at halstead know a man with bloodhounds. dogs. what else?" "bear in mind," said kemp, "his food shows. after eating, his food shows until it is assimilated. so that he has to hide after eating. you must keep on beating. every thicket, every quiet corner. and put all weapons--all implements that might be weapons, away. he can't carry such things for long. and what he can snatch up and strike men with must be hidden away." "good again," said adye. "we shall have him yet!" "and on the roads," said kemp, and hesitated. "yes?" said adye. "powdered glass," said kemp. "it's cruel, i know. but think of what he may do!" adye drew the air in sharply between his teeth. "it's unsportsmanlike. i don't know. but i'll have powdered glass got ready. if he goes too far...." "the man's become inhuman, i tell you," said kemp. "i am as sure he will establish a reign of terror--so soon as he has got over the emotions of this escape--as i am sure i am talking to you. our only chance is to be ahead. he has cut himself off from his kind. his blood be upon his own head." chapter xxvi the wicksteed murder the invisible man seems to have rushed out of kemp's house in a state of blind fury. a little child playing near kemp's gateway was violently caught up and thrown aside, so that its ankle was broken, and thereafter for some hours the invisible man passed out of human perceptions. no one knows where he went nor what he did. but one can imagine him hurrying through the hot june forenoon, up the hill and on to the open downland behind port burdock, raging and despairing at his intolerable fate, and sheltering at last, heated and weary, amid the thickets of hintondean, to piece together again his shattered schemes against his species. that seems the most probable refuge for him, for there it was he re-asserted himself in a grimly tragical manner about two in the afternoon. one wonders what his state of mind may have been during that time, and what plans he devised. no doubt he was almost ecstatically exasperated by kemp's treachery, and though we may be able to understand the motives that led to that deceit, we may still imagine and even sympathise a little with the fury the attempted surprise must have occasioned. perhaps something of the stunned astonishment of his oxford street experiences may have returned to him, for he had evidently counted on kemp's co-operation in his brutal dream of a terrorised world. at any rate he vanished from human ken about midday, and no living witness can tell what he did until about half-past two. it was a fortunate thing, perhaps, for humanity, but for him it was a fatal inaction. during that time a growing multitude of men scattered over the countryside were busy. in the morning he had still been simply a legend, a terror; in the afternoon, by virtue chiefly of kemp's drily worded proclamation, he was presented as a tangible antagonist, to be wounded, captured, or overcome, and the countryside began organising itself with inconceivable rapidity. by two o'clock even he might still have removed himself out of the district by getting aboard a train, but after two that became impossible. every passenger train along the lines on a great parallelogram between southampton, manchester, brighton and horsham, travelled with locked doors, and the goods traffic was almost entirely suspended. and in a great circle of twenty miles round port burdock, men armed with guns and bludgeons were presently setting out in groups of three and four, with dogs, to beat the roads and fields. mounted policemen rode along the country lanes, stopping at every cottage and warning the people to lock up their houses, and keep indoors unless they were armed, and all the elementary schools had broken up by three o'clock, and the children, scared and keeping together in groups, were hurrying home. kemp's proclamation--signed indeed by adye--was posted over almost the whole district by four or five o'clock in the afternoon. it gave briefly but clearly all the conditions of the struggle, the necessity of keeping the invisible man from food and sleep, the necessity for incessant watchfulness and for a prompt attention to any evidence of his movements. and so swift and decided was the action of the authorities, so prompt and universal was the belief in this strange being, that before nightfall an area of several hundred square miles was in a stringent state of siege. and before nightfall, too, a thrill of horror went through the whole watching nervous countryside. going from whispering mouth to mouth, swift and certain over the length and breadth of the country, passed the story of the murder of mr. wicksteed. if our supposition that the invisible man's refuge was the hintondean thickets, then we must suppose that in the early afternoon he sallied out again bent upon some project that involved the use of a weapon. we cannot know what the project was, but the evidence that he had the iron rod in hand before he met wicksteed is to me at least overwhelming. of course we can know nothing of the details of that encounter. it occurred on the edge of a gravel pit, not two hundred yards from lord burdock's lodge gate. everything points to a desperate struggle--the trampled ground, the numerous wounds mr. wicksteed received, his splintered walking-stick; but why the attack was made, save in a murderous frenzy, it is impossible to imagine. indeed the theory of madness is almost unavoidable. mr. wicksteed was a man of forty-five or forty-six, steward to lord burdock, of inoffensive habits and appearance, the very last person in the world to provoke such a terrible antagonist. against him it would seem the invisible man used an iron rod dragged from a broken piece of fence. he stopped this quiet man, going quietly home to his midday meal, attacked him, beat down his feeble defences, broke his arm, felled him, and smashed his head to a jelly. of course, he must have dragged this rod out of the fencing before he met his victim--he must have been carrying it ready in his hand. only two details beyond what has already been stated seem to bear on the matter. one is the circumstance that the gravel pit was not in mr. wicksteed's direct path home, but nearly a couple of hundred yards out of his way. the other is the assertion of a little girl to the effect that, going to her afternoon school, she saw the murdered man "trotting" in a peculiar manner across a field towards the gravel pit. her pantomime of his action suggests a man pursuing something on the ground before him and striking at it ever and again with his walking-stick. she was the last person to see him alive. he passed out of her sight to his death, the struggle being hidden from her only by a clump of beech trees and a slight depression in the ground. now this, to the present writer's mind at least, lifts the murder out of the realm of the absolutely wanton. we may imagine that griffin had taken the rod as a weapon indeed, but without any deliberate intention of using it in murder. wicksteed may then have come by and noticed this rod inexplicably moving through the air. without any thought of the invisible man--for port burdock is ten miles away--he may have pursued it. it is quite conceivable that he may not even have heard of the invisible man. one can then imagine the invisible man making off--quietly in order to avoid discovering his presence in the neighbourhood, and wicksteed, excited and curious, pursuing this unaccountably locomotive object--finally striking at it. no doubt the invisible man could easily have distanced his middle-aged pursuer under ordinary circumstances, but the position in which wicksteed's body was found suggests that he had the ill luck to drive his quarry into a corner between a drift of stinging nettles and the gravel pit. to those who appreciate the extraordinary irascibility of the invisible man, the rest of the encounter will be easy to imagine. but this is pure hypothesis. the only undeniable facts--for stories of children are often unreliable--are the discovery of wicksteed's body, done to death, and of the blood-stained iron rod flung among the nettles. the abandonment of the rod by griffin, suggests that in the emotional excitement of the affair, the purpose for which he took it--if he had a purpose--was abandoned. he was certainly an intensely egotistical and unfeeling man, but the sight of his victim, his first victim, bloody and pitiful at his feet, may have released some long pent fountain of remorse which for a time may have flooded whatever scheme of action he had contrived. after the murder of mr. wicksteed, he would seem to have struck across the country towards the downland. there is a story of a voice heard about sunset by a couple of men in a field near fern bottom. it was wailing and laughing, sobbing and groaning, and ever and again it shouted. it must have been queer hearing. it drove up across the middle of a clover field and died away towards the hills. that afternoon the invisible man must have learnt something of the rapid use kemp had made of his confidences. he must have found houses locked and secured; he may have loitered about railway stations and prowled about inns, and no doubt he read the proclamations and realised something of the nature of the campaign against him. and as the evening advanced, the fields became dotted here and there with groups of three or four men, and noisy with the yelping of dogs. these men-hunters had particular instructions in the case of an encounter as to the way they should support one another. but he avoided them all. we may understand something of his exasperation, and it could have been none the less because he himself had supplied the information that was being used so remorselessly against him. for that day at least he lost heart; for nearly twenty-four hours, save when he turned on wicksteed, he was a hunted man. in the night, he must have eaten and slept; for in the morning he was himself again, active, powerful, angry, and malignant, prepared for his last great struggle against the world. chapter xxvii the siege of kemp's house kemp read a strange missive, written in pencil on a greasy sheet of paper. "you have been amazingly energetic and clever," this letter ran, "though what you stand to gain by it i cannot imagine. you are against me. for a whole day you have chased me; you have tried to rob me of a night's rest. but i have had food in spite of you, i have slept in spite of you, and the game is only beginning. the game is only beginning. there is nothing for it, but to start the terror. this announces the first day of the terror. port burdock is no longer under the queen, tell your colonel of police, and the rest of them; it is under me--the terror! this is day one of year one of the new epoch--the epoch of the invisible man. i am invisible man the first. to begin with the rule will be easy. the first day there will be one execution for the sake of example--a man named kemp. death starts for him to-day. he may lock himself away, hide himself away, get guards about him, put on armour if he likes--death, the unseen death, is coming. let him take precautions; it will impress my people. death starts from the pillar box by midday. the letter will fall in as the postman comes along, then off! the game begins. death starts. help him not, my people, lest death fall upon you also. to-day kemp is to die." kemp read this letter twice, "it's no hoax," he said. "that's his voice! and he means it." he turned the folded sheet over and saw on the addressed side of it the postmark hintondean, and the prosaic detail " d. to pay." he got up slowly, leaving his lunch unfinished--the letter had come by the one o'clock post--and went into his study. he rang for his housekeeper, and told her to go round the house at once, examine all the fastenings of the windows, and close all the shutters. he closed the shutters of his study himself. from a locked drawer in his bedroom he took a little revolver, examined it carefully, and put it into the pocket of his lounge jacket. he wrote a number of brief notes, one to colonel adye, gave them to his servant to take, with explicit instructions as to her way of leaving the house. "there is no danger," he said, and added a mental reservation, "to you." he remained meditative for a space after doing this, and then returned to his cooling lunch. he ate with gaps of thought. finally he struck the table sharply. "we will have him!" he said; "and i am the bait. he will come too far." he went up to the belvedere, carefully shutting every door after him. "it's a game," he said, "an odd game--but the chances are all for me, mr. griffin, in spite of your invisibility. griffin _contra mundum_ ... with a vengeance." he stood at the window staring at the hot hillside. "he must get food every day--and i don't envy him. did he really sleep last night? out in the open somewhere--secure from collisions. i wish we could get some good cold wet weather instead of the heat. "he may be watching me now." he went close to the window. something rapped smartly against the brickwork over the frame, and made him start violently back. "i'm getting nervous," said kemp. but it was five minutes before he went to the window again. "it must have been a sparrow," he said. presently he heard the front-door bell ringing, and hurried downstairs. he unbolted and unlocked the door, examined the chain, put it up, and opened cautiously without showing himself. a familiar voice hailed him. it was adye. "your servant's been assaulted, kemp," he said round the door. "what!" exclaimed kemp. "had that note of yours taken away from her. he's close about here. let me in." kemp released the chain, and adye entered through as narrow an opening as possible. he stood in the hall, looking with infinite relief at kemp refastening the door. "note was snatched out of her hand. scared her horribly. she's down at the station. hysterics. he's close here. what was it about?" kemp swore. "what a fool i was," said kemp. "i might have known. it's not an hour's walk from hintondean. already?" "what's up?" said adye. "look here!" said kemp, and led the way into his study. he handed adye the invisible man's letter. adye read it and whistled softly. "and you--?" said adye. "proposed a trap--like a fool," said kemp, "and sent my proposal out by a maid servant. to him." adye followed kemp's profanity. "he'll clear out," said adye. "not he," said kemp. a resounding smash of glass came from upstairs. adye had a silvery glimpse of a little revolver half out of kemp's pocket. "it's a window, upstairs!" said kemp, and led the way up. there came a second smash while they were still on the staircase. when they reached the study they found two of the three windows smashed, half the room littered with splintered glass, and one big flint lying on the writing table. the two men stopped in the doorway, contemplating the wreckage. kemp swore again, and as he did so the third window went with a snap like a pistol, hung starred for a moment, and collapsed in jagged, shivering triangles into the room. "what's this for?" said adye. "it's a beginning," said kemp. "there's no way of climbing up here?" "not for a cat," said kemp. "no shutters?" "not here. all the downstairs rooms--hullo!" smash, and then whack of boards hit hard came from downstairs. "confound him!" said kemp. "that must be--yes--it's one of the bedrooms. he's going to do all the house. but he's a fool. the shutters are up, and the glass will fall outside. he'll cut his feet." another window proclaimed its destruction. the two men stood on the landing perplexed. "i have it!" said adye. "let me have a stick or something, and i'll go down to the station and get the bloodhounds put on. that ought to settle him! they're hard by--not ten minutes--" another window went the way of its fellows. "you haven't a revolver?" asked adye. kemp's hand went to his pocket. then he hesitated. "i haven't one--at least to spare." "i'll bring it back," said adye, "you'll be safe here." kemp, ashamed of his momentary lapse from truthfulness, handed him the weapon. "now for the door," said adye. as they stood hesitating in the hall, they heard one of the first-floor bedroom windows crack and clash. kemp went to the door and began to slip the bolts as silently as possible. his face was a little paler than usual. "you must step straight out," said kemp. in another moment adye was on the doorstep and the bolts were dropping back into the staples. he hesitated for a moment, feeling more comfortable with his back against the door. then he marched, upright and square, down the steps. he crossed the lawn and approached the gate. a little breeze seemed to ripple over the grass. something moved near him. "stop a bit," said a voice, and adye stopped dead and his hand tightened on the revolver. "well?" said adye, white and grim, and every nerve tense. "oblige me by going back to the house," said the voice, as tense and grim as adye's. "sorry," said adye a little hoarsely, and moistened his lips with his tongue. the voice was on his left front, he thought. suppose he were to take his luck with a shot? "what are you going for?" said the voice, and there was a quick movement of the two, and a flash of sunlight from the open lip of adye's pocket. adye desisted and thought. "where i go," he said slowly, "is my own business." the words were still on his lips, when an arm came round his neck, his back felt a knee, and he was sprawling backward. he drew clumsily and fired absurdly, and in another moment he was struck in the mouth and the revolver wrested from his grip. he made a vain clutch at a slippery limb, tried to struggle up and fell back. "damn!" said adye. the voice laughed. "i'd kill you now if it wasn't the waste of a bullet," it said. he saw the revolver in mid-air, six feet off, covering him. "well?" said adye, sitting up. "get up," said the voice. adye stood up. "attention," said the voice, and then fiercely, "don't try any games. remember i can see your face if you can't see mine. you've got to go back to the house." "he won't let me in," said adye. "that's a pity," said the invisible man. "i've got no quarrel with you." adye moistened his lips again. he glanced away from the barrel of the revolver and saw the sea far off very blue and dark under the midday sun, the smooth green down, the white cliff of the head, and the multitudinous town, and suddenly he knew that life was very sweet. his eyes came back to this little metal thing hanging between heaven and earth, six yards away. "what am i to do?" he said sullenly. "what am _i_ to do?" asked the invisible man. "you will get help. the only thing is for you to go back." "i will try. if he lets me in will you promise not to rush the door?" "i've got no quarrel with you," said the voice. kemp had hurried upstairs after letting adye out, and now crouching among the broken glass and peering cautiously over the edge of the study window sill, he saw adye stand parleying with the unseen. "why doesn't he fire?" whispered kemp to himself. then the revolver moved a little and the glint of the sunlight flashed in kemp's eyes. he shaded his eyes and tried to see the source of the blinding beam. "surely!" he said, "adye has given up the revolver." "promise not to rush the door," adye was saying. "don't push a winning game too far. give a man a chance." "you go back to the house. i tell you flatly i will not promise anything." adye's decision seemed suddenly made. he turned towards the house, walking slowly with his hands behind him. kemp watched him--puzzled. the revolver vanished, flashed again into sight, vanished again, and became evident on a closer scrutiny as a little dark object following adye. then things happened very quickly. adye leapt backwards, swung around, clutched at this little object, missed it, threw up his hands and fell forward on his face, leaving a little puff of blue in the air. kemp did not hear the sound of the shot. adye writhed, raised himself on one arm, fell forward, and lay still. for a space kemp remained staring at the quiet carelessness of adye's attitude. the afternoon was very hot and still, nothing seemed stirring in all the world save a couple of yellow butterflies chasing each other through the shrubbery between the house and the road gate. adye lay on the lawn near the gate. the blinds of all the villas down the hill-road were drawn, but in one little green summer-house was a white figure, apparently an old man asleep. kemp scrutinised the surroundings of the house for a glimpse of the revolver, but it had vanished. his eyes came back to adye. the game was opening well. then came a ringing and knocking at the front door, that grew at last tumultuous, but pursuant to kemp's instructions the servants had locked themselves into their rooms. this was followed by a silence. kemp sat listening and then began peering cautiously out of the three windows, one after another. he went to the staircase head and stood listening uneasily. he armed himself with his bedroom poker, and went to examine the interior fastenings of the ground-floor windows again. everything was safe and quiet. he returned to the belvedere. adye lay motionless over the edge of the gravel just as he had fallen. coming along the road by the villas were the housemaid and two policemen. everything was deadly still. the three people seemed very slow in approaching. he wondered what his antagonist was doing. he started. there was a smash from below. he hesitated and went downstairs again. suddenly the house resounded with heavy blows and the splintering of wood. he heard a smash and the destructive clang of the iron fastenings of the shutters. he turned the key and opened the kitchen door. as he did so, the shutters, split and splintering, came flying inward. he stood aghast. the window frame, save for one crossbar, was still intact, but only little teeth of glass remained in the frame. the shutters had been driven in with an axe, and now the axe was descending in sweeping blows upon the window frame and the iron bars defending it. then suddenly it leapt aside and vanished. he saw the revolver lying on the path outside, and then the little weapon sprang into the air. he dodged back. the revolver cracked just too late, and a splinter from the edge of the closing door flashed over his head. he slammed and locked the door, and as he stood outside he heard griffin shouting and laughing. then the blows of the axe with its splitting and smashing consequences, were resumed. kemp stood in the passage trying to think. in a moment the invisible man would be in the kitchen. this door would not keep him a moment, and then-- a ringing came at the front door again. it would be the policemen. he ran into the hall, put up the chain, and drew the bolts. he made the girl speak before he dropped the chain, and the three people blundered into the house in a heap, and kemp slammed the door again. "the invisible man!" said kemp. "he has a revolver, with two shots--left. he's killed adye. shot him anyhow. didn't you see him on the lawn? he's lying there." "who?" said one of the policemen. "adye," said kemp. "we came in the back way," said the girl. "what's that smashing?" asked one of the policemen. "he's in the kitchen--or will be. he has found an axe--" suddenly the house was full of the invisible man's resounding blows on the kitchen door. the girl stared towards the kitchen, shuddered, and retreated into the dining-room. kemp tried to explain in broken sentences. they heard the kitchen door give. "this way," said kemp, starting into activity, and bundled the policemen into the dining-room doorway. "poker," said kemp, and rushed to the fender. he handed the poker he had carried to the policeman and the dining-room one to the other. he suddenly flung himself backward. "whup!" said one policeman, ducked, and caught the axe on his poker. the pistol snapped its penultimate shot and ripped a valuable sidney cooper. the second policeman brought his poker down on the little weapon, as one might knock down a wasp, and sent it rattling to the floor. at the first clash the girl screamed, stood screaming for a moment by the fireplace, and then ran to open the shutters--possibly with an idea of escaping by the shattered window. the axe receded into the passage, and fell to a position about two feet from the ground. they could hear the invisible man breathing. "stand away, you two," he said. "i want that man kemp." "we want you," said the first policeman, making a quick step forward and wiping with his poker at the voice. the invisible man must have started back, and he blundered into the umbrella stand. then, as the policeman staggered with the swing of the blow he had aimed, the invisible man countered with the axe, the helmet crumpled like paper, and the blow sent the man spinning to the floor at the head of the kitchen stairs. but the second policeman, aiming behind the axe with his poker, hit something soft that snapped. there was a sharp exclamation of pain and then the axe fell to the ground. the policeman wiped again at vacancy and hit nothing; he put his foot on the axe, and struck again. then he stood, poker clubbed, listening intent for the slightest movement. he heard the dining-room window open, and a quick rush of feet within. his companion rolled over and sat up, with the blood running down between his eye and ear. "where is he?" asked the man on the floor. "don't know. i've hit him. he's standing somewhere in the hall. unless he's slipped past you. doctor kemp--sir." pause. "doctor kemp," cried the policeman again. the second policeman began struggling to his feet. he stood up. suddenly the faint pad of bare feet on the kitchen stairs could be heard. "yap!" cried the first policeman, and incontinently flung his poker. it smashed a little gas bracket. he made as if he would pursue the invisible man downstairs. then he thought better of it and stepped into the dining-room. "doctor kemp--" he began, and stopped short. "doctor kemp's a hero," he said, as his companion looked over his shoulder. the dining-room window was wide open, and neither housemaid nor kemp was to be seen. the second policeman's opinion of kemp was terse and vivid. chapter xxviii the hunter hunted mr. heelas, mr. kemp's nearest neighbour among the villa holders, was asleep in his summer house when the siege of kemp's house began. mr. heelas was one of the sturdy minority who refused to believe "in all this nonsense" about an invisible man. his wife, however, as he was subsequently to be reminded, did. he insisted upon walking about his garden just as if nothing was the matter, and he went to sleep in the afternoon in accordance with the custom of years. he slept through the smashing of the windows, and then woke up suddenly with a curious persuasion of something wrong. he looked across at kemp's house, rubbed his eyes and looked again. then he put his feet to the ground, and sat listening. he said he was damned, but still the strange thing was visible. the house looked as though it had been deserted for weeks--after a violent riot. every window was broken, and every window, save those of the belvedere study, was blinded by the internal shutters. "i could have sworn it was all right"--he looked at his watch--"twenty minutes ago." he became aware of a measured concussion and the clash of glass, far away in the distance. and then, as he sat open-mouthed, came a still more wonderful thing. the shutters of the drawing-room window were flung open violently, and the housemaid in her outdoor hat and garments, appeared struggling in a frantic manner to throw up the sash. suddenly a man appeared beside her, helping her--dr. kemp! in another moment the window was open, and the housemaid was struggling out; she pitched forward and vanished among the shrubs. mr. heelas stood up, exclaiming vaguely and vehemently at all these wonderful things. he saw kemp stand on the sill, spring from the window, and reappear almost instantaneously running along a path in the shrubbery and stooping as he ran, like a man who evades observation. he vanished behind a laburnum, and appeared again clambering over a fence that abutted on the open down. in a second he had tumbled over and was running at a tremendous pace down the slope towards mr. heelas. "lord!" cried mr. heelas, struck with an idea; "it's that invisible man brute! it's right, after all!" with mr. heelas to think things like that was to act, and his cook watching him from the top window was amazed to see him come pelting towards the house at a good nine miles an hour. there was a slamming of doors, a ringing of bells, and the voice of mr. heelas bellowing like a bull. "shut the doors, shut the windows, shut everything!--the invisible man is coming!" instantly the house was full of screams and directions, and scurrying feet. he ran himself to shut the french windows that opened on the veranda; as he did so kemp's head and shoulders and knee appeared over the edge of the garden fence. in another moment kemp had ploughed through the asparagus, and was running across the tennis lawn to the house. "you can't come in," said mr. heelas, shutting the bolts. "i'm very sorry if he's after you, but you can't come in!" kemp appeared with a face of terror close to the glass, rapping and then shaking frantically at the french window. then, seeing his efforts were useless, he ran along the veranda, vaulted the end, and went to hammer at the side door. then he ran round by the side gate to the front of the house, and so into the hill-road. and mr. heelas staring from his window--a face of horror--had scarcely witnessed kemp vanish, ere the asparagus was being trampled this way and that by feet unseen. at that mr. heelas fled precipitately upstairs, and the rest of the chase is beyond his purview. but as he passed the staircase window, he heard the side gate slam. emerging into the hill-road, kemp naturally took the downward direction, and so it was he came to run in his own person the very race he had watched with such a critical eye from the belvedere study only four days ago. he ran it well, for a man out of training, and though his face was white and wet, his wits were cool to the last. he ran with wide strides, and wherever a patch of rough ground intervened, wherever there came a patch of raw flints, or a bit of broken glass shone dazzling, he crossed it and left the bare invisible feet that followed to take what line they would. for the first time in his life kemp discovered that the hill-road was indescribably vast and desolate, and that the beginnings of the town far below at the hill foot were strangely remote. never had there been a slower or more painful method of progression than running. all the gaunt villas, sleeping in the afternoon sun, looked locked and barred; no doubt they were locked and barred--by his own orders. but at any rate they might have kept a lookout for an eventuality like this! the town was rising up now, the sea had dropped out of sight behind it, and people down below were stirring. a tram was just arriving at the hill foot. beyond that was the police station. was that footsteps he heard behind him? spurt. the people below were staring at him, one or two were running, and his breath was beginning to saw in his throat. the tram was quite near now, and the "jolly cricketers" was noisily barring its doors. beyond the tram were posts and heaps of gravel--the drainage works. he had a transitory idea of jumping into the tram and slamming the doors, and then he resolved to go for the police station. in another moment he had passed the door of the "jolly cricketers," and was in the blistering fag end of the street, with human beings about him. the tram driver and his helper--arrested by the sight of his furious haste--stood staring with the tram horses unhitched. further on the astonished features of navvies appeared above the mounds of gravel. his pace broke a little, and then he heard the swift pad of his pursuer, and leapt forward again. "the invisible man!" he cried to the navvies, with a vague indicative gesture, and by an inspiration leapt the excavation and placed a burly group between him and the chase. then abandoning the idea of the police station he turned into a little side street, rushed by a greengrocer's cart, hesitated for the tenth of a second at the door of a sweetstuff shop, and then made for the mouth of an alley that ran back into the main hill street again. two or three little children were playing here, and shrieked and scattered at his apparition, and forthwith doors and windows opened and excited mothers revealed their hearts. out he shot into hill street again, three hundred yards from the tram-line end, and immediately he became aware of a tumultuous vociferation and running people. he glanced up the street towards the hill. hardly a dozen yards off ran a huge navvy, cursing in fragments and slashing viciously with a spade, and hard behind him came the tram conductor with his fists clenched. up the street others followed these two, striking and shouting. down towards the town, men and women were running, and he noticed clearly one man coming out of a shop-door with a stick in his hand. "spread out! spread out!" cried some one. kemp suddenly grasped the altered condition of the chase. he stopped, and looked round, panting. "he's close here!" he cried. "form a line across--" he was hit hard under the ear, and went reeling, trying to face round towards his unseen antagonist. he just managed to keep his feet, and he struck a vain counter in the air. then he was hit again under the jaw, and sprawled headlong on the ground. in another moment a knee compressed his diaphragm, and a couple of eager hands gripped his throat, but the grip of one was weaker than the other; he grasped the wrists, heard a cry of pain from his assailant, and then the spade of the navvy came whirling through the air above him, and struck something with a dull thud. he felt a drop of moisture on his face. the grip at his throat suddenly relaxed, and with a convulsive effort, kemp loosed himself, grasped a limp shoulder, and rolled uppermost. he gripped the unseen elbows near the ground. "i've got him!" screamed kemp. "help! help--hold! he's down! hold his feet!" in another second there was a simultaneous rush upon the struggle, and a stranger coming into the road suddenly might have thought an exceptionally savage game of rugby football was in progress. and there was no shouting after kemp's cry--only a sound of blows and feet and heavy breathing. then came a mighty effort, and the invisible man threw off a couple of his antagonists and rose to his knees. kemp clung to him in front like a hound to a stag, and a dozen hands gripped, clutched, and tore at the unseen. the tram conductor suddenly got the neck and shoulders and lugged him back. down went the heap of struggling men again and rolled over. there was, i am afraid, some savage kicking. then suddenly a wild scream of "mercy! mercy!" that died down swiftly to a sound like choking. "get back, you fools!" cried the muffled voice of kemp, and there was a vigorous shoving back of stalwart forms. "he's hurt, i tell you. stand back!" there was a brief struggle to clear a space, and then the circle of eager faces saw the doctor kneeling, as it seemed, fifteen inches in the air, and holding invisible arms to the ground. behind him a constable gripped invisible ankles. "don't you leave go of en," cried the big navvy, holding a blood-stained spade; "he's shamming." "he's not shamming," said the doctor, cautiously raising his knee; "and i'll hold him." his face was bruised and already going red; he spoke thickly because of a bleeding lip. he released one hand and seemed to be feeling at the face. "the mouth's all wet," he said. and then, "good god!" he stood up abruptly and then knelt down on the ground by the side of the thing unseen. there was a pushing and shuffling, a sound of heavy feet as fresh people turned up to increase the pressure of the crowd. people now were coming out of the houses. the doors of the "jolly cricketers" stood suddenly wide open. very little was said. kemp felt about, his hand seeming to pass through empty air. "he's not breathing," he said, and then, "i can't feel his heart. his side--ugh!" suddenly an old woman, peering under the arm of the big navvy, screamed sharply. "looky there!" she said, and thrust out a wrinkled finger. and looking where she pointed, everyone saw, faint and transparent as though it was made of glass, so that veins and arteries and bones and nerves could be distinguished, the outline of a hand, a hand limp and prone. it grew clouded and opaque even as they stared. "hullo!" cried the constable. "here's his feet a-showing!" and so, slowly, beginning at his hands and feet and creeping along his limbs to the vital centres of his body, that strange change continued. it was like the slow spreading of a poison. first came the little white nerves, a hazy grey sketch of a limb, then the glassy bones and intricate arteries, then the flesh and skin, first a faint fogginess, and then growing rapidly dense and opaque. presently they could see his crushed chest and his shoulders, and the dim outline of his drawn and battered features. when at last the crowd made way for kemp to stand erect, there lay, naked and pitiful on the ground, the bruised and broken body of a young man about thirty. his hair and brow were white--not grey with age, but white with the whiteness of albinism--and his eyes were like garnets. his hands were clenched, his eyes wide open, and his expression was one of anger and dismay. "cover his face!" said a man. "for gawd's sake, cover that face!" and three little children, pushing forward through the crowd, were suddenly twisted round and sent packing off again. someone brought a sheet from the "jolly cricketers," and having covered him, they carried him into that house. and there it was, on a shabby bed in a tawdry, ill-lighted bedroom, surrounded by a crowd of ignorant and excited people, broken and wounded, betrayed and unpitied, that griffin, the first of all men to make himself invisible, griffin, the most gifted physicist the world has ever seen, ended in infinite disaster his strange and terrible career. the epilogue so ends the story of the strange and evil experiments of the invisible man. and if you would learn more of him you must go to a little inn near port stowe and talk to the landlord. the sign of the inn is an empty board save for a hat and boots, and the name is the title of this story. the landlord is a short and corpulent little man with a nose of cylindrical proportions, wiry hair, and a sporadic rosiness of visage. drink generously, and he will tell you generously of all the things that happened to him after that time, and of how the lawyers tried to do him out of the treasure found upon him. "when they found they couldn't prove whose money was which, i'm blessed," he says, "if they didn't try to make me out a blooming treasure trove! do i _look_ like a treasure trove? and then a gentleman gave me a guinea a night to tell the story at the empire music 'all--just to tell 'em in my own words--barring one." and if you want to cut off the flow of his reminiscences abruptly, you can always do so by asking if there weren't three manuscript books in the story. he admits there were and proceeds to explain, with asseverations that everybody thinks _he_ has 'em! but bless you! he hasn't. "the invisible man it was took 'em off to hide 'em when i cut and ran for port stowe. it's that mr. kemp put people on with the idea of _my_ having 'em." and then he subsides into a pensive state, watches you furtively, bustles nervously with glasses, and presently leaves the bar. he is a bachelor man--his tastes were ever bachelor, and there are no women folk in the house. outwardly he buttons--it is expected of him--but in his more vital privacies, in the matter of braces for example, he still turns to string. he conducts his house without enterprise, but with eminent decorum. his movements are slow, and he is a great thinker. but he has a reputation for wisdom and for a respectable parsimony in the village, and his knowledge of the roads of the south of england would beat cobbett. and on sunday mornings, every sunday morning, all the year round, while he is closed to the outer world, and every night after ten, he goes into his bar parlour, bearing a glass of gin faintly tinged with water, and having placed this down, he locks the door and examines the blinds, and even looks under the table. and then, being satisfied of his solitude, he unlocks the cupboard and a box in the cupboard and a drawer in that box, and produces three volumes bound in brown leather, and places them solemnly in the middle of the table. the covers are weather-worn and tinged with an algal green--for once they sojourned in a ditch and some of the pages have been washed blank by dirty water. the landlord sits down in an armchair, fills a long clay pipe slowly--gloating over the books the while. then he pulls one towards him and opens it, and begins to study it--turning over the leaves backwards and forwards. his brows are knit and his lips move painfully. "hex, little two up in the air, cross and a fiddle-de-dee. lord! what a one he was for intellect!" presently he relaxes and leans back, and blinks through his smoke across the room at things invisible to other eyes. "full of secrets," he says. "wonderful secrets!" "once i get the haul of them--_lord_!" "i wouldn't do what _he_ did; i'd just--well!" he pulls at his pipe. so he lapses into a dream, the undying wonderful dream of his life. and though kemp has fished unceasingly, no human being save the landlord knows those books are there, with the subtle secret of invisibility and a dozen other strange secrets written therein. and none other will know of them until he dies. diary written in the provincial lunatic asylum, by mary huestis pengilly. _the prison doors are open--i am free; be this my messenger o'er land and sea._ published by the author. . this little book is humbly dedicated to the province of new brunswick, and the state of massachusetts, by one who has had so sad an experience in this, the sixty-second year of her age, that she feels it to be her imperative duty to lay it before the public in such a manner as shall reach the hearts of the people in this her native province, as also the people of massachusetts, with whom she had a refuge since driven from her own home by the st. john fire of . she sincerely hopes it may be read in every state of the union, as well as throughout the dominion of canada, that it may help to show the inner workings of their hospitals and asylums, and prompt them to search out better methods of conducting them, as well for the benefit of the superintendent as the patient. december.--they will not allow me to go home, and i must write these things down for fear i forget. it will help to pass the time away. it is very hard to endure this prison life, and know that my sons think me insane when i am not. how unkind mrs. mills is today; does she think this sort of treatment is for the good of our health? i begged for milk today, and she can't spare me any; she has not enough for all the old women, she says. i don't wish to deprive any one of that which they require, but have i not a right to all i require to feed me and make me well? all i do need is good nourishing food, and i know better than any one else can what i require to build me up and make me as i was before i met with this strange change of condition. i remember telling the doctor, on his first visit to my room, that i only needed biscuit and milk and beef tea to make me well. he rose to his feet and said, "i know better than any other man." that was all i heard him say, and he walked out, leaving me without a word of sympathy, or a promise that i should have anything. i say to myself (as i always talk aloud to myself when not well), "you don't know any more than this old woman does." i take tea with mrs. mills; i don't like to look at those patients who look so wretched. i can't bear to see myself in the glass, i am so wasted--so miserable. my poor boys, no wonder you look so sad, to see your mother looking so badly, and be compelled to leave her here alone among strangers who know nothing about her past life. they don't seem to have any respect for me. if i were the most miserable woman in the city of st. john, i would be entitled to better treatment at the hands of those who are paid by the province to make us as comfortable as they can, by keeping us warmed and fed, as poor feeble invalids should be kept. december .--i have made myself quite happy this week, thinking of what christmas may bring to many childish hearts, and how i once tried to make my own dear boys happy at christmas time. i helped poor maggy to make artificial flowers for a wreath she herself had made of cedar. she was making it for some friend in the asylum. she never goes out; she wishes to go sometimes, but mrs. mills scolds her a little, then she works on and says no more about it. poor maggy! there is nothing ailing her but a little too much temper. she does all the dining-room work--washes dishes and many other things. january.--they have had a festival; it was made, i suppose, to benefit some one here; i don't know whom. it certainly did not benefit me any; no one invited me to go to the church where the festival was held, but dr. crookshank, the assistant physician, looked at me very kindly and said, "do come, mrs. pengilly, you may as well come." i looked at my dress (it is grey flannel, and i have had no other to change since i came here), "i can't go looking like this; i must be a little better dressed to go into a public meeting of any kind; i am not accustomed to go looking like this, with nothing on my neck." he said, "very well, something shall come to you;" and mrs. hays, who is assistant nurse in our ward, brought me a plate of food and fruit, such as is generally had at festivals. i have not had my trunk yet; sure the boys did not leave me here without my trunk. perhaps they do not wish me to go in sight of people from the city, for fear they will recognize me, and i should make my complaints known to them. i have entreated them to give me my trunk so many times in vain that i have given it up. i did ask mrs. mills, and she says, "ask mrs. murphy, she has charge of the trunk room." i asked her; she says she will see, and she will bring me whatever i need that is in it. she puts me off with a soft answer, until i begin to think there is nothing done for any one here, only what they cannot avoid. it is a self-running establishment, i guess, for no one seems to know how or when to do anything i wish to have done, whatever they may do for others. february.--the weather is cold. i have more to occupy my time now. i have learned how to let off the cold air from the radiators, and then we get more heat. i do it when no one sees me. i shall do all i can to make myself comfortable, and they all share it. when i arise in the morning, my first thought is to look up the hall to see if there is fire in the grate--the one little grate in that large hall, to give warmth and comfort to us poor prisoners. if the fire is there, i feel pleased; i go up as soon as the sweeping is done, and try to feel at home. i tell the nurse i will tend the fire, if she will have the coal left beside the grate. sometimes they allow it willingly, and i enjoy it. i brush up the hearth, and make it look cheerful and homelike as possible. i draw up the huge, uncomfortable seats to form a circle; they stand round until i get there; they are happy to sit with me, but they don't know enough to draw up a seat for themselves. i have found pleasure in this; it cheers my heart. there is no situation in life, however unpleasant it may be, but has some bright places in it. i love to cheat mrs. mills; i watch my chance when she is not near, and let off the cold air in the radiator until the warm air comes, and then close it. i add coal to the fire, saying to myself, "this castle belongs to the province, and so do i. we have a right to all the comforts of life here, and especially so when five dollars a week is paid for our board; let us have a nice fire and bask in its comforting rays." i love the heat; if the seats at the grate get filled up, i come back to the radiator. perhaps it is warm enough to afford to have the window open a few moments, to let the impure air escape--just a little of it; then i sit close by it, calling it my kitchen fire-place. i am regulating the comfort of this ward in a measure, but they don't know it. february.--my dear lewis has been to see me today. we chat together as usual; how can he think me crazy? dr. steeves tells him i am, i suppose, and so he thinks it must be so. he is so happy to see me looking better; he is more loving than ever; he holds my hand in his and tells me he will take me out for a drive when the weather is fine. and i said, "oh lewis, my dear boy, i am well enough to go home with you to your hotel now." i so long for some of mrs. burns' good dinners; her meals are all nice, and here we have such horrid stuff. dark-colored, sour bakers' bread, with miserable butter, constitutes our breakfast and tea; there is oatmeal porridge and cheap molasses at breakfast, but i could not eat that, it would be salts and senna for me. at noon we have plenty of meat and vegetables, indifferently cooked, but we don't require food suitable for men working out of doors. we need something to tempt the appetite a little. no matter what i say, how earnestly i plead, he believes dr. steeves in preference to me. if i should die here, he will still believe dr. steeves, who looks so well they cannot think he would do so great a wrong. when i first began to realize that i must stay here all winter, i begged the doctor to take me to his table, or change his baker; "i cannot live on such fare as you give us here." his reply was, "i don't keep a boarding house." who does keep this boarding house? is there any justice on earth or under heaven? will this thing always be allowed to go on? sometimes i almost sink in despair. one consolation is left me--some day death will unlock those prison doors, and my freed spirit will go forth rejoicing in its liberty. there is a dear girl here whose presence has helped to pass the time more pleasantly, and yet i am more anxious on her account. how can her mother leave her so long in such care as this? ah, they cannot know how she is faring; she often says, "i used to have nice cake at home, and could make it, too." she has been teaching school, has over-worked, had a fever, lost her reason, and came here last june. she is well enough to go home. i fear if they leave her here much longer she will never recover her spirits. she is afraid of mrs. mills, and dare not ask for any favor. mrs. mills is vexed if she finds her in my room, and does not like to see us talking. i suppose she fears we will compare notes to her disadvantage, or detrimental to the rules of the house. i think it is against the rules of this house that we should be indulged in any of the comforts of life. march.--at last i have my trunk: why it should have been detained so long i cannot conceive. i feel rich in the possession of the little needful articles it contains. i enquired of dr. steeves, some time ago, if he had not in the asylum a supply of necessary articles for our use, telling him i wanted a paper of pins very much. he said they were for the indigent patients, so i got none. my son, tom, gave me some small silver some weeks ago, but i was no better off. no one would do me an errand outside. i begged mrs. mills at different times to buy me some pins, and to buy me an extra quart of milk. i was so hungry for milk, but she said it was against the rules of the house. she gives me now a glass nearly full at bed time, with one soda biscuit. this is the only luxury we have here; some others get the same. it is because i have tried to make her think we are her children, left in her care. i said to her, "'feed my lambs,' you are our shepherd;" and she is if she only knew it. i have quoted the words of him whose example we should all follow: "do good unto others." i am watching over those poor lambs now, to see how they are tended, and i will tell the commissioners in whose care the asylum is left by the province. the people of new brunswick suppose they attend to it. the commissioners have placed it in the care of dr. steeves, and they believe him quite capable of conducting it properly. is this the way it should be done? i don't think so. i observed miss fowler today holding her hand to her eye, which is looking inflamed; she is blind; a well-educated, delicate, gentle-woman. i take more than usual interest in her for that reason. i often sit beside her and she tells me of her mother, and wants me to go home with her to number one. she does not seem a lunatic, and she is neglected. i tied her eye up with my own handkerchief, and a wet rag on it. i did not mean to offend, i had done so before and it was not observed. mrs. mills came along just as i had done it; she jerked it off in anger, and threw it on the floor. i said to her, "that is not a christian act," but she pays no heed; perhaps her morning work makes her feel cross. i come back to my own room and write again; what shall i do? i cannot--how can i stay here any longer! and i cannot get away, locked in as prisoners in our rooms at night, fed like paupers. if i were committed to the penitentiary for a crime, i would not be used any worse than i am here. my heart longs for sympathy, and has it not. i have tried to soften mrs. mills' heart, and win her sympathy, but i cannot, and i cannot withhold my pity for those poor invalids who fare even worse than i. march .--i must write this while fresh in my mind, for fear i may forget. there is a miss short here--a fair-haired, nice-looking girl; she stands up and reads in the testament as if she were in sunday-school, recites poetry, and tries to play on the piano. i did not think her much out of order when she came, but she is now. she has grown steadily worse. her father came to see her, and she cried to go home with him. i wished very much to tell him to take her home, but mrs. mills did not leave them, and i dared not speak to him. she has grown so much worse, she tears her dress off, so they have to put leather hand-cuffs on her wrists so tight they make her hands swell. i say, "oh, mrs. mills, don't you see they are too tight, her hands look ready to burst--purple with blood." she paid no heed: "it does not hurt her any." yesterday she tied a canvas belt round her waist so tight that it made my heart ache to look at it. i am sure it would have stopped my breath in a short time; they tied her to the back of the seat with the ends of it. march .--another poor victim has come to our ward today--a black-eyed, delicate-looking girl. she looked _so sad_, i was drawn to her at once. i sat beside her in mrs. mills' absence, and enquired the cause of her trouble; she said her food gave her pain--she is dyspeptic. if the doctor would question the patients and their friends as to the cause of their insanity, they might, as in other cases of illness, know what remedy to apply. this dear child has been living at dr. wm. bayards' three years--chambermaid--that is enough to assure me she is a good girl. i think she wears her dress too tight. i unloosened her laces and underskirts to make them easy; they are all neat and tidy, as if she had come from a good home. another day is here. that poor girl is in great trouble yet. when i went out into the hall this morning, she was kneeling by the door; she laid her cheek on the bare floor, praying for her sins to be forgiven, murmuring something of those who had gone before. i cannot think she has sinned; poor child! she has lost her health in some way; she has transgressed some law of nature. i think it has been tight lacing that caused some of the trouble, for she sat up on the floor when i invited her to stand up for fear some one would open the door and walk over her, and rubbed the calf of her leg, saying it was all numb. anything too tight causes pain and distress by interrupting the free circulation of the blood. she is so pitiful and sad! how could mrs. mills speak so unkindly to her, pushing her with her foot to make her rise up? she treats them like wicked school-boys who have done something to torment her and merit punishment. i cannot but pity mrs. mills, for this is an uncomfortable position to fill, and if she has always obeyed her superintendent, she has done her duty, and deserves a retired allowance. the younger nurses are all learning from her, and will grow hard-hearted, for they think she is one to teach them; they come to her for help in case of emergency, and they go all together, and are able to conquer by main strength what might in most cases be done by a gentle word. "a soft answer turneth away wrath;" i have known this all my life, but i never felt it so forcibly as now. there is a lady here from westmoreland; her hair is cut short, and her eyes are black and wild. the first time i spoke to her she struck me, lightly, and i walked away; i knew she was crazy. after i had met her a few times and found she was not dangerous, i ventured to sit down beside her. she was lying on her couch in a room off the dining-room; she lay on her back knitting, talking in a rambling way: "do you know what kind of a place this is? aren't you afraid i'll kill you? i wish i was like you." i smoothed her hair with my hand as i would a child. i thought, perhaps, she had done some great wrong. she said she had killed her mother. often before, i had stood beside her, for i looked at her a number of times before i ventured to sit by her. i had no recollection of seeing her when i first came, till i found her in this room. i suppose she was so violent they shut her in here to keep her from striking or injuring any one. i could not discover the cause of her trouble, but i comforted her all i could, and she has always been friendly with me since, and listened to my words as if i were her mother. she has been here a long time. last friday--bathing day--two young, strong nurses were trying to take her from her room to the bath-room (i suppose she was unwilling to be washed, for i have noticed when i saw her in that room on the couch, she was not clean as she should be--her clothes did not have a good air about them). the nurses were using force, and she struggled against it. they used the means they often use; i suppose that is their surest method of conquering the obstinate spirit that will rise up to defend itself in any child or woman. she was made more violent by her hair being pulled; one nurse had her hands, and the other caught her by her hair, which is just long enough to hold by. they made her walk. i was walking near them when i saw one seize her by the hair; she tried to bite her on the arm. i started forward, and laid my hand on her arm, with--"don't, my poor child, don't do so; be gentle with her, girls, and she will go." she looked at me, and her face softened; that angry spirit melted within her, and they went on to the bath-room. shortly after that i met her looking fresh and nice; she was in mrs. mills' room, in her rocking-chair. sometimes i look in there to see if that chair is empty, to have a rock in it myself. i think it better for her health to knit in the rocking-chair than to lay down and knit or read either, so i leave her there. perhaps she has read too much and injured her brain; if so, i would not let her read so much. march .--poor mrs. mills has served thirty-two years here, and has become hardened as one will to any situation or surroundings. she is too old a woman, and her temper has been too much tried. she is tidy, and works well for so old a woman, but she is not fit for a nurse. if she were a british soldier, and had served her country so long, she would be entitled to a pension. poor miss short! last week i saw her lying on the floor nearly under the bed, her dress torn, her hair disheveled. how can her friends leave her so long! some ladies came to see her a short time ago, and as they left the hall i heard her call them to take her with them. if they knew all as i do, they would not leave her here another day. there is a miss snow here from st. stephens. i remember distinctly when i first came, she raved all the time. i did not dare to look in her bed-room. i must write something of myself today. i can look back and see plainly all my journey here. the day may come when i shall be laid away in the grave, and my boys--the dear boys i have loved so well--will look over my trunk and find this manuscript; they will then perhaps believe i am not crazy. i know dr. steeves tells them i am a lunatic yet. they will weep over this, as they think of the mother they have left here to die among strangers. it would be happiness to die surrounded by my friends, to be able to tell them they have only to live well that they may die well. to be true to ourselves and to our fellows, is all the good we need. that i have always striven to do, does now my spirit feed. i have been so near the grave, the border land of heaven. i heard angels' voices; they talked with me even as they did with john on the isle of patmos, when they said to him, "worship god who sent me." i was very much alone, engaged in writing a book on the laws of health. my desire to write increased; i became so absorbed with my work i forgot to eat, and, after a day or two, i seemed to think i had done some wrong. the angel voices whispered me that i must fast and pray; i know i had plenty of food in my closet, but i don't remember eating any more. i fasted eight days, and felt comfortable and happy most of the time. i sang to myself, "o death, where is thy sting, where is thy victory, boasting grave." i wept for my own sins, and wished to die, the world to save. i was trying to perform some ancient right or vow, one day, and my sons came in. i ordered them away, but they would not go. they said they would bring me home, for lewis, who was living with me near boston, sent for my son, t. m. pengilly, who is proprietor of a drug store in st. john. i suppose he discovered i was fasting, and saw me failing so fast he telegraphed to tom to come to his assistance. i remember i kissed him when he came, asked him what he came for, and bade him leave me. i know now how unreasonable that was, for we had no other room but lewis' bed-room, and in it there was no fire. we had rented rooms, as lewis took his meals at a boarding-house near. poor boys, they went in and out; it seemed to me they did not eat or sleep for some days; i thought they were as crazy as i was in the cars. they brought dr. hunter to see me. i had been acquainted with him some time previous. i told him i was sorry they had brought him to see me, for i needed no physicians, i only needed to fast and pray. "i know you are a good man, dr. hunter, but you need not come to see me again; i will be all right in time; god and his angels will keep me always." these were my words to him; i know not what prompted me; i suppose it was my insanity. i think i told them to nail up the doors and leave me there till summer. that was the last week of october. my poor boys, how tried and worried they must have been. they watched me night and day alternately. i told them i had not talked with them enough of my own religion. i begged tom to read the bible and kneel and pray, but he would not; i think he fell asleep in my rocking-chair (how often i have wished for that rocking-chair since i came here). on sunday morning i heard them say, "we will go home in the first train." lewis went out to see about it, and i told tom i wished to take the sacrament, and he should give it to me, for he would yet be bishop of st. john--"st. thomas" he should be called. i can but laugh when i think of it now, but it was very real to me then. i had been a member--a communicant--of st. james' church, episcopal, some years; i had taken my boys to sunday school, to receive that religious instruction which i was not qualified to give. they had accompanied me to church, always, but i felt as if i had not spoken to them on religious subjects as i ought to have done. it is fourteen years, i think, since i was christened in st. james' church, by rev. william armstrong, whose voice i always loved to hear in the beautiful service of our church. i was confirmed by bishop john fredricton, in trinity church. i well remember the pressure of that reverend hand upon my head, and the impressive words of his address to us who were that day received into the church--"let your inner life be as good or better than your outer life, if you would be worthily known as his children." he desired the young men in particular to take up some useful study, to occupy their leisure hours--something outside of their every-day business of life. what better words could have been said; i would that the young men of the present day should often hear those words and accept them as a rule of their life. i float away from thoughts of my insanity to the days when i was at home going to church with my children. i must return to my subject. they brought the table to my bedside; i kept my eyes closed; i received the bread from the hand of one son, and the wine from the hand of the other. i tasted it, and my fast was broken. i discovered, to my great surprise, it was only toast and tea. they had improved upon my wish, and thought to feed me, their poor wasted mother. they dressed me for the journey; i would not assist them any; they had not obeyed my wish to be left alone in my room all winter; so, when i yielded to them, i left all for them to do; the only thing i did myself was to take from the closet this grey flannel dress--i had made it for traveling, before i left lowell for old orchard. they did not seem to know what they were doing. i had two bonnets, but they never mentioned them, as i remember. they left my night-cap on, and tied a silk handkerchief over it. they carried me down stairs in their arms, and lifted me in the coach. after we were on our way in the cars, i found my hair was hanging down my back; i had nothing to fasten it up with, and i arranged the handkerchief to cover it. i began to feel happy with the thought of going home. i tried to cheer them, and they could not help smiling at me. i wondered they were not ashamed of me, i looked so badly. i told them not to call me mother, to say i was old mrs. sinnett; that they were bringing me home to my friends. poor boys, i wonder if they remember that journey in the cars as i do. at my request, tom brought me a goblet of milk, at two stopping places, and when i found they had brought me to an asylum i felt no fear; i thought i had only to ask and receive what i needed. i knew they thought me crazy, so i would not bid them good-bye, when they left me, but concluded to play lunatic. i refused to kiss lewis when he left me, that dear boy who had watched over me so faithfully, carrying me in his arms from one car to the other. when we changed cars, he placed me in a pullman car, and i thought i was safely hidden from something, i knew not what. i only know i was so happy while i was with my sons; nothing troubled me. i sang and chatted to lewis; he would not leave me a moment; he kneeled beside my berth, and i called him my best of sons, and smoothed his hair with my hand. all my journey through i heard the voice of angels whispering to me, "hold on by the hand of your sons; keep them with you and you will be safe; they are your sons, they are the sons of god,"--and they are. all who do their duty as they were doing, to the best of their ability, are the children of god; for, if we do the best we can, angels can do no more. i thought i was perfectly safe here, and if the doctor had given me the food which should be given to an invalid, or if he had granted any requests i made to him in a reasonable manner, i should not have been prompted to write these lines or recall those memories of the past. one thought brings another. when, on the morning after my arrival, i begged for milk and biscuit, they refused, and then brought a bowl of common looking soup with black looking bakers' bread. i refused to eat it; if it had been beef tea with soda biscuit in it, i would have taken it myself. they did not live to coax crazy people. mrs. mills called in her help, and it did not need many, i was so weak; they held me back, and she stuffed the soup down my throat. when i came here first, i told the nurse my name was mary huestis; that was my maiden name; i hardly know why i prefer that to my sons' name, for they are sons no mother need be ashamed of. my prayers for them have always been, that they might be a benefit to their fellows; that they grow to be good men; to be able to fill their places in the world as useful members of society, not living entirely for themselves, but for the good of others, an honor to themselves and a blessing to the world. if we live well, we will not be afraid to die. "perfect love casteth out fear." i must write no more today. march .--two years ago today i was watching by the bedside of my dying child. driven from our home by the fire, i was tarrying for her to complete her education in the city of lowell, which is second to no city in the world for its educational privileges. free schools, with books free to all its children, and excellent teachers. to lowell schools and to my darling child, i must here pay this tribute. the day after her death, the principal of the school she attended addressed the school with these words--"clara pengilly has attended this school two years, and i have never heard a fault found with her; there has never been a complaint brought to me by teacher or schoolmates concerning her." her teacher brought me two large bouquets to ornament the room at her funeral, sent by the pupils and teachers of the school where she had been a happy attendant, for she loved her teachers, and always told me how good and kind they were to her; no wonder every one loved her, for she had a loving heart and a nature so full of sunshine she could not be unhappy. we had boarded eight months with a lady whose only daughter was blind from her birth. clara loved to lead her out for a walk, and read to her at home; no pleasure was complete unless shared with her blind friend, who was younger than herself, and whose life she could brighten by her willingness to devote her unoccupied time to her service. dear lorelle, we all loved her for her goodness, and pitied her for her infirmity. the boarders and others at her home sent flowers too. her mother arranged a green vine and flowers around her face and in her hand. when she had finished, she said, "that is the last we can do for you, clara; i know she was so fond of flowers, she would be pleased if she could see them." i cared not for the flowers, i only knew that loving heart was stilled in death, and i was left alone; with an effort, i said, "lorelle will never know a truer friend than she who lies here." my tears unbidden flow; why do i go back in memory to those sorrowful days? i know she is happy now. let me draw the veil of charity over the past with all its troubles, remembering only the many acts of kindness done for us by our friends at that time. it is this waiting so long a prisoner, begging to be liberated. my hands will not remain folded or my brain idle. i must write again of poor miss snow. i ventured into her room, feeling anxious to help her by coaxing her into a better frame of mind. she is wasted to a shadow; i am sure if she had any food to tempt her to eat she would grow stronger; some nice bread and milk at bed time would help her to sleep. i soothed her as i would a child in trouble, until she ceased her raving, and then questioned her to discover the cause of her disease. she is a well-educated, intelligent lady. in her ravings she often says she is the only lady in the hall, and seems to have a temper of her own, which has been made more than violent by her stay in this ward. she is very fond of drawing small pencil sketches, and works at them late at night, which i think is certainly injurious. i conclude she is the victim of late hours and fancy work; she acknowledges she used to sew until after twelve, working for bazaars. if the ladies would only come here and study the needs of these poor victims of insanity, and make better arrangements for their welfare, they would find a higher calling than exhausting their energies working for bazaars, and leaving us to the care of those who care nothing for us and will not learn. too much temper and too much indolence rule here. i go in sometimes and coax her to stop talking and lie down. i cover her up to keep her warm; she is blue with the cold. if i could keep her in a nice warm room, with kind treatment and nourishing food! she could not eat that horrible, sour bakers' bread with poor butter. sometimes her food would set in her room a long time. i guess she only eats when she is so starved she can't help it. i eat because i am determined to live until i find some one who will help me out of this castle on the hill, that i may tell the commissioners all about it. sometimes i term it a college, in which i am finishing my education, and i shall graduate some day--when will it be? my impatient spirit chafes at this long delay. i sit at the grated window and think, if i were one of those little pigeons on the window sill i would be happy; content to be anything if only at liberty. april.--the friends of miss short have been here and taken her home, and word returned that she is better. i am thankful to think she is with her mother, and i do not see her so improperly treated; it made me feel wretched to think of her. poor katy dugan's friends came one day. i watched my chance and told one of them to let her mother know she was getting worse and was not well treated. i had many heart-aches for that girl; i scarcely know why. they must have seen she looked worse; her dress of flannel, trimmed with satin of the same color, which looked so nice when she came, was filthy with spots of gruel and milk they had been forcing her to eat. this day, i remember, was worse than common days of trouble. i had been excited by seeing one of the most inoffensive inmates pushed and spoken to very roughly, without having done any wrong. they attempted to comb that poor girl's hair; she will not submit, begs and cries to go down there. i go to the bath-room door to beg them to be gentle with her. mrs. mills slammed the door in my face. she is vexed at any expression of sympathy. again i hear that pitiful cry, and i go up the hall to see what the trouble is. they had taken her in a room to hold her on the floor, by those heavy, strong nurses sitting on her arms and feet, while they force her to eat. i return, for i can't endure the sight. i met mrs. mills, with a large spoon, going to stuff her as she did me. (i was not dyspeptic; i had fasted and would have eaten if they had given me milk, as i requested.) she was angry at me again; she ordered me to my room, and threatened to lock me in. what have i done to merit such treatment? how can i endure this any longer! april .--yesterday was election day of the aldermen of the city of st. john. dr. steeves came in this morning and congratulated me very pleasantly that my son was elected alderman. i thanked him and said i was not at all surprised, for he was very popular in his ward; always kind and courteous to every one, he had made many friends. he must know i am perfectly sane, but i can't persuade him to tell my son i am well enough to go home. my dear lewis has gone eight hundred miles beyond winnipeg surveying. i am sorry to have him go so far. will i ever see him again? but i feel so badly when he comes to see me, and refuses to take me home with him; and i say to myself, "i would die here alone rather than that he, my darling boy, should be shut in here and treated as i am;" for his temper, if so opposed, would make him a maniac. i have dreamed of seeing him looking wretched and crying for fresh air, for he was suffocating. all the time i had those troubled dreams, i was smothering with gas coming in my room through the small grating intended to admit heat to make us comfortable, but it did not. i was obliged to open the window to be able to breathe; my lungs required oxygen to breathe when i was lying in bed, not gas from hard coal. there is one lady whose room is carpeted and furnished well, but she is so cold she sits flat on the carpet beside the little grate, trying to be warm. she has not enough clothing on to keep her warm. her friends call often, but they never stay long enough to know that her room is cold. they cannot know how uncomfortable she is, or what miserable food she has, for we all fare alike. april is nearly gone. tom has promised to come for me on monday; i feel so happy to think i am going to be free once more. i sat on my favorite seat in the window sill, looking at those poor men working on the grounds. there were three; they did not look like lunatics, no overseer near them; they were shoveling or spading, and three ducks followed them. fed by the all-father's hand, they gather food for themselves; the men never disturb them; they cannot be violent. many a farmer would be willing to give one of those men a permanent home for his services. the knowledge that this home is here for them to return to, would ensure them kind treatment at the hand of the farmer, and i am sure they would prefer life on a farm, with good palatable food and liberty, to being shut up here as prisoners and fed as paupers, as we in the ladies' ward are, without one word or look of sympathy or respect extended to us. one day this week, i had been watching one of the men working at the strawberry beds, thinking i would like to live on a farm now, that i might cultivate those lovely berries. the doctor came in to make his usual morning call, in the hall, with a book and pencil in his hand; that is all he ever does for us. i thought i would make him think i thought him a gentleman, which he is not, and perhaps he would be more willing to let me go home. it has taken effect. i suppose he thinks i have forgotten all the doings of the past winter, and that i will not dare to say anything against such a mighty man as he is. i am glad i have taken it down in black and white, so as not to forget the wrongs of the province, and the wrongs of those poor neglected women, of whom i am one. i ought not to write in this manner, but my indignation overcomes me sometimes, and i cannot help it. he is a little more social now than usual, and i suggest that if he bring blackberry bushes from the field, and set them around the fence, keeping the ground irrigated round the roots, he might have as nice fruit as the cultivated. he said yes, he would send some of his men out to his farm and get some, and he left as pleasant as he came. that was the first time he ever left me without being driven away by my making some request, and being refused. this reminds me of the day i begged so hard for a pot of holloway's ointment. i had asked my boys several times to bring it to me, and i thought they always forgot it. i had used it many years, not constantly, only for a little rash on my face at times; it has annoyed me very much lately. this day i had urged him all i could, and he left me, saying he had too much on his mind today. i followed him to the door, saying, "i don't want to think so ill of you, doctor, as that you will not grant me so small a favor--a twenty-five cent favor--and i will pay for it myself." saturday morning.--i am so impatient! i hardly dare to hope. will i be free to breathe the air of heaven again, to walk out in the warmth of his sunshine? perhaps i am punished for questioning the exact truth of that story, so long ago, that i could not quite explain to myself or believe how it could be handed down over so many years. i have stood almost where he has stood, once before in my life. "the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man hath not where to lay his head." i have been "led by the spirit into the wilderness." pontius pilate is not here to say, "i find no sin in this man," but there are those here who would lock me in, and never let me set my foot outside of these walls, if they knew i was writing this with the hope of laying it before the province. yesterday was bathing-day--a cold, damp april day. no steam on; i tried the radiators, but there was no hot air to come. the young teacher--in whom i was so much interested, and whose name i will not give here, as she always begged me not to mention her name--she stood with me at the radiator trying to find some heat. the doctor came in and i say, "doctor, can't you send up some coal, there is only a few red coals in the grate, no steam on, and we are nearly frozen?" he said, "the hard coal is all gone." "well, send us some soft coal, wood, anything to keep us warm." he left us; no coal came till after dinner. i met one of the nurses in the next ward; i told her our wants, and she sent it by a young man who was always attentive and respectful, but we could not always find a messenger who would take the trouble to find him. the doctor has been in again: mary and i were together as usual. he looked at us very pleasantly, and i said, "you will be able to send us home now soon, surely." he drew me away from her, saying, "i don't wish her to hear this. don't you know, mr. ring went to annapolis and hung himself?" "they did not watch him well," said i, and he left, thinking, i suppose, that he had silenced me effectually. i went to mrs. mills, and enquired about mr. ring, and learned that he had never been here, and was quite an old man. what had that to do with us? we have no wish to harm ourselves or any one else. i see now that is the influence he uses to induce people to leave their friends here. my son told me one day he had kept the asylum so well the public were perfectly satisfied with him; no wonder he conducts it so well when there are so few lunatics here. i suppose he has left me here waiting for me to get satisfied too; well, i am, but as soon as i am out i shall write to mary's mother to come for her, for i can hardly go and leave her here. i have taken her in my heart as my own; she is so good a girl, wasting her precious life here for the amusement of others--i don't see anything else in it. st. john's hotel, april .--at last i am free! seated in my own room at the hotel, i look back at that prison on the hill. i had won a little interest in the hearts of the nurses in our ward; they expressed regret at my leaving. ellen regan, who was the first to volunteer me any kindness, said, "we shall miss you, mrs. pengilly, for you always had a cheerful word for every one." i did not bid all the patients good-bye, for i hope soon to return and stay with them. i would like so much to look after these poor women, who are so neglected. i will ask the commissioners to allow me to remain with them, if only one year, to superintend the female department, not under the jurisdiction of the present superintendent, but with the assistance of the junior physician and the nurses, who each understand the work of their own departments, and will be willing to follow my instructions. i will teach them to think theirs is no common servitude--merely working for pay--but a higher responsibility is attached to this work, of making comfortable those poor unfortunates entrusted to their care, and they will learn to know they are working for a purpose worth living for; and they will be worthy of the title, "sisters of mercy." tuesday.--i have been to the solicitor-general, and left with him a copy of parts of my diary, and i am prepared to attest to its truth before the board of commissioners, whenever it shall meet. he said he was pleased to have my suggestions, as they now had the provincial lunatic asylum under consideration, and assured me he would attend to it. his words and manners assure me he is a gentleman to be relied on, and i feel safe in leaving my case in his hands. june.--i have spent three weeks in fredericton, the capital of new brunswick, while waiting for the board of commissioners to meet and discuss the affairs of the provincial lunatic asylum, concerning which my time at present is devoted. they are members of government, and seem to be too busy for anything. i called on the attorney-general, with what effect he himself best knows; it is not worth repeating here. i will only say, neither he nor his partner quite understand the courtesy due to a woman or lady. it cannot be expected of persons who are over-loaded with business, that they shall have leisure sufficient to oversee the arrangements of the provincial lunatic asylum, which needs, like any other household, a woman's care to make it perfect. in my wanderings since the fire of , i boarded some weeks at the y. w. c. a. home in boston, a beautiful institution, conducted entirely by ladies. it was a comfortable, happy home, ruled by ladies who were like mothers or friends to all its occupants, and under the supervision of a committee of ladies who visit it every week. it is such arrangements we need to perfect the working of our public institutions, where a woman's care is required as in a home. men are properly the outside agents, but women should attend to the inner working of any home. the tewksbury affair of , stands a disgrace to the new england states, who had so long prided themselves on their many public charitable institutions, and which have, without question, been an honor to her people. i am sorry to say they are not all perfect, as i learned from the lips of a young man in this hotel, who looked as if he were going home to die. he had been waiting some weeks in the boston city hospital, until the warm weather should make his journey less dangerous in his weak state. "if i should live a hundred years, i should never get that hospital off my mind," were his words, as he lay back in his chair looking so sad; "a disagreeable, unkind nurse, a cold ward, and miserable food." his words touched a responsive chord in my heart, for my experiences had been similar to his; i can never forget them. let me here entreat the ladies, wherever this book may be read, that they take this work upon themselves. rise up in your own strength, and solicit the governor to appoint you as commissioners, as you are over your old ladies' homes. if the governor has the authority or power to appoint those who now form the board of commissioners of the provincial lunatic asylum, he can surely invest you with the same title, and you will not any longer allow your fellow-sisters to be neglected by those who cannot understand the weakness or the misfortunes that have brought them under the necessity of being protected by the public. before leaving fredericton, i called at the government house to lay my case before his excellency the lieutenant governor, hoping to awaken his sympathy in our cause, and urge him to call an early meeting of the board. i was so anxious to return to the care of those poor feeble women i had left in the asylum; so anxious to right their wrongs, i could not be restrained by friend or foe from finishing this work so near my heart. some of my friends really believe me insane on the subject. there are those who can apply this to themselves, and others whose kindness and hospitality i shall ever remember with grateful pleasure. they will none of them doubt the truth of this statement. governor wilmot did not doubt me. he received me very kindly, as did also his good lady. after conversing with him on the subject until i felt i ought not trespass any longer on his time, i rose to leave, and at the door expressed a wish for a bunch of lilacs that grew in great abundance on large bushes interspersed with trees, and which made the grounds look very beautiful. he gathered me a bunch with his own hand, for which i felt thankful and highly honored; as we walked together i told him my father's name. "lewis huestis," said he, "i knew him well." i had not known that, but i did know that wilmot had always been an honored name in my father's house. when bidding him good-bye, i again referred to the old subject, by saying, "i have lost my home and business by the fire; my sons are scattered abroad in the world and do not need my care; i would like to devote my remaining years, as far as i am able, to better the condition of those poor sufferers in the asylum." he answered, "i hope you will, for i think it will be well for them to have your care, and i will do all i can to assist you." these were his words, as near as i can remember, and i left the government house, feeling as if i had been making a pleasant call on an old friend. i write these last few lines as a tribute of respect to the memory of the name of governor wilmot, and that of my own father, who always had the interests of his country at heart. i returned to the city feeling cheered by the words of encouragement and sympathy i had received. it well repaid me for the trouble of my journey to fredericton. * * * * * i will leave this subject now in the hands of the ladies, wherever this little book may find them, who, having leisure and influence, will not, i hope, fail to use them for the benefit of suffering humanity, remembering we are all children of one father--our father in heaven. improve the talent he has given you, that it may be said to you, "well done, thou good and faithful servant." respectfully, m. h. p. internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/herrigeshorrorin phil the herriges horror in philadelphia. a full history of the whole affair. a man kept in a dark cage like a wild beast for twenty years, as alleged, in his own mother's and brother's house. the most fiendish cruelty of the century. illustrated with reliable engravings, drawn specially for this work. entered according to act of congress, in the year , by c. w. alexander, in the clerk's office of the district court in and for the eastern district of pennsylvania. the herriges horror. "man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands morn." every now and then the world is startled with an event of a like character to the one which has just aroused in the city of philadelphia the utmost excitement, and which came near producing a scene of riot and even bloodshed. john herriges is the name of the victim, and for an indefinite period of from ten to twenty years has been confined in a little cagelike room and kept in a condition far worse than the wild animals of a menagerie. what adds an additional phase of horror to the case of this unfortunate creature is the fact that he was thus confined in the same house with his own brother and mother. to our minds this is the most abhorrent feature of the whole affair. we can imagine how a stranger, or an uncle, or an aunt possessed with the demon of avarice could deliberately imprison the heir to a coveted estate in some out of the way room or loft of a large building where the victim would be so far removed from sight and sound as to prevent his groans and tears being heard or seen. but how a brother and, merciful heaven, a mother could live in a shanty of a house year after year with a brother, and son shut up and in the condition in which the officers of the law found poor john herriges, is more than we can account for by any process of reasoning. it only shows what perverted human nature is capable of. the house of horror. the house in which lived the herriges family is a little two storied frame building or more properly shanty, rickety and poverty stricken in its appearance, more resembling the abodes of the denizens of baker street slums than the home of persons of real wealth as it really is. it stands on the northeast corner of fourth and lombard streets, in philadelphia. immediately to the north of it is an extensive soap boiling establishment, while directly adjoining it in the east are some frame shanties still smaller and more delapidated than itself, and which, belonging to the herriges also, were rented by joseph herriges, the accused, for a most exhorbitant sum. to the credit of the occupants of these shanties, we must say that by means of whitewash they have made them look far preferable to that of their landlord--at least in appearance. on the north of the soap boiling establishment referred to stretches the burial ground of st. peter's episcopal church, with its hundreds of monuments and green graves, while on the opposite side of fourth street lies the burial ground of the old pine street church, with its almost numberless dead. the writer of this recollects years ago, when a boy, often passing and repassing the herriges house, and noticing on account of its forlorn appearance and the comical dutch pompey which stood upon the wooden pedestal at the door to indicate the business of a tobacconist. how little he thought when contemplating it, that a human being languished within its dingy wooden walls, in a condition worse than that of the worst-cared-for brutes. a fact in connection with this case is remarkable, which is this. on a sabbath morning there is no one spot in the whole city of philadelphia, standing on which, you can hear so many different church bells at once, or so many different choirs singing the praises of almighty god. and on every returning sunday the poor prisoner's ears drank in the sacred harmony. god knows perhaps at such times the angels ministered to him in his dismal cage, sent thither with sunshine that could not be shut out by human monsters. think of it, reader, a thousand recurring sabbaths found the poor young imbecile growing from youth to a dreadfully premature old age. the mind staggers to think of it. could we trace day by day the long wearisome hours of the captive's life, how terrible would be the journey. we should hear him sighing for the bright sun light that made the grave yard green and clothed all the monuments in beautiful flowers. how he would prize the fragrance of a little flower, condemned as he was to smell nothing but the dank, noisome effluvia of the soap boiler's factory. hope had no place in his cramped, filthy cage. no genius but that of dispair ever found tenement in the grimed little room. but though so long, oh, so long, liberty came at last, and the pining boy, now an old man, was set free, through the agency of a poor, but noble woman, mrs. gibson, who had the heart to feel and the bravery to rescue from his hellish bondage the unfortunate. the gibson's history of the affair. on the st of june thos. j. gibson and his mother rented the frame house lombard street from joseph herriges. the house adjoined herriges cigar store. mr. hoger, a shoemaker, living next door to mrs. gibson's, told her at the time she moved into the house, that she would see a crazy man in herriges house and not to be afraid of him. mrs. charnes, living next door but one, for seventeen years, laughed at her, when she asked about the crazy man living locked up in herriges house, as though making light of the whole matter. verbatim copy of agreement between joseph herriges and the gibsons. this contract and agreement is that the rent of sixteen dollars per month is to be paid punctually in advance each and every month hereafter, and if the terms of this contract is not complied with i will leave the house and give up the possession to the lessor or his representatives. thos. j. gibson. received of ann gibson sixteen dollars for one month's rent in advance from june . to rent to begin on . june and end on the . rented may j. herriges. the discovery. on monday, june th, mr. gibson's little sister was sent up-stairs to get ready for school, and on going to the window she was frightened by seeing a man looking through the crevices of an upper window in herriges house, which window was in the second story. this window was closely barred with pieces of plank from top to bottom. the man was mumbling and singing and making strange and singular noises. the little girl came running down stairs in the utmost terror exclaiming: "oh, mother! mother! there is a man up in that room! i saw him poke his nose through the boards just like a dog!" being busy, mrs. gibson did not go up at this moment to verify the child's statement, but when she did find time she went up. by that time the man had withdrawn his nose from the window, but shortly afterwards she caught a glimpse of something that she thought was the hand of a human being, covered with filth, resting against the space between the bars. at this moment mrs. gibson saw mrs. herriges, john's mother, in the yard, and called to the prisoner, saying: "what are you there for? why don't you pull off the boards and get out?" the man made some response; but in such indistinct tones of voice that mrs. gibson could not understand what he said. it was enough to convince her however, that there was a human being confined in the room. mrs. gibson hoped by thus continually talking to the prisoner to get the mother to say something about it, but the old woman did not notice her at all, but after doing something about the yard went into the house. on tuesday morning at about o'clock, mr. gibson was awakened by noises at the same window. he at once arose and dressed himself and called his mother up and told her he heard some one at herriges window. these noises were mumbling and singing and a strange noise as though some one were clapping his hands together. at this time mr. gibson got out upon his own shed which leans down toward herriges fence, and would have got up to the prisoner's window to tear off the bars and get the man out but his mother would not allow him to do it. it is not more than eleven or twelve feet from mr. gibson's window to the window of the little cage like room in which john herriges was confined, so when mr. gibson got down to the edge of the shed he was not more than about three or four feet from the prisoner's window. listening a while he could shortly distinguish words being uttered by the prisoner. among them were these: "murdering! murdering! george! george! they want to get me out of the way." mr. gibson then spoke to him saying: "why don't you try and get out of there?" the prisoner instantly replied: "i'll promote you! i'll promote you!" mr. gibson remained upon the shed from three o'clock until seven in the morning, while his mother stood at the window. being fully satisfied that there was a poor miserable man kept confined in the little room of herriges house, deprived of his liberty, and not only that but that he was kept in a filthy condition to judge from the horrible stench that issued from the window, the watcher resolved to report the fact to the authorities. report to the police. the same morning mr. gibson went up to the union street station house and reported what he had seen and heard. but instead of investigating the affair, the lieutenant told mr. gibson to go up to the central station house at fifth and chestnut and report the matter to lieutenant charles thomas in charge there. mr. gibson did so and lieutenant thomas replied: "excuse me, but you tell the lieutenant down at the station house, that i cannot open an insane asylum." at this moment the mayor chanced to pass down through the basement, and the matter being called to his attention, he said to lieutenant thomas: "send reeder down to investigate it." lieutenant thomas replied: "had i not better attend to it myself?" mr. gibson then left the office. the officers came down about four o'clock that afternoon. about an hour before the arrival of the officers, mr. gibson and his mother went into the cigar store, kept by herriges. "good afternoon," said mr. gibson. "good afternoon," replied herriges. "what have you got that man locked up in that room for?" asked mrs. gibson. "is that any of your business?" asked herriges abruptly. "well, i don't know, that it is, but i would like to know what he is penned up there for?" "does my brother annoy you?" inquired herriges. "well, yes, he frightens my children," replied mrs. gibson. "you must have very funny kind of children to what other people have" sneeringly remarked herriges. "i don't know that they are any funnier than anybody else's children" said mrs. gibson. herriges then turned upon mrs. gibson and said in a very provoking manner. "why, it is a wonder, he don't frighten you, too." mr. gibson, taking it up for his mother, then said: "yes, he did frighten my mother very much last night." "well, if my brother frightens you so, you had better move out of the house, as quick as you can" said herriges. "i will, if you only will give me back what money is coming to me" said mrs. gibson. "no, i won't give you any money back" answered herriges. "well," said mrs. gibson, "i can't afford to pay you a month's rent in advance, and then move some where else and pay another month's rent in advance too." herriges then began to talk so offensively insolent, that mr. gibson and his mother were obliged to leave the store. they at once went down town to see about another house, for mrs. gibson had been rendered so exceedingly nervous by the startling events of the past few days that she was almost sick. by the time mr. gibson and his mother had returned home from their house hunting, the officers had arrived, and brought the insane man down stairs. after that the back of herriges house was shut tightly up. the next day the officers came down again and removed the insane man in a carriage to the central station. during the time that gibsons lived in the house, if mr. gibson at any time got up to drive a nail in the fence or side of the house to fasten a clothes line to, or, as on occasion to fix wire to bold stove pipe, herriges would come out in a hurry and order him to get down and not do it; saying it would destroy the property; but as mr. gibson now thinks to prevent him getting near the window of the room where john was. the effort to get the gibsons away. after the discovery of the affair, on the following thursday june th a sister of herriges, mrs. mary ann hurtt came down to mr. gibson's house. "good morning, mrs. gibson," said she. "good morning, ma'm," replied mrs. gibson. "i am joseph's sister." "do you mean joseph herriges?" asked mrs. gibson. "yes," answered she, "and i want to know, whether you can't move away from here? i will give you every cent of the rent you have paid, back again. i will make you a handsome present besides, and reward you and be a friend to you as long as you live. perhaps when you get old you will need a friend. i will do this if you will not appear against joseph." mrs. gibson answered: "charity begins at home, and it is not likely you will befriend me, if you couldn't befriend your own brother, fastened up there in that cage of a room!" at this moment mr. gibson came in, and his mother whispered to him: "that's that herriges sister in the corner there." some neighbor in the room said to mrs. hurtt: "there is that young man," referring to mr. gibson. mrs. hurtt then said to him: "can't you drop that case?" "no," said mr. gibson, "it is in the hands of the authorities." mrs. hurtt said: "then move out of the neighborhood, and i will pay you back what rent you have paid, and will make you a handsome present, if you will leave the city." "no," said mr. gibson, "i would not leave the city for ten thousand dollars." he then whispered to his mother: "you keep her here till i go out and get an officer to arrest her." he then went out; and finding an officer on the corner, told him the facts, but the officer said he could do nothing in the matter. mr. gibson then started up to the mayor's office, but he met the mayor in fifth street above walnut, to whom he stated the facts. the mayor walked along to the office with him, and there told lieutenant thomas to have a warrant issued for the arrest of the sister, who had thus endeavored to get mr. gibson out of the way. mr. gibson having made the charge under oath, the warrant issued. when he returned, mrs. hurtt had left his house and gone into her brother's house. he stood on the pavement awhile to see if she would come out. she did not do so, and then he went to the door and asked where that lady was who had been in his house that morning about that business. old mrs. herriges said: "come in and see her." "no," said he, "let her come out here." she then came to the door, and mr. gibson told officer koniwasher to arrest her, that there was a warrant in lieutenant thomas' hands and that was on his order. koniwasher told mr. gibson to go up to the station house, get the warrant from lieutenant thomas, bring it down and he would wait till he came back. mr. gibson did so and lieutenant thomas gave the warrant to mr. gibson and sent an officer along with him, who came back with mr. gibson and mrs. hurtt was arrested. in about half an hour the party started back to the central station accompanied by joseph herriges, the brother, who said to mr. gibson: "just look at the trouble you have brought on me now!" to which he made no reply. at this moment the mob began to yell out: "lynch him! knife him! kill him!" herriges said to the officers: "officers protect me!" the officers closed round them to protect them, and when a car came, put the whole party in it and so reached the central station house, where mrs. hurtt denied in the most positive manner having ever said anything on the subject to mr. gibson more, than offering him whatever rent was coming to him, in fact she denied having made any other proposition about the matter at all. at the same time we must insert here also the following paragraph, which is taken from _the day_ newspaper of thursday june th. the article is headed: "_poor idiot caged up in a filthy room for many years_." "the defendent * * * claimed that he had given his brother all the necessary attention and that the condition of affairs at the house was exaggerated by the witnesses. _that this is not the case, our reporter who visited the premises in company with chief mulholland, coroner taylor, and other officers can testify._" "alderman kerr stated that he had known the defendant for twenty years, and knew him as a man of property and owner of real estate. * * * never knew he had a brother living; he was abundantly able to furnish him with better accomodation." the friends of herriges have asserted that the matter of his brother's being kept locked up in the little room was made public by the gibsons for malicious purposes or to obtain money from him; because the neighbors all around knew for at least seventeen years past that this insane man had been kept in the house and that none of them had ever complained about it. so far from this being true, the gibsons utterly refused all offers of reward made by the sister to induce them to leave the city and drop the case of herriges. moreover they not only did not owe any rent but as will be seen from the receipt already given paid their month's rent in advance fully and honestly. still further after herriges refused to give them back what rent would be coming to them, if they removed, they secured another house down town, and moved away from the one they rented of herriges, though they did not give up the key till the full month had expired. mrs. gibson and her son told us they did this because of herriges refusal to refund them the rent that would be due them. and mrs. gibson who is a lady of nervous temperament, assured us that her constant dread was that at some time this maniac or idiot would break out of his little cagelike room and get into her house and kill herself and her children. and it requires no fervid imagination to believe this, when it is remembered that her window and that of the crazy man were not more than twelve feet apart with a shed between them extending seven or eight feet. then in the day time she would see him handling the wooden bars at his window and glaring out between the slats, while in the stillness of the night she would hear him mumbling, cursing and making noises as she thought like some one trying to get loose. if that would not terrify a mother lying alone with her little children at night we hardly know what would. _the above is a correct narrative._ thomas j. gibson, jr. the victim released. when the policemen arrived for the purpose of releasing john herriges, they found that great efforts had been made to cleanse him as well as the room in which he had been kept. they at once took the captive down stairs and out in the street where the light seemed to stun him. joseph herriges was now arrested and taken to the central station, where he was bound over in the sum of five thousand dollars to answer the charge of thus inhumanly treating his unfortunate brother. john was, on the evidence of doctors mayers and betts sent to the insane department at blockley almshouse. the house mobbed. of course it spread like wildfire in the neighborhood of herriges house that the police had visited it, and found there a man who had been confined for nearly his whole life-time in a little cage of a room. in consequence a great multitude of curious people at once collected on fourth street and lombard street, and as the story was repeated from mouth to mouth, a feeling of anger spread through the assembled hundreds that quickly broke out into violent demonstrations. hoots and yells and curses were indulged in, and such cries as: "burn the d----d house down! bring out the infernal wretches! lynch them! tear them out! hang them! poor fellow! how horrible to keep him that way! down with the shanty boys!" at this moment some person in the midst of the mob hurled a stone at the wooden image that stands at the entrance to the store. this was like a spark in a train of gunpowder, and amidst a shower of missiles a rush was made for the apparently fated dwelling. but at this juncture some one shouted out: "back! back! there's only old women in the house! he's run away for the police!" this stopped the rush, and without doubt saved the building from speedy demolition at the hands of the enraged mob. meantime herriges himself had walked out of the house and started up fourth street, on his way to the station-house to obtain a force of policemen to protect his property from the threatened attack. he was at once discovered and recognized by the infuriated people, who with one accord dashed after him with frightful yells and cries of "kill him! run him up to the lamp-post!" it was about this time that several gentlemen connected with the newspaper press arrived on the scene for the purpose of obtaining particulars of the case. on entering the dwelling, herriges' mother, a very old; and as the reporters describe her, "weasaned faced woman," seized one of them and begged him to save her. "oh, save me! for the mob is throwing bricks and stones at the house! they are going to burn it down, and burn us all alive in it." she was assured that she would be protected, and that no harm would befal her; and a special messenger was despatched to the police station to have a powerful posse of men hurried down to save the place. each moment the mob was growing larger and increasing in the violence of its demonstrations, and had not the force of police arrived shortly after this, there is no doubt but that the house would have been torn completely down, and perhaps burned. happily, however, such a result was averted by prompt action on the part of the authorities. the newspaper gentlemen, thereupon, had ample opportunity to proceed with their visit of inquiry. a respectable looking woman led the way up stairs ascending which required more than ordinary effort, not only on account of their wretched condition, but also on account of the frightful stench that came from the late abode of the imbecile. this person informed the visitors that two rooms had been set apart for the use of john. the "parlor" as she called the den on the first or ground floor was entirely destitute of any furniture but the remains of an ancient sofa, a regular skeliton with nothing left but the wooden slats. over this was a horribly filthy quilt. this was the imbecile's "parlor." his "bed-room" was the cage to which reference has already been made. the scanty glimmering light that forced its way in between the wooden slats nailed across the window was just sufficient to show the efforts that had been so hurriedly but abortively made to cleanse the den. most prominent was a bed freshly placed there and covered with a middling good coverlet. one of the gentlemen remarked as he noticed this. "ah, i see you have put a bed in here. there was none when john was taken out." "oh, yes it was," said the woman quickly. "the bed was always here, but we have put a spread over it. we did not do any thing else." "yes you have done something else," was the rejoinder. "you scraped away several inches of filth off this floor, and whitewashed and scrubbed it, it is all wet yet." "oh well," said she, "the poor old woman down there was not able to keep him clean at all. she is eighty years old and the most devoted loving mother possible, feeding him with her own hands and providing for him every delicacy, like strawberries and such things as that." "well, now what was the reason you had john confined here?" "john studied too hard when he tried to get into the high school and turned his brain. when he was first wrong his brother joseph, who is the kindest hearted man alive, had him taken to a public institution; but his mother got uneasy about him and he was brought home again; and dr. goddard was called in to attend him. the doctor said he needed nothing but kindness and skillful nursing, which they gave him with an affection beautiful to behold." in reply to an inquiry of how long the poor fellow had been locked up in this room, she said: "he wasn't locked up here at all. he had the range of the whole house." "how long has he been out of his mind?" asked a gentleman. "somewhere about eighteen years." "are you a relation of his?" "oh, no, i am only a neighbor, and came in to stay with his poor old mother, who is nearly scared to death." "has he any relatives except his mother and brother?" "yes, he has four sisters." about this time joseph herriges, nearly dead with fright, returned with the police force, and expressed great gratification at the presence of the reporters, in order that they might tell his part of the story, and thus have _reliable_ facts to give to the public instead of a pack of lies told by the neighbors. he said: "john, when a boy, was very intellectual, and i had resolved to give him a good education, so i got him into the public school, also into a night school, and had him taught penmanship as well as cigar-making. "once when he attended a lecture he fell as he came down stairs, and struck his head such a violent blow that he never was the same boy afterwards, but gradually lost his mind. that has been about twelve years ago." it will be noticed here that the woman had previously stated eighteen years. this was the first discrepancy. herriges continued: "i took him to the almshouse, where he was under dr. robert smith's care for a month. then his mother and his sister _here_ visited every day." [here herriges pointed to the woman who had positively said she was only a _neighbor_.] "at last, to please mother, i brought him home and called in doctor gardner, who said, after a long attendance, that he could do him no good. i have devoted my life to that boy, and washed him every day, and attended to his wants whenever i attended to my own, and combed and fed him." "then how is it that his hair and beard have become just like felted cloth with filth, and how is it that he is covered from head to foot with vermin?" "what! how!" exclaimed herriges with a decidedly mixed expression on his countenance. "was there vermin? well i don't know how he got them. i never saw any that's certain." "was he so very violent that you kept him locked up in this cage?" "oh, no, john was always as gentle as a lamb." "then what are those iron and wooden slats at that window for?" "oh, well, we were afraid that he might take a fit some time and get into the street and say strange things." at this juncture of the garbled narrative, herriges became flurred, and begged the reporters to do him justice, repeating the words. "now you will do me justice, won't you? you see they say i have kept him imprisoned in this way to get his share of the property. he has not got a cent in the world, for this house is only the property of mother during her life time. it is all she has and when she dies it will have to be divided among the whole six of us." "but look here," interrupted a gentlemen of the party, "what about those houses on lombard street and the houses on fourth street?" "oh, those are all my own," answered he. "i worked and earned them myself." the questioner replied. "but you told me this morning that your father died in oregon and left all his property to you alone. how do you make that agree with this last statement?" "don't interrupt me. you confuse me, and put me out. i am trying to tell a straight story and you throw me out. i'll tell you again exactly all." he then repeated his former statement and wound up with a fresh appeal to be done justly by; which seemed in his mind to mean that his statement alone should be given to the public. but he was told that mrs. gibson's story would be published as well as his own, whereupon another sister, who had just arrived on the scene, pronounced mrs. gibson a liar, and added her solicitations to have that part of the history suspended. on a subsequent visit, the sister who had represented herself as only a neighbor, repeated the statements that been previously made by her and her brother with a few more variations and contradictions. for instance she remarked that the papers said john was a boy of eight years old when he was first put in the cage, or little room, "now that is false, for he was between twenty-three and twenty-four when he went insane." on the previous day she had said that he went crazy when he was trying to get into the high school. trying to get gibson away. on june th, alderman kerr gave one of the sisters, mary ann hurtt, who resides at girard avenue, a hearing on the charge of tampering with the witness, mrs. gibson's son. mr. thomas j. gibson, jr., residing at lombard street, testified that mrs. hurtt came to his house and asked him whether he could not drop that case and get out of the way, so as not to testify, saying that if he would she would pay him back all the rent he had paid her for the place he was occupying, and would make him a handsome present besides that. the whole statement was most vehemently denied by the accused, who, however, was held in five hundred dollars bail to answer the charge at court. her brother joseph entered the required security. the victim removed to the almshouse. as soon as alderman kerr made the requisite order to that effect, the poor imbecile who had been shut up in his cage for so long a time was placed in a carriage and taken promptly to blockley almshouse. the attendants and officials who received him aver that in all their experience they have never seen such a heart-rending sight as was john herriges when brought to the institution. and this, it will be recollected, was after the poor wretch had been submitted to the partial cleansing that his relatives gave him immediately after the visit paid them by mrs. gibson in relation to the captive. at once, upon his arrival at the hospital of the almshouse, he was stripped of the slight filthy salt-bag petticoat, and his body submitted to a thorough but careful scrubbing, after which the flesh was, with equal care, rubbed until the natural color of the skin began to make its appearance through the deep stain of accumulated filth of so many years. next his hair was clipped short, after which fully half an inch of solid filth and dirt, as hard and tough as leather, was scraped away from his scalp. after all this was done, which occupied a long time, he was dressed in a clean suit of the material used for the clothing of the inmates and placed in a cell, in which, also, he was securely locked at night, to prevent him harming either himself or others. but this was ascertained to be entirely unnecessary, as the poor fellow was as docile and quiet as a lamb. after his face was cleaned off, the peculiar pallor of his countenance, resulting from the great length of time he was imprisoned in his noisome cell, was almost unearthly and strangely striking. the muscles of his body were like so many flabby strings, from being never brought into exercise, rendering him very feeble, though naturally, to judge from the size of his frame, he would be a man of great physical strength. at first, after his release, his favorite position was a kind of sitting squatting posture, with the hands resting upon the knees, the back bent, and head hanging down. if ordered to get up, he would do so promptly, but rather slowly, as he was obliged to remove his hands from his knees and place them on the back of his hips. he would get up and stand like a bent over statue. "now then, john, walk along." at this order he would shuffle forward for a step or two, or about the length of the cage in which he had been confined, and then manifest a desire to turn round and shuffle back, like a sentry walking his beat. an attendant took his arm, however, saying: "come, john, walk straight now; lean on me." this kindness appeared strange to him, and he made great efforts to straighten up and walk the same way as his friend, looking meanwhile surprised, perhaps to think he could get so far, and that some one could speak kindly to him. his appetite was good, and he would eat whatever was given him with evident relish. in fact he could be compared to nothing more than an automaton, a human machine, as will be seen from the following conversation which a gentlemen held with him. "john, where is your right arm?" "there," was the reply, as he turned his head and looked at his arm, partially raising the member. "raise your left arm." instantly he would raise it. "hold your head back." he did it. "that will do, john, now open your mouth." it was done. [illustration: the policeman releasing the victim from his cage. der polizist befreit das unglückliche opfer aus seinem käfig.] "shut it." "john, where are you living now?" of this question he took no notice. "do you like to live here?" "yes." "where did you live before you came here?" no answer, but a look of half inquiry flitted over john's face. "did you not live at fourth and lombard streets?" "oh, yes." "for how long a time?" no reply, but the same thoughtful look as before. a variety of other questions was put to the imbecile, to all of which he invariably gave quick and correct replies, provided the reply could be made in monosyllables. but if it required an answer of several words he would remain silent, or apparently trying to think what he should say. after several days residence at the almshouse he began to lose a considerable amount of his former animal stupidity, and if ordered to do anything in the same way as when he was first admitted to the institution, he would not do it at all, but remain perfectly motionless. this shows that his mental feebleness results not so much from natural causes as the artificial ones of his long confinement, and a withering isolation from the outer world. he will never be himself again, for that would be impossible, but it is quite likely that he will recover so far as to permit him to enjoy the ease and have that care of kind attendants that his share of the property will command. comment on the conduct of those relatives from whose charge he has been taken is entirely unnecessary. if they have consciences, their feelings must be of a rather terrible nature. one thing is certain; poor john will be taken good care of in the future, and in furman sheppard, esq., he has a friend who will not allow justice to be hoodwinked. a visit to the victim at the almshouse hospital. yesterday, in company with detective charles miller, who had charge of the investigation of the circumstances of the case, we made a special visit to john herriges, the subject of this sketch. when we reached the institution, the usual ball, which is periodically given to the patients in the insane department, was at its full height, and john's nurse, an active and intelligent young man, supposing that the happiness and hilarity of the scene would have a beneficial effect upon his charge, wheeled him in his chair to the ball room. john seemed astonished somewhat, and the excitement took quick effect upon him, making him very loquacious, although the words he uttered were so unconnected as to be entirely incoherent. finding this to be the case, the attendant wheeled his patient to a quiet part of the building, where we had a long interview with him. but john remained excited, and talked almost constantly about mcmullin, the veritable william of the fourth ward, of murders and burglars, and coffins, and kindred subjects. we asked him a number of questions, but apart from now and then giving us a semi-intelligent glance, he took no notice whatever, until in the midst of it the attendant stepped suddenly to one of the insane patients, who, manifesting unusual excitement, required prompt securing. this was done by the attendant passing his arms round the man, drawing his hands forcibly down and securing them behind, as he coaxed him along to a cell. john herriges' face instantly lighted up with great animation as he exclaimed, pointing to the two: "ha! that's the way they kill them, that's it, mully, mully good fellow!--he! he! he!" he constantly has this idiotic laugh. from a gentleman at the institution we gleaned the following in relation to the victim and his family, which he assured us was the correct history of the affair. in some essential points it seems to conflict with the sister's statement made to the reporter of the sunday dispatch. the father's name was bernard herriges, who went to oregon in , and settled in walumet valley, and there died and left land worth about $ , in the executorship of mr. glasson and dr. theophilus degan. the will is recorded in the probate court of clarkamas county, oregon, and explicitly directs what is to be done with the property. by some means or other no claim was established, and the land referred to was occupied by general abeneathy for twenty years. this information was given in reply to a letter that was written in , by hon. leonard myers, member of congress, and sent by him to oregon. the mother's original name was barbara miller, and she is now in her seventy-ninth year. the oldest son, joseph, is fifty-six. the sisters names are mary ann, sophia, hannah and ann margaret. this gentleman states that john, the victim, is now forty-five years old, that he was twenty-five when he received the injury that resulted in his imbecility, and that consequently the confinement has extended more or less over the period of twenty years. on the night of the great fire at vine street, in , he received his hurt as he was returning from a lecture, by being pushed over a railing down into an area by the rushing crowd, striking his head violently in his descent. in , the family received a letter from caspar rudolph, in oregon, asking them to give him a power of attorney to take control of the father's possessions there. this document was drawn up by the hon. william d. baker, signed by all the members of the family, approved before alderman benn and sent out to rudolph. great praise is due to doctor richardson of the almshouse for the speedy improvement his careful treatment has made in john, who is, beyond doubt, naturally a very powerful man, has a fine frame and a capitally shaped head. but it is certain he will never recover from his imbecility. the officials in charge of his case from the commencement, also deserve great praise for their faithful attention to their disagreeable duty, which could not have been performed in a more satisfactory manner. particularly is this true of officers coniwasher and reeder, lieutenant thomas and detective charles miller. [illustration: correct drawing of the herriges house at fourth and lombard. the scene of the horror. genaue zeichnung des herriges hauses an der vierten und lombard straÃ�e. die scene des schreckens.] joseph herriges' account. since going to press with this history an account of the affair has appeared in _the day_, and which we have inserted here with the desire to place before the public whatever may be favorable to mr. herriges in the matter of his brother's confinement. we deem this a matter of mere justice. the reporter having called on mr. herriges the following occurred during the interview. we found joseph herriges a sensible, gentlemanly and educated person; having nothing to conceal, he at once entered into conversation concerning his brother; he informed us that john is his only brother, and for whom he has always entertained a brotherly affection; in his youthful days he was sent to school and educated at joseph's expense; as a schoolboy he was, in literary attainments, about on an average with those attending school at that time. it was the elder brother's intention to fit him for the high school, and with that intention he not only sent him to the public schools, but also sent him to a night school, that he might more rapidly advance in his studies. as evidence of the fact, mr. herriges brought forth an old time receipt-book and showed us the following receipt: received january , , of mr. joseph herriges, five dollars in full for one quarter's tuition of brother john b. herriges, at evening school, including light and stationary. $ . r. o. r. louett. reporter--when did the insanity of john begin to develop itself? mr. herriges--it first began to show itself when he was twenty years of age. at that time he had only temporary fits of abstraction, which grew worse from time to time, until, at the age of twenty-six, he became wholly insane, and, what is unusual in insanity, he would never eat anything unless fed like an infant. hunger could not tempt him to eat, nor thirst to drink, any more than it could tempt the infant of three months to eat or drink without assistance. reporter--why did you not attempt a cure in accordance with the usual method? mr. herriges--i did. i became acquainted with dr. r. k. smith, who informed that a cure might be effected, and in accordance with his suggestions, i sent him to the insane department of the almshouse as the following will testify. mr. herriges here produced a paper on which the following was written: "philadelphia almshouse. june , . "this is to certify that john b. herriges was admitted to the insane department of this institution on the st day of december , aged twenty-seven years, born in philadelphia, single, and by occupation a tobacconist, and taken out on liberty and did not return. "from the register in agent's office. "attest, alfred d. w. caldwell, house agent. "witness present--j. c. freno." reporter--how long did he remain under treatment there? mr. h.--about one month. reporter--why so short a length of time? mr h.--during the time he was there he became so emaciated, either from improper care in feeding him or from a bad attack of dysentery, that he had scarcely any life in him, and his mother insisted on bringing him home to nurse him. to save his life and to satisfy mother, i procured a carriage and brought him home, where by careful treatment he was restored to his usual good health. reporter--why did you permit your brother to remain so dirty? mr. h.--it was an impossibility on our part to prevent it. reporter--is it true you kept him confined in the small room overhead as it is stated in the papers. mr. h.--it is not true; my brother had the range of the house and yard at all times, but no more; i could not let him go in the street, for he had no appreciation whatever of danger, and he was therefore liable at any moment to be run over. at this point the mother put in an appearance. introducing ourselves to her, she remarked. "i hope you will give a truthful statement of what we tell you." informing her our motto was "truth without fear," she appeared much better satisfied. we asked her if her son had been much care upon her. she informed us he was a constant care; that from the time he was about twenty-five years of age there had never a mouthful of food passed his lips except what was fed to him as we would feed a helpless infant. reporter--what do you assign, madam, as the primary cause of his insanity? mrs. h.--at the age of nineteen my son began attending lectures given by anti-meat eaters, spiritualists etc., and impressed with their nonsensical doctrines, he, about that time, quit eating meat and took to a vegetable diet, and i think those lectures, together with this diet, had much to do with it. reporter--i do not understand how a vegetable diet could cause insanity, when it is well known that horace greeley is a vegetintarian? mrs. h.--well, isn't he insane sometimes? reporter--mr. bennett, of the _herald_, and dana, of the _sun_, say he is; but they think so because mr. greeley venerates a dilapidated white hat, wears shocking bad shoes, and is a member of the free love order. mrs. h.--well, those lectures certainly had much to do with his insanity, for his disease began to develop soon after his attendance upon them. reporter--some of the papers stated he was confined because of a desire on the part of his family to get $ , , alleged to have been left him and to accomplish which, they further intimated that your husband did not die a natural death. mrs. h.--my son john never had any money in his own right; he has been kept, maintained and clothed by his brother joseph ever since his affliction, and indeed long previous to it. as for intimations concerning my husband, the whole thing must have originated in the brain of a woman of fervid imagination, claiming to have some connection with the _sunday dispatch_. that lady called to see me, and with acts of kindness, such as throwing her arms around me, and informing me she would send a carriage to have me taken away for fear the crowd around the house would do me bodily injury, and with a promise to give a true account, she got a full and true statement of the case; but to my surprise and indignation, published nothing but a tissue of falsehoods. how a young woman professing to be a lady could so act towards me, an old woman of eighty, i cannot comprehend. mrs. herriges then went on to tell us her poor afflicted boy had been the one care of her life; that she took him away from the insane asylum because she knew they did not know how to feed him, and that he would soon die there if allowed to remain; that she had ever watched over him with all the affection of a mother, never wearying in her attendance upon him. when we asked, "what of your husband?" we were informed that many years ago he went to oregon, took up a section of ground in villamette valley, previous to which he had built himself a house in oregon city. he died about twenty years ago, and the first knowledge we had of it was from a caspar rudolph, living in oregon, and who was formerly from this city. a power of attorney was sent to rudolph to enable him to settle the estate. upon his taking the necessary legal steps he learned that mr. herriges had appointed william glass and dr. theophilus degan as his executors. he further learned these gentlemen had disposed of all his property, a short time after which they left oregon. after leaving the family we next directed our steps to the insane asylum of the almshouse. arriving there we made ourselves acquainted with dr. richardson, who has charge of the insane. we found the doctor one of the most obliging public officials we have ever met. he appeared to esteem it a pleasure to give us all the information he could in regard to the insane. the doctor has had charge of the insane since december . previous to that time he was connected with the poor department for many years. informing the doctor our visit was for the purpose of conversing with him in relation to john herriges, he at once informed us the herriges family had received a great and uncalled for injury from the press of this city. as for john he was hopelessly insane, and was doubtless so from the first. he told us insanity incurable was stamped upon every lineament of his countenance, and as for the filthy condition in which he was found that signified nothing. his filthy habits appear to come to him periodically: that is, every other night he will pass his excrement, after which he will smear the walls, floor and his own face and body with it, presenting one of the most disgusting sights the doctor ever witnessed. the doctor informed us that some forms of insanity ran that way, and instanced one particular case of a lady of education and refinement who came under his notice. she acted precisely similar to john herriges during the time she was under his care. the lady was cured however and has resumed her place in the fashionable world. dr. richardson also informed us that insanity frequently ran to the opposite of dirty habits, one patient, now in the asylum, is continually, if allowed, engaged in washing himself; fifty times a day or more would he go through his ablutions. and it is more frequently in the other direction; we were informed that herriges cell had to be white-washed and cleaned every other day; that he cannot feed himself at all; when john first entered the asylum the only meal he seemed to enjoy was his dinner; now he eats his breakfast and supper with a relish; in fact he was just in the act of taking supper when we paid a visit to john herriges; we found a man of five feet eight inches, weighing about pounds, with a skin as white as any lady's in the city; all traces of the dirt the _sunday dispatch_ had ground into his flesh so deep, as never to be washed out, was completely gone, and john presented a better, more gentlemanly appearance than any other man in the asylum. dr. richardson made the remark that john had been fed with food of a diversified character; that there was no speck of scrofula appearing upon his body. * * * * * * * he requires to be wheeled on a chair to his meals and back again. his food has to be put in his mouth, or he would never eat, and, altogether, he is one of the most deplorable cases of insanity we have ever seen; and that the sober, second thought of the public will award his family due credit for what they did for him, there can be no doubt; if not before, at least after the trial of joseph, before a judge and jury shall have taken place. * * * * * at the same time we must insert here also the following paragraph, which is taken from _the day_ newspaper of thursday june th. the article is headed: "_a poor idiot caged up in a filthy room for many years_." "the defendent * * * claimed that he had given his brother all the necessary attention and that the condition of affairs at the house was exaggerated by the witnesses. _that this is not the case, our reporter who visited the premises in company with chief mulholland, coroner taylor, and other officers can testify._" "alderman kerr stated that he had known the defendant for twenty years, and knew him as a man of property and owner of real estate. * * * never knew he had a brother living; he was abundantly able to furnish him with better accomodation." * * * * * the facts which we obtained at the almshouse can be thoroughly relied upon as being correct as we got them directly from detective john o'grady who had been detailed specially by mayor fox in conjunction with detective benjamin franklin to work up the facts in the case. officer o'grady went to the herriges house and searched it thoroughly the day that the trunk and bags were taken away from the premises. there were the wildest rumors in regard to this circumstance which were entirely unjust as the trunk and bags contained nothing only valuable papers which herriges, fearing the house would be mored down by the mob, wished to save by thus removing them. officers o'grady and franklin merit special commendation for the manner in which they worked up their part of the case. [illustration: likeness of the brother and mother of the victim. bildniÃ� von dem bruder und der mutter des unglücklichen opfers.] online distributed proofreaders canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net the father and daughter, a tale, in prose. by mrs. opie. thy sweet reviving smiles might cheer despair, on the pale lips detain the parting breath, and bid hope blossom in the shades of death. mrs. barbauld. _ninth edition._ london: printed for longman, hurst, rees, orme, brown, & green, paternoster-row. . printed by richard taylor, shoe lane, london. [illustration: ----"_she saw that he had drawn the shape of a coffin and was then writing on the lid the name of agnes._"----] dedication. to dr. alderson of norwich. dear sir, in dedicating this publication to you, i follow in some measure the example of those nations who devoted to their gods the first fruits of the genial seasons which they derived from their bounty. to you i owe whatever of cultivation my mind has received; and the first fruits of that mind to you i dedicate. besides, having endeavoured in "the father and daughter" to exhibit a picture of the most perfect parental affection, to whom could i dedicate it with so much propriety as to you, since, in describing a good father, i had only to delineate my own? allow me to add, full of gratitude for years of tenderness and indulgence on your part, but feebly repaid even by every possible sentiment of filial regard on mine, that the satisfaction i shall experience if my publication be favourably received by the world, will not proceed from the mere gratification of my self-love, but from the conviction i shall feel that my success as an author is productive of pleasure to you. amelia opie. _berners street_, . the father and daughter. by mrs. opie. to the reader. it is not without considerable apprehension that i offer myself as an avowed author at the bar of public opinion,--and that apprehension is heightened by its being the general custom to give indiscriminately the name of novel to every thing in prose that comes in the shape of a story, however simple it be in its construction, and humble in its pretensions. by this means, the following publication is in danger of being tried by a standard according to which it was never intended to be made, and to be criticized for wanting those merits which it was never meant to possess. i therefore beg leave to say, in justice to myself, that i know "the father and daughter" is wholly devoid of those attempts at strong character, comic situation, bustle, and variety of incident, which constitute a novel, and that its highest pretensions are, to be a simple, moral tale. the father and daughter. a tale. the night was dark,--the wind blew keenly over the frozen and rugged heath, when agnes, pressing her moaning child to her bosom, was travelling on foot to her father's habitation. "would to god i had never left it!" she exclaimed, as home and all its enjoyments rose in fancy to her view:--and i think my readers will be ready to join in the exclamation, when they hear the poor wanderer's history. agnes fitzhenry was the only child of a respectable merchant in a country town, who, having lost his wife when his daughter was very young, resolved for her sake to form no second connection. to the steady, manly affection of a father, fitzhenry joined the fond anxieties and endearing attentions of a mother; and his parental care was amply repaid by the love and amiable qualities of agnes. he was not rich; yet the profits of his trade were such as to enable him to bestow every possible expense on his daughter's education, and to lay up a considerable sum yearly for her future support: whatever else he could spare from his own absolute wants, he expended in procuring comforts and pleasures for her.--"what an excellent father that man is!" was the frequent exclamation among his acquaintance--"and what an excellent child he has! well may he be proud of her!" was as commonly the answer to it. nor was this to be wondered at:--agnes united to extreme beauty of face and person every accomplishment that belongs to her own sex, and a great degree of that strength of mind and capacity for acquiring knowledge supposed to belong exclusively to the other. for this combination of rare qualities agnes was admired;--for her sweetness of temper, her willingness to oblige, her seeming unconsciousness of her own merits, and her readiness to commend the merits of others,--for these still rarer qualities, agnes was beloved: and she seldom formed an acquaintance without at the same time securing a friend. her father thought he loved her (and perhaps he was right) as never father loved a child before; and agnes thought she loved him as child never before loved father.--"i will not marry, but live single for my father's sake," she often said;--but she altered her determination when her heart, hitherto unmoved by the addresses of the other sex, was assailed by an officer in the guards who came to recruit in the town in which she resided. clifford, as i shall call him, had not only a fine figure and graceful address, but talents rare and various, and powers of conversation so fascinating, that the woman he had betrayed forgot her wrongs in his presence, and the creditor, who came to dun him for the payment of debts already incurred, went away eager to oblige him by letting him incur still more. fatal perversion of uncommon abilities! this man, who might have taught a nation to look up to him as its best pride in prosperity and its best hope in adversity, made no other use of his talents than to betray the unwary of both sexes, the one to shame, the other to pecuniary difficulties; and he whose mind was capacious enough to have imagined schemes to aggrandize his native country, the slave of sordid selfishness, never looked beyond his own temporary and petty benefit, and sat down contented with the achievements of the day, if he had overreached a credulous tradesman, or beguiled an unsuspecting woman. but, to accomplish even these paltry triumphs, great knowledge of the human heart was necessary,--a power of discovering the prevailing foible in those on whom he had designs, and of converting their imagined security into their real danger. he soon discovered that agnes, who was rather inclined to doubt her possessing in an uncommon degree the good qualities which she really had, valued herself, with not unusual blindness, on those which she had not. she thought herself endowed with great power to read the characters of those with whom she associated, when she had even not discrimination enough to understand her own: and, while she imagined that it was not in the power of others to deceive her, she was constantly in the habit of deceiving herself. clifford was not slow to avail himself of this weakness in his intended victim; and, while he taught her to believe that none of his faults had escaped her observation, with hers he had made himself thoroughly acquainted.--but not content with making her faults subservient to his views, he pressed her virtues also into his service; and her affection for her father, that strong hold, secure in which agnes would have defied the most violent assaults of temptation, he contrived should be the means of her defeat. i have been thus minute in detailing the various and seducing powers which clifford possessed, not because he will be a principal figure in my narrative,--for, on the contrary, the chief characters in it are the father and daughter,--but in order to excuse as much as possible the strong attachment which he excited in agnes. "love," says mrs. inchbald, whose knowledge of human nature can be equalled only by the humour with which she describes its follies, and the unrivalled pathos with which she exhibits its distresses--"love, however rated by many as the chief passion of the heart, is but a poor dependent, a retainer on the other passions--admiration, gratitude, respect, esteem, pride in the object; divest the boasted sensation of these, and it is no more than the impression of a twelvemonth, by courtesy, or vulgar error, called love[ ]."--and of all these ingredients was the passion of agnes composed. for the graceful person and manner of clifford she felt admiration; and her gratitude was excited by her observing that, while he was an object of attention to every one wherever he appeared, his attentions were exclusively directed to herself; and that he who, from his rank and accomplishments, might have laid claim to the hearts even of the brightest daughters of fashion in the gayest scenes of the metropolis, seemed to have no higher ambition than to appear amiable in the eyes of agnes, the humble toast of an obscure country town. while his superiority of understanding, and brilliancy of talents, called forth her respect, and his apparent virtues her esteem; and when to this high idea of the qualities of the man was added a knowledge of his high birth and great expectations, it is no wonder that she also felt the last-mentioned, and often perhaps the greatest, excitement to love, "pride in the object." [footnote : nature and art, vol. i. p. .] when clifford began to pay those marked attentions to agnes, which ought always on due encouragement from the woman to whom they are addressed to be followed by an offer of marriage, he contrived to make himself as much disliked by the father as admired by the daughter: yet his management was so artful, that fitzhenry could not give a sufficient reason for his dislike; he could only declare its existence; and for the first time in her life agnes learned to think her father unjust and capricious. thus, while clifford ensured an acceptance of his addresses from agnes, he at the same time secured a rejection of them from fitzhenry; and this was the object of his wishes, as he had a decided aversion to marriage, and knew besides that marrying agnes would disappoint all his ambitious prospects in life, and bring on him the eternal displeasure of his father. at length, after playing for some time with her hopes and fears, clifford requested fitzhenry to sanction with his approbation his addresses to his daughter; and fitzhenry, as he expected, coldly and firmly declined the honour of his alliance. but when clifford mentioned, as if unguardedly, that he hoped to prevail on his father to approve the marriage after it had taken place, if not before, fitzhenry proudly told him that he thought his daughter much too good to be smuggled into the family of any one; while clifford, piqued in his turn at the warmth of fitzhenry's expressions, and the dignity of his manner, left him, exulting secretly in the consciousness that he had his revenge,--for he knew that the heart of agnes was irrecoverably his. agnes heard from her lover that his suit was rejected, with agonies as violent as he appeared to feel.--"what!" exclaimed she, "can that affectionate father, who has till now anticipated my wishes, disappoint me in the wish nearest to my heart?" in the midst of her first agitation her father entered the room, and, with "a countenance more in sorrow than in anger" began to expostulate with her on the impropriety of the connection which she was desirous of forming. he represented to her the very slender income which clifford possessed; the inconvenience to which an officer's wife is exposed; and the little chance which there is for a man's making a constant and domestic husband who has been brought up in an idle profession, and accustomed to habits of intemperance, expense, and irregularity:---- "but above all," said he, "how is it possible that you could ever condescend to accept the addresses of a man whose father, he himself owns, will never sanction them with his approbation?" alas! agnes could plead no excuse but that she was in love, and she had too much sense to urge such a plea to her father. "believe me," he continued, "i speak thus from the most disinterested consideration of your interest; for, painful as the idea of parting with you must be to me, i am certain i should not shrink from the bitter trial, whenever my misery would be your happiness (here his voice faltered); but, in this case, i am certain that by refusing my consent to your wishes i ensure your future comfort; and in a cooler moment you will be of the same opinion." agnes shook her head, and turned away in tears. "nay, hear me, my child," resumed fitzhenry, "you know that i am no tyrant; and if, after time and absence have been tried in order to conquer your unhappy passion, it remain unchanged, then, in defiance of my judgement, i will consent to your marriage with mr. clifford, provided his father consent likewise:--for, unless he do, i never will:--and if you have not pride and resolution enough to be the guardian of your own dignity, i must guard it for you; but i am sure there will be no need of my interference: and agnes fitzhenry would scorn to be clandestinely the wife of any man." agnes thought so too,--and fitzhenry spoke this in so mild and affectionate a manner, and in a tone so expressive of suppressed wretchedness, which the bare idea of parting with her had occasioned him, that, for the moment, she forgot every thing but her father, and the vast debt of love and gratitude which she owed him; and throwing herself into his arms she protested her entire, nay cheerful, acquiescence in his determination. "promise me, then," replied fitzhenry, "that you will never see mr. clifford more, if you can avoid it: he has the tongue of belial, and if----" here agnes indignantly interrupted him with reproaches for supposing her so weak as to be in danger of being seduced into a violation of her duty; and so strong were the terms in which she expressed herself, that her father entreated her pardon for having thought such a promise necessary. the next day clifford did not venture to call at the house, but he watched the door till he saw agnes come out alone. having then joined her, he obtained from her a full account of the conversation which she had had with fitzhenry; when, to her great surprise, he drew conclusions from it which she had never imagined possible. he saw, or pretended to see, in fitzhenry's rejection of his offers, not merely a dislike of her marrying him, but a design to prevent her marrying at all; and as a design like this was selfish in the last degree, and ought to be frustrated, he thought it would be kinder in her to disobey her father then, and marry the man of her heart, than, by indulging his unreasonable wishes on this subject once, to make him expect that she would do so again, and continue to lead a single life;--because, in that case, the day of her marrying, when it came at last, would burst on him with tenfold horrors. the result of this specious reasoning, enforced by tears, caresses and protestations, was, that she had better go off to scotland immediately with him, and trust to time, necessity, and their parents' affection, to secure their forgiveness. agnes the first time heard these arguments, and this proposal, with the disdain which they merited; but, alas! she did not resolve to avoid all opportunity of hearing them a second time: but, vain of the resolution she had shown on this first trial, she was not averse to stand another, delighted to find that she had not overrated her strength, when she reproached fitzhenry for his want of confidence in it. the consequence is obvious:--again and again she heard clifford argue in favour of an elopement; and, though she still retained virtue sufficient to withhold her consent, she every day saw fresh reason to believe he argued on good grounds, and to think that that parent whose whole study, till now, had been her gratification, was, in this instance at least, the slave of unwarrantable selfishness.---- at last, finding that neither time, reflection, nor even a temporary absence, had the slightest effect on her attachment, but that it gained new force every day, she owned that nothing but the dread of making her father unhappy withheld her from listening to clifford's proposal:--'twas true, she said, pride forbade it; but the woman who could listen to the dictates of pride, knew nothing of love but the name. this was the moment for clifford to urge more strongly than ever that the elopement was the most effectual means of securing her father's happiness, as well as her own; till at last her judgement became the dupe of her wishes; and, fancying that she was following the dictates of filial affection, when she was in reality the helpless victim of passion, she yielded to the persuasions of a villain; and set off with him for scotland. when fitzhenry first heard of her flight, he sat for hours absorbed in a sort of dumb anguish, far more eloquent than words. at length he burst into exclamations against her ingratitude for all the love and care that he had bestowed on her; and the next moment he exclaimed with tears of tenderness, "poor girl! she is not used to commit faults; how miserable she will be when she comes to reflect! and how she will long for my forgiveness! and, o yes! i am sure i shall long as ardently to forgive her!"--then his arms were folded in fancy round his child, whom he pictured to himself confessing her marriage to him, and upon her knees imploring his pardon. but day after day came, and no letter from the fugitives, acknowledging their error, and begging his blessing on their union,--for no union had taken place. when clifford and agnes had been conveyed as fast as four horses could carry them one hundred miles towards gretna-green, and had ordered fresh horses, clifford started as he looked at his pocket-book, and, with well-dissembled consternation, exclaimed, "what can we do? i have brought the wrong pocket-book, and have not money enough to carry us above a hundred and odd miles further on the north road!"--agnes was overwhelmed with grief and apprehension at this information, but did not for an instant suspect that the fact was otherwise than as clifford stated it to be. as i before observed, agnes piqued herself on her knowledge of characters, and she judged of them frequently by the rules of physiognomy; she had studied voices too, as well as countenances:--was it possible, then, that agnes, who had from clifford's voice and countenance pronounced him all that was ingenuous, honourable, and manly, could suspect him capable of artifice? could she, retracting her pretensions to penetration, believe she had put herself in the power of a designing libertine? no;--vanity and self-love forbade this salutary suspicion to enter her imagination; and, without one scruple, or one reproach, she acceded to the plan which clifford proposed, as the only one likely to obviate their difficulties, and procure them most speedily an opportunity of solemnizing their marriage. deluded agnes! you might have known that the honourable lover is as fearful to commit the honour of his mistress, even in appearance, as she herself can be; that his care and anxiety to screen her even from the breath of suspicion are ever on the watch; and that therefore, had clifford's designs been such as virtue would approve, he would have put it out of the power of accident to prevent your immediate marriage, and expose your fair fame to the whisper of calumny. to london they set forward, and were driven to an hotel in the adelphi, whence clifford went out in search of lodgings; and, having met with convenient apartments at the west end of the town, he conducted to them the pensive and already repentant agnes.--"under what name and title," said agnes, "am i to be introduced to the woman of the house?"--"as my intended wife," cried her lover, pressing her to his bosom;--"and in a few days,--though to me they will appear ages,--you will give me a right to call you by that tender name."--"in a few days!" exclaimed agnes, withdrawing from his embrace; "cannot the marriage take place to-morrow?" "impossible!" replied clifford; "you are not of age,--i can't procure a license;--but i have taken these lodgings for a month,--we will have the banns published, and be married at the parish-church." to this arrangement, against which her delicacy and every feeling revolted, agnes would fain have objected in the strongest manner: but, unable to urge any reasons for her objection, except such as seemed to imply distrust of her own virtue, she submitted, in mournful silence, to the plan: with a heart then for the first time tortured with a sense of degradation, she took possession of her apartment; and clifford returned to his hotel, meditating with savage delight on the success of his plans, and on the triumph which, he fancied, awaited him. agnes passed the night in sleepless agitation, now forming and now rejecting schemes to obviate the danger which must accrue to her character, if not to her honour, by remaining for a whole month exposed to the seductions of a man whom she had but too fatally convinced of his power over her heart; and the result of her reflections was, that she should insist on his leaving town, and not returning till he came to lead her to the altar. happy would it have been for agnes, had she adhered to this resolution; but vanity and self-confidence again interfered:--"what have i to fear?" said agnes to herself;--"am i so fallen in my own esteem that i dare not expose myself even to a shadow of temptation?--no;--i will not think so meanly of my virtue:--the woman that is afraid of being dishonoured is half overcome already; and i will meet with boldness the trials which i cannot avoid." o vanity! thou hast much to answer for!--i am convinced that, were we to trace up to their source all the most painful and degrading events of our lives, we should find most of them to have their origin in the gratified suggestions of vanity. it is not my intention to follow agnes through the succession of mortifications, embarrassments, and contending feelings, which preceded her undoing (for, secure as she thought herself in her own strength, and the honour of her lover, she became at last a prey to her seducer); it is sufficient that i explain the circumstances which led to her being in a cold winter's night, houseless and unprotected, a melancholy wanderer towards the house of her father. before the expiration of the month, clifford had triumphed over the virtue of agnes; and soon after he received orders to join his regiment, as it was going to be sent on immediate service.--"but you will return to me before you embark, in order to make me your wife?" said the half-distracted agnes; "you will not leave me to shame as well as misery?" clifford promised every thing she wished; and agnes tried to lose the pangs of parting, in anticipation of the joy of his return. but on the very day when she expected him, she received a letter from him, saying that he was under sailing orders, and to see her again before the embarkation was impossible. to do clifford justice, he in this instance told truth; and, as he really loved agnes as well as a libertine can love, he felt the agitation and distress which his letter expressed; though, had he returned to her, he had an excuse ready prepared for delaying the marriage. words can but ill describe the situation of agnes on the receipt of this letter.--the return of clifford was not to be expected for months at least; and perhaps he might never return!--the thought of his danger was madness:--but, when she reflected that she should in all probability be a mother before she became a wife, in a transport of frantic anguish she implored heaven in mercy to put an end to her existence.--"o my dear, injured father!" she exclaimed, "i, who was once your pride, am now your disgrace!--and that child whose first delight it was to look up in your face, and see your eyes beaming with fondness on her, can now never dare to meet their glance again." but, though agnes dared not presume to write to her father till she could sign herself the wife of clifford, she could not exist without making some secret inquiries concerning his health and spirits; and, before he left her, clifford recommended a trusty messenger to her for the purpose.--the first account which she received was, that fitzhenry was well; the next, that he was dejected; the three following, that his spirits were growing better,--and the last account was, that he was married.---- "married!" cried agnes rushing into her chamber, and shutting the door after her, in a manner sufficiently indicative to the messenger of the anguish she hastened from him to conceal;--"married!--clifford abroad,--perhaps at this moment a corpse,--and my father married!--what, then, am i? a wretch forlorn! an outcast from society!--no one to love, no one to protect and cherish me! great god! wilt thou not pardon me if i seek a refuge from my suffering in the grave?" here nature suddenly and powerfully impressed on her recollection that she was about to become a parent; and, falling on her knees, she sobbed out, "what am i, did i ask?--i am a mother, and earth still holds me by a tie too sacred to be broken!" then by degrees she became calmer, and rejoiced, fervently rejoiced, in her father's second marriage, though she felt it as too convincing a proof how completely he had thrown her from his affections. she knew that the fear of a second family's diminishing the strong affection which he bore to her was his reason for not marrying again, and now it was plain that he married in hopes of losing his affection for her. still this information removed a load from her mind, by showing her that fitzhenry felt himself capable of receiving happiness from other hands than hers; and she resolved, if she heard that he was happy in his change of situation, never to recall to his memory the daughter whom it was so much his interest to forget. the time of agnes's confinement now drew near,--a time which fills with apprehension even the wife, who is soothed and supported by the tender attentions of an anxious husband, and the assiduities of affectionate relations and friends, and who knows that the child with which she is about to present them will at once gratify their affections and their pride. what then must have been the sensations of agnes at a moment so awful and dangerous as this!--agnes, who had no husband to soothe her by his anxious inquiries, no relations or friends to cheer her drooping soul by the expressions of sympathy, and whose child, instead of being welcomed by an exulting family, must be, perhaps, a stranger even to its nearest relations! but in proportion to her trials seemed to be agnes's power of rising superior to them; and, after enduring her sufferings with a degree of fortitude and calmness that astonished the mistress of the house, whom compassion had induced to attend on her, she gave birth to a lovely boy.--from that moment, though she rarely smiled, and never saw any one but her kind landlady, her mind was no longer oppressed by the deep gloom under which she had before laboured; and when she had heard from clifford, or of her father's being happy, and clasped her babe to her bosom, agnes might almost be pronounced cheerful. after she had been six months a mother, clifford returned; and, in the transport of seeing him safe, agnes forgot for a moment that she had been anxious and unhappy. now again was the subject of the marriage resumed; but just as the wedding day was fixed, clifford was summoned away to attend his expiring father, and agnes was once more doomed to the tortures of suspense. after a month's absence clifford came back, but appeared to labour under a dejection of spirits which he seemed studious to conceal from her. alarmed and terrified at an appearance so unusual, she demanded an explanation, which the consummate deceiver gave at length, after many entreaties on her part, and feigned reluctance on his. he told her that his father's illness was occasioned by his having been informed that he was privately married to her; that he had sent for him to inquire into the truth of the report; and, being convinced by his solemn assurance that no marriage had taken place, he had commanded him, unless he wished to kill him, to take a solemn oath never to marry agnes fitzhenry without his consent. "and did you take the oath?" cried agnes, her whole frame trembling with agitation.--"what could i do?" replied he; "my father's life in evident danger if i refused; besides the dreadful certainty that he would put his threats in execution of cursing me with his dying breath;--and, cruel as he is, agnes, i could not help feeling that he was my father."----"barbarian!" exclaimed she, "i sacrificed my father to you!--an oath! o god! have you then taken an oath never to be mine?" and, saying this, she fell into a long and deep swoon. when she recovered, but before she was able to speak, she found clifford kneeling by her; and, while she was too weak to interrupt him, he convinced her that he did not at all despair of his father's consent to his making her his wife, else, he should have been less willing to give so ready a consent to take the oath imposed on him, even although his father's life depended on it. "oh! no," replied agnes, with a bitter smile; "you wrong yourself; you are too good a son to have been capable of hesitating a moment;--there are few children so bad, so very bad as i am!"--and, bursting into an agony of grief, it was long before the affectionate language and tender caresses of clifford could restore her to tranquillity. another six months elapsed, during which time clifford kept her hopes alive, by telling her that he every day saw fresh signs of his father's relenting in her favour.--at these times she would say, "lead me to him; let him hear the tale of my wretchedness; let me say to him, for your son's sake i have left the best of fathers, the happiest of homes, and have become an outcast from society!--then would i bid him look at this pale cheek, this emaciated form, proofs of the anguish that is undermining my constitution; and tell him to beware how, by forcing you to withhold from me my right, he made you guilty of murdering the poor deluded wretch, who, till she knew you, never lay down without a father's blessing, nor rose but to be welcomed by his smile!" clifford had feeling, but it was of that transient sort which never outlived the disappearance of the object that occasioned it. to these pathetic entreaties he always returned affectionate answers, and was often forced to leave the room in order to avoid being too much softened by them; but, by the time he had reached the end of the street, always alive to the impressions of the present moment, the sight of some new beauty, or some old companion, dried up the starting tear, and restored to him the power of coolly considering how he should continue to deceive his miserable victim. but the time at length arrived when the mask that hid his villany from her eyes fell off, never to be replaced. as agnes fully expected to be the wife of clifford, she was particularly careful to lead a retired life, and not to seem unmindful of her shame by exhibiting herself at places of public amusement. in vain did clifford paint the charms of the play, the opera, and other places of fashionable resort. "retirement, with books, music, work, and your society," she used to reply, "are better suited to my taste and situation; and never, but as your wife, will i presume to meet the public eye." clifford, though he wished to exhibit his lovely conquest to the world, was obliged to submit to her will in this instance. sometimes, indeed, agnes was prevailed on to admit to her table those young men of clifford's acquaintance who were the most distinguished for their talents and decorum of manners; but this was the only departure that he had ever yet prevailed on her to make, from the plan of retirement which she had adopted. one evening, however, clifford was so unusually urgent with her to accompany him to drury-lane to see a favourite tragedy, (alleging, as an additional motive for her obliging him, that he was going to leave her on the following monday, in order to attend his father into the country, where he should be forced to remain some time,) that agnes, unwilling to refuse what he called his parting request, at length complied; clifford having prevailed on mrs. askew, her kind landlady, to accompany them, and having assured agnes, that, as they should sit in the upper boxes, she might, if she chose it, wear her veil down.--agnes, in spite of herself, was delighted with the representation,--but, as "--hearts refin'd the sadden'd tint retain, the sigh is pleasure, and the jest is pain," she was desirous of leaving the house before the farce began; yet, as clifford saw a gentleman in the lower boxes with whom he had business, she consented to stay till he had spoken to him. soon after she saw clifford enter the lower box opposite to her; and those who know what it is to love, will not be surprised to hear that agnes had more pleasure in looking at her lover, and drawing favourable comparisons between him and the gentlemen who surrounded him, than in attending to the farce. she had been some moments absorbed in this pleasing employment, when two gentlemen entered the box where she was, and seated themselves behind her. "who is that elegant, fashionable-looking man, my lord, in the lower box just opposite to us?" said one of the gentlemen to the other.--"i mean, he who is speaking to captain mowbray."--"it is george clifford, of the guards," replied his lordship, "and one of the cleverest fellows in england, colonel." agnes, who had not missed one word of this conversation, now became still more attentive. "oh! i have heard a great deal of him," returned the colonel, "and as much against him as for him."--"most likely," said his lordship; "i dare say that fellow has ruined more young men, and seduced more young women, than any man of his age (which is only four-and-thirty) in the kingdom." agnes sighed deeply, and felt herself attacked by a sort of faint sickness. "but it is to be hoped that he will reform now," observed the colonel: "i hear he is going to be married to miss sandford, the great city heiress."--"so he is,--and monday is the day fixed for the wedding." agnes started:--clifford himself had told her he must leave her on monday for some weeks;--and in breathless expectation she listened to what followed. --"but what then?" continued his lordship: "he marries for money merely. the truth is, his father is lately come to a long disputed barony, and with scarcely an acre of land to support the dignity of it: so his son has consented to marry an heiress, in order to make the family rich, as well as noble. you must know, i have my information from the fountain-head;--clifford's mother is my relation, and the good woman thought proper to acquaint me in form with the _advantageous_ alliance which her hopeful son was about to make." this _confirmation_ of the truth of a story, which she till now hoped might be mere report, was more than agnes could well bear; but, made courageous by desperation, she resolved to listen while they continued to talk on this subject. mrs. askew, in the mean while, was leaning over the box, too much engrossed by the farce to attend to what was passing behind her. just as his lordship concluded the last sentence, agnes saw clifford go out with his friend; and she who had but the minute before gazed on him with looks of admiring fondness, now wished, in the bitterness of her soul, that she might never behold him again! "i never wish," said the colonel, "a match of interest to be a happy one."--"nor will this be so, depend on it," answered his lordship; "for, besides that miss sandford is ugly and disagreeable, she has a formidable rival."--"indeed!" cried the other;--"a favourite mistress, i suppose?" here the breath of agnes grew shorter and shorter; she suspected that they were going to talk of her; and, under other circumstances, her nice sense of honour would have prevented her attending to a conversation which she was certain was not meant for her ear: but so great was the importance of the present discourse to her future peace and well-being, that it annihilated all sense of impropriety in listening to it. "yes, he has a favourite mistress," answered his lordship,--"a girl who was worthy of a better fate."--"you know her then?" asked the colonel.--"no," replied he,--"by name only; but when i was in the neighbourhood of the town where she lived, i heard continually of her beauty and accomplishments: her name is agnes fitz--fitz--"--"fitzhenry, i suppose," said the other.--"yes, that is the name," said his lordship: "how came you to guess it?"--"because agnes fitzhenry is a name which i have often heard toasted: she sings well, does she not?"--"she does every thing well," rejoined the other; "and was once the pride of her father, and of the town in which she lived." agnes could scarcely forbear groaning aloud at this faithful picture of what she once was. "poor thing!" resumed his lordship;--"that ever she should be the victim of a villain! it seems he seduced her from her father's house, under pretence of carrying her to gretna-green; but, on some infernal plea or other, he took her to london." here the agitation of agnes became so visible as to attract mrs. askew's notice; but as she assured her that she should be well presently, mrs. askew again gave herself up to the illusion of the scene. little did his lordship think how severely he was wounding the peace of one for whom he felt such compassion. "you seem much interested about this unhappy girl," said the colonel.--"i am so," replied the other, "and full of the subject too; for clifford's factotum, wilson, has been with me this morning, and i learned from him some of his master's tricks, which made me still more anxious about his victim.--it seems she is very fond of her father, though she was prevailed on to desert him, and has never known a happy moment since her elopement; nor could she be easy without making frequent but secret inquiries concerning his health."--"strange inconsistency!" muttered the colonel.--"this anxiety gave clifford room to fear that she might at some future moment, if discontented with him, return to her afflicted parent before he was tired of her:--so what do you think he did?" at this moment agnes, far more eager to hear what followed than the colonel, turned round, and, fixing her eyes on her unknown friend with wild anxiety, could scarcely help saying, what did clifford do, my lord? --"he got his factotum, the man i mentioned, to personate a messenger, and to pretend that he had been to her native town, and then he gave her such accounts as were best calculated to calm her anxiety: but the master-stroke which secured her remaining with him was, his telling the pretended messenger to inform her that her father was _married again_,--though it is more likely, poor unhappy man, that he is dead, than that he is married." at the mention of this horrible probability, agnes lost all self-command, and, screaming aloud, fell back on the knees of the astonished narrator, reiterating her cries with all the alarming helplessness of phrensy. "turn her out! turn her out!" echoed through the theatre,--for the audience supposed that the noise proceeded from some intoxicated and abandoned woman; and a man in the next box struck agnes a blow on the shoulder, and, calling her by a name too gross to repeat, desired her to leave the house, and act her drunken freaks elsewhere. agnes, whom the gentlemen behind were supporting with great kindness and compassion, heard nothing of this speech save the injurious epithet applied to herself; and alive only to what she thought the justice of it, "did you hear that?" she exclaimed, starting up with the look and tone of phrensy--"did you hear that?--o god! my brain is on fire!"--then, springing over the seat, she rushed out of the box, followed by the trembling and astonished mrs. askew, who in vain tried to keep pace with the desperate speed of agnes. before agnes, with all her haste, could reach the bottom of the stairs, the farce ended and the lobbies began to fill. agnes pressed forward, when amongst the crowd she saw a tradesman who lived near her father's house.--no longer sensible of shame, for anguish had annihilated it, she rushed towards him, and, seizing his arm, exclaimed, "for the love of god, tell me how my father is!" the tradesman, terrified and astonished at the pallid wildness of her look, so unlike the countenance of successful and contented vice that he would have expected to see her wear, replied--"he is well, poor soul! but----"--"but unhappy, i suppose?" interrupted agnes:--"thank god he is well:--but is he married?"--"married! dear me, no! he is--"--"do you think he would forgive me?" eagerly rejoined agnes.--"forgive you!" answered the man--"how you talk! belike he might forgive you, if--"--"i know what you would say," interrupted agnes again, "if i would return--enough,--enough:--god bless you! you have saved me from distraction." so saying, she ran out of the house; mrs. askew having overtaken her, followed by the nobleman and the colonel, who with the greatest consternation had found, from an exclamation of mrs. askew's, that the object of their compassion was miss fitzhenry herself. but before agnes had proceeded many steps down the street clifford met her, on his return from a neighbouring coffee-house with his companion; and, spite of her struggles and reproaches, which astonished and alarmed him, he, with mrs. askew's assistance, forced her into a hackney-coach, and ordered the man to drive home.--no explanation took place during the ride. to all the caresses and questions of clifford she returned nothing but passionate exclamations against his perfidy and cruelty. mrs. askew thought her insane; clifford wished to think her so; but his conscience told him that, if by accident his conduct had been discovered to her, there was reason enough for the frantic sorrow which he witnessed. at length they reached their lodgings, which were in suffolk-street, charing-cross; and agnes, having at length obtained some composure, in as few words as possible related the conversation which she had overheard. clifford, as might be expected, denied the truth of what his lordship had advanced; but it was no longer in his power to deceive the awakened penetration of agnes.--under his assumed unconcern, she clearly saw the confusion of detected guilt: and giving utterance in very strong language to the contempt and indignation which she felt, while contemplating such complete depravity, she provoked clifford, who was more than half intoxicated, boldly to avow what he was at first eager to deny; and agnes, who before shuddered at his hypocrisy, was now shocked at his unprincipled daring. "but what right have you to complain?" added he: "the cheat that i put upon you relative to your father was certainly meant in kindness; and though miss sandford will have my hand, you alone will ever possess my heart; therefore it was my design to keep you in ignorance of my marriage, and retain you as the greatest of all my worldly treasures.--plague on this prating lord! he has destroyed the prettiest arrangement ever made. however, i hope we shall part good friends." "great god!" cried agnes, raising her tearless eyes to heaven,--"and have i then forsaken the best of parents for a wretch like this!--but think not, sir," she added, turning with a commanding air towards clifford, whose temper, naturally warm, the term 'wretch' had not soothed, "think not, fallen as i am, that i will ever condescend to receive protection and support, either for myself or child, from a man whom i know to be a consummate villain. you have made me criminal, but you have not obliterated my horror for crime and my veneration for virtue,--and, in the fulness of my contempt, i inform you, sir, that we shall meet no more." "not till to-morrow," said clifford:--"this is our first quarrel, agnes; and the quarrels of lovers are only the renewal of love, you know: therefore leaving the 'bitter, piercing air' to guard my treasure for me till to-morrow, i take my leave, and hope in the morning to find you in a better humour." so saying he departed, secure, from the inclemency of the weather and darkness of the night, that agnes would not venture to go away before the morning, and resolved to return very early in order to prevent her departure, if her threatened resolution were any thing more than the frantic expressions of a disappointed woman. besides, he knew that at that time she was scantily supplied with money, and that mrs. askew dared not furnish her with any for the purpose of leaving him. but he left not agnes, as he supposed, to vent her sense of injury in idle grief and inactive lamentation; but to think, to decide, and to act.--what was the rigour of the night to a woman whose heart was torn by all the pangs which convictions, such as those which she had lately received, could give? she hastily therefore wrapped up her sleeping boy in a pélisse, of which in a calmer moment she would have felt the want herself, and took him in her arms: then, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she softly unbarred the hall door, and before the noise could have summoned any of the family she was already out of sight. so severe was the weather, that even those accustomed to brave in ragged garments the pelting of the pitiless storm shuddered, as the freezing wind whistled around them, and crept with trembling knees to the wretched hovel that awaited them. but the winter's wind blew unfelt by agnes: she was alive to nothing but the joy of having escaped from a villain, and the faint hope that she was hastening to obtain, perhaps, a father's forgiveness. "thank heaven!" she exclaimed, as she found herself at the rails along the green park,--"the air which i breathe here is uncontaminated by his breath!" when, as the watchman called half-past eleven o'clock, the recollection that she had no place of shelter for the night occurred to her, and at the same instant she remembered that a coach set off at twelve from piccadilly, which went within twelve miles of her native place. she therefore immediately resolved to hasten thither, and, either in the inside or on the outside, to proceed on her journey as far as her finances would admit of, intending to walk the rest of the way. she arrived at the inn just as the coach was setting off, and found, to her great satisfaction, one inside place vacant. nothing worth mentioning occurred on the journey. agnes, with her veil drawn over her face, and holding her slumbering boy in her arms, while the incessant shaking of her knee and the piteous manner in which she sighed gave evident marks of the agitation of her mind, might excite in some degree the curiosity of her fellow-travellers, but gave no promise of that curiosity being satisfied, and she was suffered to remain unquestioned and undisturbed. at noon the next day the coach stopped, for the travellers to dine, and stay a few hours to recruit themselves after their labours past, and to fortify themselves against those yet to come. here agnes, who as she approached nearer home became afraid of meeting some acquaintance, resolved to change her dress, and to equip herself in such a manner as should, while it screened her from the inclemency of the weather, at the same time prevent her being recognised by any one. accordingly she exchanged her pélisse, shawl, and a few other things, for a man's great coat, a red cloth cloak with a hood to it, a pair of thick shoes, and some yards of flannel in which she wrapped up her little edward; and, having tied her straw bonnet under her chin with her veil, she would have looked like a country-woman drest for market, could she have divested herself of a certain delicacy of appearance and gracefulness of manner, the yet uninjured beauties of former days. when they set off again she became an outside passenger, as she could not afford to continue an inside one; and covering her child up in the red cloak which she wore over her coat, she took her station on the top of the coach with seeming firmness, but a breaking heart. agnes expected to arrive within twelve miles of her native place long before it was dark, and reach the place of her destination before bed-time, unknown and unseen: but she was mistaken in her expectations: for the roads had been rendered so rugged by the frost, that it was late in the evening when the coach reached the spot whence she was to commence her walk; and by the time she had eaten her slight repast, and furnished herself with some necessaries to enable her to resist the severity of the weather, she found that it was impossible for her to reach her long-forsaken home before day-break. still she was resolved to go on:--to pass another day in suspense concerning her father, and her future hopes of his pardon, was more formidable to her than the terrors of undertaking a lonely and painful walk. perhaps too, agnes was not sorry to have a tale of hardship to narrate on her arrival at the house of her nurse, whom she meant to employ as mediator between her and her offended parent. his child, his penitent child, whom he had brought up with the utmost tenderness, and screened with unremitting care from the ills of life, returning, to implore his pity and forgiveness, on foot, and unprotected, through all the dangers of lonely paths, and through the horrors of a winter's night, must, she flattered herself, be a picture too affecting for fitzhenry to think upon without some commiseration; and she hoped he would in time bestow on her his _forgiveness_;--to be admitted to his presence, was a favour which she dared not presume either to ask or expect. but, in spite of the soothing expectation which she tried to encourage, a dread of she knew not what took possession of her mind.--every moment she looked fearfully around her, and, as she beheld the wintry waste spreading on every side, she felt awe-struck at the desolateness of her situation. the sound of a human voice would, she thought, have been rapture to her ear; but the next minute she believed that it would have made her sink in terror to the ground.--"alas!" she mournfully exclaimed, "i was not always timid and irritable as i now feel;--but then i was not always guilty:--o my child! would i were once more innocent like thee!" so saying, in a paroxysm of grief she bounded forward on her way, as if hoping to escape by speed from the misery of recollection. agnes was now arrived at the beginning of a forest, about two miles in length, and within three of her native place. even in her happiest days she never entered its solemn shade without feeling a sensation of fearful awe; but now that she entered it, leafless as it was, a wandering wretched outcast, a mother without the sacred name of wife, and bearing in her arms the pledge of her infamy, her knees smote each other, and, shuddering as if danger were before her, she audibly implored the protection of heaven. at this instant she heard a noise, and, casting a startled glance into the obscurity before her, she thought she saw something like a human form running across the road. for a few moments she was motionless with terror; but, judging from the swiftness with which the object disappeared that she had inspired as much terror as she felt, she ventured to pursue her course. she had not gone far when she again beheld the cause of her fear; but hearing, as it moved, a noise like the clanking of a chain, she concluded that it was some poor animal which had been turned out to graze. still, as she gained on the object before her, she was convinced it was a man that she beheld; and, as she heard the noise no longer, she concluded that it had been the result of fancy only: but that, with every other idea, was wholly absorbed in terror when she saw the figure standing still, as if waiting for her approach.--"yet why should i fear?" she inwardly observed: "it may be a poor wanderer like myself, who is desirous of a companion;--if so, i shall rejoice in such a rencontre." as this reflection passed her mind, she hastened towards the stranger, when she saw him look hastily around him, start, as if he beheld at a distance some object that alarmed him, and then, without taking any notice of her, run on as fast as before. but what can express the horror of agnes when she again heard the clanking of a chain, and discovered that it hung to the ankle of the stranger!--"surely he must be a felon," murmured agnes:--"o my poor boy! perhaps we shall both be murdered!--this suspense is not to be borne: i will follow him, and meet my fate at once."--then, summoning all her remaining strength, she followed the alarming fugitive. after she had walked nearly a mile further, and, as she did not overtake him, had flattered herself that he had gone in a contrary direction, she saw him seated on the ground, and, as before, turning his head back with a sort of convulsive quickness; but as it was turned from her, she was convinced that she was not the object which he was seeking. of her he took no notice; and her resolution of accosting him failing when she approached, she walked hastily past, in hopes that she might escape him entirely. as she passed, she heard him talking and laughing to himself, and thence concluded that he was not a felon, but a _lunatic_ escaped from confinement. horrible as this idea was, her fear was so far overcome by pity, that she had a wish to return, and offer him some of the refreshment which she had procured for herself and child, when she heard him following her very fast, and was convinced by the sound, the dreadful sound of his chain, that he was coming up to her. the clanking of a fetter, when one knows that it is fastened round the limbs of a fellow-creature, always calls forth in the soul, of sensibility a sensation of horror: what then, at this moment, must have been its effect on agnes, who was trembling for her life, for that of her child, and looking in vain for a protector around the still, solemn waste! breathless with apprehension, she stopped as the maniac gained upon her, and, motionless and speechless, awaited the consequence of his approach. "woman!" said he in a hoarse, hollow tone,--"woman! do you see them? do you see them?"--"sir! pray what did you say, sir?" cried agnes in a tone of respect, and curtsying as she spoke,--for what is so respectful as fear?--"i can't see them," resumed he, not attending to her, "i have escaped them! rascals! cowards! i have escaped them!" and then he jumped and clapped his hands for joy. agnes, relieved in some measure from her fears, and eager to gain the poor wretch's favour, told him that she rejoiced at his escape from the rascals, and hoped that they would not overtake him: but while she spoke he seemed wholly inattentive, and, jumping as he walked, made his fetter clank in horrid exultation. the noise at length awoke the child, who, seeing a strange and indistinct object before him, and hearing a sound so unusual, screamed violently, and hid his face in his mother's bosom. "take it away! take it away!" exclaimed the maniac,--"i do not like children."--agnes, terrified at the thought of what might happen, tried to sooth the trembling boy to rest, but in vain; the child still screamed, and the angry agitation of the maniac increased.--"strangle it! strangle it!" he cried--"do it this moment, or----" agnes, almost frantic with terror, conjured the unconscious boy, if he valued his life, to cease his cries; and then the next moment she conjured the wretched man to spare her child: but, alas! she spoke to those incapable of understanding her,--a child and a madman!--the terrified boy still shrieked, the lunatic still threatened; and, clenching his fist, seized the left arm of agnes, who with the other attempted to defend her infant from his fury; when, at the very moment that his fate seemed inevitable, a sudden gale of wind shook the leafless branches of the surrounding trees; and the madman, fancying that the noise proceeded from his pursuers, ran off with his former rapidity. immediately the child, relieved from the sight and the sound which alarmed it, and exhausted by the violence of its cries, sunk into a sound sleep on the throbbing bosom of its mother. but, alas! agnes knew that this was but a temporary escape:--the maniac might return, and again the child might wake in terrors:--and scarcely had the thought passed her mind when she saw him coming back; but, as he walked slowly, the noise was not so great as before. "i hate to hear children cry," said he as he approached.--"mine is quiet now," replied agnes: then, recollecting that she had some food in her pocket, she offered some to the stranger, in order to divert his attention from the child. he snatched it from her hand instantly, and devoured it with terrible voraciousness; but again he exclaimed, "i do not like children;--if you trust them they will betray you:" and agnes offered him food again, as if to bribe him to spare her helpless boy.--"i had a child once,--but she is dead, poor soul!" continued he, taking agnes by the arm, and leading her gently forward.--"and you loved her very tenderly, i suppose?" said agnes, thinking that the loss of his child had occasioned his malady; but, instead of answering her, he went on:--"they said that she ran away from me with a lover,--but i knew they lied; she was good, and would not have deserted the father who doted on her.--besides, i saw her funeral myself.--liars, rascals, as they are!--do not tell any one: i got away from them last night, and am now going to visit her grave." a death-like sickness, an apprehension so horrible as to deprive her almost of sense, took possession of the soul of agnes. she eagerly tried to obtain a sight of the stranger's face, the features of which the darkness had hitherto prevented her from distinguishing: she however tried in vain, as his hat was pulled over his forehead, and his chin rested on his bosom. but they had now nearly gained the end of the forest, and day was just breaking; and agnes, as soon as they entered the open plain, seized the arm of the madman to force him to look towards her,--for speak to him she could not. he felt, and perhaps resented the importunate pressure of her hand--for he turned hastily round--when, dreadful confirmation of her fears, agnes beheld her father!!! it was indeed fitzhenry, driven to madness by his daughter's desertion and disgrace!! after the elopement of agnes, fitzhenry entirely neglected his business, and thought and talked of nothing but the misery which he experienced. in vain did his friends represent to him the necessity of his making amends, by increased diligence, for some alarming losses in trade which he had lately sustained. she, for whom alone he toiled, had deserted him--and ruin had no terrors for him.--"i was too proud of her," he used mournfully to repeat,--"and heaven has humbled me even in her by whom i offended." month after month elapsed, and no intelligence of agnes.--fitzhenry's dejection increased, and his affairs became more and more involved: at length, absolute and irretrievable bankruptcy was become his portion, when he learned, from authority not to be doubted, that agnes was living with clifford as his acknowledged mistress.--this was the death-stroke to his reason: and the only way in which his friends (relations he had none, or only distant ones) could be of any further service to him was, by procuring him admission into a private madhouse in the neighbourhood. of his recovery little hope was entertained.--the constant theme of his ravings was his daughter;--sometimes he bewailed her as dead; at other times he complained of her as ungrateful:--but so complete was the overthrow which his reason had received, that he knew no one, and took no notice of those whom friendship or curiosity led to his cell: yet he was always meditating his escape; and, though ironed in consequence of it, the night he met agnes, he had, after incredible difficulty and danger, effected his purpose. but to return to agnes, who, when she beheld in her insane companion her injured father, the victim probably of her guilt, let fall her sleeping child, and, sinking on the ground, extended her arms towards fitzhenry, articulating in a faint voice, "o god! my father!" then prostrating herself at his feet, she clasped his knees in an agony too great for utterance. at the name of 'father,' the poor maniac started, and gazed on her earnestly, with savage wildness, while his whole frame became convulsed; then, rudely disengaging himself from her embrace, he ran from her a few paces, and dashed himself on the ground in all the violence of phrensy. he raved; he tore his hair; he screamed, and uttered the most dreadful execrations; and, with his teeth shut and his hands clenched, he repeated the word 'father,' and said the name was mockery to him. agnes, in mute and tearless despair, beheld the dreadful scene: in vain did her affrighted child cling to her gown, and in its half-formed accents entreat to be taken to her arms again: she saw, she heeded nothing but her father; she was alive to nothing but her own guilt and its consequences; and she awaited with horrid composure the cessation of fitzhenry's phrensy, or the direction of its fury towards her child. at last, she saw him fall down exhausted and motionless, and tried to hasten to him; but she was unable to move, and reason and life seemed at once forsaking her, when fitzhenry suddenly started up, and approached her.--uncertain as to his purpose, agnes caught her child to her bosom, and, falling again on her knees, turned on him her almost closing eyes; but his countenance was mild,--and gently patting her forehead, on which hung the damps of approaching insensibility, "poor thing!" he cried, in a tone of the utmost tenderness and compassion, "poor thing!" and then gazed on her with such inquiring and mournful looks, that tears once more found their way and relieved her bursting brain, while seizing her father's hand she pressed it with frantic emotion to her lips. fitzhenry looked at her with great kindness, and suffered her to hold his hand;--then exclaimed, "poor thing!--don't cry,--don't cry;--i can't cry,--i have not cried for many years,--not since my child died.--for she is dead, is she not?" looking earnestly at agnes, who could only answer by her tears.--"come," said he, "come," taking hold of her arm, then laughing wildly, "poor thing! you will not leave me, will you?"--"leave you!" she replied: "never:--i will live with you--die with you."--"true, true," cried he, "she is dead, and we will go visit her grave."--so saying, he dragged agnes forward with great velocity; but as it was along the path leading to the town, she made no resistance. indeed it was such a pleasure to her to see that though he knew her not, the sight of her was welcome to her unhappy parent, that she sought to avoid thinking of the future, and to be alive only to the present: she tried also to forget that it was to his not knowing her that she owed the looks of tenderness and pity which he bestowed on her, and that the hand which now kindly held hers, would, if recollection returned, throw her from him with just indignation. but she was soon awakened to redoubled anguish, by hearing fitzhenry, as he looked behind him, exclaim, "they are coming! they are coming!" and as he said this, he ran with frantic haste across the common. agnes, immediately looking behind her, saw three men pursuing her father at full speed, and concluded that they were the keepers of the bedlam whence he had escaped. soon after, she saw the poor lunatic coming towards her, and had scarcely time to lay her child gently on the ground, before fitzhenry threw himself in her arms, and implored her to save him from his pursuers. in an agony that mocks description, agnes clasped him to her heart, and awaited in trembling agitation the approach of the keepers.--"hear me! hear me!" she cried; "i conjure you to leave him to my care: he is my father, and you may safely trust him with me."--"your father!" replied one of the men; "and what then, child? you could do nothing for him, and you should be thankful to us, young woman, for taking him off your hands.--so come along, master, come along," he continued, seizing fitzhenry, who could with difficulty be separated from agnes,--while another of the keepers, laughing as he beheld her wild anguish, said, "we shall have the daughter as well as the father soon, i see, for i do not believe there is a pin to choose between them." but severe as the sufferings of agnes were already, a still greater pang awaited her. the keepers finding it a very difficult task to confine fitzhenry, threw him down, and tried by blows to terrify him into acquiescence. at this outrage agnes became frantic indeed, and followed them with shrieks, entreaties, and reproaches; while the struggling victim called on her to protect him, as they bore him by violence along, till, exhausted with anguish and fatigue, she fell insensible on the ground, and lost in a deep swoon the consciousness of her misery. when she recovered her senses all was still around her, and she missed her child. then hastily rising, and looking round with renewed phrensy, she saw it lying at some distance from her, and on taking it up she found that it was in a deep sleep. the horrid apprehension immediately rushed on her mind, that such a sleep in the midst of cold so severe was the sure forerunner of death. "monster!" she exclaimed, "destroyer of thy child, as well as father!--but perhaps it is not yet too late, and my curse is not completed."--so saying, she ran, or rather flew, along the road; and seeing a house at a distance she made towards it, and, bursting open the door, beheld a cottager and his family at breakfast:--then, sinking on her knees, and holding out to the woman of the house her sleeping boy, "for the love of god," she cried, "look here! look here! save him! o save him!" a mother appealing to the heart of a mother is rarely unsuccessful in her appeal.--the cottager's wife was as eager to begin the recovery of the child of agnes as agnes herself, and in a moment the whole family was employed in its service; nor was it long before they were rewarded for their humanity by its complete restoration. the joy of agnes was frantic as her grief had been.--she embraced them all by turns, in a loud voice invoked blessings on their heads, and promised, if she was ever rich, to make their fortune:--lastly, she caught the still languid boy to her heart, and almost drowned it in her tears. in the cottager and his family a scene like this excited wonder as well as emotion. he and his wife were good parents; they loved their children,--would have been anxious during their illness, and would have sorrowed for their loss: but to these violent expressions and actions, the result of cultivated sensibility, they were wholly unaccustomed, and could scarcely help imputing them to insanity,--an idea which the pale cheek and wild look of agnes strongly confirmed; nor did it lose strength when agnes, who in terror at her child's danger and joy for his safety had forgotten even her father and his situation, suddenly recollecting herself, exclaimed, "have i dared to rejoice?--wretch that i am! oh! no;--there is no joy for me!" the cottager and his wife, on hearing these words, looked significantly at each other. agnes soon after started up, and, clasping her hands, cried out, "o my father! my dear, dear father! thou art past cure; and despair must be my portion." "oh! you are unhappy because your father is ill," observed the cottager's wife; "but do not be so sorrowful on that account, he may get better perhaps." "never, never," replied agnes;--"yet who knows?" "aye; who knows indeed?" resumed the good woman. "but if not, you nurse him yourself, i suppose; and it will be a comfort to you to know he has every thing done for him that can be done." agnes sighed deeply. "i lost my own father," continued she, "last winter, and a hard trial it was, to be sure; but then it consoled me to think i made his end comfortable. besides, my conscience told me that, except here and there, i had always done my duty by him, to the best of my knowledge." agnes started from her seat, and walked rapidly round the room. "he smiled on me," resumed her kind hostess, wiping her eyes, "to the last moment; and just before the breath left him, he said, 'good child! good child!' o! it must be a terrible thing to lose one's parents when one has not done one's duty to them!" at these words agnes, contrasting her conduct and feelings with those of this artless and innocent woman, was overcome with despair, and seizing a knife that lay by her endeavoured to put an end to her existence; but the cottager caught her hand in time to prevent the blow, and his wife easily disarmed her, as her violence instantly changed into a sort of stupor: then throwing herself back on the bed on which she was sitting, she lay with her eyes fixt, and incapable of moving. the cottager and his wife now broke forth into expressions of wonder and horror at the crime which she was going to commit, and the latter taking little edward from the lap of her daughter, held it towards agnes:--"see," cried she, as the child stretched forth its little arms to embrace her,--"unnatural mother! would you forsake your child?" these words, assisted by the caresses of the child himself, roused agnes from her stupor.--"forsake him! never, never!" she faltered out: then, snatching him to her bosom, she threw herself back on a pillow which the good woman had placed under her head; and soon, to the great joy of the compassionate family, both mother and child fell into a sound sleep. the cottager then repaired to his daily labour, and his wife and children began their household tasks; but ever and anon they cast a watchful glance on their unhappy guest, dreading lest she should make a second attempt on her life. the sleep of both agnes and her child was so long and heavy, that night was closing in when the little boy awoke, and by his cries for food broke the rest of his unhappy mother. but consciousness returned not with returning sense;--agnes looked around her, astonished at her situation. at length, by slow degrees, the dreadful scenes of the preceding night and her own rash attempt burst on her recollection; she shuddered at the retrospect, and, clasping her hands, together, remained for some moments in speechless prayer:--then she arose; and, smiling mournfully at sight of her little edward eating voraciously the milk and bread that was set before him, she seated herself at the table, and tried to partake of the coarse but wholesome food provided for her. as she approached, she saw the cottager's wife remove the knives. this circumstance forcibly recalled her rash action, and drove away her returning appetite.--"you may trust me now," she said; "i shrink with horror from my wicked attempt on my life, and swear, in the face of heaven, never to repeat it: no,--my only wish now is, to live and to suffer." soon after, the cottager's wife made an excuse for bringing back a knife to the table, to prove to agnes her confidence in her word; but this well-meant attention was lost on her,--she sat leaning on her elbow, and wholly absorbed in her own meditations. when it was completely night, agnes arose to depart.--"my kind friends," said she, "who have so hospitably received and entertained a wretched wanderer, believe me i shall never forget the obligations which i owe you, though i can never hope to repay them; but accept this (taking her last half-guinea from her pocket) as a pledge of my inclination to reward your kindness. if i am ever rich you shall--" here her voice failed her, and she burst into tears. this hesitation gave the virtuous people whom she addressed an opportunity of rejecting her offers.--"what we did, we did because we could not help it," said the cottager.--"you would not have had me see a fellow-creature going to kill soul and body too, and not prevent it, would you?"--"and as to saving the child," cried the wife, "am i not a mother myself, and can i help feeling for a mother? poor little thing! it looked so piteous too, and felt so cold!" agnes could not speak; but still, by signs she tendered the money to their acceptance.--"no, no," resumed the cottager, "keep it for those who may not be willing to do you a service for nothing:"--and agnes reluctantly replaced the half-guinea. but then a fresh source of altercation began; the cottager insisted on seeing agnes to the town, and she insisted on going by herself: at last she agreed that he should go with her as far as the street where her friends lived, wait for her at the end of it, and if they were not living, or were removed, she was to return, and sleep at the cottage. then, with a beating heart and dejected countenance, agnes took her child in her arms, and, leaning on her companion, with slow and unsteady steps she began to walk to her native place, once the scene of her happiness and her glory, but now about to be the witness of her misery and her shame. as they drew near the town, agnes saw on one side of the road a new building, and instantly hurried from it as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her.--"did you hear them?" asked the cottager.--"hear whom?" said agnes.--"the poor creatures," returned her companion, "who are confined there. that is the new bedlam, and--hark! what a loud scream that was!" agnes, unable to support herself, staggered to a bench that projected from the court surrounding the building, while the cottager, unconscious why she stopped, observed it was strange that she should like to stay and hear the poor creatures--for his part, he thought it shocking to hear them shriek, and still more so to hear them laugh--"for it is so piteous," said he, "to hear those laugh who have so much reason to cry." agnes had not power to interrupt him, and he went on:--"this house was built by subscription; and it was begun by a kind gentleman of the name of fitzhenry, who afterwards, poor soul, being made low in the world by losses in trade, and by having his brain turned by a good-for-nothing daughter, was one of the first patients in it himself."--here agnes, to whom this recollection had but too forcibly occurred already, groaned aloud. "what, tired so soon?" said her companion: "i doubt you have not been used to stir about--you have been too tenderly brought up. ah! tender parents often spoil children, and they never thank them for it when they grow up neither, and often come to no good besides." agnes was going to make some observations wrung from her by the poignancy of self-upbraiding, when she heard a loud cry as of one in agony: fancying it her father's voice, she started up, and stopping her ears, ran towards the town so fast that it was with difficulty that the cottager could overtake her. when he did so, he was surprised at the agitation of her manner.--"what, i suppose you thought they were coming after you?" said he. "but there was no danger--i dare say it was only an unruly one whom they were beating."--agnes, on hearing this, absolutely screamed with agony: and seizing the cottager's arm, "let us hasten to the town," said she in a hollow and broken voice, "while i have strength enough left to carry me thither." at length they entered its walls, and the cottager said, "here we are at last.--a welcome home to you, young woman."--"welcome! and home to me!" cried agnes wildly--"i have no home now--i can expect no welcome! once indeed----" here, overcome with recollections almost too painful to be endured, she turned from him and sobbed aloud, while the kind-hearted man could scarcely forbear shedding tears at sight of such mysterious, yet evidently real, distress. in happier days, when agnes used to leave home on visits to her distant friends, anticipation of the welcome she should receive on her return was, perhaps, the greatest pleasure that she enjoyed during her absence. as the adventurer to india, while toiling for wealth, never loses sight of the hope that he shall spend his fortune in his native land,--so agnes, whatever company she saw, whatever amusements she partook of, looked eagerly forward to the hour when she should give her expecting father and her affectionate companions a recital of all that she had heard and seen. for, though she had been absent a few weeks only, "her presence made a little holiday," and she was received by fitzhenry with delight too deep to be expressed; while, even earlier than decorum warranted, her friends were thronging to her door to welcome home the heightener of their pleasures, and the gentle soother of their sorrows; (for agnes "loved and felt for all:" she had a smile ready to greet the child of prosperity, and a tear for the child of adversity)--as she was thus honoured, thus beloved, no wonder the thoughts of home, and of returning home, were wont to suffuse the eyes of agnes with tears of exquisite pleasure; and that, when her native town appeared in view, a group of expecting and joyful faces used to swim before her sight, while, hastening forward to have the first glance of her, fancy used to picture her father!----now, dread reverse! after a _long_ absence, an absence of years, she was returning to the same place, inhabited by the same friends: but the voices that used to be loud in pronouncing her welcome, would now be loud in proclaiming indignation at her sight; the eyes that used to beam with gladness at her presence, would now be turned from her with disgust; and the fond father, who used to be counting the moments till she arrived, was now----i shall not go on----suffice, that agnes felt, to "her heart's core," all the bitterness of the contrast. when they arrived near the place of her destination, agnes stopped, and told the cottager that they must part.--"so much the worse," said the good man: "i do now know how it is, but you are so sorrowful, yet so kind and gentle, somehow, that both my wife and i have taken a liking to you:--you must not be angry, but we cannot help thinking you are not one of us, but a lady, though you are so disguised and so humble;--but misfortune spares no one, you know." agnes, affected and gratified by these artless expressions of good will, replied, "i have, indeed, known better days...."--"and will again, i hope with all my heart and soul," interrupted the cottager with great warmth.--"i fear, not," replied agnes, "my dear worthy friend."--"nay, young lady," rejoined he, "my wife and i are proper to be your servants, not friends."--"you are my friends, perhaps my only friends," returned agnes mournfully: "perhaps there is not, at this moment, another hand in the universe that would not reject mine, or another tongue that would not upbraid me."--"they must be hard-hearted wretches, indeed, who could upbraid a poor woman for her misfortunes," cried the cottager: "however, you shall never want a friend while i live. you know i saved your life; and somehow, i feel therefore as if you belonged to me. i once saved one of my pigeons from a hawk, and i believe, were i starving, i could not now bear to kill the little creature; it would seem like eating my own flesh and blood--so i am sure i could never desert you."--"you have not yet heard my story," replied agnes: "but you shall know who i am soon; and then, if you still feel disposed to offer me your friendship, i shall be proud to accept it." the house to which agnes was hastening was that of her nurse, from whom she had always experienced the affection of a mother, and hoped now to receive a temporary asylum; but she might not be living--and, with a beating heart, agnes knocked at the door. it was opened by fanny, her nurse's daughter, the play-fellow of agnes's childhood.--"thank heaven!" said agnes, as she hastened back to the cottager, "i hope i have, at least, one friend left;" and telling him he might go home again, as she was almost certain of shelter for the night, the poor man shook her heartily by the hand, prayed god to bless her, and departed. agnes then returned to fanny, who was still standing by the door, wondering who had knocked at so late an hour, and displeased at being kept so long in the cold.--"will you admit me, fanny, and give me shelter for the night?" said agnes in a faint and broken voice.--"gracious heaven! who are you?" cried fanny, starting back. "do you not know me?" she replied, looking earnestly in her face.--fanny again started; then, bursting into tears, as she drew agnes forward, and closed the door--"o god! it is my dear young lady!"--"and are you sorry to see me?" replied agnes.--"sorry!" answered the other--"oh, no! but to see you thus!--o! my dear lady, what you must have suffered! thank heaven my poor mother is not alive to see this day!" "and is she dead?" cried agnes, turning very faint, and catching hold of a chair to keep her from falling. "then is the measure of my affliction full: i have lost my oldest and best friend!"--"i am not dead," said fanny respectfully.--"excellent, kind creature!" continued agnes, "i hoped so much alleviation of my misery from her affection."--"do you hope none from mine?" rejoined fanny in a tone of reproach:--"indeed, my dear young lady, i love you as well as my mother did, and will do as much for you as she would have done. do i not owe all i have to you? and now that you are in trouble, perhaps in want too--but no, that cannot and shall not be," wringing her hands and pacing the room with frantic violence: "i can't bear to think of such a thing. that ever i should live to see my dear young lady in want of the help which she was always so ready to give!" agnes tried to comfort her: but the sight of her distress notwithstanding was soothing to her, as it convinced her that she was still dear to one pure and affectionate heart. during this time little edward remained covered up so closely that fanny did not know what the bundle was that agnes held in her lap: but when she lifted up the cloak that concealed him, fanny was in an instant kneeling by his side, and gazing on him with admiration. "is it--is it--" said fanny with hesitation--"it is my child," replied agnes, sighing; and fanny lavished on the unconscious boy the caresses which respect forbade her to bestow on the mother. "fanny," said agnes, "you say nothing of your husband?"--"he is dead," replied fanny with emotion.--"have you any children?"--"none."--"then will you promise me, if i die, to be a mother to this child?"--fanny seized her hand, and, in a voice half choked by sobs, said, "i promise you."--"enough," cried agnes; then holding out her arms to her humble friend, fanny's respect yielded to affection, and, falling on agnes's neck, she sobbed aloud. "my dear fanny," said agnes, "i have a question to ask, and i charge you to answer it truly."--"do not ask me, do not ask me, for indeed i dare not answer you," replied fanny in great agitation. agnes guessed the cause, and hastened to tell her that the question was not concerning her father, as she was acquainted with his situation already, and proceeded to ask whether her elopement and ill conduct had at all hastened the death of her nurse, who was in ill health when she went away.--"oh no," replied fanny; "she never believed that you could be gone off willingly, but was sure you was spirited away; and she died expecting that you would some day return, and take the law of the villain: and no doubt she was right, (though nobody thinks so now but me,) for you were always too good to do wrong." agnes was too honourable to take to herself the merit which she did not deserve: she therefore owned that she was indeed guilty; "nor should i," she added, "have dared to intrude myself on you, or solicit you to let me remain under your roof, were i not severely punished for my crime, and resolved to pass the rest of my days in solitude and labour."--"you should not presume to intrude yourself on me!" replied fanny--"do not talk thus, if you do not mean to break my heart."--"nay, fanny," answered agnes, "it would be presumption in any woman who has quitted the path of virtue to intrude herself, however high her rank might be, on the meanest of her acquaintance whose honour is spotless. nor would i thus throw myself on your generosity were i not afraid that, if i were to be unsoothed by the presence of a sympathizing friend, i should sink beneath my sorrows, and want resolution to fulfill the hard task which my duty enjoins me." i shall not attempt to describe the anguish of fanny when she thought of her young lady, the pride of her heart, as she used to call her, being reduced so low in the world, nor the sudden bursts of joy to which she gave way the next moment when she reflected that agnes was returned, never perhaps to leave her again. agnes wore away great part of the night in telling fanny her mournful tale, and in hearing from her a full account of her father's sufferings, bankruptcy, and consequent madness. at day-break she retired to bed,--not to sleep, but to ruminate on the romantic yet in her eyes feasible plan which she had formed for the future;--while fanny, wearied out by the violent emotions which she had undergone, sobbed herself to sleep by her side. the next morning agnes did not rise till fanny had been up some time; and when she seated herself at the breakfast-table, she was surprised to see it spread in a manner which ill accorded with her or fanny's situation. on asking the reason, fanny owned she could not bear that her dear young lady should fare as she did only, and had therefore provided a suitable breakfast for her.--"but you forget," said agnes, "that if i remain with you, neither you nor i can afford such breakfasts as these."--"true," replied fanny mournfully; "then you must consider this as only a welcome, madam."--"aye," replied agnes, "the prodigal is returned, and you have killed the fatted calf." fanny burst into tears; while agnes, shocked at having excited them by the turn which she unguardedly gave to her poor friend's attention, tried to sooth her into composure, and affected a gaiety which she was far from feeling. "now then to my first task," said agnes, rising as soon as she had finished her breakfast: "i am going to call on mr. seymour; you say he lives where he formerly did."--"to call on mr. seymour!" exclaimed fanny; "o my dear madam, do not go near him, i beseech you! he is a very severe man, and will affront you, depend upon it."--"no matter," rejoined agnes; "i have deserved humiliation, and will not shrink from it: but his daughter caroline, you know, was once my dearest friend, and she will not suffer him to trample on the fallen: besides, it is necessary that i should apply to him in order to succeed in my scheme."--"what scheme?" replied fanny.--"you would not approve it, fanny, therefore i shall not explain it to you at present; but, when i return, perhaps i shall tell you all."--"but you are not going so soon? not in day-light, surely?--if you should be insulted!" agnes started with horror at this proof which fanny had unguardedly given, how hateful her guilt had made her in a place that used to echo with her praises;--but, recovering herself, she said that she should welcome insults as part of the expiation which she meant to perform. "but if you will not avoid them for your own sake, pray, pray do for mine," exclaimed fanny. "if you were to be ill used, i am sure i should never survive it: so, if you must go to mr. seymour's, at least oblige me in not going before dark:"--and, affected by this fresh mark of her attachment, agnes consented to stay. at six o'clock in the evening, while the family was sitting round the fire, and caroline seymour was expecting the arrival of her lover, to whom she was to be united in a few days, agnes knocked at mr. seymour's door, having positively forbidden fanny to accompany her. caroline, being on the watch for her intended bridegroom, started at the sound; and though the knock which agnes gave did not much resemble that of an impatient lover, "still it might be he--he might mean to surprise her;" and, half opening the parlour door, she listened with a beating heart for the servant's answering the knock. by this means she distinctly heard agnes ask whether mr. seymour was at home. the servant started, and stammered out that he believed his master was within,--while caroline springing forward exclaimed, "i know that voice:--o yes! it must be she!"--but her father, seizing her arm, pushed her back into the parlour, saying, "i also know that voice, and i command you to stay where you are."--then going up to agnes, he desired her to leave his house directly, as it should be no harbour for abandoned women and unnatural children. "but will you not allow it to shelter for one moment the wretched and the penitent?" she replied.--"father, my dear, dear father!" cried caroline, again coming forward, but was again driven back by mr. seymour, who, turning to agnes, bade her claim shelter from the man for whom she had left the best of parents; and desiring the servant to shut the door in her face, he re-entered the parlour, whence agnes distinctly heard the sobs of the compassionate caroline. but the servant was kinder than the master, and could not obey the orders which he had received.--"o madam! miss fitzhenry, do you not know me?" said he. "i once lived with you; have you forgotten little william? i shall never forget you; you were the sweetest-tempered young lady----that ever i should see you thus!" before agnes could reply, mr. seymour again angrily asked why his orders were not obeyed; and agnes, checking her emotion, besought william to deliver a message to his master. "tell him," said she, "all i ask of him is, that he will use his interest to get me the place of servant in the house, the bedlam i would say, where----he will know what i mean," she added, unable to utter the conclusion of the sentence:--and william, in a broken voice, delivered the message. "o my poor agnes!" cried caroline passionately:--"a servant! she a servant and in such a place too!"--william adding in a low voice, "ah! miss! and she looks so poor and wretched!" meanwhile mr. seymour was walking up and down the room hesitating how to act; but reflecting that it was easier to forbid any communication with agnes than to check it if once begun, he again desired william to shut the door against her. "you must do it yourself, then," replied william, "for i am not hard-hearted enough;"--and mr. seymour, summoning up resolution, told agnes that there were other governors to whom she might apply, and then locked the door against her himself;--while agnes slowly and sorrowfully turned her steps towards the more hospitable roof of fanny. she had not gone far, however, when she heard a light footstep behind her, and her name pronounced in a gentle, faltering voice. turning round she beheld caroline seymour, who, seizing her hand, forced something into it, hastily pressed it to her lips, and, without saying one word, suddenly disappeared, leaving agnes motionless as a statue, and, but for the parcel she held in her hand, disposed to think that she was dreaming.--then, eager to see what it contained, she hastened back to fanny, who heard with indignation the reception which she had met from mr. seymour, but on her knees invoked blessings on the head of caroline; when on opening the parcel she found that it contained twenty guineas inclosed in a paper, on which was written, but almost effaced with tears, "for my still dear agnes:--would i dare say more!" this money the generous girl had taken from that allowed her for wedding-clothes, and felt more delight in relieving with it the wants even of a guilty fellow-creature, than purchasing the most splendid dress could have afforded her. and her present did more than she expected; it relieved the mind of agnes: she had taught herself to meet without repining the assaults of poverty, but not to encounter with calmness the scorn of the friends whom she loved. but caroline and her kindness soon vanished again from her mind, and the idea of her father, and her scheme, took entire possession of it.--"but it might not succeed; no doubt mr. seymour would be her enemy;--still he had hinted that she might apply to the other governors:" and fanny having learnt that they were all to meet at the bedlam on business the next day, she resolved to write a note, requesting to be allowed to appear before them. this note, fanny, who was not acquainted with its contents, undertook to deliver, and, to the great surprise of agnes (as she expected that mr. seymour would oppose it), her request was instantly granted. indeed it was he himself who urged the compliance. there was not a kinder-hearted man in the world than mr. seymour; and in his severity towards agnes he acted more from what he thought his duty, than from his inclination. he was the father of several daughters; and it was his opinion that a parent could not too forcibly inculcate on the minds of young women the salutary truth, that loss of virtue must be to them the loss of friends. besides, his eldest daughter caroline was going to be married to the son of a very severe, rigid mother, then on a visit at the house; and he feared that, if he took any notice of the fallen agnes, the old lady might conceive a prejudice against him and her daughter-in-law. added to these reasons, mr. seymour was a very vain man, and never acted in any way without saying to himself, "what will the world say?" hence, though his first impulses were frequently good, the determinations of his judgement were often contemptible. but, however satisfied mr. seymour might be with his motives on this occasion, his feelings revolted at the consciousness of the anguish which he had occasioned agnes. he wished, ardently wished, that he had dared to have been kinder: and when caroline, who was incapable of the meanness of concealing any action which she thought it right to perform, told him of the gift which she had in person bestowed on agnes, he could scarcely forbear commending her conduct; and while he forbade any future intercourse between them, he was forced to turn away his head to hide the tear of gratified sensibility, and the smile of parental exultation: nevertheless, he did not omit to bid her keep her own counsel, "for, if your conduct were known," added he, "what would the world say?" no wonder then, that, softened as he was by agnes's application (though he deemed the scheme wild and impracticable), and afraid that he had treated her unkindly, he was pleased to have an opportunity of obliging her, without injuring himself, and that her request to the governors was strengthened by his representations: nor is it extraordinary that, alive as he always was to the opinion of everyone, he should dread seeing agnes, after the reception which he had given her, more than she dreaded to appear before the board. agnes, who had borrowed of fanny the dress of a respectable maid-servant, when summoned to attend the governors, entered the room with modest but dignified composure, prepared to expect contumely, but resolved to endure it as became a contrite heart.--but no contumely awaited her. in the hour of her prosperity she had borne her faculties so meekly, and had been so careful never to humble any one by showing a consciousness of superiority, that she had been beloved even more than she had been admired; and hard indeed must the heart of that man have been, who could have rejoiced that she herself was humbled. a dead nay a solemn silence took place on her entrance. every one present beheld with surprise, and with _stolen_ looks of pity, the ravages which remorse and anguish had made in her form, and the striking change in her apparel: for every one had often followed with delight her graceful figure through the dance, and gazed with admiration on the tasteful varieties of her dress; every one had listened with pleasure to the winning sound of her voice, and envied fitzhenry the possession of such a daughter. as they now beheld her, these recollections forcibly occurred to them:--they agonized--they overcame them.--they thought of their own daughters, and secretly prayed heaven to keep them from the voice of the seducer:--away went all their resolutions to receive agnes with that open disdain and detestation which her crime deserved; the sight of her disarmed them; and not one amongst them had, for some moments, firmness enough to speak. at last, "pray sit down, miss fitzhenry," said the president in a voice hoarse with emotion: "here is a chair," added another: and mr. seymour, bowing as he did it, placed a seat for her near the fire. agnes, who had made up her mind to bear expected indignity with composure, was not proof against unexpected kindness; and, hastily turning to the window, she gave vent to her sensations in an agony of tears. but, recollecting the importance of the business on which she came, she struggled with her feelings; and on being desired by the president to explain to the board what she wanted, she began to address them in a faint and faltering voice: however, as she proceeded, she gained courage, remembering that it was her interest to affect her auditors, and make them enter warmly into her feelings and designs. she told her whole story, in as concise a manner as possible, from the time of her leaving clifford to her rencontre with her father in the forest, and his being torn from her by the keepers; and when she was unable to go on, from the violence of her emotions, she had the satisfaction of seeing that the tears of her auditors kept pace with her own. when her narrative was ended, she proceeded thus:-- "i come now, gentlemen, to the reason why i have troubled you with this narration.--from the impression which the sight of me made on my father, i feel a certain conviction that, were i constantly with him, i might in time be able to restore him to that reason of which my guilt had deprived him. to effect this purpose, it is my wish to become a servant in this house: if i should not succeed in my endeavours; i am so sure he will have pleasure in seeing me, that i feel it my duty to be with him, even on that account; and, if there be any balm for a heart and conscience so wounded as mine, i must find it in devoting all my future days to alleviate, though i cannot cure, the misery which i have occasioned. and if," added she with affecting enthusiasm, "it should please heaven to smile on my endeavours to restore him to reason, how exquisite will be my satisfaction in labouring to maintain him!" to this plan, it is to be supposed, the governors saw more objection than agnes did; but, though they rejected the idea of her being a servant in the house, they were not averse to giving her an opportunity of making the trial which she desired, if it were only to alleviate her evident wretchedness; and, having consulted the medical attendants belonging to the institution, they ordered that agnes should be permitted two hours at a time, morning and evening, to see fitzhenry. and she, who had not dared to flatter herself that she should obtain so much, was too full of emotion to show, otherwise than by incoherent expressions and broken sentences, her sense of the obligation. "our next care," observed the president, "must be, as friends of your poor father, to see what we can do for your future support."--"that, sir, i shall provide for myself," replied agnes; "i will not eat the bread of idleness, as well as of shame and affliction, and shall even rejoice in being obliged to labour for my support, and that of my child,--happy, if, in fulfilling well the duties of a mother, i may make some atonement for having violated those of a daughter." "but, miss fitzhenry," answered the president, "accept at least some assistance from us till you can find means of maintaining yourself."--"never, never," cried agnes: "i thank you for your kindness, but i will not accept it: nor do i need it. i have already accepted assistance from one kind friend, and merely because i should, under similar circumstances, have been hurt at having a gift of mine refused: but allow me to say that, from the wretchedness into which my guilt has plunged me, nothing hence-forward but my industry shall relieve me." so saying, she curtsied to the gentlemen, and hastily withdrew, leaving them all deeply affected by her narrative, and her proposed expiatory plan of life, and ready to grant her their admiration, should she have resolution to fulfill her good intentions, after the strong impression which the meeting with her father in the forest had made on her mind should have been weakened by time and occupation. agnes hastened from the governors' room to put in force the leave which she had obtained, and was immediately conducted to fitzhenry's cell. she found him with his back to the door, drawing with a piece of coal on the wall. as he did not observe her entrance, she had an opportunity of looking over his shoulder, and she saw that he had drawn the shape of a coffin, and was then writing on the lid the name of agnes. a groan which involuntarily escaped her made him turn round: at sight of her he started, and looked wildly as he had done in the forest: then shaking his head and sighing deeply, he resumed his employment, still occasionally looking back at agnes; who, at length overcome by her feelings, threw herself on the bed beside him, and burst into tears. hearing her sobs, he immediately turned round again, and patting her cheek as he had done on their first meeting, said, "poor thing! poor thing!" and fixing his eyes steadfastly on her face while agnes turned towards him and pressed his hand to her lips, he gazed on her as before with a look of anxious curiosity; then, turning from her, muttered to himself, "she is dead, for all that." soon after, he asked her to take a walk with him; adding, in a whisper, "we will go find her grave;" and taking her under his arm, he led her to the garden, smiling on her from time to time, as if it gave him pleasure to see her; and sometimes laughing, as if at some secret satisfaction which he would not communicate. when they had made one turn round the garden, he suddenly stopped, and began singing--"tears such as tender fathers shed," that affecting song of handel's, which he used to delight to hear agnes sing: "i can't go on," he observed, looking at agnes; "can you?" as if there were in his mind some association between her and that song; and agnes, with a bursting heart, took up the air where he left off. fitzhenry listened with restless agitation; and when she had finished, he desired her to sing it again. "but say the words first," he added: and agnes repeated---- "tears such as tender fathers shed warm from my aged eyes descend, for joy, to think, when i am dead, my son will have mankind his friend." "no, no," cried fitzhenry with quickness, "'for joy to think, when i am dead, agnes will have mankind her friend.' i used to sing it so; and so did she when i bade her. oh! she sung it so well!--but she can sing it no more now, for she is dead; and we will go look for her grave." then he walked hastily round the garden, while agnes, whom the words of this song, by recalling painful recollections, had almost deprived of reason, sat down on a bench, nearly insensible, till he again came to her, and, taking her hand, said in a hurried manner, "you will not leave me, will you?" on her answering no, in a very earnest and passionate manner, he looked delighted; and saying "poor thing!" again gazed on her intently; and again agnes's hopes that he would in time know her returned.----"very pale, very pale!" cried fitzhenry the next moment, stroking her cheek; "and _she_ had such a bloom!--sing again: for the love of god, sing again:"--and in a hoarse, broken voice agnes complied. "she sung better than you," rejoined he when she had done:--"so sweet, so clear it was!--but she is gone!" so saying, he relapsed into total indifference to agnes, and every thing around him--and again her new-raised hopes vanished. the keeper now told her it was time for her to depart; and she mournfully arose: but, first seizing her father's hand, she leaned for a moment her head on his arm; then, bidding god bless him, walked to the door with the keeper. but on seeing her about to leave him, fitzhenry ran after her, as fast as his heavy irons would let him, wildly exclaiming, "you shall not go--you shall not go." agnes, overjoyed at this evident proof of the pleasure her presence gave him, looked at the keeper for permission to stay; but as he told her it would be against the rules, she thought it more prudent to submit; and before fitzhenry could catch hold of her in order to detain her by force, she ran through the house, and the grated door was closed on her. "and this," said agnes to herself, turning round to survey the melancholy mansion which she had left, while mingled sounds of groans, shrieks, shouts, laughter, and the clanking of irons, burst upon her ears, "this is the abode of my father! and provided for him by me!--this is the recompense bestowed on him by the daughter whom he loved and trusted, in return for years of unparalleled fondness and indulgence!" the idea was too horrible; and agnes, calling up all the energy of her mind, remembered the uselessness of regret for the past, but thought with pleasure on the advantages of amendment for the present and the future: and by the time she reached fanny's door, her mind had recovered its sad composure. her countenance, at her return, was very different to what it had been at her departure. hope animated her sunk eye, and she seemed full of joyful though distant expectations: nay, so much was she absorbed in pleasing anticipations, that she feebly returned the caresses of her child, who climbed up her knees to express his joy at seeing her; and even while she kissed his ruddy cheek, her eye looked beyond it with the open gaze of absence. "i have seen him again," she cried, turning to fanny; "and he almost knew me! he will know me entirely, in time; and next, he will know every thing; and then i shall be happy!" fanny, to whom agnes had given no clue to enable her to understand this language, was alarmed for her intellects, till she explained her plans and her hopes; which fanny, though she could not share in them, was too humane to discourage. "but now," continued agnes, "let us consult on my future means of gaining a livelihood;" and finding that fanny, besides keeping a day-school, took in shawl-work, a considerable shawl manufacture being carried on in the town, it was settled that she would procure the same employment for agnes; and that a small back room in fanny's little dwelling should be fitted up for her use. in the mean while the governors of the bedlam had returned to their respective habitations, with feelings towards agnes very different to those with which they had assembled. but too prudent to make even a penitent sinner the subject of praise in their own families, they gave short, evasive answers to the inquiries that were made there. mr. seymour, on the contrary, thought it his duty to relieve the generous and affectionate heart of his daughter, by a minute detail of what had passed at the meeting; but he had no opportunity of doing this when he first returned home, as he found there a large party assembled to dinner. caroline, however, watched his countenance and manner: and seeing on the first an expression of highly-awakened feelings, and in the latter a degree of absence, and aversion to talking, which it always displayed whenever his heart had been deeply interested, she flattered herself that agnes was the cause of these appearances, and hoped to hear of something to her advantage. during dinner, a lady asked caroline which of her young friends would accompany her to church, in the capacity of bride-maid. caroline started, and turned pale at the question--for melancholy were the reflections which it excited in her mind. it had always been an agreement between her and agnes, that whichever of the two was married first should have the other for her bride-maid; and the question was repeated before caroline could trust her voice to answer it. "i shall have no bride-maids, but my sisters," she replied at length with a quivering lip; "i cannot; indeed i wish to have no other now." then, looking at her father, she saw that his eyes were filled with tears; and unable to suppress, but wishing to conceal, his emotion, he abruptly left the room. there is scarcely any human being whose heart has not taught him that we are never so compassionate and benevolent towards others, as when our own wishes are completely gratified--we are never so humble as then. this was the case with mr. seymour: he was about to marry his eldest daughter in a manner even superior to his warmest expectations, and his paternal care, therefore, was amply rewarded. but his heart told him that his care and his affection had not exceeded, perhaps not equalled, that of fitzhenry; nor had the promise of his daughter's youth, fair as it was, ever equalled that of the unhappy agnes: yet caroline was going to aggrandize her family, and agnes had disgraced hers. she was happy--agnes miserable. he was the possessor of a large fortune, and all the comforts of life; and fitzhenry was in a madhouse. this contrast between their situations was forcibly recalled to his mind by the question addressed to caroline; and, already softened by the interview of the morning, he could not support his feelings, but was obliged to hasten to his chamber to vent in tears and thanksgivings the mingled sensations of humility and gratitude. caroline soon followed him; and heard with emotions as violent, her father's description of agnes's narration, and her conduct before the governors. "but it is not sufficient," said she, "that you tell me this: you must tell it wherever you hear the poor penitent's name mentioned, and avow the change which it has made in your sentiments towards her; you must be her advocate." "her advocate! what would the world say?" "just what you wish it to say. believe me, my dear father, the world is in many instances like a spoiled child, who treats with contempt the foolish parent that indulges his caprices, but behaves with respect to those, who, regardless of his clamours, give the law to him, instead of receiving it." "you speak from the untaught enthusiasm and confidence of youth, caroline; but experience will teach you that no one can with impunity run counter to the opinions of the world." "my experience has taught me that already: but, in this case, you do not seem to do the world justice. the world would blame you, and justly too, if, while talking of the unhappy agnes, you should make light of her guilt: but why not, while you acknowledge that to be enormous, descant with equal justice on the deep sense of it which she entertains, and on the excellence of her present intentions? to this what can the world say, but that you are a just judge? and even suppose they should think you too lenient a one, will not the approbation of your own conscience be an ample consolation for such a condemnation? o my dear father! were you not one of the best and most _unspoilable_ of men, your anxious attention to what the world will say of your actions, must long ere this have made you one of the worst." "enough, enough," cried mr. seymour, wounded self-love contending in his bosom with parental pride, for he had some suspicion that caroline was right, "what would the world say, if it were to hear you schooling your father?" "when the world hears me trying to exalt my own wisdom by doubting my father's, i hope it will treat me with the severity which i shall deserve." mr. seymour clasped her to his bosom as she said this, and involuntarily exclaimed, "oh! poor fitzhenry!"--"and poor agnes too!"--retorted caroline, throwing her arms round his neck: "it will be my parting request, when i leave my paternal roof, that you will do all the justice you can to my once-honoured friend--and let the world say what it pleases."--"well, well, i will indulge you by granting your request," cried mr. seymour; "or rather i will indulge myself." and then, contented with each other, they returned to the company. a few days after this conversation caroline's marriage took place, and was celebrated by the ringing of bells and other rejoicings. "what are the bells ringing for to-day?" said agnes to fanny, as she was eating her breakfast with more appetite than usual. fanny hesitated; and then, in a peevish tone, replied, that she supposed they rang for miss caroline seymour, as she was married that morning:--adding, "such a fuss, indeed! such preparations! one would think nobody was ever married before!" yet, spitefully as fanny spoke this, she had no dislike to the amiable caroline; her pettishness proceeded merely from her love for agnes. just such preparations, just such rejoicings, she had hoped to see one day for the marriage of her dear young lady;--and though agnes had not perceived it, fanny had for the last two days shed many a tear of regret and mortification, while news of the intended wedding reached her ear on every side; and she had not courage to tell agnes what she heard, lest the feelings of agnes on the occasion should resemble hers, but in a more painful degree. "caroline seymour married!" cried agnes, rising from her unfinished meal: "well married, i hope?"----"o yes, very well indeed--mr. seymour is so proud of the connexion!" "thank god!" said agnes fervently:--"may she be as happy as her virtues deserve!"--and then with a hasty step she retired to her own apartment. it is certain that agnes had a mind above the meanness of envy, and that she did not repine at the happiness of her friend; yet, while with tears trickling down her cheek she faltered out the words "happy caroline!--mr. seymour proud! well may he be so!" her feelings were as bitter as those which envy excites. "oh! my poor father! i once hoped--" added she; but, overcome with the acuteness of regret and remorse, she threw herself on the bed in speechless anguish. then the image of caroline, as she last saw her, weeping for her misfortunes, and administering to her wants, recurred to her mind, and, in a transport of affection and gratitude, she took the paper that contained the gift from her bosom, kissed the blotted scrawl on the back of it, and prayed fervently for her happiness. "but surely," cried she, starting up, and running into the next room to fanny, "i should write a few lines of congratulation to the bride?" fanny did not answer; indeed she could not; for the affectionate creature was drowned in tears, which agnes well understood, and was gratified, though pained, to behold. at length, still more ashamed of her own weakness when she saw it reflected in another, agnes gently reproved fanny, telling her it seemed as if she repined at miss seymour's happiness. "no," replied fanny, "i only repine at your misery. dear me! she is a sweet young lady, to be sure, but no more to be compared to you----"--"hush! fanny: 'tis i who am now not to be compared to her:--remember, my misery is owing to my guilt."--"it is not the less to be repined at on that account," replied fanny. to this remark, unconsciously severe, agnes with a sigh assented; and, unable to continue the conversation in this strain, she again asked whether fanny did not think she ought to congratulate the generous caroline. "by all means," replied fanny: but before she answered, agnes had determined that it would be kinder in her not to damp the joy of caroline by calling to her mind the image of a wretched friend. "true," she observed, "it would gratify my feelings to express the love and gratitude i bear her, and my self-love would exult in being recollected by her with tenderness and regret, even in the hour of her bridal splendour; but the gratification would only be a selfish one, and therefore i will reject it." having formed this laudable resolution, agnes, after trying to compose her agitated spirits by playing with her child, who was already idolized by the faithful fanny, bent her steps as usual to the cell of her father. unfortunately for agnes, she was obliged to pass the house of mr. seymour, and at the door she saw the carriages waiting to convey the bride and her train to the country seat of her mother-in-law. agnes hurried on as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her; but, as she cast a hasty glance on the splendid liveries, and the crowd gazing on them, she saw mr. seymour bustling at the door, with all the pleased consequence of a happy parent in his countenance; and not daring to analyse her feelings, she rushed forward from the mirthful scene, and did not stop again till she found herself at the door of the bedlam. but when there, and when, looking up at its grated windows, she contemplated it as the habitation of her father--so different to that of the father of caroline--and beheld in fancy the woe-worn, sallow face of fitzhenry, so unlike the healthy, satisfied look of mr. seymour--"i can't go in, i can't see him to-day," she faintly articulated, overcome with a sudden faintness--and, as soon as she could recover her strength, she returned home; and, shutting herself up in her own apartment, spent the rest of the day in that mournful and solitary meditation that "maketh the heart better." it would no doubt have gratified the poor mourner to have known, that, surrounded by joyous and congratulating friends, caroline sighed for the absent agnes, and felt the want of her congratulations--"surely she will write to me!" said she mentally, "i am sure she wishes me happy; and one of my greatest pangs at leaving my native place is, the consciousness that i leave her miserable." the last words that caroline uttered, as she bade adieu to the domestics, were, "be sure to send after me any note or letter that may come." but no note or letter from agnes arrived; and had caroline known the reason, she would have loved her once happy friend the more. the next day, earlier than usual, agnes went in quest of her father. she did not absolutely flatter herself that he had missed her the day before, still she did not think it _impossible_ that he _might_. she dared not, however, ask the question; but, luckily for her, the keeper told her, unasked, that fitzhenry was observed to be restless, and looking out of the door of his cell frequently, both morning and evening, as if expecting somebody; and that at night, as he was going to bed, he asked whether the lady had not been there. "indeed!" cried agnes, her eyes sparkling with pleasure--"where is he?--let me see him directly." but, after the first joyful emotion which he always showed at seeing her had subsided, she could not flatter herself that his symptoms were more favourable than before. the keeper also informed her that he had been thrown into so violent a raving fit, by the agitation he felt at parting with her the last time she was there, that she must contrive to slip away unperceived whenever she came: and this visit having passed away without any thing material occurring, agnes contrived to make her escape unseen. on her return she repeated to fanny several times, with a sort of pathetic pleasure, the question her father had asked--"he inquired whether the lady had not been there;--think of that, fanny:" while so incoherent was her language and so absent were her looks, that fanny again began to fear her afflictions had impaired her reason. after staying a few days with the new-married couple, mr. seymour returned home, caroline having, before he left her, again desired him to be the friend of the penitent agnes whenever he heard her unpityingly attacked; and an opportunity soon offered of gratifying his daughter's benevolence, and his own. mr. seymour was drinking tea in a large party, when a lady, to whose plain, awkward, uninteresting daughters the once beautiful, graceful and engaging agnes had formerly been a powerful rival, said, with no small share of malignity, "so!--fine impudence indeed!--i hear that good for nothing minx, fitzhenry's daughter, is come to town: i wonder for my part she dares show her face here----but the assurance of these creatures is amazing." "aye, so it is," echoed from one lady to another. "but this girl must be a hardened wretch indeed," resumed mrs. macfiendy, the first speaker: "i suppose her fellow is tired of her, and she will be on the town soon----" "in the church-yard rather," replied mr. seymour, whom a feeling of resentment at these vulgar expressions of female spite had hitherto kept silent:--"miss fitzhenry has lost all power of charming the eye of the libertine, and even the wish;--but she is an object whom the compassionate and humane cannot behold, or listen to, without the strongest emotion." "no, to be sure," replied mrs. macfiendy bridling--"the girl had always a plausible tongue of her own--and as to her beauty, i never thought that was made for lasting.--what then you have seen her, mr. seymour? i wonder that you could condescend to _look_ at such trash." "yes, madam, i have seen, and heard her too;--and if heart-felt misery, contrition, and true penitence, may hope to win favour in the sight of god, and expiate past offences, 'a ministering angel might this frail one be, though we lay howling.'" "i lie howling, indeed!" screamed out mrs. macfiendy: "speak for yourself, if you please, mr. seymour! for my part, i do not expect, when i go to another world, to keep such company as miss fitzhenry." "if with the same measure you mete, it should be meted to you again, madam," replied mr. seymour, "i believe there is little chance in another world that you and miss fitzhenry will be visiting acquaintance." then, bespeaking the attention of the company, he gave that account of agnes, her present situation, and her intentions for the future, which she gave the governors; and all the company, save the outrageously virtuous mother and her daughters, heard it with as much emotion as he felt in relating it.--exclamations of "poor unfortunate girl! what a pity she should have been guilty!--but, fallen as she is, she is still agnes fitzhenry," resounded through the room. mrs. macfiendy could not bear this in silence; but with a cheek pale, nay livid with malignity, and in a voice sharpened by passion, which at all times resembled the scream of a pea-hen, she exclaimed, "well, for my part, some people may do any thing, yet be praised up to the skies; other people's daughters would not find such mercy. before she went off, it was miss fitzhenry this, and miss fitzhenry that,--though other people's children could perhaps do as much, though they were not so fond of showing what they could do." "no," cried one of the miss macfiendys, "miss fitzhenry had courage enough for any thing." "true, child," resumed the mother; "and what did it end in? why, in becoming a--what i do not choose to name." "fie, madam, fie!" cried mr. seymour: "why thus exult over the fallen?" "oh! then you do allow her to be fallen?" "she is fallen indeed, madam," said mr. seymour; "but, even in her proudest hour, miss fitzhenry never expressed herself towards her erring neighbours with unchristian severity;--but set you an example of forbearance, which you would do well to follow." "she set _me_ an example!" vociferated mrs. macfiendy--"she indeed! a creature!--i will not stay, nor shall my daughters, to hear such immoral talk. but 'tis as i said--some people may do any thing--for, wicked as she is, miss fitzhenry is still cried up as something extraordinary, and is even held up as an example to modest women." so saying, she arose; but mr. seymour rose also, and said, "there is no necessity for _your_ leaving the company, madam, as i will leave it: for i am tired of hearing myself so grossly misrepresented. no one abhors more than i do the crime of miss fitzhenry; and no one would more strongly object, for the sake of other young women, to her being again received into general company: but, at the same time, i will always be ready to encourage the penitent by the voice of just praise; and i feel delight in reflecting that, however the judges of this world may be fond of condemning her, she will one day appeal from them to a merciful and long-suffering judge." then, bowing respectfully to all but mrs. macfiendy, he withdrew, and gave her an opportunity of remarking that mr. seymour was mighty warm in the creature's defence. she did not know he was so interested about her; but she always thought him a _gay man_, and she supposed _miss fitzhenry_, as he called her, would be glad to take up with any thing _now_. this speech, sorry am i to say, was received with a general and complaisant smile, though it was reckoned unjust; for there are few who have virtue and resolution enough to stand forward as champions for an absent and calumniated individual, if there be any thing ludicrous in the tale against him;--and the precise, careful, elderly mr. seymour, who was always shrinking from censure like a sensitive plant from the touch, accused by implication of being the private friend of the youthful agnes, excited a degree of merry malice in the company not unpleasant to their feelings. but, in spite of the efforts of calumny, the account mr. seymour had given of agnes and her penitence became town talk; and, as it was confirmed by the other governors, every one, except the ferociously chaste, was eager to prevent agnes from feeling pecuniary distress, by procuring her employment. still she was not supplied with work as fast as she executed it; for, except during the hours which she was allowed to spend with her father, she was constantly employed; and she even deprived herself of her accustomed portion of rest, and was never in bed before one, or after four. in proportion as her business and profits increased, were her spirits elevated; but the more she gained, the more saving she became: she would scarcely allow herself sufficient food or clothing; and, to the astonishment of fanny, the once generous agnes appeared penurious, and a lover of money. "what does this change mean, my dear lady?" said fanny to her one day.--"i have my reasons for it," replied agnes coldly; then changed the subject: and fanny respected her too much to urge an explanation. but agnes soon after began to wonder at an obvious change in fanny. at first, when agnes returned from visiting her father, fanny used to examine her countenance: and she could learn from that, without asking a single question, whether fitzhenry seemed to show any new symptoms of amendment, or whether his insanity still appeared incurable. if the former, fanny, tenderly pressing her hand, would say, "thank god!" and prepare their dinner or supper with more alacrity than usual: if the latter, fanny would say nothing; but endeavour, by bringing little edward to her, or by engaging her in conversation, to divert the gloom which she could not remove: and agnes, though she took no notice of these artless proofs of affection, observed and felt them deeply; and as she drew near the house, she always anticipated them as one of the comforts of her home. but, for some days past, fanny had discontinued this mode of welcome so grateful to the feelings of agnes, and seemed wholly absorbed in her own. she was silent, reserved, and evidently oppressed with some anxiety which she was studious to conceal. once or twice, when agnes came home rather sooner than usual, she found her in tears; and when she affectionately asked the reason of them, fanny pleaded mere lowness of spirits as the cause. but the eye of anxious affection is not easily blinded. agnes was convinced that fanny's misery had some more important origin; and, secretly fearing that it proceeded from her, she was on the watch for something to confirm her suspicions. one day, as she passed through the room where fanny kept her school, agnes observed that the number of her scholars was considerably diminished; and when she asked fanny where the children whom she missed were, there was a confusion and hesitation in her manner, while she made different excuses for their absence, which convinced agnes that she concealed from her some unwelcome truth. a very painful suspicion immediately darted across her mind, the truth of which was but too soon confirmed. a day or two after, while again passing through the school-room, she was attracted by the beauty of a little girl, who was saying her lesson; and, smoothing down her curling hair, she stooped to kiss her ruddy cheek: but the child, uttering a loud scream, sprang from her arms, and, sobbing violently, hid her face on fanny's lap. agnes, who was very fond of children, was much hurt by symptoms of a dislike so violent towards her, and urged the child to give a reason for such strange conduct: on which the artless girl owned that her mother had charged her never to touch or go near miss fitzhenry, because she was the most wicked woman that ever breathed. agnes heard this new consequence of her guilt with equal surprise and grief; but, on looking at fanny, though she saw grief in her countenance, there was no surprise in it; and she instantly told her she was convinced that the loss of her scholars was occasioned by her having allowed her to reside with her. fanny, bursting into tears, at last confessed that her suspicions were just; while to the shuddering agnes she unfolded a series of persecutions which she had undergone from her employers, because she had declared her resolution of starving, rather than drive from her house her friend and benefactress. agnes was not long in forming her resolution; and the next morning, without saying a word to fanny on the subject, she went out in search of a lodging for herself and child--as gratitude and justice forbade her to remain any longer with her persecuted companion. but after having in vain tried to procure a lodging suitable to the low state of her finances, or rather to her saving plan, she hired a little cottage on the heath above the town, adjoining to that where she had been so hospitably received in the hour of her distress; and having gladdened the hearts of the friendly cottager and his wife by telling them that she was coming to be their neighbour, she went to break the unwelcome tidings to fanny. passionate and vehement indeed was her distress at hearing that her young lady, as she still persisted to call her, was going to leave her: but her expostulations and tears were vain; and agnes, after promising to see fanny every day, took possession that very evening of her humble habitation. but her intention in removing was frustrated by the honest indignation and indiscretion of fanny. she loudly raved against the illiberality which had robbed her of the society of all that she held dear; and, as she told every one that agnes left her by her own choice and not at her desire, those children who had been taken away because agnes resided with her were not sent back to her on her removal. at last the number of her scholars became so small, that she gave up school-keeping, and employed herself in shawl-working only; while her leisure time was spent in visiting agnes, or in inveighing, to those who would listen to her, against the cruelty that had driven her young lady from her house. fanny used to begin by relating the many obligations which her mother and she had received from agnes and her father, and always ended with saying, "yet to this woman, who saved me and mine from a workhouse, they wanted me to refuse a home when she stood in need of one! they need not have been afraid of her being too happy! such a mind as hers can never be happy under the consciousness of having been guilty; and could she ever forget her crime, one visit to her poor father would make her remember it again." thus did fanny talk, as i said before, to those who would listen to her; and there was one auditor who could have listened to her for ever on this subject, and who thought fanny looked more lovely while expressing her affection for her penitent mistress, and pleading her cause with a cheek flushed with virtuous indignation, and eyes suffused with the tears of artless sensibility, than when, attended by the then happy agnes, she gave her hand in the bloom of youth and beauty to the man of her heart. this auditor was a respectable tradesman who lived in fanny's neighbourhood, to whom her faithful attachment to agnes had for some time endeared her; while fanny, in return, felt grateful to him for entering with such warmth into her feelings, and for listening so patiently to her complaints; and it was not long before he offered her his hand. to so advantageous an offer, and to a man so amiable, fanny could make no objection; especially as agnes advised her accepting the proposal. but fanny declared to her lover that she would not marry him, unless he would promise that agnes and her child should, whenever they chose, have a home with her. to this condition he consented; telling fanny he loved her the better for making it; and agnes had soon the satisfaction of witnessing the union of this worthy couple. but they tried in vain to persuade agnes to take up her residence with them. she preferred living by herself. to her, solitude was a luxury; as, while the little edward was playing on the heath with the cottager's children, agnes delighted to brood in uninterrupted silence over the soothing hope, the fond idea, that alone stimulated her to exertion, and procured her tranquillity. all the energies of her mind and body were directed to one end; and while she kept her eye steadfastly fixed on the future, the past lost its power to torture, and the present had some portion of enjoyment. but were not these soothing reveries sometimes disturbed by the pangs of ill-requited love? and could she, who had loved so fondly as to sacrifice to the indulgence of her passion every thing that she held most dear, rise superior to the power of tender recollection, and at once tear from her heart the image of her fascinating lover? it would be unnatural to suppose that agnes could entirely forget the once honoured choice of her heart, and the father of her child; or that, although experience had convinced her of its unworthiness, she did not sometimes contemplate, with the sick feelings of disappointed tenderness, the idol which her imagination had decked in graces all its own. but these remembrances were rare. she oftener beheld him as he appeared before the tribunal of her reason--a cold, selfish, profligate, hypocritical deceiver, as the unfeeling destroyer of her hopes and happiness, and as one who, as she had learned from his own lips, when he most invited confidence, was the most determined to betray. she saw him also as a wretch so devoid of the common feelings of nature and humanity, that, though she left her apartments in london in the dead of night, and in the depth of a severe winter, an almost helpless child in her arms, and no visible protector near, he had never made a single inquiry concerning her fate, or that of his offspring. at times the sensations of agnes bordered on phrensy, when in this heartless, unnatural wretch she beheld the being for whom she had resigned the matchless comforts of her home, and destroyed the happiness and reason of her father. at these moments, and these only, she used to rush wildly forth in search of company, that she might escape from herself: but more frequently she directed her steps to the abode of the poor; to those who, in her happier hours, had been supported by her bounty, and who now were eager to meet her in her walks, to repay her past benefactions by a "god bless you, lady!" uttered in a tone of respectful pity. when her return was first known to the objects of her benevolence, agnes soon saw herself surrounded by them; and was, in her humble apparel and dejected state, followed by them with more blessings and more heart-felt respect than in the proudest hour of her prosperity. "thank god!" ejaculated agnes, as she turned a glistening eye on her humble followers, "there are yet those whose eyes mine may meet with confidence. there are some beings in the world towards whom i have done my duty." but the next minute she recollected that the guilty flight which made her violate the duty which she owed her father, at the same time removed her from the power of fulfilling that which she owed the indigent; for it is certain that our duties are so closely linked together, that, as the breaking one pearl from a string of pearls hazards the loss of all, so the violation of one duty endangers the safety of every other. "alas!" exclaimed agnes, as this melancholy truth occurred to her, "it is not for me to exult; for, even in the squalid, meagre countenances of these kind and grateful beings, i read evidences of my guilt--they looked up to me for aid, and i deserted them!" in time, however, these acute feelings wore away; and agnes, by entering again on the offices of benevolence and humanity towards the distressed, lost the consciousness of past neglect in that of present usefulness. true, she could no longer feed the hungry or clothe the naked, but she could soften the pangs of sickness by expressing sympathy in its sufferings. she could make the nauseous medicine more welcome, if not more salutary, by administering it herself; for, though poor, she was still superior to the sufferers whom she attended: and it was soothing to them to see "such a lady" take so much trouble for those so much beneath her--and she could watch the live-long night by the bed of the dying, join in the consoling prayer offered by the lips of another, or, in her own eloquent and impassioned language, speak peace and hope to the departing soul. these tender offices, these delicate attentions, so dear to the heart of every one, but so particularly welcome to the poor from their superiors, as they are acknowledgements of the relationship between them, and confessions that they are of the same species as themselves, and heirs of the same hopes, even those who bestow money with generous profusion do not often pay. but agnes was never content to give relief unaccompanied by attendance: she had reflected deeply on the nature of the human heart, and knew that a participating smile, a sympathizing tear, a friendly pressure of the hand, the shifting of an uneasy pillow, and patient attention to an unconnected tale of twice-told symptoms, were, in the esteem of the indigent sufferer, of as great a value as pecuniary assistance. agnes, therefore, in her poverty, had the satisfaction of knowing that she was as consoling to the distressed, if not as useful, as she was in her prosperity; and, if there could be a moment when she felt the glow of exultation in her breast, it was when she left the habitation of indigence or sorrow, followed by the well-earned blessings of its inhabitants. had agnes been capable of exulting in a consciousness of being revenged, another source of exultation might have been hers, provided she had ever deigned to inquire concerning her profligate seducer, whom she wrongfully accused of having neglected to make inquiries concerning her and her child. agnes, two months after her return from london, saw in the paper an account of clifford's marriage; and felt some curiosity to know what had so long retarded an union which, when she left town, was fixed for the monday following; and fanny observed an increased degree of gloom and abstraction in her appearance all that day. but, dismissing this feeling from her mind as unworthy of it, from that moment she resolved, if possible, to recall clifford to her imagination, as one who, towards her, had been guilty not of perfidy and deceit only, but of brutal and unnatural neglect. in this last accusation, however, as i said before, she was unjust. when clifford awoke the next morning after his last interview with agnes, and the fumes of the wine he had drunk the night before were entirely dissipated, he recollected, with great uneasiness, the insulting manner in which he had justified his intended marriage, and the insight into the baseness of his character which his unguarded confessions had given to her penetration. the idea of having incurred the contempt of agnes was insupportable. yet, when he recollected the cold, calm, and dignified manner in which she spoke and acted when he bade her adieu, he was convinced that he had taught her to despise him; and, knowing agnes, he was also certain that she must soon cease to love the man whom she had once learned to despise. "but i will go to her directly," exclaimed he to himself, ringing his bell violently; "and i will attribute my infernal folly to drunkenness." he then ordered his servant to call a coach, finding himself too languid, from his late intemperance, to walk; and was just going to step into it when he saw mrs. askew pale and trembling, and heard her, in a faltering voice, demand to see him in private for a few minutes. i shall not attempt to describe his rage and astonishment when he heard of the elopement of agnes. but these feelings were soon followed by those of terror for her safety and that of his child; and his agitation for some moments was so great as to deprive him of the power of considering how he should proceed, in order to hear some tidings of the fugitives, and endeavour to recall them. it was evident that agnes had escaped the night before, because a servant, sitting up for a gentleman who lodged in the house, was awakened from sleep by the noise which she made in opening the door; and, running into the hall, she saw the skirt of agnes's gown as she shut it again; and looking to see who was gone out, she saw a lady, who she was almost certain was miss fitzhenry, running down the street with great speed. but to put its being agnes beyond all doubt, she ran up to her room, and, finding the door open, went in, and could see neither her nor her child. to this narration clifford listened with some calmness; but when mrs. askew told him that agnes had taken none of her clothes with her, he fell into an agony amounting to phrensy, and exclaiming, "then it must be so--she has destroyed both herself and the child!" his senses failed him, and he dropped down insensible on the sofa. this horrible probability had occurred to mrs. askew; and she had sent servants different ways all night, in order to find her if she were still in existence, that she might spare clifford, if possible, the pain of conceiving a suspicion like her own. clifford was not so fortunate as to remain long in a state of unconsciousness, but soon recovered to a sense of misery and unavailing remorse. at length he recollected that a coach set off that very night for her native place, from the white-horse cellar, and that it was possible that she might have obtained a lodging the night before, where she meant to stay till the coach was ready to set off the following evening. he immediately went to piccadilly, to see whether places for a lady and child had been taken,--but no such passengers were on the list. he then inquired whether a lady and child had gone from that inn the night before in the coach that went within a few miles of the town of ----. but, as agnes had reached the inn just as the coach was setting off, no one belonging to it, but the coachman, knew that she was a passenger. "well, i flatter myself," said clifford to mrs. askew, endeavouring to smile, "that she will make her appearance here at night, if she do not come to-day; and i will not stir from this spot till the coach set off, and will even go in it some way, to see whether it do not stop to take her up on the road." this resolution he punctually put in practice. all day clifford was stationed at a window opposite to the inn, or in the book-keeper's office; but night came, the coach was ready to set off, and still no agnes appeared. however, clifford, having secured a place, got in with the other passengers, and went six miles or more before he gave up the hope of hearing the coachman ordered to stop, in the soft voice of agnes. at last, all expectation failed him; and, complaining of a violent headache, he desired to be set down, sprang out of the carriage, and relieved the other passengers from a very restless and disagreeable companion: and clifford, in a violent attack of fever, was wandering on the road to london, in hopes of meeting agnes, at the very time when his victim was on the road to her native place, in company with her unhappy father. by the time clifford reached london he was bordering on a state of delirium; but had recollection enough to desire his confidential servant to inform his father of the state in which he was, and then take the road to ----, and ask at every inn on the road whether a lady and child (describing agnes and little edward) had been there. the servant obeyed; and the anxious father, who had been informed of the cause of his son's malady, soon received the following letter from wilson, while he was attending at his bedside: "my lord, "sad news of miss fitzhenry and the child; and reason to fear they both perished with cold. for, being told at one of the inns on this road that a young woman and child had been found frozen to death last night, and carried to the next town to be owned, i set off for there directly: and while i was taking a drap of brandy to give me spirits to see the bodies, for a qualm came over me when i thought of what can't be helped, and how pretty and good-natured and happy she once was, a woman came down with a silk wrapper and a shawl that i knew belonged to the poor lady, and said the young woman found dead had those things on. this was proof positive, my lord,--and it turned me sick. still it is better so than self-murder; so my master had best know it, i think; and humbly hoping your lordship will think so too, i remain your lordship's "most humble servant to command, "j. wilson. "p.s. if i gain more particulars shall send them." dreadful as the supposed death of agnes and her child appeared to the father of clifford, he could not be sorry that so formidable a rival to his future daughter-in-law was no longer to be feared; and as clifford, in the ravings of his fever, was continually talking of agnes as self-murdered, and the murderer of her child, and of himself as the abandoned cause; and as that idea seemed to haunt and terrify his imagination, he thought with his son's servant that he had better take the first opportunity of telling clifford the truth, melancholy as it was. and taking advantage of a proper opportunity, he had done so before he received this second letter from wilson: "my lord, "it was all fudge;--miss fitzhenry is alive, and alive like, at ----. she stopped at an inn on the road and parted with her silk coat and shawl for some things she wanted, and a hussey of a chambermaid stole them and went off in the night with them and her little by-blow:--but justice overtakes us sooner or later. i suppose his honour, my master, will be cheery at this;--but, as joy often distracts as much as grief, they say, though i never believed it, i take it you will not tell him this good news hand-over-head,--and am "your lordship's "most humble to command, "j. wilson. "p.s. i have been to ----, and have heard for certain miss f. and her child are there." his lordship was even more cautious than wilson wished him to be; for he resolved not to communicate the glad tidings to clifford, cautiously or incautiously, as he thought there would be no chance of his son's fulfilling his engagements with miss sandford, if he knew agnes was living: especially as her flight and her supposed death had proved to clifford how necessary she was to his happiness. nay, he went still further; and resolved that clifford should never know, if he could possibly help it, that the report of her death was false. how to effect this was the difficulty; but wisely conceiving that wilson was not inaccessible to a bribe, he offered him so much a-year, on condition of his suffering his master to remain convinced of the truth of the story that agnes and her child had perished in the snow, and of intercepting all letters which he fancied came from agnes; telling him at the same time, that if ever he found he had violated the conditions, the annuity should immediately cease. to this wilson consented; and, when clifford recovered, he made his compliance with the terms more easy, by desiring wilson, and the friends to whom his connection with agnes had been known, never to mention her name in his presence again, if they valued his health and reason, as the safety of both depended on his forgetting a woman of whom he had never felt the value sufficiently till he had lost her for ever. soon after, he married;--and the disagreeable qualities of his wife made him recollect, with more painful regret, the charms and virtues of agnes. the consequence was that he plunged deeper than ever into dissipation, and had recourse to intoxication in order to banish care and disagreeable recollections;--and, while year after year passed away in fruitless expectation of a child to inherit the estate and the long-disputed title, he remembered, with agonizing regrets, the beauty of his lost edward; and reflected that, by refusing to perform his promises to the injured agnes, he had deprived himself of the heir that he so much coveted, and of a wife who would have added dignity to the title which she bore, and been the delight and ornament of his family. such were the miserable feelings of clifford,--such the corroding cares that robbed his mind of its energy, and his body of health and vigour. though courted, caressed, flattered, and surrounded by affluence and splendour, he was disappointed and self-condemned. and while agnes, for the first time condemning him unjustly, attributed his silence and neglect of her and her offspring to a degree of indifference and hard-heartedness at which human nature shudders, clifford was feeling all the horrors of remorse, without the consolations of repentance. i have before observed, that one idea engrossed the mind and prompted the exertions of agnes;--and this was the probable restoration of her father to reason.--"could i but once more hear him call me by my name, and bless me with his forgiveness, i should die in peace; and something within me tells me that my hopes will not be in vain: and who knows but we may pass a contented, if not a happy life together, yet?--so toil on, toil on, agnes, and expect the fruit of thy labours." these words she was in the habit of repeating not only to fanny and her next-door neighbours (whom she had acquainted with her story), but to herself as she sat at work or traversed the heath. even in the dead of night she would start from a troubled sleep, and repeating these words, they would operate as a charm on her disturbed mind; and as she spoke the last sentence, she would fall into a quiet slumber, from which she awoke the next morning at day-break to pursue with increased alacrity the labours of the day. meanwhile agnes and her exemplary industry continued to engage the attention and admiration of the candid and liberal in the town of ----. mr. seymour, who did not venture to inquire concerning her of fanny while she lived at her house, now often called there to ask news of agnes and her employments; and his curiosity was excited to know to what purpose she intended to devote the money earned with so much labour, and hoarded with such parsimonious care. but fanny was as ignorant on this subject as himself; and the only new information which she could give him was, that agnes had begun to employ herself in fancy-works, in order to increase her gains; and that it was her intention soon to send little edward (then four years old) to town to offer artificial flowers, painted needle-books, work-bags, &c. at the doors of the opulent and humane. nor was it long before this design was put in execution; and mr. seymour had the satisfaction of buying all the lovely boy's first cargo himself, for presents to his daughters. the little merchant returned to his anxious mother, bounding with delight, not at the good success of his first venture, for its importance he did not understand, but at the kindness of mr. seymour, who had met him on the road, conducted him to his house, helped his daughters to load his pockets with cakes, and put in his basket, in exchange for his merchandize, tongue, chicken, and other things to carry home to his mother. agnes heard the child's narration with more pleasure than she had for some time experienced.--"they do not despise me, then," said she; "they even respect me too much to offer me pecuniary aid, or presents of any kind but in a way that cannot wound my feelings." but this pleasure was almost immediately checked by the recollection, that he whose wounded spirit would have been soothed by seeing her once more an object of delicate attention and respect, and for whose sake alone she could now ever be capable of enjoying them, was still unconscious of her claims to it, and knew not that they were so generally acknowledged. in the words of jane de montfort she could have said, "he to whose ear my praise most welcome was, hears it no more!" "but i will hope on," agnes used to exclaim as these thoughts occurred to her; and again her countenance assumed the wild expression of a dissatisfied but still expecting spirit. three years had now elapsed since agnes first returned to her native place. "the next year," said agnes to fanny with unusual animation, "cannot fail of bringing forth good to me. you know that, according to the rules of the new bedlam, a patient is to remain five years in the house: at the end of that time, if not cured, he is to be removed to the apartments appropriated to incurables, and kept there for life, his friends paying a certain annuity for his maintenance; or he is, on their application, to be returned to their care--"--"and what then?" said fanny, wondering at the unusual joy that animated agnes's countenance. "why then," replied she, "as my father's time for being confined expires at the end of the next year, he will either be cured by that time, or he will be given up to my care; and then, who knows what the consequences may be!"--"what indeed!" returned fanny, who foresaw great personal fatigue and anxiety, if not danger, to agnes in such a plan, and was going to express her fears and objections; but agnes, in a manner overpoweringly severe, desired her to be silent, and angrily withdrew. soon after, agnes received a proof of being still dear to her friend caroline; which gave her a degree of satisfaction amounting even to joy. mr. seymour, in a letter to his daughter, had given her an account of all the proceedings of agnes, and expressed his surprise at the eagerness with which she laboured to gain money, merely, as it seemed, for the sake of hoarding it, as she had then, and always would have, only herself and child to maintain; as it was certain that her father would be allowed to continue, free of all expenses, an inhabitant of an asylum which owed its erection chiefly to his benevolent exertions. but caroline, to whom the mind of agnes was well known, and who had often contemplated with surprise and admiration her boldness in projecting, her promptness in deciding, and her ability in executing the projects which she had formed; and above all that sanguine temper which led her to believe probable, what others only conceived to be possible,--found a reason immediately for the passion of hoarding which seemed to have taken possession of her friend; and, following the instant impulse of friendship and compassion, she sent agnes the following letter, in which was inclosed a bank note to a considerable amount. "i have divined your secret, my dear agnes. i know why you are so anxious to hoard what you gain with such exemplary industry. in another year your father will have been the allotted time under the care of the medical attendants in your part of the world; and you are hoarding that you may be able, when that time comes, to procure for him elsewhere the best possible advice and assistance. yes, yes, i know i am right:--therefore, lest your own exertions should not, in the space of a twelvemonth, be crowned with sufficient success, i conjure you, by our long friendship, to appropriate the inclosed to the purport in question; and should the scheme which i impute to you be merely the creature of my own brain, as it is a good scheme, employ the money in executing it. "to silence all your scruples, i assure you that my gift is sanctioned by my husband and my father, who join with me in approbation of your conduct, and in the most earnest wishes that you may receive the reward of it in the entire restoration of your afflicted parent. already have the candid and enlightened paid you their tribute of recovered esteem. "it is the _slang_ of the present day, if i may be allowed this vulgar but forcible expression, to inveigh bitterly against society for excluding from its circle, with unrelenting rigour, the woman who has once transgressed the salutary laws of chastity; and some brilliant and persuasive, but in my opinion mistaken, writers of both sexes have endeavoured to prove that many an amiable woman has been for ever lost to virtue and the world, and become the victim of prostitution, merely because her first fault was treated with ill-judging and criminal severity. "this assertion appears to me to be fraught with mischief; as it is calculated to deter the victim of seduction from penitence and amendment, by telling her that she would employ them in her favour in vain. and it is surely as false as it is dangerous. i know many instances, and it is fair to conclude that the experience of others is similar to mine, of women restored by perseverance in a life of expiatory amendment to that rank in society, which they had forfeited by one false step, while their fault has been forgotten in their exemplary conduct as wives and mothers. "but it is not to be expected that society should open its arms to receive its prodigal children till they have undergone a long and painful probation,--till they have practised the virtues of self-denial, patience, fortitude, and industry. and she whose penitence is not the mere result of wounded pride and caprice, will be capable of exerting all these virtues, in order to regain some portion of the esteem which she has lost. what will difficulties and mortifications be to her? keeping her eye steadily fixed on the end which she has in view, she will bound lightly over them all; nor will she seek the smiles of the world, till, instead of receiving them as a favour, she can demand them as a right. "agnes, my dear agnes, do you not know the original of the above picture? you, by a life of self-denial, patience, fortitude, and industry, have endeavoured to atone for the crime which you committed against society; and i hear her voice saying, 'thy sins are forgiven thee!' and ill befall the hand that would uplift the sacred pall which penitence and amendment have thrown over departed guilt!" such was the letter of caroline:--a letter intended to speak peace and hope to the heart of agnes; to reconcile the offender to herself, and light up her dim eye with the beams of self-approbation. thus did she try to console her guilty and unhappy friend in the hour of her adversity and degradation. but caroline had given a still _greater_ proof of the sincerity of her friendship:--she had never wounded the feelings, or endeavoured to mortify the self-love of agnes in the hour of her prosperity and acknowledged superiority: she had seen her attractions, and heard her praises, without envy; nor ever with seeming kindness but real malignity related to her, in the accents of pretended wonder and indignation, the censures which she had incurred, or the ridicule which she had excited,--but in every instance she had proved her friendship a memorable exception to what are sarcastically termed the friendships of women. "yes,--she has indeed divined my secret," said agnes when she had perused the letter, while tears of tenderness trickled down her cheeks, "and she deserves to assist me in procuring means for my poor father's recovery--an indulgence which i should be jealous of granting to any one else, except you, fanny," she added, seeing on fanny's countenance an expression of jealousy of this richer friend; "and on the strength of this noble present," looking with a smile at her darned and pieced, though neat, apparel, "i will treat myself with a new gown."--"not before it was wanted," said fanny peevishly.--"nay," replied agnes with a forced smile, "surely i am well dressed enough for a runaway daughter. 'my father loved to see me fine,' as poor clarissa says, and had i never left him, i should not have been forced to wear such a gown as this: but, fanny, let me but see him once more capable of knowing me, and of loving me, if it be possible for him to forgive me," added she in a faltering voice, "and i will then, if he wishes it, be fine again, though i work all night to make myself so." "my dear, dear lady," said fanny sorrowfully, "i am sure i did not mean any thing by what i said; but you have such a way with you, and talk so sadly!--yet, i can't bear, indeed i can't, to see such a lady in a gown not good enough for me; and then to see my young master no better dressed than the cottager's boys next door;--and then to hear them call master edward little fitzhenry, as if he was not their betters;--i can't bear it,--it does not signify talking, i can't bear to think of it." "how, then," answered agnes in a solemn tone, and grasping her hand as she spoke, "how can i bear to think of the guilt which has thus reduced so low both me and my child? o! would to god my boy could exchange situation with the children whom you think his inferiors! i have given him life, indeed, but not one legal claim to what is necessary to the support of life, except the scanty pittance which i might, by a public avowal of my shame, wring from his father." "i would beg my bread with him through the streets before you should do that," hastily exclaimed fanny; "and, for the love of god, say no more on this subject!--he is _my child_, as well as yours," she continued, snatching little edward to her bosom, who was contentedly playing with his top at the door; and agnes, in contemplating the blooming graces of the boy, forgot that he was an object of compassion. the next year passed away as the former had done; and at the end of it, fitzhenry being pronounced incurable, but perfectly quiet and harmless, agnes desired, in spite of the advice and entreaties of the governors, that he might be delivered up to her, that she might put him under the care of dr. w----. luckily for agnes, the assignees of her father recovered a debt of a hundred pounds, which had long been due to him; and this sum they generously presented to agnes, in order to further the success of her last hope. on the day fixed for fitzhenry's release, agnes purchased a complete suit of clothes for him, such as he used to wear in former days, and dressed herself in a manner suited to her birth, rather than her situation; then set out in a post-chaise, attended by the friendly cottager, as it was judged imprudent for her to travel with her father alone, to take up fitzhenry at the bedlam, while fanny was crying with joy to see her dear lady looking like herself again, and travelling like a _gentlewoman_. but the poor, whom gratitude and affection made constantly observant of the actions of agnes, were full of consternation, when some of them heard, and communicated to the others, that a post-chaise was standing at miss fitzhenry's door. "o dear! she is going to leave us again; what shall we do without her?" was the general exclamation; and when agnes came out to enter her chaise, she found it surrounded by her humble friends lamenting and inquiring, though with cautious respect, whether she ever meant to come back again. "fanny will tell you every thing," said agnes, overcome with grateful emotion at observing the interest which she excited. unable to say more, she waved her hand as a token of farewell to them, and the chaise drove off. "is miss fitzhenry grown _rich_ again?" was the general question addressed to fanny; and i am sure it was a disinterested one, and that, at the moment, they asked it without a view to their profiting by her change of situation, and merely as anxious for her welfare;--and when fanny told them whither and wherefore agnes was gone, could prayers, good wishes and blessings have secured success to the hopes of agnes, her father, even as soon as she stopped at the gate of the bedlam, would have recognised and received her with open arms. but when she arrived, she found fitzhenry as irrational as ever, though delighted to hear that he was going to take a ride with "_the lady_" as he always called agnes; and she had the pleasure of seeing him seat himself beside her with a look of uncommon satisfaction. nothing worth relating happened on the road. fitzhenry was very tractable, except at night, when the cottager, who slept in the same room with him, found it difficult to make him keep in bed, and was sometimes forced to call agnes to his assistance: at sight of her he always became quiet, and obeyed her implicitly. the skilful and celebrated man to whom she applied received her with sympathizing kindness, and heard her story with a degree of interest and sensibility peculiarly grateful to the afflicted heart. agnes related with praiseworthy ingenuousness the whole of her sad history, judging it necessary that the doctor should know the cause of the malady for which he was to prescribe. it was peculiarly the faculty of agnes to interest in her welfare those with whom she conversed; and the doctor soon experienced a more than ordinary earnestness to cure a patient so interesting from his misfortunes, and recommended by so interesting a daughter. "six months," said he, "will be a sufficient time of trial; and in the mean while you shall reside in a lodging near us." fitzhenry then became an inmate of the doctor's house; agnes took possession of apartments in the neighbourhood; and the cottager returned to ----. the ensuing six months were passed by agnes in the soul-sickening feeling of hope deferred: and, while the air of the place agreed so well with her father that he became fat and healthy in his appearance, anxiety preyed on her delicate frame, and made the doctor fear that, when he should be forced to pronounce his patient beyond his power to cure, she would sink under the blow, unless the hope of being still serviceable to her father should support her under its pressure. he resolved, therefore, to inform her, in as judicious and cautious a manner as possible, that he saw no prospect of curing the thoroughly-shattered intellect of fitzhenry. "_i_ can do nothing for your father," said he to agnes (when he had been under his care six months), laying great stress on the word _i_;----(agnes, with a face of horror, started from her seat, and laid her hand on his arm)----"but _you_ can do a great deal." "can i? can i?" exclaimed agnes, sobbing convulsively.--"blessed hearing! but the means--the means?" "it is very certain," he replied, "that he experiences great delight when he sees you, and sees you too employed in his service;--and when he lives with you, and sees you again where he has been accustomed to see you----" "you advise his living with me, then?" interrupted agnes with eagerness. "i do, most strenuously," replied the doctor. "blessings on you for those words!" answered agnes: "they said you would oppose it. you are a wise and a kind-hearted man." "my dear child," rejoined the doctor, "when an evil can't be cured, it should at least be alleviated." "you think it can't be cured, then?" again interrupted agnes. "not absolutely so:--i know not what a course of medicine, and living with you as much in your old way as possible, may do for him. let him resume his usual habits, his usual walks, live as near your former habitation as you possibly can; let him hear his favourite songs, and be as much with him as you can contrive to be; and if you should not succeed in making him rational again, you will at least make him happy." "happy!--i make him happy, now!" exclaimed agnes, pacing the room in an agony:--"i made him happy once!--but now!----" "you must hire some one to sleep in the room with him," resumed the doctor. "no, no," cried agnes impatiently;--"no one shall wait on him but myself;--i will attend him day and night." "and should your strength be worn out by such incessant watching, who would take care of him then?--remember, you are but mortal."--agnes shook her head, and was silent.--"besides, the strength of a man may sometimes be necessary; and, for his sake as well as yours, i must insist on being obeyed." "you shall be obeyed," said agnes mournfully. "then now," rejoined he, "let me give you my advice relative to diet, medicine, and management."--this he did in detail, as he found agnes had a mind capacious enough to understand his system; and promising to answer her letters immediately, whenever she wrote to him for advice, he took an affectionate farewell of her; and agnes and her father, accompanied by a man whom the doctor had procured for the purpose, set off for ----. fanny was waiting at the cottage with little edward to receive them,--but the dejected countenance of agnes precluded all necessity of asking concerning the state of fitzhenry. scarcely could the caresses of her child, and the joy which he expressed at seeing her, call a smile to her lips; and as she pressed him to her bosom, tears of bitter disappointment mingled with those of tenderness. in a day or two after, agnes, in compliance with the doctor's desire, hired a small tenement very near the house in which they formerly lived; and in the garden of which, as it was then empty, they obtained leave to walk. she also procured a person to sleep in the room with her father, instead of the man who came with them; and he carried back a letter from her to the doctor, informing him that she had arranged every thing according to his directions. it was a most painfully pleasing sight to behold the attention of agnes to fitzhenry. she knew that it was not in her power to repair the enormous injury which she had done him, and that all she could now do was but a poor amends; still it was affecting to see how anxiously she watched his steps whenever he chose to wander alone from home, and what pains she took to make him neat in his appearance, and cleanly in his person. her child and herself were clothed in coarse apparel, but she bought for her father everything of the best materials; and, altered as he was, fitzhenry still looked like a gentleman. sometimes he seemed in every respect so like himself, that agnes, hurried away by her imagination, would, after gazing on him some minutes, start from her seat, seize his hand, and, breathless with hope, address him as if he were a rational being,--when a laugh of vacancy, or a speech full of the inconsistency of phrensy, would send her back on her chair again, with a pulse quickened, and a cheek flushed with the fever of disappointed expectation. however, he certainly was pleased with her attentions,--but, alas! he knew not who was the bestower of them: he knew not that the child, whose ingratitude or whose death he still lamented in his ravings in the dead of night, was returned to succour, to soothe him, and to devote herself entirely to his service. he heard her, but he knew her not; he saw her, but in her he was not certain that he beheld his child: and this was the pang that preyed on the cheek and withered the frame of agnes: but she persisted to hope, and patiently endured the pain of to-day, expecting the joy of to-morrow; nor did her hopes always appear ill-founded. the first day that agnes led him to the garden once his own, he ran through every walk with eager delight; but he seemed surprised and angry to see the long grass growing in the walks, and the few flowers that remained choked up with weeds,--and began to pluck up the weeds with hasty violence. "it is time to go home," said agnes to him just as the day began to close in; and fitzhenry immediately walked to the door which led into the house, and, finding it locked, looked surprised: then, turning to agnes, he asked her if she had not the key in her pocket; and on her telling him that that was not his home, he quitted the house evidently with great distress and reluctance, and was continually looking back at it, as if he did not know how to believe her. on this little circumstance poor agnes lay ruminating the whole night after, with joyful expectation; and she repaired to the garden at day-break, with a gardener whom she hired, to make the walks look as much as possible as they formerly did. but they had omitted to tie up some straggling flowers;--and when agnes, fanny and the cottager, accompanied fitzhenry thither the next evening, though he seemed conscious of the improvement that had taken place, he was disturbed at seeing some gilliflowers trailing along the ground; and suddenly turning to agnes he said, "why do you not bind up these?" to do these little offices in the garden, and keep the parterre in order, was formerly agnes's employment. what delight, then, must these words of fitzhenry, so evidently the result of an association in his mind between her and his daughter, have excited in agnes! with a trembling hand and a glowing cheek she obeyed; and fitzhenry, with manifest satisfaction, saw her tie up every straggling flower in the garden, while he eagerly followed her and bent attentively over her. at last, when she had gone the whole round of the flower-beds, he exclaimed, "good girl! good girl!" and putting his arms round her waist, suddenly kissed her cheek. surprise, joy, and emotion difficult to be defined, overcame the irritable frame of agnes, and she fell senseless to the ground. but the care of fanny soon recovered her again;--and the first question that she asked was, how her father (whom she saw in great agitation running round the garden) behaved when he saw her fall. "he raised you up," replied fanny, "and seemed so distressed! he would hold the salts to your nose himself, and would scarcely suffer me to do anything for you: but, hearing you mutter 'father! dear father!' as you began to come to yourself, he changed colour, and immediately began to run round the garden, as you now see him." "say no more, say no more, my dear friend," cried agnes; "it is enough. i am happy, quite happy;--it is clear that he knew me;--and i have again received a father's embrace!--then his anxiety too while i was ill!--oh! there is no doubt now that he will be quite himself in time." "perhaps he may," replied fanny;--"but----" "but! and perhaps!" cried agnes pettishly;--"i tell you he will, he certainly will recover; and those are not my friends who doubt it." so saying, she ran hastily forward to meet fitzhenry, who was joyfully hastening towards her, leaving fanny grieved and astonished at her petulance. but few are the tempers proof against continual anxiety and the souring influence of still renewed and still disappointed hope; and even agnes, the once gentle agnes, if contradicted on this one subject, became angry and unjust. but she was never conscious of having given pain to the feelings of another, without bitter regret and an earnest desire of healing the wound which she had made; and when, leaning on fitzhenry's arm, she returned towards fanny, and saw her in tears, she felt a pang severer than that which she had inflicted, and said every thing that affection and gratitude could dictate, to restore her to tranquillity again. her agitation alarmed fitzhenry; and, exclaiming "poor thing!" he held the smelling-bottle, almost by force, to her nose, and seemed terrified lest she was going to faint again. "you see, you see!" said agnes triumphantly to fanny; and fanny, made cautious by experience, declared the conviction that her young lady must know more of all matters than she did. but month after month elapsed, and no circumstances of a similar nature occurred to give new strength to the hopes of agnes; however, she had the pleasure to see that fitzhenry not only seemed to be attached to her, but pleased with little edward. she had indeed taken pains to teach him to endeavour to amuse her father,--but sometimes she had the mortification of hearing, when fits of loud laughter from the child reached her ear, "edward was only laughing at grandpapa's odd faces and actions, mamma:" and having at last taught him that it was wicked to laugh at such things, because his grandfather was not well when he distorted his face, her heart was nearly as much wrung by the pity which he expressed; for, whenever these occasional slight fits of phrensy attacked fitzhenry, little edward would exclaim, "poor grandpapa! he is not well now;--i wish we could make him well, mamma!" but, on the whole, she had reason to be tolerably cheerful. every evening, when the weather was fine, agnes, holding her father's arm, was seen taking her usual walk, her little boy gamboling before them; and never, in their most prosperous hours, were they met with curtsies more low, or bows more respectful, than on these occasions; and many a one grasped with affectionate eagerness the meagre hand of fitzhenry, and the feverish hand of agnes; for even the most rigid hearts were softened in favour of agnes, when they beheld the ravages which grief had made in her form, and gazed on her countenance, which spoke in forcible language the sadness yet resignation of her mind. she might, if she had chosen it, have been received at many houses where she had formerly been intimate; but she declined it, as visiting would have interfered with the necessary labours of the day, with her constant attention to her father, and with the education of her child. "but when my father recovers," said she to fanny, "as he will be pleased to find that i am not deemed wholly unworthy of notice, i shall have great satisfaction in visiting with him." to be brief:--another year elapsed, and agnes still hoped; and fitzhenry continued the same to every eye but hers:--she every day fancied that his symptoms of returning reason increased, and no one of her friends dared to contradict her. but in order, if possible, to accelerate his recovery, she had resolved to carry him to london, to receive the best advice that the metropolis afforded, when fitzhenry was attacked by an acute complaint which confined him to his bed. this event, instead of alarming agnes, redoubled her hopes. she insisted that it was the crisis of his disorder, and expected that health and reason would return together. not for one moment therefore would she leave his bedside; and she would allow herself neither food nor rest, while with earnest attention she gazed on the fast sinking eyes of fitzhenry, eager to catch in them an expression of returning recognition. one day, after he had been sleeping some time, and she, as usual, was attentively watching by him, fitzhenry slowly and gradually awoke; and, at last, raising himself on his elbow, looked round him with an expression of surprise, and, seeing agnes, exclaimed, "my child! are you there? gracious god! is this possible?" let those who have for years been pining away life in fruitless expectation, and who see themselves at last possessed of the long-desired blessing, figure to themselves the rapture of agnes--"he knows me! he is himself again!" burst from her quivering lips, unconscious that it was too probable that restored reason was here the forerunner of dissolution. "o my father!" she cried, falling on her knees, but not daring to look up at him--"o my father, forgive me, if possible!--i have been guilty, but i am penitent." fitzhenry, as much affected as agnes, faltered out, "thou art restored to me,--and god knows how heartily i forgive thee!" then raising her to his arms, agnes, happy in the fullfilment of her utmost wishes, felt herself once more pressed to the bosom of the most affectionate of fathers. "but surely you are not now come back?" asked fitzhenry. "i have seen you before, and very lately?"--"seen me! o yes!" replied agnes with passionate rapidity;--"for these last five years i have seen you daily; and for the last two years you have lived with me, and i have worked to maintain you!"--"indeed!" answered fitzhenry:--"but how pale and thin you are! you have worked too much:--had you no _friends_, my child?" "o yes! and, guilty as i have been, they pity, nay, they respect me, and we may yet be happy! as heaven restores you to my prayers!--true, i have suffered much; but this blessed moment repays me;--this is the only moment of true enjoyment which i have known since i left my home and you!" agnes was thus pouring out the hasty effusions of her joy, unconscious that fitzhenry, overcome with affection, emotion, and, perhaps, sorrowful recollections, was struggling in vain for utterance;--at last,--"for so many years--and i knew you not!--worked for me;--attended me!----bless, bless her, heaven!" he faintly articulated; and worn out with illness, and choaked with contending emotions, he fell back on his pillow, and expired! that blessing, the hope of obtaining which alone gave agnes courage to endure contumely, poverty, fatigue, and sorrow, was for one moment her own, and then snatched from her for ever!--no wonder, then, that, when convinced her father was really dead, she fell into a state of stupefaction, from which she never recovered;--and, at the same time, were borne to the same grave, the father and daughter. * * * * * the day of their funeral was indeed a melancholy one:--they were attended to the grave by a numerous procession of respectable inhabitants of both sexes,--while the afflicted and lamenting poor followed mournfully at a distance. even those who had distinguished themselves by their violence against agnes at her return, dropped a tear as they saw her borne to her long home. mrs. macfiendy forgot her beauty and accomplishments in her misfortunes and early death; and the mother of the child who had fled from the touch of agnes, felt sorry that she had ever called her the wickedest woman in the world. but the most affecting part of the procession was little edward as chief mourner, led by fanny and her husband, in all the happy insensibility of childhood, unconscious that he was the pitiable hero of that show, which, by its novelty and parade, so much delighted him,--while his smiles, poor orphan! excited the tears of those around him. just before the procession began to move, a post-chariot and four, with white favours, drove into the yard of the largest inn in the town. it contained lord and lady mountcarrol, who were married only the day before, and were then on their way to her ladyship's country seat. his lordship, who seemed incapable of resting in one place for a minute together, did nothing but swear at the postillions for bringing them that road, and express an earnest desire to leave the town again as fast as possible. while he was gone into the stable, for the third time, to see whether the horses were not sufficiently refreshed to go on, a waiter came in to ask lady mountcarrol's commands, and at that moment the funeral passed the window. the waiter (who was the very servant that at mr. seymour's had refused to shut the door against agnes) instantly turned away his head, and burst into tears. this excited her ladyship's curiosity; and she drew from him a short but full account of agnes and her father. he had scarcely finished his story when lord mountcarrol came in, saying that the carriage was ready; and no sooner had his bride begun to relate to him the story which she had just heard, than he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, "it is as false as hell, madam! miss fitzhenry and her child both died years ago." then rushing into the carriage, he left lady mountcarrol terrified and amazed at his manner. but when she was seating herself by his side, she could not help saying that it was impossible for a story to be false, which all the people in the inn averred to be true; and, as he did not offer to interrupt her, she went through the whole story of agnes and her sufferings; but before she could proceed to comment on them, the procession, returning from church, crossed the road in which they were going, and obliged the postillions to stop. foremost came the little edward, with all his mother's beauty in his face. "poor little orphan!" said lady mountcarrol, giving a tear to the memory of agnes: "see, my lord, what a lovely boy!" as she spoke, the extreme elegance of the carriage attracted edward's attention: and springing from fanny's hand, who in vain endeavoured to hold him back, he ran up to the door to examine the figures on the pannel. at that instant lord mountcarrol opened the door, lifted the child into the chaise, and, throwing his card of address to the astonished mourners, ordered the servants to drive on as fast as possible. they did so in despite of mr. seymour and others, for astonishment had at first deprived them of the power of moving; and the horses, before the witnesses of this sudden and strange event had recovered their recollection, had gone too far to allow themselves to be stopped. the card with lord mountcarrol's name explained what at first had puzzled and confounded as well as alarmed them; and fanny, who had fainted at sight of his lordship, because she knew him, altered as he was, to be edward's father, and the bane of agnes, now recovering herself, conjured mr. seymour to follow him immediately, and tell him that edward was bequeathed to her care. mr. seymour instantly ordered post horses, and in about an hour after set off in pursuit of the ravisher. but the surprise and consternation of fanny and the rest of the mourners, was not greater than that of lady mountcarrol at sight of her lord's strange conduct. "what does this outrage mean, my lord?" she exclaimed in a faltering voice; "and whose child is that?"--"it is _my child_, madam," replied he; "and i will never resign him but with life." then pressing the astonished boy to his bosom, he for some minutes sobbed aloud,--while lady mountcarrol, though she could not help feeling compassion for the agony which the seducer of agnes must experience at such a moment, was not a little displeased and shocked at finding herself the wife of that clifford, whose name she had so lately heard coupled with that of villain. but her attention was soon called from reflections so unpleasant by the cries of edward, whose surprise at being seized and carried away by a stranger now yielded to terror, and who, bursting from lord mountcarrol, desired to go back to his mamma, fanny, and mr. seymour. "what! and leave your own father, edward?" asked his agitated parent.--"look at me,--i am your father;--but i suppose, your mother, as well she might, taught you to hate me?"--"my mamma told me it was wicked to hate any body: and i am sure i have no papa: i had a grandpapa, but he is gone to heaven along with my mamma, fanny says, and she is my mamma now." and again screaming and stamping with impatience, he insisted on going back to her. but at length, by promises of riding on a fine horse, and of sending for fanny to ride with him, he was pacified. then with artless readiness he related his mother's way of life, and the odd ways of his grandpapa: and thus, by acquainting lord mountcarrol with the sufferings and the virtuous exertions of agnes, he increased his horror of his own conduct, and his regret at not having placed so noble-minded a woman at the head of his family. but whence arose the story of her death he had yet to learn. in a few hours they reached the seat which he had acquired by his second marriage; and there too, in an hour after, arrived mr. seymour and the husband of fanny. lord mountcarrol expected this visit, and received them courteously; while mr. seymour was so surprised at seeing the once healthy and handsome clifford changed to an emaciated valetudinarian, and carrying in his face the marks of habitual intemperance, that his indignation was for a moment lost in pity. but recovering himself, he told his lordship that he came to demand justice for the outrage which he had committed, and in the name of the friend to whom miss fitzhenry had, in case of her sudden death, bequeathed her child, to insist on his being restored to her. "we will settle that point presently," replied lord mountcarrol; "but first i conjure you to tell me all that has happened since we parted, to her whose name i have not for years been able to repeat, and whom, as well as this child, i have also for years believed dead." "i will, my lord," answered mr. seymour; "but i warn you, that if you have any feeling it will be tortured by the narration." "if i have any feeling!" cried his lordship: "but go on, sir; from you, sir--from you, as--as _her friend_, i can bear any thing." words could not do justice to the agonies of lord mountcarrol, while mr. seymour, beginning with agnes's midnight walk to ----, went through a recital of her conduct and sufferings, and hopes and anxieties, and ended with the momentary recovery and death-scene of her father. but when lord mountcarrol discovered that agnes supposed his not making any inquiries concerning her or the child proceeded from brutal indifference concerning their fate, and that, considering him as a monster of inhumanity, she had regarded him not only with contempt, but abhorrence, and seemed to have dismissed him entirely from her remembrance, he beat his breast, he cast himself on the floor in frantic anguish, lamenting, in all the bitterness of fruitless regret, that agnes died without knowing how much he loved her, and without suspecting that, while she was supposing him unnaturally forgetful of her and her child, he was struggling with illness, caused by her desertion, and with a dejection of spirits which he had never, at times, been able to overcome; execrating at the same time the memory of his father, and wilson, whom he suspected of having intentionally deceived him. to conclude--pity for the misery and compunction of lord mountcarrol, and a sense of the advantages both in education and fortune that would accrue to little edward from living with his father, prevailed on mr. seymour and the husband of fanny to consent to his remaining where he was;--and from that day edward was universally known as his lordship's son,--who immediately made a will bequeathing him a considerable fortune. lord mountcarrol was then sinking fast into his grave, the victim of his vices, and worn to the bone by the corroding consciousness that agnes had died in the persuasion of his having brutally neglected her.--that was the bitterest pang of all! she had thought him so vile, that she could not for a moment regret him! his first wife he had despised because she was weak and illiterate, and hated because she had brought him no children. his second wife was too amiable to be disliked; but, though he survived his marriage with her two years, she also failed to produce an heir to the title. and while he contemplated in edward the mind and person of his mother, he was almost frantic with regret that he was not legally his son; and he cursed the hour when with short-sighted cunning he sacrificed the honour of agnes to his views of family aggrandizement. but, selfish to the last moment of his existence, it was a consciousness of his own misery, not of that which he had inflicted, which prompted his expressions of misery and regret; and he grudged and envied agnes the comfort of having been able to despise and forget him. * * * * * peace to the memory of agnes fitzhenry!--and may the woman who, like her, has been the victim of artifice, self-confidence, and temptation, like her endeavour to regain the esteem of the world by patient suffering, and virtuous exertion; and look forward to the attainment of it with confidence!--but may she whose innocence is yet secure, and whose virtues still boast the stamp of chastity, which can alone make them current in the world, tremble with horror at the idea of listening to the voice of the seducer, lest the image of a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, or some other fellow-being, whose peace of mind has been injured by her deviation from virtue, should haunt her path through life; and she who might, perhaps, have contemplated with fortitude the wreck of her own happiness, be doomed to pine with fruitless remorse at the consciousness of having destroyed that of another.--for where is the mortal who can venture to pronounce that his actions are of importance to no one, and that the consequences of his virtues or his vices will be confined to himself alone! the end. printed by richard taylor, shoe-lane, london. letters of a lunatic, or a brief exposition of my university life, during the years - . by g. j. adler, a. m., professor of german literature in the university of the city of new-york, member of the american oriental, and of the american ethnological societies, &c., &c. spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici? horat. ars poet. v. . [greek: mê ny toi ou chraismê skêptron kai stemma theoio]! iliad i. v. . printed for the author. . prefatory note to the public. in a recent publication on german literature, i hinted to the reader my design of giving an account of an event in my personal history, which i alleged to be the cause of an absentment from my proper place of study, and consequently of an injustice to my public. i now proceed to fulfil my promise, by offering to my personal friends, and to such as are interested in matters of academic education and morality, a few of the many letters written by me during the past year. i might have added others, both of an anterior and of a more recent date. the question however was not to write a volume, but simply a brief exposition, of a page or two from my life in connection with a public institution of the metropolis, and thus to bring a matter of private and iniquitous dispute before the forum of the public, after having vainly sought redress in private. my main object was of course to vindicate and defend my character, my professional honor and my most sacred rights as a rational man and as a public educator, against the invasions of narrow-minded and unjust aggressors, whose machinations have for several years been busily at work in subverting what other men have reared before them, in retarding and impeding what the intelligence of our age and country is eager to accelerate and to promote. the much agitated question of university reform and of the liberty of academic instruction, which of late years has engaged the attention of some of the best intellects on both sides of the atlantic, and which within a month past has again occupied the public mind, and even called forth legislative intervention may, however, perhaps likewise receive some additional light from the following pages, which i now submit, not from any motive of vanity, or from the expectation of self-aggrandisement or of histrionic applause; but from a sense of duty to the cause of liberal culture and of sound morality, to which i have devoted many a year of laborious effort and of earnest thought. new-york university, } g. j. a. _june_, . } letter i. new-york university, sept. th, . rev. isaac ferris, d. d. dear sir,--i deem it a duty of justice towards myself, as well as to the honor of the institution of which i am an officer and yourself the newly-elected head, to bring to your consideration a few circumstances from the history of our incidental intercourse during the past winter, which at the time of occurrence, struck me with painful surprise, and which i cannot suffer to pass without my most earnest protestations. st, during the earlier part of the winter, in passing out of my lecture-room one morning, i met you in the hall of the university with a pale face, asking me in the most uncalled-for and singular manner the strange question:--"_are you my superior?_"--the reply, which i ought to have written on the spot to such an enquiry, i would now make by saying, that such an idea never occurred to me, and that, as i had never seen any thing of your presence in the actual performance of duty in the university at the time of my instruction to the students, such an idea _never could have suggested itself_ to me. the question of superiority or inferiority being, moreover, of a relative nature and one that (in our profession) can only be settled by actual services rendered to the cause of letters and by actual acknowledgements obtained in a proper manner and from competent judges, it would be folly for me or for any one else to attempt to place it on any other ground; and for that reason i never touch it, although i am always ready to acknowledge both moral and intellectual superiority, wherever i become aware of its existence. d, on a second occasion, i met you by accident in the hall before my door, when to my equal surprise, you informed me by indefinite murmurs and in the same painful half-way-utterance, "_that i had the chapel_," and "_that i was in the next church_," pointing to dr. hutton's. this cannot possibly be the case, as i am not of your persuasion in matters of religion, and if i am to communicate any instruction in the institution, it must be done in the usual way. d, during the horrid disorders within the institution the past winter, i repeatedly heard vociferous declamations in the adjoining room, and at one time the famous words of patrick henry were declaimed by mr. bennet (i think) of the last class: "_give me liberty, or give me death!_" fearfully emphasized, and _your own voice echoed_: "_death you shall have!_" as at that particular time i underwent the crucifixion of college-disorder, at the same time receiving occasional intimations that either in my speculations or in my instruction _i was going too far_, and that on that account it was necessary for me to leave, i cannot possibly be mistaken in supposing, _that both that horrible word of yours_, as well as the frequent scandalous vociferations were intended as an insult for me; (and, _if that is so_, i would most respectfully beg leave to reciprocate the compliment). th, at the dinner of the alumni my attention along with that of all the rest of the assembled guests was directed towards you, at the time you rose to speak. while yet standing, you turned towards me with a peculiar expression of countenance (which i beg you to allow me to reciprocate) and in an under-tone (distinctly audible to me) asked the guests of the opposite side of the room (between whom and yourself there appears to have been a collusion): _shall i have to become the step-father of that man?_ and again in the same tone and with the same expression of countenance: "_next year i shall see another man in that man's place!_" the subsequent exchange of salutations _over prof._ martin was ironical on your part, and independently of the rudeness of the act, wholly out of place. no one else present was treated in the same way.--in regard to the last expression, with which you honored me on that occasion, i would say, that by the repetition of the scenes of immorality and disorder of which this building was the theatre (in the most odious sense of that term) during the past year, such an event might be possible, not however without some troublesome resistance on my part and _the prospect of another change_.--in regard to the first question, i will myself take the responsibility of a reply, by frankly informing you, that, although i do not feel the slightest inclination to question the responsible honor of your office, and with due deference to the reputation for moral integrity (of your _scholarship_ i have never seen any proof), which must have secured the same to you, i nevertheless most emphatically decline such paternal supervision--having for many years past been myself of full age, and even won a place _as a man_ among the men and scholars of our land. and this i purpose to maintain, whether i am in the university, or out of it. i must, therefore, beg you _to take back the offensive words at the next dinner as publicly as they were uttered_, or else i shall be obliged to take measures in defence of my honor, which, painful and disagreeable as they would be to me, would nevertheless be a necessary duty of self-protection. as for my peculiar views and position with reference to questions of scholarship and education, i have undergone no change of opinion whatever, nor could i undergo one, unless it were the necessary consequence of a rational conviction; and i shall have my hands full for some years to come, to write out and publish what i have but imperfectly and in a desultory manner indicated in my lectures and conversations; and while i am convinced that in many respects i have (as is usual) been voluntarily and involuntarily misunderstood, i am sure, that in the main i am right, and entitled to a hearing or a reading, whether, as has been intimated to me, i go too far or not.--in regard to the many scandalous interruptions by spectral noises (by day and by night), of which i well remember the chief authors, and in regard to my other persecutions, i am aware, that they can only be the subject of commiseration and of merited contempt, and that under the given circumstances, it would be difficult to obtain redress or justice. i shall, however, procure some legal advice on the subject. allow me, in conclusion, sir, to assure you of the absence of all hostile personal feeling on my part. i have said what my duty imperatively demands, and my silence would have made me a villain, justly liable to perpetual abuse. i am, dear sir, with the most distinguished consideration, yours, &c. g. j. adler. letter ii. new-york university, sept. th, . to his honor, the mayor } of the city of new-york.} dear sir,--i deem it my duty as a citizen of new-york, and a member of a literary institution, of which your honor is _ex-officio_ an officer, to apprize you of a fact of my personal history during the past winter, which as it is intimately connected with the maintenance of social order, should not for one moment be passed over by the authorities of the municipal corporation. i have for a number of years past been connected with the university of the city of new-york, first as a resident graduate and lately as the professor of a modern language, and have ever since my connection with the institution resided in the building on washington square, spending most of my time in authorship and instruction in a room, which for several years i have occupied for that purpose. in consequence of some bad feeling towards me on the part of certain enemies of mine, who of late have done all in their power to annoy me, the quiet of my residence has been disturbed in a scandalous manner, by day and at all hours of the night, for weeks and months together, so as to inflict on me the torments of perpetual interruption not only in my work during the day, but of rest during the night, until my health was completely shattered; and in this miserable manner i have lost nearly the whole of last winter without accomplishing any of my purposes with satisfaction or comfort. this outrageous annoyance has been the source of severe loss to me not only in regard to my health, but also in a pecuniary point of view. my salary in the institution being altogether inadequate for my support, i have been engaged for a number of years past in preparing works for publication, and this winter the ruin of my health from the causes already mentioned has also threatened me with the ruin of my income. as this villainous business has proceeded in part from the institution itself, or rather from individuals personally hostile to me and to my purposes, i deem an address to your honor so much the more in place, as i believe it to be officially your duty to interpose your municipal authority in matters of this kind, and to reprimand or punish men for the immorality of so flagrant a disturbance of the peace. as my ears have almost daily been wounded by disorderly noises, not only from students, but (and mostly) from other persons, who ought to blush for such base conduct, i cannot say, that i am unacquainted with the authors of the nuisance, and could easily designate to you at least half a dozen. such cries as "go on! stop!--out of the institution with that man!--kill him!" besides multitudes of vulgar chuckles, screams and other horrid vociferations have been heard by me from well-known voices, until at times i felt as if i could support the vexation no longer. numberless insults in the street and even menaces were constantly thrown out by a low gang, who were evidently hired for the vile purpose, and i have seen things, which i never witnessed before either in europe or america. a certain firm of this city seems to have commenced the nefarious hostilities. i have suffered encroachments on my personal safety to which no american citizen ought for one moment to submit. as i cannot afford, nor feel inclined to lose my time and health any longer, i would respectfully submit to your honor's consideration _my claim to the protection of the laws of the city_ in this respect, to which as an american citizen i am entitled, and the necessity of a sterner maintenance of order by the police of the city. disagreeable and painful as it is for any one to come into hostile collision with fellow-citizens, there are nevertheless cases, in which such enmities may be innocently contracted, and holding mine to be of such a nature, i may confidently expect the ready and effectual interposition of your honor and of the honorable members of the common council, to whom the order and honor of the city must ever be dear, in a matter that seems to me to involve one of the most cherished principles of our republican freedom, viz., the personal safety and peaceable domicile of every member of our community, of every citizen of this vast republic. to sum up my complaints briefly, they are as follows:-- st, personal hostility towards me in the institution itself; dly, horrid footsteps, noises and loud conferences under my window by day and by night; dly, menacing insults from low people in the street, without the slightest provocation on my part. trusting that your honor may find an early occasion to give me an opportunity for finding my firm conviction true, that the majesty of the law is capable of being upheld by its representatives in the community, and that i may have a different tale to tell respecting the morality of the city and my own sense of personal safety, i am your honor's most respectful and obedient servant. g. j. adler. letter iii.--(answer to no. i.) rev. dr.---- dear sir,--understanding that you are a friend of professor adler, of this university, and know his brother, i take the liberty of calling your attention to his present condition.--during the last winter he gave various indications of a disordered mind, and these have become more decided during the past summer. i am distressed to see his haggard look, and have feared unhappy results. he is unfitted for the business of teaching, and his friends would do well to get him another institution, adapted to such, away from study. i think there should be no delay in the matter.--we all esteem dr. adler highly, and would be delighted with his restoration to the full use of his fine intellectual powers. may i solicit your fraternal aid in this case, and please let me hear from you at an early day. i am with great regard, yours, university of the city of } new-york, _sept_. th, ' .} (signed) isaac ferris. epilogomena to letter iii. as the above letter was handed to my personal friends for the purpose of conveying the desired intelligence, and sent to me, when the report of my illness and mental derangement was found to be groundless and false, there can be no impropriety or breach of courtesy or justice in its publication. the serious consequences to which it gave rise, the deprivation of my liberty for six entire months, and the suspension of my functions as an academic instructor (though not of my activity as an author, which under the most inauspicious circumstances was still continued) alike demand, that it should be made known in connection with my own communications before and during my imprisonment. a comment or two will exhibit the contents of the doctor's epistle in their proper light. st, the dr's. letter is itself a contradiction and an egregious symptom of insanity on his part, which is, moreover, confirmed by his previous conduct from his first entrance into the institution. in comparing the university with the lunatic asylum, i find that the former during the winter of -' (i may add, ever since my return from europe in ) was a far more disorderly and irrational place than the latter, where the occasional confusion or the perpetual (sane and insane) perversity of men is the lamentable, but natural and necessary (consequently _irresponsible_) result, of an internal physical or intellectual disorder or defect, which is moreover susceptible of classification and of a psychological exposition, while in the former it was "got up" for the particular purpose of subjugation or of expulsion, and where consequently it was the result of _responsible_ perversity and malice, _susceptible of moral reprobation_. d, the allegation of my being "unfitted for the business of teaching," and of the propriety of finding me "another institution, adapted to such, away from study," is an absurd and a libelous perversion of the truth, which it is scarcely worth while to refute. from the year , the year of my matriculation at the institution, to the present hour i have had no other profession, except that of having appeared in the additional capacity of an author. even during my undergraduate career i taught successfully the various disciplines of our academic course, with the approbation and to the satisfaction of the faculty, members of which examined and admitted to promotion several of my private scholars, who had been expressly referred to me for tuition in the classics, in mathematics, in philosophy, &c.--of my courses of instruction since my official and regular connection with the institution (which dates from the year ) in the language and in the literature which i was more especially appointed to profess, it is not necessary to speak here, the university itself having offered but little inducement and no emolument or honor to the cultivation of the modern languages. in all the professional services, however, which i have had occasion to render to the institution of late years, my qualifications and my efficiency could never have been honestly or honorably questioned. i have prepared my own text-books, which have found their way into most of the literary and educational institutions of this continent to some extent into europe even. one of them was begun at the very time, when "the indications of a disordered mind had become more decided," and was completed with scarcely a day's intermission of my work at the lunatic asylum, where i subsequently improved my leisure (as far as my shattered health would permit) by zealously engaging in some preliminary studies for a history of modern literature.--it is equally needless to expatiate on my extensive acquaintance, direct and indirect, with academic men and methods both in the united states and in europe, where within a few years past i spent an entire year in the pursuit of literary and philosophical studies at two of its most prominent universities.--_to my morality, both private and social, and to my religion, no one but a hyper-puristic religionist or a calvinistic tyrant could possibly object._--the real objection, and the cause of my being unfitted for the business of instruction must therefore be looked for elsewhere. from various indications and from several catastrophes in my personal history, brought about by sectarian jealousy and fanatical intrigue, from certain significant changes in the faculty of the institution, and from innumerable efforts to subject me to a creed, or to the social control of certain religious parties, i should infer that it manifestly and palpably resided in a mistrust of what is vulgarly termed "the soundness of my views" on certain questions, never discussed in respectable literary institutions, and beyond their jurisdiction, or in other words _in a suspicion of heresy_.--i claim, however, in opposition to all these pretensions, which i deem an absurdity, my right (which is _inalienable_ and _imprescriptible_) to my moral and intellectual culture, commenced under the auspices and fostering care of my alma mater herself (during a former administration) and continued and perfected by years of serious and earnest effort in america and europe, since. _i recognize no sectarian guidance or control whatever in any of the independent sciences, cultivated from time immemorial at academic institutions, much less in the science of sciences, the very law and indispensable condition of which is absolute freedom from all external authority or restraint._ the law of intellectual freedom, of which the reader will find a short exposition in the concluding document of this pamphlet (which i have extracted and translated from a distinguished authority on the "philosophy of right") is recognized by the spirit and the letter of the constitution and by the political and social history of the united states, by the revised statutes of the state of new-york, by all the leading universities _of protestant and catholic europe_, and by a number of similar institutions in america, among which stands, "professedly" at least, the university of the city of new-york. the attempts of certain parties in connection with the institution and _ab extra_ to "smother" (to use one of their own cant words) and to crush my independence by gravely endeavoring to _coerce me into an alliance with a questionable religionism, which is abhorrent to my ideas, my habits and my sentiments, and by fomenting internal disorders for the purpose of effecting an exclusion_, are an unconstitutional, an unjust, an iniquitous invasion of my most sacred rights as a man, an american citizen, a scholar and a professor. i repel, therefore, dr. ferris' insinuation as a maliciously astute and as a false one, which of itself declares the dr. _incompetent to decide upon the merits of a real scholar, and utterly unfit for the important trust of presiding over the interests of any other but a sectarian institution of the narrowest description, of the most painfully exclusive moral perversity_. to this i may add, that in consideration of the many and various disciplines, earnestly and steadily cultivated by me for several years past, such as intellectual philosophy, the learned and modern languages, linguistics and the history of literature generally, i could in academic justice _demand the right_ to instruct in any one of the departments for which i was fitted. that such a right exists, and that it is applicable to my case, the reader may learn from sir william hamilton's essays on university education, recently republished in america, to which i refer _passim_. i can therefore confidently challenge not only the chancellor, but, in case of a concurrence in his sentiments, the entire faculty of the university to the following proposition:--in case my capacity to teach or lecture academically is questioned, i propose to take, and i demand one of the following chairs; _where under suitable auspices and with proper and regular provisions for the maintenance of order, i could at once begin_:-- st, the latin language and literature.-- d, the greek ditto, ditto.-- d, moral and intellectual philosophy, either systematically or historically.-- th, history or the general history of literature (of which i have at present a text-book in preparation).-- th, linguistics or the classification of languages, including general grammar.-- th, the history of modern (european) languages and literatures.-- th, the elements of the sanscrit, of which i still have a mss. grammar, compiled by myself for my private use, during the winter of .--i omit mentioning the remaining academic disciplines, for which i have no particular taste, but which i still could teach, and for which i could prepare the text-books, if it were necessary to do so. d, the alleged indications of insanity were _utterly unfounded_ at the time they were made. i had recovered my usual health and spirits immediately after the commencement of last year, about the beginning of july ' , when those who had flagrantly disturbed the quiet of my residence in and about the university building had vanished into the country. of the winter of -' i only recollect, that subsequently to the dismissal of my class, which i could not in honor consent to hear any longer, i made a fruitless attempt to continue my private studies, and to finish a commentary on a greek drama which i had begun at the commencement of the term, and that the ominous symptoms of _external insanity_ about me soon increased to such an alarming extent, that i was forced to lay aside my pen, unable to endure the outrage and annoyance any longer; that gangs of scandalous ruffians in the shape of boys, girls, men and women, many of whom i knew by their voices, kept up at certain intervals, by day and by night, a nefarious system of mystification and of nuisance from january to the end of june, in the council-room of the institution, in the hall, before my door, in front of my window, and on the parade ground; that in consequence of all this my rest at night was completely broken, until i could only sleep by day; that after a while i was confined to my bed most of the time, and that i frequently did not rise for breakfast till o'clock, p. m.; that it was painful and disgusting for me to be awake, and that all i read for several successive months was "hegel's logic" for two or three hours a day, and that for some time i only eat once a day. in may, i think, i fled to a neighboring state and university, partly with the intention of changing my place of residence.--as a psychologist i was well aware, that sleep was a sovereign preventive, as well as a remedy for all the disorders of the mind, especially for those which might arise from external causes such as those i have just described; i therefore anticipated and _prevented_ the unhappy consequences which the dr. seems to have expected from the outrageous nuisance of his cherished institution, where such scenes of scandal only _date from the time his prospective and his actual entrance on the duties of his office_, and really seem to have been made to order, i know not for whose benefit (certainly not for mine). _during the summer i was_, in consequence of the happy reaction and repose, _unusually gay and regular in my work_. i then wrote an introduction to schiller's maid of orleans, another one to goethe's iphigenia, and a third to tieck's puss in boots, all of which have since been published in my new manual of german literature. i deny, therefore, having ever given any symptoms of insanity whatsoever at any time of the year, while i admit that a renewal of the scandal (which the parties concerned have endeavored to revive since my release this spring, but which i checked by a speedy notice to the police court and to some of my friends), in the autumn might have led to such calamitous results. neither my kant, nor my rauch, nor my hegel, nor any other philosopher or psychologist could for one moment be induced to admit, _that the presence of external causes and tendencies to intellectual derangement were necessarily attended or followed by the malady itself_. this would be an egregious logical fallacy, to which no intelligent physician in or out of the lunatic asylum could for one moment subscribe, without justly incurring the risk of being charged with an inexcusable lack of professional knowledge and experience or what is still worse, with a criminal connivance at an unjust and inquitous conspiracy against the reputation and the life of an american citizen. to the charge of the folly of suffering so long and so severely from so gross a system of disorder which might have speedily been checked by the extra-academic authorities of the city, i can only reply, that the confusion and the consequent embarrassment was so great, that it was impossible for me at the time to come to any decision as to the course to be pursued. the most advisable policy would have been, to have left entirely, and to have directed the correction or the punishment from a distance. the following letters, written from the lunatic asylum (_between which and the university there was a manifest internal harmony, and which was evidently commissioned to complete the work of humiliation and of subjugation_), may serve to elucidate the facts of the case with some additional particulars. to the above mentioned causes of the ruin of my health, i may add, that during the same winter i had an opportunity of witnessing a resurrection of "salem witchcraft," practiced on me by a certain lady, a mother in israel of this city, who was manifestly in connection with the ultra-calvinistic faction of the university, which is the one to which dr. ferris is indebted for his elevation. i moreover discovered in the same connection, one of the two sources, from which the low insults in the street, at certain well-known hours of my walks, in certain places and directions, (to which i made allusion in my letter to the mayor of the city,) had emanated, and i received some additional light on certain events of my personal history, to which i allude in letter no. .--a father in israel, a gray-headed sinner in my opinion, likewise informed me _that they had the irish to defend them_.--i venture to assert that few of my countrymen, except perhaps the lowest rabble, would ever lend their aid to such nefarious purposes. from all that i have had occasion to observe of social disorder and discontent in the city for several years past, i am sure that there are men who foment intestine commotions, who shamelessly and openly conspire against the honor and the interests, if not against the property and lives of their fellow-citizens, and whom the state ought to prosecute and punish as offenders against a clearly defined law of the statute-book. my sanity at the time of arrest i can establish:-- st, by the testimony of those who saw me daily, and more especially, by that of a young man, who came to see me frequently, after the reception of dr. ferris' letter, and who in fact brought it from the office. dly, by the testimony of a distinguished physician, who about a week before, dressed a slight wound on one of my eye-brows, received from a fall against my sofa in the dark. dly, by the fact, that i was quietly and constantly engaged in writing, and in daily communication with the printer, who stereotyped my "hand-book of german literature." _symptoms of unusual excitement, in consequence of such an outrage, are no proof of derangement._ letter iv. bloomingdale asylum, _dec. th_, . to----, washington, d. c. dear sir, for several years past, i have repeatedly been on the point of making an effort to resuscitate a slight, but to me no less cherished acquaintance, by giving you some account of my doings and purposes, which, i have sometimes flattered myself, might not be without interest both to yourself and to such of your co-adjutors in washington, as have enlisted with you in the noble cause of extending and diffusing knowledge among men. of the proceedings of your institution i have occasionally informed myself, both from the pamphlets and reports periodically submitted to the public, and more especially from the volumes of regular "transactions," in the archæological and linguistical parts of which, i have taken so much the greater interest, as of late years my own attention has at times been almost exclusively directed to the same field of investigation. it is true, i have as yet neither been able nor willing to give any positive result of my studies. i have hardly done anything more than "to break the ice." this, however, i may safely say to have done, having not only had the best opportunities, (since i saw you last in ) of surveying the field in the time-honored centres of intellectual light on the other side of the atlantic, but having also since my return, as a member of several learned associations, had special occasion and incitement to keep alive my interest in these engaging pursuits. and if there be any truth in the ancient adage: [greek: archê hêmisy pantos], i may perhaps even entertain the hope (_non invitá minervâ_) of some future concentration of my somewhat desultory excursions in these regions of light (where ignorance indeed, but ignorance alone, sees only darkness) to some radiant focal point. there are a number of subjects, closely connected with the inquiries, that come under the cognizance of the historico-philosophical section of your institute, which, i see, are agitated anew by the _savants_ of the old world, and which to the resolution of certain problems, relating to the primitive history of this continent, are equally important here, perhaps entitled to our special consideration. recent investigations would seem to show, for example, that our genial and acute du ponceau had by no means said the last word on the subject he has so learnedly reported. several new works on the origin and classification of languages, that have made their appearance in berlin, &c., since the day of humboldt's attempt, would seem to invite to similar efforts on our side, and with special reference to the immensity of our cis-atlantic field, which ought to be [greek: kat' exochên] adopted as our own. having most of these materials at hand, i have sometimes been tempted myself to try, whether by an _exposition of the present state_ of that science, as cultivated by the germans particularly, a new impulsion might not be imparted to it among ourselves. some such purpose has been among the tasks, which i had proposed to myself for the present winter. the sudden suspension of my studies, and the consequent uncertainty of my affairs, however, have so seriously deranged my plans, that now i almost despair of being able to accomplish any of my more immediate and necessary purposes.--you will undoubtedly be surprised to learn, that i have been an inmate of the lunatic asylum, at bloomingdale, for now nearly three months; your surprise will be still greater, when you come to learn, by what sort of machinations i have been brought here. for several years past, i have been made the object of a systematic and invidious persecution, in consequence of which i have been obliged to shift my residence from one place to another, to spend my means in involuntary exile and unnecessary travelling, and altogether to lead a life of a discouraging uncertainty. shortly after my visit to washington, ( ), where i saw you last, i was driven away from new-york, while yet absorbed in the midst of an arduous undertaking, (my large german and english dictionary, which in consequence of my forced removal from the place of printing, i had to finish at an inconvenient distance), under circumstances of the most aggravated insults and abuses, (such as i had never dreamt men capable of,) and about six months after its completion the same miserable clique had already "finished" me in boston and a regular "_hedjra_" to europe was the consequence.[ ]--i spent a year in london, paris and berlin, in a miserable struggle to repair my shattered health, (i had a cough, contracted from sheer vexation, while in the clutches of the miserable wretches, who seemed to be determined to vex me out of existence, which clung to me a year and ever and anon returns again,) and what was still more difficult, to forget the loathsome reminiscences of the immediate past by bringing myself in contact with the sanatory influences of the literature and art of the old world; partly with the intention of remaining there. i returned, however, in the hope of finding my difficulties subsided. but the same odious conspiracy, which had even contrived to mar my comfort and happiness in one place on the other side, (in paris, where i spent the greater part of an academic year, at the university and libraries, in various studies,) had, as i found to my surprise, kept up a malevolent espionage over my peregrinations even, and i have since been subjected to a series of vexations and intrigues, which at times made me regret that i had not preferred any lot in a foreign land and among entire strangers to such an ignoble re-establishment at home. a personal attachment of former years was made use of to harass and lacerate my feelings, and an underhanded, venomous persecution, (which the parties, who were the authors, and who were in alliance with certain ecclesiastical tricksters, did not even blush to own), followed me at every step. the scum of new-york in the shape of negroes, irishmen, germans, &c., were hired, in well-organized gangs, to drop mysterious allusions and to offer me other insults in the street, (and thus i was daily forced to see and hear things in new-york, of which i had never dreamt before,) while a body of proselyting religionists were busy in their endeavors to make me a submissive tool of some ecclesiastical party or else to rob me of the last prospect of eating a respectable piece of bread and butter. this odious vice of certain countrymen of yours was in fact the prolific source of all the difficulties i complain of, and it is remotely the cause of my confinement here. [ ] the details of this scandalous act of vandalism, which though it nearly cost me my life, i did not even mention in the preface to my large german and english lexicon, finished in the course of the same year, are too diffuse and complicated, to be noticed here. as the leading personages of this drama, however, were the representatives of powerful and influential ecclesiastical organizations, and as shortly before, repeated and desperate proselyting efforts had been made by some of these men, and by their miserable underlings, i cannot possibly be wrong in designating the vile commotion, by which i was swept from my post, _as the venomous explosion of ignoble and of bigoted elements_, which have in fact been the prolific source of all the confusion i complain of now. i distinctly remember the treacherous and inquisitorial anxiousness of a certain (now) president of a prominent university, (with whom i was reading logic,) to become acquainted with german metaphysics, the mysterious meetings of a certain ecclesiastical committee, the efforts of a certain temperance coterie at a certain hotel, and a dozen other despicable conclaves and combinations, whose machinations were too palpable to be mistaken or forgotten. i also know, that a certain philosophy to which i was known to be particularly partial, is looked upon with jealous suspicion by certain superficial and insignificant pretenders to that science, whose ignorance and malice forges weapons of destruction out of the noblest and sublimest conceptions that have ever emanated from the intellect of man. to all these ambitious and noisy enemies of intellectual freedom, _whose littleness asperses, calumniates and levels whatever is gigantic and sublime_, i would here say, once for all, that if they could but rationally comprehend this goethe, this jean paul, this fichte, kant and hegel, whom they regard with so much horror, their _moral regeneration_ would almost be beyond a doubt, and if they could think and write like them, their title to enduring fame would never need an advocate or petty trickster to defend it. in the course of this last year, however, these manoeuvres assumed a still more startling and iniquitous shape than before. hitherto my _domicile_ had been safe and quiet. for, although meddlesome attempts had been made to force certain associations on me and to cut me off from others, i had still been left sufficiently unmolested to accomplish some study without any flagrant interruptions. this last resource of self-defence and happiness was destroyed me at the beginning of last winter. new appointments at the university, (some of them degradations to me, at any rate, employed for _humiliating_ purposes,) and the petty jealousies, nay even animosities, which among men of a certain order of intellect are the natural consequence of such changes, soon introduced disorder into the institution, fostered a spirit of rebellion against me, and before the end of the first term of the present year, my course of instruction was entirely broken up. the difficulty (which in fact was wholly due to a shameless inefficiency of discipline,) was enveloped in a sort of mummery, the sum and substance of which, however, was plainly this: "that if i remained in the institution in the unmolested enjoyment of a peaceful life of study, my independent progress would be an encroachment on certain colleagues of mine;" and this was in fact, thrown out as a hint for me to leave. the rent of my private room in the building had _already been nearly doubled_ by prof. j. ---- for the same reason. as the university, however, had contributed but an insignificant item to my support, i neither considered it necessary to remove from the building, which is accessible to all classes of tenants, nor did i make much account of a self-made suspension of my course, although i grieved to think of the means that had been used to superinduce such a necessity. prof. l----, who has always exhibited a pettiness of disposition, altogether unworthy of a man of science, had _openly before my eyes_ played the confidant and supporter of a disorderly student, who on my motion was under college discipline, and the meetings of the faculty were made so disgusting to me, that i could no longer attend to make my reports. new methods of annoyance were devised. the council-room of the institution, next door to mine, was converted into an omnibus for noisy meetings of every description--religious gatherings in the morning--ominous vociferations during recitation time--obstreperous conclaves of students in the afternoon--and violent political town gatherings in the evening. besides all this, the menials of the institution were corrupted into unusual insolence towards me, (among them my special attendant,) and the vexations of this description became so annoying to me, that for some time i had actually to do my own chamber-work. i had almost forgotten to mention certain mysterious _desk_-slammings in the council-room, and equally significant and intimidating _door_-slammings, particularly at a room opposite mine, which communicates (i believe) with a private part of the building, now occupied by a dentist, (that sublime science having also found its way into our college,) at unseasonable hours of the night, sometimes accompanied with various remarks, one of which now occurs to me: "oh, you are not one of us!" (sung in operatic style.) the quiet of my residence was, moreover, destroyed by horrid vociferations at all hours of the night, before my very door, and regularly under my window, and these were made not only by students, (of which there were only a few, _supported in their insubordination_) but by an extra-academic body of men and women, certain zealous religionists and their impenitent coadjutors, evidently the abettors of my in-door enemies, _and by two of my colleagues_. a night or week of such proceedings would be enough to set a man crazy. what must be their effect if they continue for months? and yet expressions like the following were perpetually ringing in my ears:--"go on!" "you _are_ the man!" "you are _not_ the man!" "go on! no, stop!" (by the same voice in the same breath.) "out of the institution with that man!" (by the laurelled valedictorian of last year.), "stand up!" (by prof. c----, close to my door.) "he started with nothing!" (by the same voice in the same place). "pray!" (by ditto.) "you have finished!" "go away!" "thank god, that that man is out of the institution!" (by a lady member of a certain religious fraternity, on terms of intimacy with a certain prominent politician of the neighborhood.) "pursue him, worm that never d-i-e-s!" (theatrically shrieked by the same voice.) "you are a dead man! dead, dead, dead, dead!" (by the voice of a certain popular preacher.) "he is deceived, he is deceived!" (by the spokesman of a body of theological students in front of the neighboring seminary, as i was passing.) and at times even: "die!" "break!" (on the supposition that i was in embarrassed circumstances.) "_whore!_" even was one of the delectable cries! to these i should add the mysterious blowings of noses (both within _sight_ and _hearing_,) frightfully significant coughs, horse-laughs, shouts and other methods of demonstration, such as striking the sidewalk in front of my windows with a cane, usually accompanied with some remark: "i understand that passage so!" for example. a clique in the historical society, (where i had been several times insulted at the meetings,) and several religious coteries and secret organizations were evidently largely concerned in the business. to these noises and sounds corresponded an equally ingenious series of sights, so arranged as to leave no doubt whatever, but that the impressions of my sense of hearing were no delusion, and that there was no mistake about the authors. my spirits and health were completely shattered by the close of winter, and i crawled out a miserable existence, being confined to my bed most of the time, unable to do anything but to read an hour or two a day. the summer season emptied the university and the city, and i was relieved from the pressure. the repose was like a gift from heaven. a stout resolution soon consigned the terrors of the past to a _provisional_ oblivion. i collected myself, recovered my usual composure and bodily strength, made arrangements for two additional text-books to my series, at which after the st of july i began to work steadily, in the hope of getting out of my pecuniary difficulty which the recent events of my life had entailed. one of these is now ready for publication and will appear in a short time. after i had fairly recovered the proper balance of mind, i wrote to the mayor of the city, and to dr. ferris, the chancellor of our university. to the former i complained of persecution _ab extra_, which might be stopped by police intervention, of the latter i demanded explanations for personal vexations and insults. besides having connived at, nay participated in the disorders of the institution, and besides having employed the menials of the establishment to enforce a ridiculous submission to an unconstitutional authority, the dr. had in the presence of the alumni of the institution, convened at a banquet in the astor house, openly insulted me by saying; "_shall i have to become the step-father to that man?_" and again: "_next year i shall see another man in that man's place!_" both these expressions were used by the dr. as he stood before the assembled guests, while making a short speech. in uttering them, he looked at me with a supercilious grin, and the question was addressed to the opposite side of the house, between which and the speaker there was a manifest collusion. my letter consisted of a protestation against the scandalous disorders of the institution in general, and a request that the dr. would retract the obnoxious offer of an unacceptable paternity as publicly as it was made, to include also a recantation of the words: "_death you shall have!_" uttered near the door that connects my room with that of the dr's., _in his own voice_ and in connection with a declamation of patrick henry's famous speech, "give me liberty or &c." this letter of mine was answered by spectral demonstrations (not unlike those of ghost-rappers,) in the chancellor's room (next to my private study) between and o'clock on the night after its delivery, and by the insolent behavior of the university scullion, who on the following day after many other impertinences told me: "_you must not speak so to the chancellor, my son!_" no other reply was made, and no further notice taken of my complaint. and yet my deportment towards dr. ferris had never been disrespectful, while his whole course towards me had been singularly provoking and offensive. he seemed to be ignorant of the fact, that i was both an alumnus and an officer of the institution, and that as such i expected to be regarded in the light of a gentleman and of a scholar. by ignoring my protestations the dr. treated me like a freshman, while his goings in and out of the building and his degrading alliance with the menials of the institution, who were the accomplices of the disorder, gave him the character rather of a mechanic's "boss" watching over an apprentice than of a dignified president of a respectable literary institution. i had by that time, (the middle of september last,) almost wholly recovered my health; the horrid recollections of last winter having been supplanted by the amenities of my summer studies in solitude; and i had nearly completed one of the new text-books i had agreed to prepare. a week glided away--and two--the session commenced--i was quietly engaged in my own business, without making any overtures to commence my public duties. in fact, i hesitated about commencing at all. about the first of october, a young man, a nephew of mine, brought me a telegraphic despatch from a distant city, requesting a confirmation or denial of the report there circulated, that i was dangerously ill, unconscious of myself, &c., and in immediate imperative need of friendly aid, being neither mentally nor bodily able to take care of myself. as there was a mistake in the name of the enquirer, i considered the matter a hoax, got up for mischief or the amusement of some inquisitive party, and retorted an abrupt telegraphic: "_none of your business, sir!_" a few days after, i received a letter of complaint from my brother-in-law, of----, stating that the telegraphic enquiry had been made by himself, and with the kindest regard to my comfort; that a letter from dr. ferris to a brother divine of that city had been the cause of the sudden consternation among my relatives there. the dr.'s letter was itself enclosed, having been surrendered to the party for whose benefit it was composed. in this letter the dr. declares me _incompetent for the business of instruction_, alleges, that during the last winter i had given various symptoms of a disordered mind, which during the summer had increased (?!!) to such an extent, as to give serious alarm to the humane feelings of the dr., and in consideration of which, he advises my friends "to take me at once away from study, to some institution adapted to such." on the morning of the receipt of this intelligence (the th of oct., i think,) i had just arranged my papers for my day's work, and in the best spirits and in excellent health, (deducting a cough which during the infamies of last winter i had contracted,) was about to begin preparing some copy for the printer. this strange way of answering a just complaint and grave accusations very naturally brought back the recollections of all the contumelies and horrors of last winter, than which the reign of terror has nothing more startling, save perhaps only the guillotine or the inquisition. the patience of job could not have held out any longer. i went at once in search of the dr., and finding him in conversation with prof. loomis, in the lecture room of the latter, asked him whether he had written the letter i held in my hands. his cool reply in the affirmative was itself an insult, made as it was in a manner, which confirmed my previous grounds of offence and the impression, that the dr. would not remember that i was not an undergraduate in search of a step-father, but a gentleman and an officer of the college. impatience and anger could not be restrained, and i told him that _he was a ---- and a ----!_ and read his epistle publicly in the recitation-room of one of my colleagues, and in the hall of the university, at the same time inveighing in somewhat violent terms against the disorders of last winter. the result was general amazement.--my conduct may be considered too hasty by many. it is true i might have acted more rationally and calmly. as it is, however, so flagrant an outrage deserved exposition, and the production of _such_ a statement made after _such_ provocations is not only a justifiable act of self-defence, _but a merited punishment of intrigue and falsehood_, _which i shall never have occasion to regret_. few men after such scenes would have stopped short at mere words. from the "_take care!_" of proff. l. ---- and j. ----, (who were criminally involved in the conspiracy of ' ,) i inferred, that something was coming; indeed, i myself inquired, whether they were going to let such a grave matter rest without notice, as they had done with all my lenient protestations. two days after, on coming home from a walk, i was arrested by two officers of the police, consigned to a low prison for several hours, and without trial, (which was said to be over,) and without any legal counsel, _converted into an insane man by the oath of two physicians_, (one of them quite a young man,) who pretended to found their opinion on an examination of about ten minutes, and since then i have lived among lunatics in the asylum, from which i date this letter. my asseverations and objections before the justice were in vain. dr. ferris and a wall-street broker cosily persuaded the judge in my presence, "to make me comfortable!" i have since finished the volume i had begun, though my absentment from my library obliged me to leave it less perfect than i had intended to make it. for this purpose i was rational enough, it seems. i venture, moreover, to assert, that in all other respects (save only the obstinate affirmation of the _reality_ of the scenes of last winter, which i am absurdly expected to deny,) my conduct _since_ my imprisonment here has been found to be that of a man in the full possession of all his intellectual powers. nor can the physician at the head of this institution conscientiously confirm either the sentence of the judge, or the affidavit of his professional brethren. i look upon it as perjury and a miserable shift to evade the real case of complaint, if any there be. a rational trial before a tribunal, where each side of the question could have been produced, would have been the part of honorable men, conscious of their own rectitude, and of the justice of their cause. but what aggravates these proceedings, is the strange expectation that i should humbly acquiesce in the supposititious incrimination of having been too unsafe to be left at large, of having been really incapable mentally and physically to take care of myself--and the still more singular menace of _swearing me perpetually crazy, and of effecting a permanent abridgment of my liberty_, in case i should attempt to defend myself, either legally or with my pen, against so palpable and serious infraction of the dearest rights of an american citizen. the scenes of last winter, of which i have given you but an imperfect outline, which were got up for the purpose of consolidating the power and preponderance of my adversaries, and of frustrating my efforts to defend my position in my usual way, i. e., by giving positive proof of my ability by actual services to the cause of academic education--_these scenes of scandal and of terror i am expected to call a delusion of my senses, and thus to falsify my personal history_, _accuse my consciousness of mendacity, and literally to aid and abet the iniquity of my aggressors_. the day before my arrest, _i was solicited_ by a number of students to commence my course, which i consented to do by the beginning of the following week, and as this year i had already the proof-sheets of several disquisitions on german literature in my hands, i could have begun publicly and under the most favorable auspices. but it would seem that these gentlemen were determined that i should _not_ begin, and that they adopted this most admirable and effectual method of anticipating my perfectly regular and legitimate movements. indeed, by the enquiry, "_what are you going to do?_" i have already been desired to infer, that an entire abandonment of my profession was expected of me. its exercise had already been rendered as difficult as possible, several members of the council having for several years past virtually superseded me by encouraging two other men on the same spot, which i in all honor was entitled to occupy myself, and which contained hardly room enough for one. what would humboldt, grimm, ampère, burnouf, and some of our other friends on the other side of the water say to such proceedings? i am reduced to penury, when from my public position i might be expected to be independent, i am deprived of the liberty of academic instruction by the terrorism of a narrow-minded clique, while successfully and diligently engaged in adding fresh honor to my post, i am bereft of freedom altogether by men, who owe their power to the fortuitous concurrence of local and sectarian influences, who are utter strangers to the large humanity of liberal culture, and who are too ignorant to decide upon the merits of a man of letters, being themselves destitute of both name and place among those who represent the literary and scientific enlightenment of our age and country. but i have wearied your patience already too long. i should like to have my case properly understood at washington, and you will pardon my having burdened you with so much of the detail. in regard to my future movements i am uncertain. supposing even my liberation to be near at hand, it will be difficult to commence in the midst of winter in the city, where all educational arrangements are made in the autumn. this fact was well known to those who have tied my hands. several educational works i am anxious to complete, one particularly, at which i was interrupted a year ago this month. i am, with great consideration, most respectfully and truly yours, g. j. adler. letter v. bloomingdale asylum, nov. th, . my dear sir, in reply to yours of the th inst., i can say what i might have said on the first day of my confinement; that neither the chancellor nor any one else at the university can have or ever could have any apprehension whatever of being molested by me in any place or in any manner whatever, _provided they mind their own business_ and cease to give me any further provocation. the chancellor's conduct was pre-eminently odious, and beneath the dignity of his office. his letter, which i still hold in my hands, is as ludicrous as it is false. he is certainly very much mistaken in supposing that by his tiny authority he can so easily crush a scholar and a professor of my reputation and "standing." "proud of my connection with the university and anxious to secure my co-operation," when but a month before he solicited the "fraternal aid" of a distant brother divine in his attempt to ship me out of the city as a sick man, of a distempered mind, concerning whom he was most deeply and devoutly concerned, and (what is still more strange,) of a man whom he pronounces "unfitted for the business of instruction?" this is his own language and this is the whole discovery, the _dénouement_ of the dirty transactions by which i was harassed last winter. i admit that my conduct may be regarded as too hasty. i might have defended myself in a calmer, more dignified and more effectual manner. as it is, however, i shall make no apology and i still think, that a month's imprisonment in the tombs or a severe castigation of a tangible description last winter would have conferred a lasting moral benefit on certain persons in that institution. in making this remark, i by no means intend to throw out any menace, nor would i myself like the office of knout-master-general either to his imperial majesty at st. petersburgh, or to his excellency the governor, or to the president of the united states; but i refer simply to the moral good that would undoubtedly have accrued to the souls of certain students and professors at the university during the last winter from a dose or two of the "good old english discipline." as to the infamous and unearthly noises that worried and distracted me for at least six months, the ruin of my health and the entire suspension of my studies were too grave a result to be easily overlooked or forgotten, and the ignoble and bigoted clique at the bottom of that brutal terrorism have certainly not failed to leave a lasting impression of their power on my mind. no denial or assurance to the contrary will ever invalidate the evidence of my senses. what i saw with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears at the time i complained, is as true as are the phenomena of my present experience. the guillotine alone was wanting to cap the climax of those high-handed proceedings. it was a repetition of the same narrow vandalism which in exiled me out of the city, and in made me leave america in disgust. while i therefore disclaim cherishing or ever having cherished the remotest desire to molest the peace or safety of any member of the faculty--the fear of corporal punishment betrays a bad conscience on the part of my adversaries and is a virtual admission of their guilt, or else it is a fiction invented to patch up a hopeless case;--i would at the same time assure all those concerned in this business, that i am not an advocate of nonresistance or of tame submission to such a gross injustice, and that in case of need i can wield a pen to defend my rights before an intelligent public, the opinion of which in matters of this kind, in america particularly, is after all the last and highest instance of appeal. the case is therefore perfectly plain. i deny having ever given any just cause of apprehension to any man in the institution. the very supposition is an absurdity. _they_ are the iniquitous aggressors throughout. they have to endeavored to crush my intellectual independence by carrying the principle of conformity to a ridiculous extent, and by enforcing a submission to which no man of honor without the loss of all his intellectual powers could submit.--i told the chancellor on the spur and in the excitement of the moment what i thought of the falsehoods contained in his epistle and of his previous conduct which, if he is a gentleman, he is bound to justify. he gravely ignored the letter of complaint i had addressed to him a month before, or rather answered it by spectral demonstrations the night after its reception. such mummery and such terrorism, practiced on an officer of a literary institution by a fellow-officer is surely out of place and dr. ferris has not yet learnt (it seems) the meaning of an a. m. and of certain other rights of academic men, (to say nothing of the courtesy customary among men of letters of every age and in all civilized countries), to introduce or suffer such singular proceedings in a respectable institution. as for myself i do not intend to be intimidated in the least, and if my life and health last, i shall find the means of defending both my honor and my position as a gentleman and a scholar. it is all idle to attempt to crush or gag a man by terror. the humbug of the spirit-rappers is no greater than the jugglery of door-and-desk-slamming, of vociferations and mystifications so successfully employed at the university during the whole of last winter. as it regards therefore my alleged insanity on these points, i must confess, that if a _denial_ of the _reality_ of this terrorism by which the university (and certain societies) have carried on their nefarious business of subjugation, be required of me, then i can _never_ become rational again without adding falsehood to cowardice. it smacks too much of the outrage of ' , when i was _compelled_ to admit the most damnable affronts as delusive impressions of my senses and when other men's infernal-pit-iniquity was alleged to be the offspring of my own tobacco-fume! this is subjectivism with a vengeance! it is too big a pill to swallow. it produces rather too great an excess of abdominal convulsions, as the doctors would say. if by my conduct i have incurred any censure or violated any law, or menaced the safety or the life or property of any man in or out of the institution, why in the name of reason and of common sense do not these gentlemen proceed in the regular way, to secure exemption from the fear of danger? could they not have legally coerced me to keep the peace? or could they not (a still more rational course) have requested a committee of the council to meet for the purpose of examining and adjusting a matter of such grave importance? could i not and can i not now expose the hollow misery of the sham, the real nature of which is as plain as the noon-day sun? the course they have adopted is surely derogatory to the moral integrity of the parties concerned, and my stay among lunatics and maniacs is an unpardonable abuse of an excellent institution. the day before my arrest, eight young gentleman volunteered to commence the study of the language which i more especially profess and i had engaged to begin with a public lecture in the monday following. these proceedings rob me now, for this winter at least, of the only advantage, which my connection with the institution affords me, and it is manifest enough that the difficulty was "got up" for the express purpose of anticipating and of frustrating my preparations for the present semestre. it still seems to me, that these gentlemen incriminate themselves in two ways:-- st, by desiring me to remove out of the building, they incur the suspicion of being themselves the authors or abettors of the nuisance i complain of. i would propose to have some one stay with me and to retain and pay for my study as usual. in that event i should have a witness and the detection and punishment of the offenders would exonerate all those who in case of my removal would have part of the criminal credit of molesting the private residence of a professor and a scholar. d, the fear of personal injury from the hands of one, who for many years past has been known to be a man of peaceable and unexceptionable behavior and who never attacked or struck any man in his life, appears to have its origin in a consciousness of guilt and to be a virtual admission of it. do they perhaps think their conduct so outrageous, that the meekness of moses could no longer endure it without resentment? i grant that a passionate man would be likely to take a more substantial revenge. i myself however have no inclination to degrade myself in any such way.--my confinement is on a false pretense, and if any made affidavit to my insanity, they most assuredly must have perjured themselves. whatever i did, i have been provoked to do by what i deem a stupidity and _a flagrant invasion of the rights and privileges of an academic instructor, which no language can castigate with adequate severity_. i am most respectfully and truly your obedient servant. d. a. & co., new-york. g. j. a. vi. the law of intellectual freedom. "all property or rather all substantial determinations, which relate to my personal individuality and which enter into the general constitution of my self-consciousness, as for example, my personality proper, my freedom of volition in general, my morality, my religion are _inalienable_ and the right to them is _imprescriptible_." "that that which the mind is _per se_ and by its very definition should also become an actual existence and _pro se_, that consequently it should be a person, capable of holding property, possessed of morality and religion--all this is involved in the idea of the mind itself, which as the _causa sui_, in other words, as a free cause, is a substance, _cujus natura non potest concipi nisi existens_. (spinoza, eth. s. . def. .)." "this very notion, that it should be what it is _through itself alone_ and as the self-concentration or endless self-retrosusception out of its mere natural and immediate existence contains also the possibility of the opposition between what it is only _per se_ (i. e. substantially) and not _pro se_ (i. e. subjectively, in reality) and _vice versa_ between what is only _pro se_ and not also _per se_ (which in the will is the bad, the vicious);--and hence too the _possibility_ of the _alienation_ of one's personality and of one's substantial existence, whether this alienation be effected implicitly and unconsciously or explicitly and expressly. examples of the alienation of personality are slavery, vassalage, disability to hold property, the unfree possession of the same, &c., &c." "instances of the abalienation of intelligent rationality, of individual and social morality and of religion occur in the beliefs and practices of superstition, in ceding to another the power and the authority of making rules and prescriptions for my actions (as when one allows himself to be made a tool for criminal purposes), or of determining what i am to regard as the law and duty of conscience, religious truth, &c." "the right to such inalienable possessions is imprescriptible, _and the act by which i become seized of my personality and of my substantial being, by which i make myself an accountable, a moral and a religious agent, removes these determinations from the control of all merely external circumstances and relations, which alone could give them the capacity of becoming the property of another_. with this abnegation of the external, _all questions of time and all claims based upon previous consent or acquiescence fall to the ground_. this act of rational self-recovery, whereby i constitute myself an existing idea, a person of legal and moral responsibility, _subverts the previous relation and puts an end to the injustice which i myself and the other party have done to my comprehension and to my reason, by treating and suffering to be treated the endless existence of self-consciousness as an external and an alienable object_."[ ] [ ] i emphasize this important clause for the particular benefit of those who in my personal history have had the absurd expectation that i should continue to entertain a respectful deference to a certain phase of religionism, which upon a careful and rational examination i found to be worthless and which is repugnant to my taste and better judgment, and of others who with equal absurdity are in the habit of exacting ecclesiastical tests (i will not say religious, for such men show by their very conduct that their enlightenment in matters of the religion of the heart is very imperfect) for academic appointments;--as if the science and the culture of the nineteenth century were still to be the handmaid of the church, as they were in the middle age; _as if philosophy and the liberal arts could ever thrive and flourish in the suffocating atmosphere of the idols of the cave, the idols of the tribe, and the idols of the market-place!_ "this return to myself discloses also the contradiction (the absurdity) of my having ceded to another my legal responsibility, my morality and my religion at a time when i could not yet be said to possess them rationally, and which as soon as i become seized and possessed of them, can essentially be mine alone and can not be said to have any outward existence." "it follows from the very nature of the case, that the slave has an absolute right to make himself free; that if any one has hired himself for any crime, such as robbery, murder, &c. this contract is of itself null and void and that every one is at full liberty to break it." "the same may be said of _all religious submission to a priest, who sets up for my father confessor_ (_step-father_, &c.); for a matter of such purely internal interest must be settled by every man himself and alone. a religiosity, a part of which is deposited in the hands of another is tantamount to none at all; for the spirit is one, and it is he that is required to dwell in the heart of man; the union of the _per_ and _pro se_ must belong to every individual apart." transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscores_. passages in small caps are replaced by either title case or all caps, depending on how the words were used. punctuation was not corrected except for the quotation mark on page , and the parenthesis on page , as cited below. likewise, inconsistencies in hyphenation have not been corrected. each instance of the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". on page , "necessaay" was replaced with "necessary". on page , "of" was inserted between "city" and "new york". on page , "the" was inserted before "city of". on page , "catastrophies" was replaced with "catastrophes", and "pretentions" was replaced with "pretensions". on page , "the the" was replaced with "the". on page , "hemsy" was replaced with "hêmisy". on page , "destoyed" was replaced with "destroyed". on page , the quotation mark after "you are a dead man!" was moved to after "dead, dead, dead, dead!", and an extra quotation mark was deleted after "certain popular preacher." on page , "aad" was replaced with "and". on page , "af" was replaced with "of". on page , "all this in involved" was replaced with "all this is involved", and an open parentheses was placed before "i. e. subjectively,". [illustration: the house from which mrs. packard was kidnapped in manteno, kankakee county, illinois.] marital power exemplified in mrs. packard's trial, and self-defence from the charge of insanity; or three years' imprisonment for religious belief, by the arbitrary will of a husband, with an appeal to the government to so change the laws as to afford legal protection to married women. by mrs. e. p. w. packard. chicago: clarke & co., publishers. . table of contents. page introduction, the great trial of mrs. elizabeth p. w. packard, who was confined three years in the state asylum of illinois, charged by her husband, rev. theophilus packard, with being insane. her discharge from the asylum, and subsequent imprisonment at her own house by her husband. her release on a writ of habeas corpus, and the question of her sanity tried by a jury. her sanity fully established, narrative of events continued, miscellaneous questions answered, false reports corrected, note of thanks to my patrons and the press, testimonials, conclusion, an appeal to the government, entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by mrs. e. p. w. packard, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of connecticut. introduction. a brief narrative of the events which occasioned the following trial seems necessary as an introduction to it, and are here presented for the kind reader's candid consideration. it was in a bible-class in manteno, kankakee county, illinois, that i defended some religious opinions which conflicted with the creed of the presbyterian church in that place, which brought upon me the charge of insanity. it was at the invitation of deacon dole, the teacher of that bible-class, that i consented to become his pupil, and it was at his special request that i brought forward my views to the consideration of the class. the class numbered six when i entered it, and forty-six when i left it. i was about four months a member of it. i had not the least suspicion of danger or harm arising in any way, either to myself or others, from thus complying with his wishes, and thus uttering some of my honestly cherished opinions. i regarded the principle of religious tolerance as the vital principle on which our government was based, and i in my ignorance supposed this right was protected to all american citizens, even to the wives of clergymen. but, alas! my own sad experience has taught me the danger of believing a lie on so vital a question. the result was, i was legally kidnapped and imprisoned three years simply for uttering these opinions under these circumstances. i was kidnapped in the following manner.--early on the morning of the th of june, , as i arose from my bed, preparing to take my morning bath, i saw my husband approaching my door with our two physicians, both members of his church and of our bible-class,--and a stranger gentleman, sheriff burgess. fearing exposure i hastily locked my door, and proceeded with the greatest dispatch to dress myself. but before i had hardly commenced, my husband forced an entrance into my room through the window with an axe! and i, for shelter and protection against an exposure in a state of almost entire nudity, sprang into bed, just in time to receive my unexpected guests. the trio approached my bed, and each doctor felt my pulse, and without asking a single question both pronounced me insane. so it seems that in the estimation of these two m. d.'s, dr. merrick and newkirk, insanity is indicated by the action of the pulse instead of the mind! of course, my pulse was bounding at the time from excessive fright; and i ask, what lady of refinement and fine and tender sensibilities would not have a quickened pulse by such an untimely, unexpected, unmanly, and even outrageous entrance into her private sleeping room? i say it would be impossible for any woman, unless she was either insane or insensible to her surroundings, not to be agitated under such circumstances. this was the only medical examination i had. this was the only trial of _any kind_ that i was allowed to have, to prove the charge of insanity brought against me by my husband. i had no chance of _self defence_ whatever. my husband then informed me that the "forms of law" were all complied with, and he therefore requested me to dress myself for a ride to jacksonville, to enter the insane asylum as an inmate. i objected, and protested against being imprisoned _without any trial_. but to no purpose. my husband insisted upon it that i had no protection in the law, but himself, and that he was doing by me just as the laws of the state allowed him to do. i could not then credit this statement, but now _know_ it to be too sadly true; for the statute of illinois expressly states that a man may put his wife into an insane asylum without evidence of insanity. this law now stands on the th page, section , of the illinois statute book, under the general head of "charities"! the law was passed february , . i told my husband i should not go voluntarily into the asylum, and leave my six children and my precious babe of eighteen months, without some kind of trial; and that the law of force, brute force, would be the only power that should thus put me there. i then begged of him to handle me gently, if he was determined to force me, as i was easily hurt, and should make no physical resistance. i was soon in the hands of the sheriff, who forced me from my home by ordering two men to carry me to the wagon which took me to the depot. esquire labrie, our nearest neighbor, who witnessed this scene, said he was willing to testify before any court under oath, that "mrs. packard was literally kidnapped." i was carried to the cars from the depot in the arms of two strong men, whom my husband appointed for this purpose, amid the silent and almost speechless gaze of a large crowd of citizens who had collected for the purpose of rescuing me from the hands of my persecutors. but they were prevented from executing their purpose by the lie deacon dole was requested by my husband to tell the excited crowd, viz: that "the sheriff has legal papers to defend this proceeding," and they well knew that for them to resist the sheriff, the laws would expose themselves to imprisonment. the sheriff confessed afterwards to persons who are now willing to testify under oath, that he told them that he did not have a sign of a legal paper with him, simply because the probate court refused to give him any, because, as they affirmed, he had not given them one evidence of insanity in the case. sheriff burgess died while i was incarcerated. when once in the asylum i was beyond the reach of all human aid, except what could come through my husband, since the law allows no one to take them out, except the one who put them in, or by his consent; and my husband determined never to take me out, until i recanted my new opinions, claiming that i was incurably insane so long as i could not return to my old standpoint of religious belief. of course, i could not believe at my option, but only as light and evidence was presented to my own mind, and i was too conscientious to act the hypocrite, by professing to believe what i could not believe. i was therefore pronounced "hopelessly insane," and in about six weeks from the date of my imprisonment, my husband made his arrangements to have me, henceforth, legally regarded as hopelessly insane. in this defenceless, deplorable condition i lay closely imprisoned three years, being never allowed to step my foot on the ground after the first four months. at the expiration of three years, my oldest son, theophilus, became of age, when he immediately availed himself of his manhood, by a legal compromise with his father and the trustees, wherein he volunteered to hold himself wholly responsible for my support for life; if his father would only consent to take me out of my prison. this proposition was accepted by mr. packard, with this proviso that if ever i returned to my own home and children he should put me in again for life. the trustees had previously notified mr. packard that i must be removed, as they should keep me no longer. had not this been the case, my son's proposition would doubtless have been rejected by him. the reasons why the trustees took this position was, because they became satisfied that i was not a fit subject for that institution, in the following manner: on one of their official visits to the institution, i coaxed dr. mcfarland, superintendent of the asylum, to let me go before them and "fire a few guns at calvinism," as i expressed myself, that they might know and judge for themselves whether i deserved a life-long imprisonment for indulging such opinions. dr. mcfarland replied to my request, that the trustees were calvinists, and the chairman a member of the presbyterian synod of the united states. "never mind," said i, "i don't care if they are, i am not afraid to defend my opinions even before the synod itself. i don't want to be locked up here all my lifetime without doing something. but if they are calvinists," i added, "you may be sure they will call me insane, and then you will have them to back you up in your opinion and position respecting me." this argument secured his consent to let me go before them. he also let me have two sheets of paper to write my opinions upon. with my document prepared, "or gun loaded," as i called it, and examined by the doctor to see that all was right, that is, that it contained no exposures of himself, i entered the trustees' room, arm in arm with the doctor, dressed in as attractive and tasteful a style as my own wardrobe and that of my attendant's would permit. mr. packard was present, and he said to my friends afterwards that he never saw his wife look so "sweet and attractive" as i then did. after being politely and formally introduced to the trustees, individually, i was seated by the chairman, to receive his permission to speak, in the following words: "mrs. packard, we have heard mr. packard's statement, and the doctor said you would like to speak for yourself. we will allow you ten minutes for that purpose." i then took out my gold watch, (which was my constant companion in my prison,) and looking at it, said to the doctor, "please tell me if i overgo my limits, will you?" and then commenced reading my document in a quiet, calm, clear, tone of voice. it commenced with these words: "gentlemen, i am accused of teaching my children doctrines ruinous in their tendency, and such as alienate them from their father. i reply, that my teachings and practice both, are ruinous to satan's cause, and do alienate my children from satanic influences. i teach christianity, my husband teaches calvinism. they are antagonistic systems and uphold antagonistic authorities. christianity upholds god's authority; calvinism the devil's authority," &c., &c. thus i went on, most dauntlessly and fearlessly contrasting the two systems, as i viewed them, until my entire document was read, without being interrupted, although my time had more than expired. confident i had secured their interest as well as attention, i ventured to ask if i might be allowed to read another document i held in my hand, which the doctor had not seen. the request was voted upon and met not only with an unanimous response in the affirmative, but several cried out: "let her go on! let us hear the whole!" this document bore heavily upon mr. packard and the doctor both. still i was tolerated. the room was so still i could have heard a clock tick. when i had finished, instead of then dismissing me, they commenced questioning me, and i only rejoiced to answer their questions, being careful however not to let slip any chance i found to expose the darkest parts of this foul conspiracy, wherein mr. packard and their superintendent were the chief actors. packard and mcfarland both sat silent and speechless, while i fearlessly exposed their wicked plot against my personal liberty and my rights. they did not deny or contradict one statement i made, although so very hard upon them both. thus nearly one hour was passed, when mr. packard was requested to leave the room. the doctor left also, leaving me alone with the trustees. these intelligent men at once endorsed my statements, and became my friends. they offered me my liberty at once, and said that anything i wanted they stood ready to do for me. mr. brown, the chairman, said he saw it was of no use for me to go to my husband; but said they would send me to my children if i wished to go, or to my father in massachusetts, or they would board me up in jacksonville. i thanked them for their kind and generous offers; "but," said i, "it is of no use for me to accept of any one of them, for i am still mr. packard's wife, and there is no law in america to protect a wife from her husband. i am not safe from him outside these walls, on this continent, unless i flee to canada; and there, i don't know as a fugitive wife is safe from her husband. the truth is, he is determined to keep me in an asylum prison as long as i live, if it can be done; and since no law prevents his doing so, i see no way for me but to live and die in this prison. i may as well die here as in any other prison." these manly gentlemen apprehended my sad condition and expressed their real sympathy for me, but did not know what to advise me to do. therefore they left it to me and the doctor to do as we might think best. i suggested to the doctor that i write a book, and in this manner lay my case before the people--the government of the united states--and ask for the protection of the laws. the doctor fell in with this suggestion, and i accordingly wrote my great book of seven hundred pages, entitled "the great drama,--an allegory," the first installment of which is already in print and six thousand copies in circulation. this occupied me nine months, which completed my three years of prison life. the trustees now ordered mr. packard to take me away, as no one else could legally remove me. i protested against being put into his hands without some protection, knowing, as i did, that he intended to incarcerate me for life in northampton asylum, if he ever removed me from this. but, like as i entered the asylum against my will, and in spite of my protest, so i was put out of it into the absolute power of my persecutor again, against my will, and in spite of my protest to the contrary. i was accordingly removed to granville, putnam county, illinois; and placed in the family of mr. david field who married my adopted sister, where my son paid my board for about four months. during this time, granville community became acquainted with me and the facts in the case, and after holding a meeting of the citizens on the subject the result was, that sheriff leaper was appointed to communicate to me their decision, which was, that i go home to my children taking their voluntary pledge as my protection; that, should mr. packard again attempt to imprison me without a trial, that they would use their influence to get him imprisoned in a penitentiary, where they thought the laws of this commonwealth would place him. they presented me thirty dollars also to defray the expenses of my journey home to manteno. i returned to my husband and little ones, only to be again treated as a lunatic. he cut me off from communication with this community, and my other friends, by intercepting my mail; made me a close prisoner in my own house; refused me interviews with friends who called to see me, so that he might meet with no interference in carrying out the plan he had devised to get me incarcerated again for life. this plan was providentially disclosed to me, by some letters he accidentally left in my room one night, wherein i saw that i was to be entered, in a few days, into northampton insane asylum for life; as one of these letters from doctor prince, superintendent of that asylum, assured me of this fact. another from his sister, mrs. marian severance, of massachusetts, revealed the mode in which she advised her brother to transfer me from my home prison to my asylum prison. she advised him to let me go to new york, under the pretence of getting my book published, and have him follow in a train behind, assuring the conductors that i must be treated as an insane person, although i should deny the charge, as all insane persons did, and thus make sure of their aid as accomplices in this conspiracy against my personal liberty. the conductor must be directed to switch me off to northampton, mass., instead of taking me to new york, and as my through ticket would indicate to me that all was right, she thought this could be done without arousing my suspicions; then engage a carriage to transport me to the asylum under the pretext of a hotel, and then lock me up for life as a state's pauper! then, said she, you will have her out of the way, and can do as you please with her property, her children, and even her wardrobe; don't, says she, be even responsible this time for her clothing. (mr. packard was responsible for my body clothing in jacksonville prison, but for nothing else. i was supported there three years as a state pauper. this fact, mr. packard most adroitly concealed from my rich father and family relatives, so that he could persuade my deluded father to place more of my patrimony in his hands, under the false pretense that he needed it to make his daughter more comfortable in the asylum. my father sent him money for this purpose, supposing mr. packard was paying my board at the asylum.) another letter was from dr. mcfarland, wherein i saw that mr. packard had made application for my readmission there, and dr. mcfarland had consented to receive me again as an insane patient! but the trustees put their veto upon it, and would not consent to his plea that i be admitted there again. here is his own statement, which i copied from his own letter: "jacksonville, december , . rev. mr. packard, dear sir: the secretary of the trustees has probably before this communicated to you the result of their action in the case of mrs. packard. it is proper enough to state that i favored her readmission"! then follows his injunction to mr. packard to be sure not to publish any thing respecting the matter. why is this? does an upright course seek or desire concealment? nay, verily: it is conscious guilt alone that seeks concealment, and dreads agitation lest his crimes be exposed. mine is only one of a large class of cases, where he has consented to readmit a sane person, particularly the wives of men, whose influence he was desirous of securing for the support of himself in his present lucrative position. yes, many intelligent wives and mothers did i leave in that awful prison, whose only hope of liberty lies in the death of their lawful husbands, or in a change of the laws, or in a thorough ventilation of that institution. such a ventilation is needed, in order that justice be done to that class of miserable inmates who are now unjustly confined there. when i had read these letters over three or four times, to make it sure i had not mistaken their import, and even took copies of some of them, i determined upon the following expedient as my last and only resort, as a self defensive act. there was a stranger man who passed my window daily to get water from our pump. one day as he passed i beckoned to him to take a note which i had pushed down through where the windows come together, (my windows were firmly nailed down and screwed together, so that i could not open them,) directed to mrs. a. c. haslett, the most efficient friend i knew of in manteno, wherein i informed her of my imminent danger, and begged of her if it was possible in any way to rescue me to do so, forthwith, for in a few days i should be beyond the reach of all human help. she communicated these facts to the citizens, when mob law was suggested as the only available means of rescue which lay in their power to use, as no law existed which defended a wife from a husband's power, and no man dared to take the responsibility of protecting me against my husband. and one hint was communicated to me clandestinely that if i would only break through my window, a company was formed who would defend me when once outside our house. this rather unlady-like mode of self defence i did not like to resort to, knowing as i did, if i should not finally succeed in this attempt, my persecutors would gain advantage over me, in that i had once injured property, as a reason why i should be locked up. as yet, none of my persecutors had not the shadow of capital to make out the charge of insanity upon, outside of my opinions; for my conduct and deportment had uniformly been kind, lady-like and christian; and even to this date, january, , i challenge any individual to prove me guilty of one unreasonable or insane act. the lady-like mrs. haslett sympathized with me in these views; therefore she sought council of judge starr of kankakee city, to know if any law could reach my case so as to give me the justice of a trial of any kind, before another incarceration. the judge told her that if i was a prisoner in my own house, and any were willing to take oath upon it, a writ of habeas corpus might reach my case and thus secure me a trial. witnesses were easily found who could take oath to this fact, as many had called at our house to see that my windows were screwed together on the outside, and our front outside door firmly fastened on the outside, and our back outside door most vigilantly guarded by day and locked by night. in a few days this writ was accordingly executed by the sheriff of the county, and just two days before mr. packard was intending to start with me for massachusetts to imprison me for life in northampton lunatic asylum, he was required by this writ to bring me before the court and give his reasons to the court why he kept his wife a prisoner. the reason he gave for so doing was, that i was insane. the judge replied, "prove it!" the judge then empannelled a jury of twelve men, and the following trial ensued as the result. this trial continued five days. thus my being made a prisoner at my own home was the only hinge on which my personal liberty for life hung, independent of mob law, as there is no law in the state that will allow a married woman the right of a trial against the charge of insanity brought against her by her husband; and god only knows how many innocent wives and mothers my case represents, who have thus lost their liberty for life, by this arbitrary power, unchecked as it is by no law on the statute book of illinois. the great trial of mrs. elizabeth p. w. packard, who was confined for three years in the state asylum, of illinois, charged by her husband, rev. theophilus packard, with being insane. her discharge from the asylum, and subsequent imprisonment at her own house by her husband. her release on a writ of _habeas corpus_, and the question of her sanity tried by a jury. her sanity fully established. a full report of the trial, incidents, etc. by stephen r. moore, attorney at law. in preparing a report of this trial, the writer has had but one object in view, namely, to present a faithful history of the case as narrated by the witnesses upon the stand, who gave their testimony under the solemnity of an oath. the exact language employed by the witnesses, has been used, and the written testimony given in full, with the exception of a letter, written by dr. mcfarland, to rev. theophilus packard, which letter was retained by mr. packard, and the writer was unable to obtain a copy. the substance of the letter is found in the body of the report, and has been submitted to the examination of mr. packard's counsel, who agree that it is correctly stated. this case was on trial before the hon. charles r. starr, at kankakee city, illinois, from monday, january th, , to tuesday the th, and came up on an application made by mrs. packard, under the _habeas corpus act_, to be discharged from imprisonment by her husband in their own house. the case has disclosed a state of facts most wonderful and startling. reverend theophilus packard came to manteno, in kankakee county, illinois, seven years since, and has remained in charge of the presbyterian church of that place until the past two years. in the winter of and , there were differences of opinion between mr. packard and mrs. packard, upon matters of religion, which resulted in prolonged and vigorous debate in the home circle. the heresies maintained by mrs. packard were carried by the husband from the fireside to the pulpit, and made a matter of inquiry by the church, and which soon resulted in open warfare; and her views and propositions were misrepresented and animadverted upon, from the pulpit, and herself made the subject of unjust criticism. in the bible class and in the sabbath school, she maintained her religious tenets, and among her kindred and friends, defended herself from the obloquy of her husband. to make the case fully understood, i will here remark, that mr. packard was educated in the calvinistic faith, and for twenty-nine years has been a preacher of that creed, and would in no wise depart from the religion of his fathers. he is cold, selfish and illiberal in his views, possessed of but little talent, and a physiognomy innocent of expression. he has large self-will, and his stubbornness is only exceeded by his bigotry. mrs. packard is a lady of fine mental endowments, and blest with a liberal education. she is an original, vigorous, masculine thinker, and were it not for her superior judgment, combined with native modesty, she would rank as a "strong-minded woman." as it is, her conduct comports strictly with the sphere usually occupied by woman. she dislikes parade or show of any kind. her confidence that right will prevail, leads her to too tamely submit to wrongs. she was educated in the same religious belief with her husband, and during the first twenty years of married life, his labors in the parish and in the pulpit were greatly relieved by the willing hand and able intellect of his wife. phrenologists would also say of her, that her self-will was large, and her married life tended in no wise to diminish this phrenological bump. they have been married twenty-five years, and have six children, the issue of their intermarriage, the youngest of whom was eighteen months old when she was kidnapped and transferred to jacksonville. the older children have maintained a firm position against the abuse and persecutions of their father toward their mother, but were of too tender age to render her any material assistance. her views of religion are more in accordance with the liberal views of the age in which we live. she scouts the calvinistic doctrine of man's total depravity, and that god has foreordained some to be saved and others to be damned. she stands fully on the platform of man's free agency and accountability to god for his actions. she believes that man, and nations, are progressive; and that in his own good time, and in accordance with his great purposes, right will prevail over wrong, and the oppressed will be freed from the oppressor. she believes slavery to be a national sin, and the church and the pulpit a proper place to combat this sin. these, in brief, are the points in her religious creed which were combatted by mr. packard, and were denominated by him as "emanations from the devil," or "the vagaries of a crazed brain." for maintaining such ideas as above indicated, mr. packard denounced her from the pulpit, denied her the privilege of family prayer in the home circle, expelled her from the bible class, and refused to let her be heard in the sabbath school. he excluded her from her friends, and made her a prisoner in her own house. her reasonings and her logic appeared to him as the ravings of a mad woman--her religion was the religion of the devil. to justify his conduct, he gave out that she was insane, and found a few willing believers, among his family connections. this case was commenced by filing a petition in the words following, to wit: state of illinois, } kankakee county. } _ss._ _to the honorable_ charles r. starr, _judge of the th judicial circuit in the state of illinois_. william haslet, daniel beedy, zalmon hanford, and joseph younglove, of said county, on behalf of elizabeth p. w. packard, wife of theophilus packard, of said county, respectfully represent unto your honor, that said elizabeth p. w. packard is unlawfully restrained of her liberty, at manteno, in the county of kankakee, by her husband, rev. theophilus packard, being forcibly confined and imprisoned in a close room of the dwelling-house of her said husband, for a long time, to wit, for the space of four weeks, her said husband refusing to let her visit her neighbors and refusing her neighbors to visit her; that they believe her said husband is about to forcibly convey her from out the state; that they believe there is no just cause or ground for restraining said wife of her liberty; that they believe that said wife is a mild and amiable woman. and they are advised and believe, that said husband cruelly abuses and misuses said wife, by depriving her of her winter's clothing, this cold and inclement weather, and that there is no necessity for such cruelty on the part of said husband to said wife; and they are advised and believe, that said wife desires to come to kankakee city, to make application to your honor for a writ of _habeas corpus_, to liberate herself from said confinement or imprisonment, and that said husband refused and refuses to allow said wife to come to kankakee city for said purpose; and that these petitioners make application for a writ of _habeas corpus_ in her behalf, at her request. these petitioners therefore pray that a writ of _habeas corpus_ may forthwith issue, commanding said theophilus packard to produce the body of said wife, before your honor, according to law, and that said wife may be discharged from said imprisonment. (signed) william haslet. daniel beedy. zalmon hanford. j. younglove. j. w. orr, } h. loring, } _petitioners' attorney_. stephen r. moore, _counsel_. state of illinois, } kankakee county. } _ss._ william haslet, daniel beedy, zalmon hanford, and joseph younglove, whose names are subscribed to the above petition, being duly sworn, severally depose and say, that the matters and facts set forth in the above petition are true in substance and fact, to the best of their knowledge and belief. william haslet. daniel beedy. zalmon hanford. j. younglove. sworn to and subscribed before me, this } th day of january, a. d. . } mason b. loomis, _j. p._ upon the above petition, the honorable c. r. starr, judge as aforesaid, issued a writ of _habeas corpus_, as follows: state of illinois, } kankakee county. } _ss._ _the people of the state of illinois, to_ theophilus packard we command you, that the body of elizabeth p. w. packard, in your custody detained and imprisoned, as it is said, together with the day and cause of caption and detention, by whatsoever name the same may be called, you safely have before charles r. starr, judge of the twentieth judicial circuit, state of illinois, at his chambers, at kankakee city in the said county, on the th instant, at one o'clock, p. m., and to do and receive all and singular those things which the said judge shall then and there consider of her in this behalf, and have you then and there this writ. witness, charles r. starr, judge aforesaid, this th day of january, a. d. . charles r. starr, [seal.] _judge of the th judicial circuit of the state of illinois._ [_revenue stamp._] indorsed: "by the _habeas corpus_ act." to said writ, the rev. theophilus packard made the following return: the within named theophilus packard does hereby certify, to the within named, the honorable charles r. starr, judge of the th judicial circuit of the state of illinois, that the within named elizabeth p. w. packard is now in my custody, before your honor. that the said elizabeth is the wife of the undersigned, and is and has been for more than three years past insane, and for about three years of that time was in the insane asylum of the state of illinois, under treatment, as an insane person. that she was discharged from said asylum, without being cured, and is incurably insane, on or about the th day of june, a. d. , and that since the rd day of october, the undersigned has kept the said elizabeth with him in manteno, in this county, and while he has faithfully and anxiously watched, cared for, and guarded the said elizabeth, yet he has not unlawfully restrained her of her liberty; and has not confined and imprisoned her in a close room, in the dwelling-house of the undersigned, or in any other place or way, but, on the contrary, the undersigned has allowed her all the liberty compatible with her welfare and safety. that the undersigned is about to remove his residence from manteno, in this state, to the town of deerfield, in the county of franklin, in the state of massachusetts, and designs and intends to take his said wife elizabeth with him. that the undersigned has never misused or abused the said elizabeth, by depriving her of her winter's clothing, but, on the contrary, the undersigned has always treated the said elizabeth with kindness and affection, and has provided her with a sufficient, quantity of winter clothing and other clothing; and that the said elizabeth has never made any request of the undersigned, for liberty to come to kankakee city, for the purpose of suing out a writ of _habeas corpus_. the undersigned hereby presents a letter from andrew mcfarland, superintendent of the illinois state hospital, at jacksonville, in this state, showing her discharge, and reasons of discharge, from said institution, which is marked "a," and is made a part of this return. and also presents a certificate from the said andrew mcfarland, under the seal of said hospital, marked "c," refusing to readmit the said elizabeth again into said hospital, on the ground of her being incurably insane, which is also hereby made a part of this return. theophilus packard. dated _january , _. the court, upon its own motion, ordered an issue to be formed, as to the sanity or insanity of mrs. e. p. w. packard, and ordered a venire of twelve men, to aid the court in the investigation of said issue. and thereupon a venire was issued. the counsel for the respondent, thomas p. bonfield, mason b. loomis, and hon. c. a. lake, moved the court to quash the venire, on the ground that the court had no right to call a jury to determine the question, on an application to be discharged on writ of _habeas corpus_. the court overruled the motion; and thereupon the following jury was selected: john stiles, daniel g. bean, v. h. young, f. g. hutchinson, thomas muncey, e. hirshberg, nelson jarvais, william hyer, geo. h. andrews, j. f. mafet, lemuel milk, g. m. lyons. christopher w. knott was the first witness sworn by the respondent, to maintain the issue on his part, that she was insane; who being sworn, deposed and said: i am a practicing physician in kankakee city. have been in practice fifteen years. have seen mrs. packard; saw her three or four years ago. am not much acquainted with her. had never seen her until i was called to see her at that time. i was called to visit her by theophilus packard. i thought her partially deranged on religious matters, and gave a certificate to that effect. i certified that she was insane upon the subject of religion. i have never seen her since. _cross-examination._--this visit i made her was three or four years ago. i was there twice--one-half hour each time. i visited her on request of mr. packard, to determine if she was insane. i learned from him that he designed to convey her to the state asylum. do not know whether she was aware of my object, or not. her mind appeared to be excited on the subject of religion; on all other subjects she was perfectly rational. it was probably caused by overtaxing the mental faculties. she was what might be called a monomaniac. monomania is insanity on one subject. three-fourths of the religious community are insane in the same manner, in my opinion. her insanity was such that with a little rest she would readily have recovered from it. the female mind is more excitable than the male. i saw her perhaps one-half hour each time i visited her. i formed my judgment as to her insanity wholly from conversing with her. i could see nothing except an unusual zealousness and warmth upon religious topics. nothing was said, in my conversation with her, about disagreeing with mr. packard on religious topics. mr. packard introduced the subject of religion the first time i was there: the second time, i introduced the subject. mr. packard and mr. comstock were present. the subject was pressed on her for the purpose of drawing her out. mrs. packard would manifest more zeal than most of people upon any subject that interested her. i take her to be a lady of fine mental abilities, possessing more ability than ordinarily found. she is possessed of a nervous temperament, easily excited, and has a strong will. i would say that she was insane, the same as i would say henry ward beecher, spurgeon, horace greely, and like persons, are insane. probably three weeks intervened between the visits i made mrs. packard. this was in june, . _re-examined._--she is a woman of large, active brain, and nervous temperament. i take her to be a woman of good intellect. there is no subject which excites people so much as religion. insanity produces, oftentimes, ill-feelings towards the best friends, and particularly the family, or those more nearly related to the insane person--but not so with monomania. she told me, in the conversation, that the calvinistic doctrines were wrong, and that she had been compelled to withdraw from the church. she said that mr. packard was more insane than she was, and that people would find it out. i had no doubt that she was insane. i only considered her insane on that subject, and she was not bad at that. i could not judge whether it was hereditary. i thought if she was withdrawn from conversation and excitement, she could have got well in a short time. confinement in any shape, or restraint, would have made her worse. i did not think it was a bad case; it only required rest. j. w. brown, being sworn, said: i am a physician; live in this city; have no extensive acquaintance with mrs. packard. saw her three or four weeks ago. i examined her as to her sanity or insanity. i was requested to make a visit, and had an extended conference with her: i spent some three hours with her. i had no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion, in my mind, that she was insane. _cross-examination._--i visited her by request of mr. packard, at her house. the children were in and out of the room; no one else was present. i concealed my object in visiting her. she asked me if i was a physician, and i told her no; that i was an agent, selling sewing machines, and had come there to sell her one. the first subject we conversed about was sewing machines. she showed no signs of insanity on that subject. the next subject discussed, was the social condition of the female sex. she exhibited no special marks of insanity on that subject, although she had many ideas quite at variance with mine, on the subject. the subject of politics was introduced. she spoke of the condition of the north and the south. she illustrated her difficulties with mr. packard, by the difficulties between the north and the south. she said the south was wrong, and was waging war for two wicked purposes: first, to overthrow a good government, and second, to establish a despotism on the inhuman principle of human slavery. but that the north, having right on their side, would prevail. so mr. packard was opposing her, to overthrow free thought in woman; that the despotism of man may prevail over the wife; but that she had right and truth on her side, and that she would prevail. during this conversation i did not fully conclude that she was insane. i brought up the subject of religion. we discussed that subject for a long time, and then i had not the slightest difficulty in concluding that she was hopelessly insane. _question._ dr., what particular idea did she advance on the subject of religion that led you to the conclusion that she was hopelessly insane? _answer._ she advanced many of them. i formed my opinion not so much on any one idea advanced, as upon her whole conversation. she then said that she was the "personification of the holy ghost." i did not know what she meant by that. _ques._ was not this the idea conveyed to you in that conversation:--that there are three attributes of the deity--the father, the son, and the holy ghost? now, did she not say, that the attributes of the father were represented in mankind, in man; that the attributes of the holy ghost were represented in woman; and that the son was the fruit of these two attributes of the deity? _ans._ well, i am not sure but that was the idea conveyed, though i did not fully get her idea at the time. _ques._ was not that a new idea to you in theology? _ans._ it was. _ques._ are you much of a theologian? _ans._ no. _ques._ then because the idea was a novel one to you, you pronounced her insane. _ans._ well, i pronounced her insane on that and other things that exhibited themselves in this conversation. _ques._ did she not show more familiarity with the subject of religion and the questions of theology, than you had with these subjects? _ans._ i do not pretend much knowledge on these subjects. _ques._ what else did she say or do there, that showed marks of insanity? _ans._ she claimed to be better than her husband--that she was right--and that he was wrong--and that all she did was good, and all he did was bad; that she was farther advanced than other people, and more nearly perfection. she found fault particularly that mr. packard would not discuss their points of difference on religion in an open, manly way, instead of going around and denouncing her as crazy to her friends and to the church. she had a great aversion to being called insane. before i got through the conversation she exhibited a great dislike to me, and almost treated me in a contemptuous manner. she appeared quite lady-like. she had a great reverence for god, and a regard for religious and pious people. _re-examined._--_ques._ dr., you may now state all the reasons you have for pronouncing her insane. _ans._ i have written down, in order, the reasons which i had, to found my opinion on, that she was insane. i will read them. . that she claimed to be in advance of the age thirty or forty years. . that she disliked to be called insane. . that she pronounced me a copperhead, and did not prove the fact. . an incoherency of thought. that she failed to illuminate me and fill me with light. . her aversion to the doctrine of the total depravity of man. . her claim to perfection or nearer perfection in action and conduct. . her aversion to being called insane. . her feelings towards her husband. . her belief that to call her insane and abuse her, was blasphemy against the holy ghost. . her explanation of this idea. . incoherency of thought and ideas. . her extreme aversion to the doctrine of the total depravity of mankind, and in the same conversation, saying her husband was a specimen of man's total depravity. . the general history of the case. . her belief that some calamity would befall her, owing to my being there, and her refusal to shake hands with me when i went away. . her viewing the subject of religion from the osteric standpoint of christian exegetical analysis, and agglutinating the polsynthetical ectoblasts of homogeneous asceticism. the witness left the stand amid roars of laughter; and it required some moments to restore order in the court-room. joseph h. way, sworn, and said: i am a practicing physician in kankakee city, illinois. i made a medical examination of mrs. packard a few weeks since, at her house; was there perhaps two hours. on most subjects she was quite sane. on the subject of religion i thought she had some ideas that are not generally entertained. at that time i thought her to be somewhat deranged or excited on that subject; since that time i have thought perhaps i was not a proper judge, for i am not much posted on disputed points in theology, and i find that other people entertain similar ideas. they are not in accordance with my views, but that is no evidence that she is insane. _cross-examined._--i made this visit at her house, or his house, perhaps, at manteno. i conversed on various subjects. she was perfectly sane on every subject except religion, and i would not swear now that she was insane. she seemed to have been laboring under an undue excitement on that subject. she has a nervous temperament, and is easily excited. she said she liked her children, and that it was hard to be torn from them. that none but a mother could feel the anguish she had suffered; that while she was confined in the asylum, the children had been educated by their father to call her insane. she said she would have them punished if they called their own mother insane, for it was not right. abijah dole, sworn, and says: i know mrs. packard; have known her twenty-five or thirty years. i am her brother-in-law. lived in manteno seven years. mrs. packard has lived there six years. i have been sent for several times by her and mr. packard, and found her in an excited state of mind. i was there frequently; we were very familiar. one morning early, i was sent for: she was in the west room; she was in her night clothes. she took me by the hand and led me to the bed. libby was lying in bed, moaning and moving her head. mrs. packard now spoke and said, "how pure we are." "i am one of the children of heaven; libby is one of the branches." "the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." she called mr. packard a devil. she said, brother dole, these are serious matters. if brother haslet will help me, we will crush the body. she said, christ had come into the world to save men, and that she had come to save woman. her hair was disheveled. her face looked wild. this was over three years ago. i was there again one morning after this. she came to me. she pitied me for marrying my wife, who is a sister to mr. packard; said i might find an agreeable companion. she said if she had cultivated amativeness, she would have made a more agreeable companion. she took me to another room and talked about going away; this was in june before they took her to the state hospital. she sent for me again; she was in the east room; she was very cordial. she wanted me to intercede for theophilus, who was at marshall, michigan; she wanted him to stay there, and it was thought not advisable for him to stay. we wished him to come away, but did not tell her the reasons. he was with a swedenborgian. after this i was called there once in the night. she said she could not live with mr. packard, and she thought she had better go away. one time she was in the bible class. the question came up in regard to moses smiting the egyptian; she thought moses had acted too hasty, but that all things worked for the glory of god. i requested her to keep quiet, and she agreed to do it. i have had no conversation with mrs. packard since her return from the hospital; she will not talk with me because she thinks i think she is insane. her brother came to see her; he said he had not seen her for four or five years. i tried to have mrs. packard talk with him, and she would not have anything to do with him because he said she was a crazy woman. she generally was in the kitchen when i was there, overseeing her household affairs. i was superintendent of the sabbath school. one sabbath, just at the close of the school, i was behind the desk, and almost like a vision she appeared before me, and requested to deliver or read an address to the school. i was much surprised; i felt so bad, i did not know what to do. (at this juncture the witness became very much affected, and choked up so that he could not proceed, and cried so loud that he could be heard in any part of the court-room. when he became calm, he went on and said), i was willing to gratify her all i could, for i know she was crazy, but i did not want to take the responsibility myself, so i put it to a vote of the school, if she should be allowed to read it. she was allowed to read it. it occupied ten or fifteen minutes in reading. i cannot state any of the particulars of that paper. it bore evidence of her insanity. she went on and condemned the church, all in all, and the individuals composing the church, because they did not agree with her. she looked very wild and very much excited. she seemed to be insane. she came to church one morning just as services commenced, and wished to have the church act upon her letter withdrawing from the church immediately. mr. packard was in the pulpit. she wanted to know if brother dole and brother merrick were in the church, and wanted them to have it acted upon. this was three years ago, just before she was taken away to the hospital. _cross-examined._--i supposed when i first went into the room that her influence over the child had caused the child to become deranged. the child was nine years old. i believed that she had exerted some mesmeric or other influence over the child, that caused it to moan and toss its head. the child had been sick with brain fever; i learned that after i got there. i suppose the mother had considerable anxiety over the child; i suppose she had been watching over the child all night, and that would tend to excite her. the child got well. it was sick several days after this; it was lying on the bed moaning and tossing its head; the mother did not appear to be alarmed. mr. packard was not with her; she was all alone; she did not say that mr. packard did not show proper care for the sick child. i suppose she thought libby would die. her ideas on religion did not agree with mine, nor with my view of the bible. i knew mr. packard thought her insane, and did not want her to discuss these questions in the sabbath school. i knew he had opposed her more or less. this letter to the church was for the purpose of asking for a letter from the church. _question._ was it an indication of insanity that she wanted to leave the presbyterian church? _answer._ i think it strange that she should ask for letters from the church. she would not leave the church unless she was insane. i am a member of the church--i believe the church is right. i believe everything the church does is right. i believe everything in the bible. _ques._ do you believe literally that jonah was swallowed by a whale, and remained in its belly three days and was then cast up? _ans._ i do. _ques._ do you believe literally that elijah went direct up to heaven in a chariot of fire--that the chariot had wheels, and seats, and was drawn by horses? _ans._ i do--for with god all things are possible. _ques._ do you believe mrs. packard was insane, and is insane? _ans._ i do. i never read any of swedenborg's works, i do not deem it proper for persons to investigate new doctrines or systems of theology. _re-examined._--i became a presbyterian eight years ago. i was formerly a congregationalist; mr. packard was a congregationalist. _re-cross-examination._--_ques._ was it dangerous for you to examine the doctrines or theology embraced in the presbyterian church, when you left the congregational church, and joined it? _ans._ i will not answer so foolish a question. witness discharged. josephus b. smith, sworn, says: am aged fifty years; have known mrs. packard seven years. i cannot tell the first appearance of any abnormal condition of her mind. i first saw it at the sabbath school. she came in and wished to read a communication. i do not recollect everything of the communication. she did not read the letter, but presented it to brother dole. she said something about her small children, and left. she seemed to be excited. there was nothing very unusual in her appearance. her voice was rather excited; it could be heard nearly over the house. i merely recall the circumstance, but recollect scarce anything else. it was an unusual thing for any person to come in and read an address. i do not recollect anything unusual in her manner. (at this stage of the trial, an incident occurred that for a time stopped all proceedings, and produced quite an excitement in the court-room; and this report would not be faithful if it were passed over unnoticed. mrs. dole, the sister of mr. packard, came in, leading the little daughter of mrs. packard, and in passing by the table occupied by mrs. packard and her counsel, the child stopped, went up to her mother, kissed and hugged her, and was clinging to her with all child-like fervor, when it was observed by mrs. dole, who snatched the child up--and bid it "come away from that woman;" adding, "she is not fit to take care of you--i have you in my charge;" and thereupon led her away. the court-room was crowded to its utmost, and not a mother's heart there but what was touched, and scarce a dry eye was seen. quite a stir was made, but the sheriff soon restored order.) _cross-examined._--i had charge of the sunday school; am a member of mr. packard's church. i knew mr. packard had considered her insane; knew they had had difficulties. i was elected superintendent of the school in place of brother dole, for the special purpose of keeping mrs. packard straight. sybil dole, sworn, and says-- i am mr. packard's sister; have known her twenty-five years. her natural disposition is very kind and sweet. her education is very good; her morals without a stain or blemish. i first observed a change in her, after we came to manteno. i had a conversation with her, when she talked an hour without interruption; she talked in a wild, excited manner; the subject was partly religion. she spoke of her own attainments; she said she had advanced in spiritual affairs. this was two or three years before she went to the asylum. the next time was when she was preparing to go to york state. she was weeping and sick. her trunk was packed and ready to go, but mr. packard was sick. from her voice, and the manner she talked, i formed an opinion of her insanity. she talked on various points; the conversation distressed me very much; i could not sleep. she was going alone; we tried to persuade her not to go alone. she accused mr. packard very strangely of depriving her of her rights of conscience--that he would not allow her to think for herself on religious questions, because they disagreed on these topics. she made her visit to new york. the first time i met her after her return, her health was much improved; she appeared much better. in the course of a few weeks, she visited at my house. at another time, one of the children came up, and wanted me to go down; i did so. she was very much excited about her son remaining at marshall. she was wild. she thought it was very wrong and tyrannical for mr. packard not to permit her son to remain there. she said very many things which seemed unnatural. her voice, manner and ways, all showed she was insane. i was there when mr. baker came there, to see about theophilus remaining at marshall with him. she was calmer than she was the day before. she said that she should spend the day in fasting and prayer. she said he had came in unexpectedly, and they were not prepared to entertain strangers. she was out of bread, and had to make biscuit for dinner. (one gentleman in the crowd turned to his wife and said, "wife, were you ever out of bread, and had to make biscuit for dinner? i must put you into an insane asylum! no mistake!") i occupied the same room and bed with her. she went to mr. packard's room, and when she returned, she said, that if her son was not permitted to remain at marshall, it would result in a divorce. she got up several times during the night. she told me how much she enjoyed the family circle. she spoke very highly of mr. packard's kindness to her. she spoke particularly of the tenderness which had once existed between them. i did not notice anything very remarkable in her conduct toward mr. packard, until just before she was sent to the hospital. one morning afterward, i went to her house with a lady; we wanted to go in, and were admitted. she seemed much excited. she said, "you regard me insane. i will thank you to leave my room." this was two or three months before she was sent to jacksonville. mr. packard went out. she put her hand on my shoulder, and said she would thank me to go out too. i went out. i afterward wanted to take the baby home. one morning i went down to see her, and prepared breakfast for her. she appeared thankful, and complimented me on my kindness. she consented for me to take the child; i did so. in a short time, about ten days after, the other children came up, and said, that she wanted to take her own child. i took the child down. her appearance was very wild. she was filled with spite toward mr. packard. she defied me to take the child again, and said that she would evoke the strong arm of the law to help her keep it. at another time, at the table, she was talking about religion, when mr. packard remonstrated with her; she became angry, and told him she would talk what and when she had a mind to. she rose up from the table, and took her tea-cup, and left the room in great violence. _cross-examined._--i am a member of mr. packard's church, and am his sister. he and i have often consulted together about mrs. packard. mr. packard was the first to ever suggest that she was insane; after that, i would more carefully watch her actions to find out if she was insane. the religious doctrines she advanced were at variance with those entertained by our church. she was a good, neat, thrifty and careful housekeeper. she was economical; kept the children clean and neatly dressed. she was sane on all subjects except religion. i do not think she would have entertained these ideas, if she had not been insane. i do not think she would have wanted to have withdrawn from our church, and unite with another church, if she had not been insane. she said she would worship with the methodists. they were the only other protestant denomination that held service at manteno at the time. i knew when she was taken to jacksonville hospital. she was taken away in the morning. she did not want to go; we thought it advisable for her to go. sarah rumsey, sworn, and says: have lived one week in mrs. packard's house. i was present at the interview when mrs. packard ordered us to leave the room. mrs. packard was very pale and angry. she was in an undress, and her hair was down over her face. it was o'clock in the forenoon--i staid at the house; mrs. packard came out to the kitchen. she was dressed then. she said she had come to reveal to me what mr. packard was. she talked very rapidly; she would not talk calm. she said mr. packard was an arch deceiver; that he and the members of his church had made a conspiracy to put her into the insane asylum; she wanted me to leave the conspirators. soon after dinner she said, "come with me, i have something to tell you." she said she had a new revelation; it would soon be here; and that she had been chosen by god for a particular mission. she said that all who decided with her, and remained true to her, would be rewarded by the millennium, and if i would side with her, that i would be a chief apostle in the millennium. she wanted to go to batavia, but that mr. packard would give her no money to take her there; that mr. packard called her insane. she started to go out, and mr. packard made her return; took her into mr. comstock's, and mr. comstock made her go home. i saw her again when libby had the brain fever. she was disturbed because the family called her insane. she and libby were crying together; they cried together a long time. this was tuesday. she would not let me into the room. the next morning while at breakfast mr. labrie passed the window and came in. he said that georgie had been over for him, and said that they were killing his mother. she acted very strangely all the time; was wild and excited. _cross-examined._--knew mr. packard two years before i went there to live. he was the pastor of our church. i am a member of the church. i did not attend the bible class. brother dole came to me and said somebody of the church should go there, and stay at the house, and assist in packing her clothes and getting her ready to take off to the hospital, and stay and take care of the children. i consented to go; i heard that brother packard requested brother dole to come for me. i never worked out before. they had a french servant, before i went there; mr. packard turned her off when i came, the same day. i did not want to take mrs. packard away. i did not think she exhibited any very unusual excitement, when the men came here to take her away. doctors merrick and newkirk were the physicians who came there with sheriff burgess. she did not manifest as much excitement, when being taken away, as i would have done, under the same circumstances; any person would have naturally been opposed to being carried away. the church had opposed her, in disseminating her ideas in the church; i was opposed to her promulgating her religious ideas in the church; i thought them wrong, and injurious. i was present at the sabbath school when she read the paper to the school; i thought that bore evidence of insanity. it was a refutation of what mrs. dixon had written; i cannot give the contents of the paper now. i was present when she read a confession of her conduct to the church; she had had her views changed partially, from a sermon preached upon the subject of the sovereignty and immutability of god. i did not think it strange conduct that she changed her views; and never said so. this was in the spring before the june when they took her away. the article she read in the school was by the permission of the school. i was present when she presented a protest against the church for refusing to let her be heard; i have only an indistinct recollection of it; it was a protest because they refused to listen to her. mr. dole was the only person who came to the house when she was taken away, except the men with burgess. she said that mr. packard had deprived her of the liberty of conscience in charging her to be insane, when she only entertained ideas new to him. i thought it was an evidence of insanity, because she maintained these ideas. i do not know that many people entertain similar ideas. i suppose a good many do not think the calvinistic doctrine is right, they are not necessarily insane because they think so. when she found i was going to stay in the house, and that the french servant had been discharged, she ordered me into the kitchen; before that, she had treated me kindly as a visitor. i thought it was an evidence of insanity for her to order me into the kitchen; she ought to have known that i was not an ordinary servant. the proper place for the servant is in the kitchen at work, and not in the parlor; i took the place of the servant girl for a short time. she wanted the flower beds in the front yard cleaned out, and tried to get mr. packard to do it; he would not do it. she went and put on an old dress and went to work, and cleaned the weeds out, and worked herself into a great heat. it was a warm day; she staid out until she was almost melted down with the heat. _question._ what did she do then? _answer._ she went to her room and took a bath, and dressed herself, and then lay down exhausted. she did not come down to dinner. _ques._ and did you think that was an evidence of insanity? _ans._ i did--the way it was done. _ques._ what would you have done under similar circumstances? would you have set down in the clothes you had worked in? _ans._ no. _ques._ probably you would have taken a bath and changed your clothes too. and so would any lady, would they not? _ans._ yes. _ques._ then would you call yourself insane? _ans._ no. but she was angry and excited, and showed ill-will. she was very tidy in her habits; liked to keep the house clean, and have her yard and flowers look well. she took considerable pains with these things. i remained there until she was taken away; i approved taking her away; i deemed her dangerous to the church; her ideas were contrary to the church, and were wrong. the baby was eighteen months old when she was taken away. she was very fond of her children and treated them very kindly. never saw her misuse them. never heard that she had misused them. never heard that she was dangerous to herself or to her family. never heard that she had threatened or offered to destroy anything, or injure any person. judge bartlett was next called to the stand. am acquainted with mrs. packard. had a conversation with her on religious topics. we agreed very well in most things. she did not say she believed in the transmigration of souls; she said some persons had expressed that idea to her, but she did not believe it. it was spoken of lightly. she did not say ever to me, that mr. packard's soul would go into an ox. she did not say anything about her being related to the holy ghost. i thought then, and said it, that religious subjects were her study, and that she would easily be excited on that subject. i could not see that she was insane. i would go no stronger than to say, that her mind dwelt on religious subjects. she could not be called insane, for thousands of people believe as she does, on religion. mrs. sybil dole, recalled. at the time she got up from the table she went out. she said, "i will have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness. no! not so much as to eat with them." _re-cross-examined._--_question._ did you deem that an evidence of insanity? _answer._ i did. _ques._ she called mr. packard the unfruitful works of darkness? _ans._ i suppose so. _ques._ did she also include you? _ans._ she might have done so. _ques._ this was about the time that her husband was plotting to kidnap her, was it not? _ans._ it was just before she was removed to the asylum. _ques._ he had been charging her with insanity, had he not, at the table? _ans._ he had. the prosecution now wished to adjourn the court for ten days, to enable them to get dr. mcfarland, superintendent of the state hospital, who, they claimed, would testify that she was insane. counsel stated, he had been telegraphed to come, and a reply was received, that he was in zanesville, ohio, and would return in about ten days. they claimed his testimony would be very important. this motion the counsel of mrs. packard opposed, as it was an unheard-of proceeding to continue a cause after the hearing was commenced, to enable a party to hunt up testimony. the matter was discussed on each side for a considerable length of time, when the court held that the defense should go on with their testimony, and after that was heard, then the court would determine about continuing the case to get dr. mcfarland, and perhaps he could be got before the defense was through, and if so, he might be sworn; and held that the defense should go on now. the counsel of mrs. packard withdrew for consultation, and in a brief time returned, and announced to the court that they would submit the case without introducing any testimony, and were willing to submit it without argument. the counsel for mr. packard objected to this, and renewed the motion for a continuance; which the court refused. the counsel for mr. packard then offered to read to the jury a letter from dr. mcfarland, dated in the month of december, , written to rev. theophilus packard; and also a certificate, under the seal of the state hospital at jacksonville, certifying that mrs. packard was discharged from the institution in june, , and was incurably insane, which certificate was signed by dr. mcfarland, the superintendent. to the introduction of this to the jury, the counsel for mrs. packard objected, as being incompetent testimony, and debarred the defense of the benefit of a cross-examination. the court permitted the letter and certificate to be read to the jury. these documents were retained by rev. theophilus packard, and the reporter has been unable to obtain copies of them. the letter is dated in december, , at the state hospital, jacksonville, illinois, and written to rev. theophilus packard, wherein dr. mcfarland writes him that mrs. packard is hopelessly insane, and that no possible good could result by having her returned to the hospital; that the officers of the institution had done everything in their power to effect a cure, and were satisfied she could not be cured, and refused to receive her into the institution. the certificate, under the seal of the hospital, was a statement, dated in june, , at jacksonville, illinois, setting forth the time (three years) that mrs. packard had been under treatment, and that she had been discharged, as beyond a possibility of being cured. the above is the import of these documents, which the reporter regrets he cannot lay before the public in full. the prosecution now announced that they closed their case. defense. j. l. simington was the first witness called for the defense. being sworn, he said i live in manteno; lived there since , early in the spring. knew rev. mr. packard and mrs. packard. first became acquainted with them in ; i was then engaged in the ministry of the methodist church. i have practiced medicine eleven years. i was consulted as a family physician by mrs. packard in . was quite well acquainted with mrs. packard, and with the family. lived fifty or sixty rods from their house. saw her and the family almost daily. i did not see anything unusual in her, in regard to her mind. i never saw anything i thought insanity with her. so far as i know she was a sane woman. i have seen her since she came from the hospital; have seen nothing since to indicate she was insane. my opinion is, she is a sane woman. no cross-examination was made. dr. j. d. mann, sworn, and says: i live in manteno; have lived there nine years. practiced medicine there six years. i am not very intimately acquainted with either mr. or mrs. packard. mr. packard invited me to go to his house to have an interview with mrs. packard. i went at his request. he requested me to make a second examination, which i did. there had been a physician there before i went. the last time, he wanted me to meet dr. brown, of this city, there. this was late in november last. he introduced me to mrs. packard. i had known her before she was taken to the hospital, and this was the first time i had seen her since she had returned. i was there from one to two hours. i then made up my mind, as i had made up my mind from the first interview, that i could find nothing that indicated insanity. i did not go when dr. brown was there. mr. packard had told me she was insane, and my prejudices were, that she was insane. he wanted a certificate of her insanity, to take east with him. i would not give it. the witness was not cross-examined. joseph e. labrie, sworn, and says: have known mrs. packard six years; lived fifteen or twenty rods from their house. knew her in spring of . saw her nearly every day--sometimes two or three times a day. i belong to the catholic church. have seen her since her return from jacksonville. i have seen nothing that could make me think her insane. i always said she was a sane woman, and say so yet. _cross-examined._--i am not a physician. i am not an expert. she might be insane, but no common-sense man could find it out. _re-examined._--i am a justice of the peace, and notary public. mr. packard requested me to go to his house and take an acknowledgment of a deed from her. i went there, and she signed and acknowledged the deed. this was within the past two months. _re-cross-examined._--i was sent for to go to the house in the spring of . my wife was with me. it was about taking her to jacksonville. mrs. packard would not come to the room where i was. i stayed there only about twenty minutes. have been there since she returned from the hospital. the door to her room was locked on the outside. mr. packard said, he had made up his mind to let no one into her room. the counsel for mrs. packard offered to read to the jury the following paper, which had been referred to by the witnesses, as evidence of mrs. packard's insanity, and which deacon smith refused to hear read. the counsel for mr. packard examined the paper, and admitted it was the same paper. the counsel for mrs. packard then requested permission of the court for mrs. packard to read it to the jury, which was most strenuously opposed. the court permitted mrs. packard to read it to the jury. mrs. packard arose, and read in a distinct tone of voice, so that every word was heard all over the court-room. how godliness is profitable deacon smith--a question was proposed to this class, the last sabbath brother dole taught us, and it was requested that the class consider and report the result of their investigations at a future session. may i now bring it up? the question was this: "have we any reason to expect that a christian farmer, _as a christian_, will be any more successful in his farming operations, than an impenitent sinner--and if _not_, how is it that godliness is profitable unto all things? or, in other words, does the _motive_ with which one prosecutes his secular business, other things being equal, make any difference in the _pecuniary_ results?" mrs. dixon gave it as her opinion, at the time, that the motive _did_ affect the pecuniary results. now the _practical_ result to which this conclusion leads, is such as will justify us in our judging of mrs. dixon's true _moral_ character, next fall, by her _success_ in her farming operations this summer. my opinion differs from hers on this point; and my _reasons_ are here given in writing since i deem it necessary for _me_, under the existing state of feeling toward me, to put into a written form _all_ i have to say, in the class, to prevent misrepresentation. should i be appropriating an unreasonable share of time, as a pupil, mr. smith, to occupy four minutes of your time in reading them? i should like very much to read them, that the class may pass their honest criticisms upon them. an answer to the question. i think we have no _intelligent_ reason for believing that the motives with which we prosecute our secular business, have any influence in the _pecuniary_ results. my reasons are _common sense_ reasons, rather than strictly bible proofs, viz.: i regard man as existing in three distinct departments of being, viz., his physical or animal, his mental or intellectual, his moral or spiritual; and each of these three distinct departments are under the control of _laws_, peculiar to itself; and these different laws do not interchange with, or affect each other's department. for instance, a very _immoral_ man may be a very _healthy_, long-lived man; for, notwithstanding he violates the _moral_ department, he may live in conformity to the _physical_ laws of his animal nature, which secure to him his physical health. and, on the other hand, a very moral man may suffer greatly from a diseased body, and be cut off in the very midst of his usefulness by an early death, in consequence of having violated the physical laws of his animal constitution. but on the moral plane he is the _gainer_, and the immoral man is the _loser_. so our success in business depends upon our conformity to _those laws_ on which success depends--_not_ upon the _motives_ which act _only_ on the moral plane. on _this_ ground, the christian farmer has no more _reason_ to expect success in his farming operations, than the impenitent sinner. in either case, the foundation for success must depend upon the degree of _fidelity_ with which the _natural laws_ are applied, which cause the natural result--_not_ upon the _motives_ of the operator; since these moral acts receive their penalty and reward on an entirely different plane of his being. now comes in the question, how then is it true, that "godliness is _profitable_ unto all things," if godliness is no guarantee to success in business pursuits? i reply, that the profits of godliness cannot mean, simply, _pecuniary_ profits, because this would limit the gain of godliness to this world, alone; whereas, it is profitable not only for _this life_, but also for the _life to come_. gain and loss, dollars and cents, are not the coins current in the spiritual world. but happiness and misery are coins which are current in _both_ worlds. therefore, it appears to me, that happiness is the profit attendant upon godliness, and for this reason, a _practically godly_ person, who lives in conformity to all the various laws of his entire being, may expect to secure to himself, as a natural result, a greater amount of happiness than the ungodly person. so that, in this sense, "godliness is profitable unto all things," to every department of our being. e. p. w. packard. manteno, march , . mrs. packard then stated that the above was presented to the class, the th day of the following april, and was _rejected_ by the teacher deacon smith, on the ground of its being irrelevant to the subject, since she had not confined herself to the bible alone for proof of her position. as she took her seat, a murmur of applause arose from every part of the room, which was promptly suppressed by the sheriff. daniel beedy, sworn, and says: i live in manteno. have known mrs. packard six years; knew her in the spring of . i lived a mile and a half from them. have seen her very frequently since her return from jacksonville. had many conversations with her before she was taken away, and since her return. she always appeared to me like a sane woman. i heard she was insane, and my wife and i went to satisfy ourselves. i went there soon after the difficulties in the bible class. she is not insane. we talked about religion, politics, and various matters, such as a grey-haired old farmer could talk about, and i saw nothing insane about her. mr. blessing, sworn, and says: i live in manteno; have known mrs. packard six years; knew her in the spring of ; lived eighty rods from their house. she visited at my house. i have seen her at church. she attended the methodist church for a while after the difficulties commenced, and then i saw her every sunday. i never thought her insane. after the word was given out by her husband that she was insane, she claimed my particular protection, and wanted me to obtain a trial for her by the laws of the land, and such an investigation she said she was willing to stand by. she claimed mr. packard was insane, if any one was. she begged for a trial. i did not then do anything, because i did not like to interfere between man and wife. i never saw anything that indicated insanity. she was always rational. had conversations with her since her return. she first came to my house. she claimed a right to live with her family. she considered herself more capable of taking care of her family than any other person. i saw her at jacksonville. i took dr. shirley with me to test her insanity. dr. shirley told me she was not insane. cross-examination waived. mrs. blessing, sworn, and says: have known mrs. packard seven years; knew her in . lived near them; we visited each other as neighbors. she first came to our house when she returned from jacksonville. i did not see anything that indicated that she was insane. i saw her at jacksonville. she had the keys, and showed me around. i heard the conversation there with dr. shirley; they talked about religion; did not think she talked unnatural. when i first went in, she was at work on a dress for dr. mcfarland's wife. i saw her after she returned home last fall, quite often, until she was locked in her room. on monday after she got home, i called on her; she was at work; she was cleaning up the feather beds; they needed cleaning badly. i went there afterward; her daughter let me in. on saturday before the trial commenced, i was let into her room by mr. packard; she had no fire in it; we sat there in the cold. mr. packard had a handful of keys, and unlocked the door and let me in. mrs. hanford was with me. before this, mrs. hanford and myself went there to see her; he would not let us see her; he shook his hand at me, and threatened to put me out. mrs. haslet, sworn, and said: know mrs. packard very well; have known her since they lived in manteno; knew her in the spring of ; and since she returned from jacksonville, we have been on intimate terms. i never saw any signs of insanity with her. i called often before she was kidnapped and carried to jacksonville, and since her return. i recollect the time miss rumsey was there; i did not see anything that showed insanity. i called to see her in a few days after she returned from jacksonville; she was in the yard, cleaning feather beds. i called again in a few days; she was still cleaning house. the house needed cleaning; and when i again called, it looked as if the mistress of the house was at home. she had no hired girl. i went again, and was not admitted. i conversed with her through the window; the window was fastened down. the son refused me admission. the window was fastened with nails on the inside, and by two screws, passing through the lower part of the upper sash and the upper part of the lower sash, from the outside. i did not see mr. packard this time. _cross-examination._--she talked about getting released from her imprisonment. she asked if filing a bill of complaint would lead to a divorce. she said she did not want a divorce; she only wanted protection from mr. packard's cruelty. i advised her to not stand it quietly, but get a divorce. dr. duncanson, sworn, and said: i live here; am a physician; have been a clergyman; have been a practicing physician twenty-one years. have known mrs. packard since this trial commenced. have known her by general report for three years and upwards. i visited her at mr. orr's. i was requested to go there and have a conversation with her and determine if she was sane or insane. talked three hours with her, on political, religious and scientific subjects, and on mental and moral philosophy. i was educated at and received diplomas from the university of glasgow, and anderson university of glasgow. i went there to see her, and prove or disprove her insanity. i think not only that she is sane, but the most intelligent lady i have talked with in many years. we talked religion very thoroughly. i find her an expert in both departments, old school and new school theology. there are thousands of persons who believe just as she does. many of her ideas and doctrines are embraced in swedenborgianism, and many are found only in the new school theology. the best and most learned men of both europe and this country, are advocates of these doctrines, in one shape or the other; and some bigots and men with minds of small calibre may call these great minds insane; but that does not make them insane. an insane mind is a diseased mind. these minds are the perfection of intellectual powers, healthy, strong, vigorous, and just the reverse of diseased minds, or insane. her explanation of woman representing the holy ghost, and man representing the male attributes of the father, and that the son is the fruit of the father and the holy ghost, is a very ancient theological dogma, and entertained by many of our most eminent men. on every topic i introduced, she was perfectly familiar, and discussed them with an intelligence that at once showed she was possessed of a good education, and a strong and vigorous mind. i did not agree with her in sentiment on many things, but i do not call people insane because they differ from me, nor from a majority, even, of people. many persons called swedenborg insane. that is true; but he had the largest brain of any person during the age in which he lived; and no one now dares call him insane. you might with as much propriety call christ insane, because he taught the people many new and strange things; or galileo; or newton; or luther; or robert fulton; or morse, who electrified the world; or watts or a thousand others i might name. morse's best friends for a long time thought him mad; yet there was a magnificent mind, the embodiment of health and vigor. so with mrs. packard; there is wanting every indication of insanity that is laid down in the books. i pronounce her a sane woman, and wish we had a nation of such women. this witness was cross-examined at some length, which elicited nothing new, when he retired. the defense now announced to the court that they had closed all the testimony they wished to introduce, and inasmuch as the case had occupied so much time, they would propose to submit it without argument. the prosecution would not consent to this arrangement. the case was argued ably and at length, by messrs. loomis and bonfield for the prosecution, and by messrs. orr and loring on the part of the defense. it would be impossible to give even a statement of the arguments made, and do the attorneys justice, in the space allotted to this report. on the th day of january, , at o'clock, p. m., the jury retired for consultation, under the charge of the sheriff. after an absence of seven minutes, they returned into court, and gave the following verdict: state of illinois, } _ss._ kankakee county, } we, the undersigned, jurors in the case of mrs. elizabeth p. w. packard, alleged to be insane, having heard the evidence in the case, are satisfied that said elizabeth p. w. packard is sane. john stiles, _foreman_. daniel g. bean. f. g. hutchinson. v. h. young. g. m. lyons. thomas muncey. h. hirshberg. nelson jervais. william hyer. geo. h. andrews. j. f. mafit. lemuel milk. cheers rose from every part, of the house; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and pressed around mrs. packard, and extended her their congratulations. it was sometime before the outburst of applause could be checked. when order was restored, the counsel for mrs. packard moved the court, that she be discharged. thereupon the court ordered the clerk to enter the following order: state of illinois, } _ss._ kankakee county, } it is hereby ordered that mrs. elizabeth p. w. packard be relieved from all restraint incompatible with her condition as a sane woman. c. r. starr, _judge of the th judicial circuit of the state of illinois_ january , . thus ended the trial of this remarkable case. during each day of the proceedings the court-room was crowded to excess by an anxious audience of ladies and gentlemen, who are seldom in our courts. the verdict of the jury was received with applause, and hosts of friends crowded upon mrs. packard to congratulate her upon her release. during the past two months, mr. packard had locked her up in her own house, fastened the windows outside, and carried the key to the door, and made her a close prisoner. he was maturing a plan to immure her in an asylum in massachusetts, and for that purpose was ready to start on the thursday before the writ was sued out, when his plan was disclosed to mrs. packard by a letter he accidentally dropped in her room, written by his sister in massachusetts, telling him the route he should take, and that a carriage would be ready at the station to put her in and convey her to the asylum. vigorous action became necessary, and she communicated this startling intelligence through her window to some ladies who had come to see her, and were refused admission into the house. on monday morning, and before the defense had rested their case, mr. packard left the state, bag and baggage, for parts unknown, having first mortgaged his property for all it is worth to his sister and other parties. we cannot do better than close this report with the following editorial from the kankakee gazette, of january , : mrs. packard. the case of this lady, which has attracted so much attention and excited so much interest for ten days past, was decided on monday evening last and resulted, as almost every person thought it must, in a complete vindication of her sanity. the jury retired on monday evening, after hearing the arguments of the counsel; and after a brief consultation, they brought in a verdict that mrs. packard is a _sane_ woman. thus has resulted an investigation which mrs. packard has long and always desired should be had, but which her cruel husband has ever sternly refused her. she has always asked and earnestly pleaded for a jury trial of her case, but her relentless persecutor has ever turned a deaf ear to her entreaties, and flagrantly violated all the dictates of justice and humanity. she has suffered the alienation of friends and relatives; the shock of a kidnapping by her husband and his posse when forcibly removed to the asylum; has endured three years incarceration in that asylum--upon the general treatment, in which there is severe comment in the state, and which in her special case was aggravatingly unpleasant and ill-favored; returning to her home she found her husband's saintly blood still congealed, a winter of perpetual frown on his face, and the sad dull monotony of "insane, insane," escaping his lips in all his communications to and concerning her; her young family, the youngest of the four at home being less than four years of age, these children--over whose slumbers she had watched, and whose wailings she had hushed with all a mother's care and tenderness--had been taught to look upon her as insane, and they were not to respect the counsels or heed the voice of a maniac just loosed from the asylum, doom sealed by official certificates. soon her aberration of mind led her to seek some of her better clothing carefully kept from her by her husband, which very woman-like act was seized by him as an excuse for confining her in her room, and depriving her of her apparel, and excluding her lady friends. believing that he was about to again forcibly take her to an asylum, four responsible citizens of that village made affidavit of facts which caused the investigation as to her sanity or insanity. during the whole of the trial she was present, and counseled with her attorneys in the management of the case. notwithstanding the severe treatment she has received for nearly four years past, the outrages she has suffered, the wrong to her nature she has endured, she deported herself during the trial as one who is not only not insane, but as one possessing intellectual endowments of a high order, and an equipoise and control of mind far above the majority of human kind. let the sapient dr. brown, who gave a certificate of insanity after a short conversation with her, and which certificate was to be used in aid of her incarceration for life--suffer as she has suffered, endure what she has endured, and the world would be deprived of future clinical revealings from his gigantic mind upon the subject of the spleen, and he would, to a still greater extent than in the past, "fail to illuminate" the public as to the virtues and glories of the martyr who is "watching and waiting" in canada. the heroic motto: "suffer and be strong," is fairly illustrated in her case. while many would have opposed force to his force, displayed frantic emotions of displeasure at such treatment, or sat convulsed and "maddened with the passion of her part," she meekly submitted to the tortures of her bigoted tormentor, trusting and believing in god's providence the hour of her vindication and her release from thraldom would come. and now the fruit of her suffering and persecution have all the autumn glory of perfection. "one who walked from the throne's splendor to the bloody block, said: 'this completes my glory' with a smile which still illuminates men's thoughts of her." feeling the accusations of his guilty conscience, seeing the meshes of the net with which he had kept her surrounded were broken, and a storm-cloud of indignation about to break over his head in pitiless fury, the intolerant packard, after encumbering their property with trust-deeds, and despoiling her of her furniture and clothing, left the country. let him wander! with the mark of infamy upon his brow, through far-off states, where distance and obscurity may diminish till the grave shall cover the wrongs it cannot heal. it is to be hoped mrs. packard will make immediate application for a divorce, and thereby relieve herself of a repetition of the wrongs and outrages she has suffered by him who for the past four years has only used the marriage relation to persecute and torment her in a merciless and unfeeling manner. narrative of events--continued. when this trial terminated, i returned to my home in manteno, where five days previous i had bestowed the parting kiss upon my three youngest children, little thinking it would be the last embrace i should be allowed to bestow upon these dear objects of my warmest affections. but alas! so it proved to be. mr. packard had fled with them to massachusetts, leaving me in the court room a childless widow. he could not but see that the tide of popular indignation was concentrating against him, as the revelations of the court ventilated the dreadful facts of this conspiracy, and he "fled his country," a fugitive from justice. he, however, left a letter for me which was handed me before i left the court-house, wherein he stated that he had moved to massachusetts, and extended to me an invitation to follow him, with the promise that he would provide me a suitable home. but i did not feel much like trusting either to his humanity or judgment in providing me another home. indeed, i did not think it safe to follow him, knowing that massachusetts' laws gave him the absolute custody of my person as well as illinois' laws. he went to south deerfield, massachusetts, and sought shelter for himself and his children in the family of his sister, mrs. severance, one of his co-conspirators. here he found willing ears to credit his tale of abuses he had suffered in this interference of his rights to do as he pleased with his lawful wife--and in representing the trial as a "mock trial," an illegal interference with his rights as head of his own household, and a "mob triumph,"--and in short, he was an innocent victim of a persecution against his legally constituted rights as a husband, to protect his wife in the way his own feelings of bigotry and intolerance should dictate! this was the region of his nativity and former pastorate, which he had left about eleven years previously, with an unblemished external character, and sharing, to an uncommon degree, the entire confidence of the public as a christian man and a minister. nothing had occurred, _to their knowledge_, to disturb this confidence in his present integrity as an honest reporter, and the entire community credited his testimony as perfectly reliable, in his entire misrepresentations of the facts in the case, and the character of the trial. his view was the only view the community were allowed to hear, so far as it was in his power to prevent it. the press also lent him its aid, as his organ of communication. he met also his old associates in the ministry, and by his artfully arranged web of lies, and his cunning sophistries, he deluded them also into a belief of his views, so that they, unanimously, gave him their certificate of confidence and fraternal sympathy. yea, even my own father and brothers became victims also of his sophisms and misrepresentations, so that they honestly believed me to be insane, and that the westerners had really interfered with mr. packard's rights and kind intents towards his wife, in intercepting as they had, his plans to keep her incarcerated for life. thus this one-sided view of the facts in the case so moulded public sentiment in this conservative part of new england, that he even obtained a certificate from my own dear father, a retired orthodox clergyman in sunderland, massachusetts, that, so far as he knew, he had treated his daughter generally with propriety!! this certificate served as a passport to the confidence of sunderland people in mr. packard as a man and a minister, and procured for him a call to become their minister in holy things. he was accordingly hired, as stated supply, and paid fifteen dollars a sabbath for one year and a half, and was boarded by my father in his family, part of the time, free of charge. the condition in which mr. packard left me i will now give in the language of another, by inserting here a quotation from one of the many chicago papers which published an account of this trial with editorial remarks accompanying it. the following is a part of one of these editorial articles, which appeared under the caption:-- "a heartless clergyman." _chicago, march , ._ "we recently gave an extended account of the melancholy case of mrs. packard, of manteno, ill., and showed how she was persecuted by her husband, rev. theophilus packard, a bigoted presbyterian minister of manteno. mrs. packard became liberal in her views, in fact, avowed universalist sentiments; and as her husband was unable to answer her arguments, he thought he could silence her tongue, by calling her _insane_, and having her incarcerated in the insane asylum at jacksonville, illinois. he finally succeeded in finding one or two orthodox physicians, as bigoted as himself, ready to aid him in his nefarious work, and she was confined in the asylum, under the charge (?) of dr. mcfarland, who kept her there three years. she at last succeeded in having a jury trial, and was pronounced _sane_. previous, however, to the termination of the trial, this persecutor of his wife, mortgaged his property, took away his children from the mother, and left her penniless and homeless, without a cent to buy food, or a place where to lay her head! and yet he pretended to believe that she was _insane_! is this the way to treat an insane wife! abandon her, turn her out upon the world without a morsel of bread, and no home? her husband calls her _insane_. before the case is decided by the jury, he starts for parts unknown. was there ever such a case of heartlessness? if mr. packard _believed_ his wife to be hopelessly _insane_, why did he abandon her? is this the way to treat a companion afflicted with insanity? if he believed his own story, he should, like a devoted husband, have watched over her with tenderness, his heart full of love should have gone out towards the poor, afflicted woman, and he should have bent over her and soothed her, and spent the last penny he had, for her recovery! but instead of this, he gathers in his funds, "packs up his duds," and leaves his poor, _insane_ wife, as _he_ calls her, in the court room, without food or shelter. he abandons her, leaving her penniless, homeless and childless! "mrs. packard is now residing with mr. z. handford, of manteno, who writes to the kankakee _gazette_ as follows: "in the first place, mrs. packard is now penniless. after having aided her husband for twenty-one years, by her most indefatigable exertions, to secure for themselves a home, with all its clustering comforts, he, with no cause, except a difference in religious opinions, exiled her from her home, by forcing her into jacksonville insane asylum, where he hoped to immure her for life, or until she would abandon what _he_ calls her 'insane notions.' "but in the overruling providence of a just god, her case has been ventilated, at last, by a jury trial, the account of which is already before the public. "from the time of her banishment into exile, now more than three and a half years, he has not allowed her the control of one dollar of their personal property. and she has had nothing to do with their real estate, within that time, excepting to sign one deed for the transfer of some of their real estate in mount pleasant, iowa, which she did at her husband's earnest solicitations, and his promise to let her have her 'defense,' long enough to copy, which document he had robbed her of three years before, by means of dr. mcfarland as agent. her signature, _thus obtained_, was acknowledged as a valid act, and the deed was presented to the purchaser as a valid instrument, even after mr. packard had just before taken an _oath_ that his wife was an _insane_ woman! "he has robbed her of all her patrimony, including not only her furniture, but her valuable clothing also, and a note of six hundred dollars on interest, which he gave her seven years before, as an equivalent for this amount of patrimony which her father, rev. samuel ware, of sunderland, massachusetts, sent mrs. packard for her special benefit, and to be used for her and her children as her own judgment should dictate. he has taken her furniture and clothing, or the avails of them, with him to massachusetts, without allowing her a single article of furniture for her own individual comfort and use. thus he has left her without a single penny of their common property to procure for herself the necessaries of life. "he has left her homeless. before the court closed, mr. packard left this scene of revelations, and mortgaged and rented their home in manteno, and dispossessed it by night of its furniture, so that when the court closed, mrs. packard had no sort of home to return to, the new renter having claimed possession of her home, and claiming a legal right to all its privileges, excluding her from its use entirely as a home, without leaving her the least legal claim to any of the avails of the rent or sales for the supply of her present necessities. "again, she is childless. her cruel husband, not satisfied with robbing his wife of all her rightful property, has actually _kidnapped_ all her dear children who lived at home, taking them with him, clandestinely, to massachusetts, leaving her a 'childless widow,' entirely dependent for her living, either upon her own exertions, or the charities of the public. we will not attempt to describe the desolation of her maternal heart, when she returned to her deserted home, to find it despoiled of all her dearest earthly treasures; with no sweet cherub, with its smiling, joyous face to extend to her the happy, welcome kiss of a mother's return. "but one short week previous, mrs. packard had bestowed the parting kiss upon her three youngest children, little dreaming it would be the last embrace the mother would ever be allowed to bestow upon her dear offspring, in their own dear home. but now, alas! where is her only daughter, elizabeth, of thirteen years, and her george hastings, of ten years, and her darling baby, arthur dwight, of five years? gone! gone! never to return, while the mandate of their father's iron will usurps supreme control of this household! "yes, the mother's home and heart are both desolate, for her heart-treasures--her dear children--are no more to be found. at length, rumor reaches her that her babe, arthur, is at their brother dole's. the anxious mother hastens to seek for it there. but all in vain. the family, faithful to their brother's wishes, keep the babe carefully hid from the mother, so that she cannot get even one glimpse of her sweet, darling boy. her cruel husband, fearing her attempts to secure the child might prove successful, has sent for it to be brought to him in massachusetts, where he now is fairly out of the mother's reach." z. hanford. i made various attempts to recover my furniture, which i found was stored at deacon doles' house, a brother-in-law of mr. packard's, under the pretense, that he had bought it, although he could never show one paper as proof of property transferred. i took counsel of the judge and lawyers at kankakee, to see if i could in any way recover my stolen furniture, which i had bought with my own patrimony. "can i replevy it as stolen property?" said i. "no," said my advisers, "you cannot replevy anything, for you are a married woman, and a married woman has no legal existence, unless she holds property independent of her husband. as this is not your case, you are nothing and nobody in law. your husband has a legal right to all your common property--you have not even a right to the hat on your head!" "why?" said i, "i have bought and paid for it with my own money." "that is of no consequence--you can hold nothing, as you are _nothing and nobody_ in law! you have a moral right to your own things, and your own children, but no legal right at all; therefore you, a married woman, cannot replevy, although any one else could under like circumstances." "is this so? has a married woman no identity in statute book of illinois?" "it is so. her interests are all lost in those of her husband, and he has the absolute control of her home, her property, her children, and her personal liberty." yes, all this is but too true, as my own sad experience fully demonstrates. now i can realize the sad truths so often iterated, reiterated to me by my husband, namely: "you have no _right_ to your home, i have let you live with me twenty-one years in my home as a favor to you. you have no _right_ to your children. i let you train them, as far as i think it is proper to trust your judgment--this privilege of training and educating your own children is a favor bestowed upon you by me, which i can withhold or grant at my own option. you have no _right_ to your money patrimony after you intrusted it to my care, and i gave you a note for it on interest which i can either pay you or not at my own option. you have no _right_ to your personal liberty if i feel disposed to christen your opinions insane opinions, for i can then treat you as an insane person or not, just at my own option." yes, mr. packard has only treated me as he said the laws of illinois allowed him to do, and how can he be blamed then? did not "wise men" make the laws, as he often used to assert they did? and can one be prosecuted for doing a legal act? nay--verily--no law can reach him; even his kidnapping me as he did is legalized in illinois statute book, as the following article which was published in several boston papers in the winter of , demonstrates, namely: "legal kidnapping," or provision for a sane person's imprisonment. "from the 'disclosures' of mrs. packard's book, it appears a self-evident fact that one state of our union has an express provision for the imprisonment of married women who are not insane. and this process of legal kidnapping is most strikingly illustrated in the facts developed in mrs. packard's own experience, as delineated in her book entitled 'the great drama.' "the following is a copy of the law, as it now stands on the illinois statute book:-- "amendatory act." "session laws , . page ." "sec. . married women and infants who, in the judgment of the medical superintendent, [meaning the superintendent of the 'illinois state hospital' for the insane] are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the hospital on the request of the husband, or the woman or guardian of the infants, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." "hon. s. s. jones of st. charles, illinois, thus remarks upon this act:-- "thus we see a corrupt husband, with money enough to corrupt a superintendent, can get rid of a wife as effectually as was ever done in a more barbarous age. the superintendent may be corrupted either with money or influence, that he thinks will give him position, place, or emoluments. is not this a pretty statute to be incorporated into our laws no more than thirteen years ago? why not confine the husband at the instance of the wife, as well as the wife at the instance of the husband? the wife evidently had no voice in making the law. "who, being a man, and seeing this section in the statute book of illinois, under the general head of 'charities,' does not blush and hang his head for very shame at legislative perversion of so holy a term? i have no doubt, if the truth of the matter were known, this act was passed at the special instance of the superintendent. a desire for power. i do not know why it has not been noted by me and others before." "and we would also venture to inquire, what is the married woman's protection under such a statute law? is she not allowed counter testimony from a physician of her own choice, or can she not demand a trial of some kind, to show whether the charge of insanity brought against her is true or false? nay, verily. the statute expressly states that the judgment of the medical superintendent, to whom the husband's request is made, is _all_ that is required for him to incarcerate his wife for any indefinite period of time. neither she, her children, nor her relatives have any voice at all in the matter. her imprisonment may be life-long, for anything she or her friends can do for her to prevent it. if the husband has money or influence enough to corrupt the officials, he can carry out his single wishes concerning his wife's life-destiny. "are not the 'divorce laws' of illinois made a necessity, to meet the demands of the wife, as her only refuge from this exposure to a 'false imprisonment' for life in an insane asylum? "we hope our readers will be able to read mrs. packard's book for themselves; especially her 'self-defence from the charge of insanity,' wherein the barbarities of this statute are made to appear in their true light, as being merely a provision for 'legal kidnapping.'" boston, feb. , . satisfied as i was that there was no legal redress for me in the laws, and no hope in appealing to mr. packard's mercy or manliness, i determined to do what i could to obtain a self-reliant position, by securing if possible the protection of greenbacks, confident that this kind of protection is better than none at all. i concluded, therefore, to publish the first installment of "the great drama," an allegorical book i wrote while in the asylum, consisting of twelve parts. but how could this be done in my penniless condition? was the great question to be practically settled. i accordingly borrowed ten dollars of mr. z. hanford, of manteno, a noble, kind hearted man, who offered me a home at his house after the trial, and went to chicago to consult the printers in reference to the expense of printing one thousand copies of this book, and get it stereotyped. i found it would cost me five hundred dollars. i then procured a few thousand tickets on which was printed--"the bearer is entitled to the first volume of mrs. packard's book, entitled the great drama. none are genuine without my signature. mrs. e. p. w. packard." and commenced canvassing for my unborn book, by selling these tickets for fifty cents each, assuring the purchaser i would redeem the ticket in three month's time, by giving them a book worth fifty cents. when i had sold about eight or nine hundred tickets, i went to chicago to set my printers and stereotypers, engravers and binders, at work on my book. but i now met with a new and unlooked for difficulty, in the sudden inflation of prices in labor and material. my book could not now be printed for less than seven hundred dollars; so that my first edition would not pay for itself into two hundred dollars. as the case now was, instead of paying for my book by selling one thousand tickets, i must sell fourteen hundred, besides superintending the various workmen on the different departments of my book. nothing daunted by this reverse, instead of raising the price of my tickets to seventy-five cents to meet this unfortunate turn in my finances, i found i must fall back upon the only sure guarantee of success, namely: patient perseverance. by the practical use of this great backbone of success, perseverance, i did finally succeed in printing my book, and paying the whole seven hundred dollars for it in three months' time, by selling four hundred tickets in advance on another edition. i sold and printed, and then printed and sold, and so on, until i have printed and sold in all, twelve thousand books in fifteen months' time. included in this twelve thousand are several editions of smaller pamphlets, varying in price from five to twenty-five cents each. interview with mayor sherman. at this stage of my narrative it may not be inappropriate to narrate my interview with mayor sherman, of chicago, since it not only discloses one of the dangers and the difficulties i had to encounter, in prosecuting my enterprise, but also serves as another exemplification of that marital power which is legally guaranteed to the husband, leaving the wife utterly helpless, and legally defenceless. i called upon him at his office in the court house, and was received with respectful, manly courtesy. after introducing myself as the mrs. packard whose case had recently acquired so much notoriety through the chicago press, and after briefly recapitulating the main facts of the persecution, i said to him: "now, mr. sherman, as the mayor of this city, i appeal to you for protection, while printing my book in your city. will you protect me here?" "why, mrs. packard, what protection do you need? what dangers do you apprehend?" "sir, i am a married woman, and my husband is my persecutor, therefore i have no legal protection. the husband is, you probably know, the wife's only protector in the law, therefore, what i want now, sir, is protection against my protector!" "is he in this city?" "no, sir; but his agents are, and he can delegate his power to them, and authorize them what to do." "what do you fear he will do?" "i fear he may intercept the publication of my book; for you probably know, sir, he can come either himself, or by proxy, and, with his sheriff, can demand my manuscript of my printer, and the printer, nor you, sir, have no legal power to defend it. he can demand it, and burn it, and i am helpless in legal self-defense. for, sir, my identity was legally lost in his, when i married him, leaving me nothing and nobody in law; and besides, all i have is his in law, and of course no one can prosecute him for taking his own things--my manuscript is his, and entirely at his disposal. i have no right in law even to my own thoughts, either spoken or written--he has even claimed the right to superintend my written thoughts as well as post office rights. i can not claim these rights--they are mine only as he grants me them as his gifts to me." "what does your printer say about it?" "he says if the sheriff comes to him for the book he shall tell him he must get the book where he can find it; _i_ shall not find it for him. i then said to my printer, supposing he should come with money, and offer to buy the manuscript, what then?" "i say, it will take more money than there is in chicago to buy that manuscript of us," replied my printer. "i think that sounds like protection, mrs. packard. i think you have nothing to fear." "no, mr. sherman, i have nothing to fear from the manliness of my printer, for this is my sole and only protection--but as one man to whom i trusted even myself, has proved a traitor to his manliness, is there not a possibility another may. i should not object to a double guard, since the single guard of manliness has not even protected me from imprisonment." "well, mrs. packard, you shall have my protection; and i can also assure you the protection of my counsel, also. if you get into trouble, apply to us, and we will give you all the help the laws will allow." "i beg you to consider, sir; the laws do not allow you to interfere in such a matter. are you authorized to stop a man from doing a _legal_ act?" "no, mrs. packard, i am not. i see you are without any legal protection. still i think you are safe in chicago." "i hope it may so prove, sir. but one thing more i wish your advice about; how can i keep the money i get for my book from mr. packard, the legal owner of it?" "keep it about your person, so he can't get it." "but, sir; mr. packard has a right to my person in law, and can take it anywhere, and put it where he pleases; and if he can get my person, he can take what is on it." "that's so--you are in a bad case, truly--i must say, i never before knew that any one under our government was so utterly defenceless as you are. your case ought to be known. every soldier in our army ought to have one of your books, so as to have our laws changed." soldiers of our army! receive this tacit compliment from mayor sherman. _you_ are henceforth to hold the reins of the american government. and it is my candid opinion, they could not be in better or safer hands. and in your hands would i most confidently trust my sacred cause--the cause of married woman; for, so far as my observation extends, no class of american citizens are more manly, than our soldiers. i am inclined to cherish the idea, that gallantry and patriotism are identified; at least, i find they are almost always associated together in the same manly heart. when i had sold about half of my twelve thousand books, i resolved to visit my relatives in massachusetts, who had not seen me for about twelve years. i felt assured that my dear father, and brothers, and my kind step-mother, were all looking at the facts of my persecution from a wrong stand-point; and i determined to risk my exposure to mr. packard's persecuting power again, so far as to let my relatives see me once for themselves; hoping thus the scales might drop from their eyes, so far at least as to protect me from another kidnapping from mr. packard. i arrived first at my brother austin ware's house in south deerfield, who lives about two miles from mr. severance, where were my three youngest children, and where mr. packard spent one day of each week. i spent two nights with him and his new wife, who both gave me a very kind and patient hearing; and the result was, their eyes were opened to see their error in believing me to be an insane person, and expressed their decided condemnation of the course mr. packard had pursued towards me. brother became at once my gallant and manly protector, and the defender of my rights. "sister," said he, "you have a right to see your children, and you shall see them. i will send for them to-day." he accordingly sent a team for them twice, but was twice refused by mr. packard, who had heard of my arrival. still, he assured me i should see them in due time. he carried me over to sunderland, about four miles distant, to my father's house, promising me i should meet my dear children there; feeling confident that my father's request joined with his own, would induce mr. packard to let me see once more my own dear offspring. as he expected, my father at once espoused my cause, and assured me i should see my children; "for," added he, "mr. packard knows it will not do for him to refuse me." he then directed brother to go directly for them himself, and say to mr. packard: "elizabeth's father requests him to let the children have an interview with their mother at his house." but, instead of the children, came a letter from brother, saying, that mr. packard has refused, in the most decided terms, to let sister see her own children; or, to use his own language, he said, "i came from illinois to massachusetts to protect the children from their mother, and i shall do it, in spite of you, or father ware, or any one else!" brother adds, "the mystery of this dark case is now solved, in my mind, completely. mr. packard is a monomaniac on this subject; there is no more reason in his treatment of sister, than in a brute." these facts of his refusal to let me see my children, were soon in circulation in the two adjacent villages of sunderland and south deerfield, and a strongly indignant feeling was manifested against mr. packard's defiant and unreasonable position; and he, becoming aware of the danger to his interests which a conflict with this tide of public sentiment might occasion, seemed forced, by this pressure of public opinion, to succumb; for, on the following monday morning, (this was on saturday, p. m.,) he brought all of my three children to my father's house, with himself and mrs. severance, as their body-guard, and with both as my witnesses, i was allowed to talk with them an hour or two. he refused me an interview with them alone in my room. i remained at my father's house a few days only, knowing that even in massachusetts the laws did not protect me from another similar outrage, if mr. packard could procure the certificate of two physicians that i was insane; for, with these alone, without any chance at self-defense, he could force me into some of the private asylums here, as he did into a state asylum in illinois. i knew that, as i was mr. packard's wife, neither my brother nor father could be my legal protectors in such an event, as they could command no influence in my defense, except that of public sentiment or mob-law. i therefore felt forced to leave my father's house in self-defence, to seek some protection of the legislature of massachusetts, by petitioning them for a change in their laws on the mode of commitment into insane asylums. as a preparatory step, i endeavored to get up an agitation on the subject, by printing and selling about six thousand books relative to the subject; and then, trusting to this enlightened public sentiment to back up the movement, i petitioned massachusetts legislature to make the needed change in the laws. hon. s. e. sewall, of boston, drafted the petition, and i circulated it, and obtained between one and two hundred names of men of the first standing and influence in boston, such as the aldermen, the common council, the high sheriff, and several other city officers; and besides, judges, lawyers, editors, bank directors, physicians, &c. mr. sewall presented this petition to the legislature, and they referred it to a committee, and this committee had seven special meetings on the subject. i was invited to meet with them each time, and did so, as were also mrs. phelps and mrs. denny, two ladies of boston who had suffered a term of false imprisonment in a private institution at sommersville, without any previous trial. hon. s. e. sewall and mr. wendell phillips both made a plea in its behalf before this committee, and the gallantry and manliness of this committee allowed me a hearing of several hour's time in all, besides allowing me to present the two following bills, which they afterwards requested a copy of in writing. the three superintendents, dr. walker, dr. jarvis, and dr. tyler, represented the opposition. and my reply to dr. walker constituted the preamble to my bills. mrs. packard's bills. preamble. _gentlemen of the committee_: i feel it my duty to say one word in defence of the petitioners, in reply to dr. walker's statement, that, "in his opinion, nineteen twentieths of the petitioners did not know nor care what they petitioned for, and that they signed it out of compliment to the lady." i differ from dr. walker in opinion on this point, for this reason. i obtained these names by my own individual appeals, except from most of the members of the "common council," who signed it during an evening session, by its being passed around for their names. i witnessed their signing, and saw them read it, carefully, before signing it. and i _think_ they signed it intelligently, and from a desire for safer legislation. the others i _know_ signed intelligently, and for this reason. and i could easily have got one thousand more names, had it been necessary; for, in selling my books, i have conversed with many thousand men on this subject, and among them all, i have only found one man who defends the present mode of commitment, by leaving it all to the physicians. i spent a day in the custom house, and a day and a half in the navy yard, and these men, like all others, defend our movement. i have sold one hundred and thirty-nine books in the navy yard within the last day and a half, by conversing personally with gentlemen in their counting-rooms on this subject, and they are carefully watching your decision on this question. now, from this stand-point of extensive observation, added to my own personal experience, i feel fully confident these two bills are needed to meet the public demand at this crisis. bill no. . no person shall be regarded or treated as an insane person, or a monomaniac, simply for the _expression of opinions_, no matter how absurd these opinions may appear to others. reasons. st. this law is needed for the personal safety of reformers. we are living in a progressive age. everything is in a state of transmutation, and, as our laws now are, the reformer, the pioneer, the originator of any new idea is liable to be treated as a monomaniac, with _imprisonment_. d. it is a _crime_ against human progress to allow reformers to be treated as monomaniacs; for, who will dare to be true to the inspirations of the divinity within them, if the pioneers of truth are thus liable to lose their personal liberty for life by so doing? d. it is _treason_ against the principles of our government to treat opinions as insanity, and to imprison for it, as our present laws allow. th. there always are those in every age who are opposed to every thing _new_, and if allowed, will persecute reformers with the stigma of insanity. this has been the fate of all reformers, from the days of christ--the great reformer--until the present age. th. our government, of all others, ought especially to guard, by legislation, the vital principle on which it is based, namely: _individuality_, which guarantees an individual right of opinion to all persons. therefore, gentlemen, _protect your thinkers!_ by a law, against the charge of monomania, and posterity shall bless our government, as a model government, and massachusetts as the pioneer state, in thus protecting individuality as the vital principle on which the highest development of humanity rests. bill no. . no person shall be imprisoned, and treated as an insane person, except for _irregularities of conduct_, such as indicate that the individual is so lost to reason, as to render him an unaccountable moral agent. reasons. multitudes are now imprisoned, without the least evidence that reason is dethroned, as indicated by this test. and i am a representative of this class of prisoners; for, when dr. mcfarland was driven to give his reasons for regarding me as insane, on _this_ basis, the only reason which he could name, after closely inspecting my conduct for three years, was, that i once "_fell down stairs_!" i do insist upon it, gentlemen, that no person should be imprisoned without a _just cause_; for personal liberty is the most blessed boon of our existence and ought therefore to be reasonably guarded as an inalienable right. but it is _not_ reasonably protected under our present legislation, while it allows the simple _opinion_ of two doctors to imprison a person for life, without one _proof_ in the _conduct_ of the accused, that he is an unaccountable moral agent. we do not hang a person on the simple _opinion_ that he is a murderer, but _proof_ is required from the accused's _own actions_, that he is guilty of the charge which forfeits his life. so the charge which forfeits our personal liberty ought to be _proved_ from the individual's own conduct, before imprisonment. so long as insanity is treated as a _crime_, instead of a _misfortune_, as our present system _practically_ does so treat it, the protection of our individual liberty imperatively demands such an enactment. many contend that _every_ person is insane on some point. on this ground, _all_ persons are liable to be legally imprisoned, under our present system; for intelligent physicians are everywhere to be found, who will not scruple to give a certificate that an individual is a monomaniac on _that_ point where he differs from _him_ in opinion! this monomania in many instances is not insanity, but individuality, which is the highest _natural_ development of a human being. gentlemen, i know, and have felt, the horrors--the untold _soul_ agonies--attendant on such a persecution. therefore, as philanthropists, i beg of you to guard your own liberties, and those of your countrymen, by recommending the adoption of these two bills as an imperative necessity. the above bills were presented to the committee on the commitment of the insane, in boston state house, march , , by mrs. e. p. w. packard. the result was, the petition triumphed, by so changing the mode of commitment, that, instead of the husband being allowed to enter his wife at his simple request, added to the certificate of two physicians, he must now get ten of her nearest relatives to join with him in this request; and the person committed, instead of not being allowed to communicate by writing to any one outside of the institution, except under the censorship of the superintendent, can now send a letter to each of these ten relatives, and to any other two persons whom the person committed shall designate. this the superintendent is required to do within two days from the time of commitment. this law is found in chapter , section , of the general laws of massachusetts. i regard my personal liberty in massachusetts now as not absolutely in the power of my husband; as my family friends must now co-operate in order to make my commitment legal. and since my family relatives are now fully satisfied of my sanity, after having seen me for themselves, i feel now comparatively safe, while in massachusetts. i therefore returned to my father's house in sunderland, and finding both of my dear parents feeble, and in need of some one to care for them, and finding myself in need of a season of rest and quiet, i accepted their kind invitation to make their house my home for the present. at this point my father indicated his true position in relation to my interests, by his self-moved efforts in my behalf, in writing and sending the following letter to mr. packard.[ ] [ ] see appendix, p. . copy of father ware's letter to mr. packard. "_sunderland, sept. , ._ "rev. sir: i think the time has fully come for you to give up to elizabeth her clothes. whatever reason might have existed to justify you in retaining them, has, in process of time, entirely vanished. there is not a shadow of excuse for retaining them. it is my presumption there is not an individual in this town who would justify you in retaining them a single day. elizabeth is about to make a home at my house, and i must be her protector. she is very destitute of clothing, and greatly needs all those articles which are hers. i hope to hear from you soon, before i shall be constrained to take another step. yours, respectfully, "rev. t. packard. samuel ware." the result of this letter was, that in about twenty-four hours after the letter was delivered, mr. packard brought the greater part of my wardrobe and delivered it into the hands of my father. in a few weeks after this event, mr. packard's place in the pulpit in sunderland was filled by a candidate for settlement, and he left the place. the reasons why he thus left his ministerial charge in this place, cannot perhaps be more summarily given than by transcribing the following letter which father got me to write for him, in answer to rev. dr. pomeroy's letter, inquiring of my father _why_ mr. packard had left sunderland. letter to rev. dr. pomeroy. _sunderland, oct. , ._ dr. pomeroy, dear sir: i am sorry to say that my dear father feels too weak to reply to your kind and affectionate letter of the twenty-third instant, and therefore i cheerfully consent to reply to it myself. as to the subject of your letter, it is as you intimated. we have every reason to believe that father's defence of me, has been the indirect cause of mr. packard's leaving sunderland; although we knew nothing of the matter until he left, and a candidate filled his place. neither father, mother, nor i, have used any direct influence to undermine the confidence of this people in mr. packard. but where this simple fact, that i have been imprisoned three years, is known, to have become a demonstrated truth, by the decision of a jury, after a thorough legal investigation of five day's trial, it is found to be rather of an unfortunate truth for the public sentiment of the present age to grapple with. and mr. packard and his persecuting party may yet find i uttered no fictitious sentiment, when i remarked to dr. mcfarland in the asylum, that i shall yet _live down_ this slander of insanity, and also live down my persecutors. and mr. packard is affording me every facility for so doing, by his continuing strenuously to insist upon it, that i am, now, just as insane as when he incarcerated me in jacksonville insane asylum. and he still insists upon it, that an asylum prison is the only suitable place for me to spend the residue of my earth-life in. but, fortunately for me, my friends judge differently upon seeing me for themselves. especially fortunate is it for me, that my own dear father feels confident that his house is a more suitable home for me, notwithstanding the assertion of mrs. dickinson, (the widow with whom mr. packard boards,) that, "it is such a pity that mrs. packard should come to sunderland, where mr. packard preaches!" mr. johnson replied in answer to this remark, that he thought mrs. packard had a right to come to her father's house for protection, and also that her father had an equal right to extend protection to his only daughter, when thrown adrift and pennyless upon the cold world without a place to shelter her defenceless head. mr. packard has withdrawn all intercourse with us all since he was called upon by father to return my wardrobe to me. would that mr. packard's eyes might be opened to see what he is doing, and repent, so that i might be allowed to extend to him the forgiveness my heart longs to bestow, upon this gospel condition. thankful for all the kindness and sympathy you have bestowed upon my father and mother, as well as myself, i subscribe myself your true friend, e. p. w. packard. p. s. father and mother both approve of the above, which i have written at father's urgent request. e. p. w. p. fidelity to the truth requires me to add one more melancholy fact, in order to make this narrative of events complete, and that is, that mr. packard has made merchandise of this stigma of insanity he has branded me with, and used it as a lucrative source of gain to himself, in the following manner. he has made most pathetic appeals to the sympathies of the public for their charities to be bestowed upon him, on the plea of his great misfortune in having an insane wife to support--one who was incapable of taking care of herself or her six children--and on this false premise he has based a most pathetic argument and appeal to their sympathies for pecuniary help, in the form of boxes of clothing for himself and his destitute and defenceless children. these appeals have been most generously responded to from the american home missionary society. so that when i returned to my home from the asylum, i counted twelve boxes of such clothing, some of which were very large, containing the spoils he had thus purloined from this benevolent society, by entirely false representations. my family were not destitute. but on the contrary, were abundantly supplied with a supernumerary amount of such missionary gifts, which had been lavished upon us, at his request, before i was imprisoned. i had often said to him, that i and my children had already more than a supply for our wants until they were grown up. now, what could he do with twelve more such boxes? my son, isaac, now in chicago, and twenty-one years of age, told me he had counted fifty new vests in one pile, and he had as many pants and coats, and overcoats, and almost every thing else, of men's wearing apparel, in like ratio. he said i had a pile of dress patterns accumulated from these boxes, to one yard in depth in one solid pile. and this was only one sample of all kinds of ladies' apparel which he had thus accumulated, by his cunningly devised begging system. still, to this very date, he is pleading want and destitution as a basis for more charities of like kind. he has even so moved the benevolent sympathies of the widow dickinson with whom he boarded, as to make her feel that he was an honest claimant upon their charities in this line, on the ground of poverty and destitution. she accordingly started a subscription to procure him a suit of clothes, on the ground of his extreme destitution, and finally succeeded in begging a subscription of one hundred and thirteen dollars for his benefit, and presented it to him as a token of sympathy and regard. another fact, he has put his property out of his hands, so that he can say he has nothing. and should i sue him for my maintainance, i could get nothing. his rich brother-in-law, george hastings, supports the three youngest children, mostly, thus leaving scarcely no claimants upon his own purse, except his own personal wants. his wife and six children he has so disposed of, as to be almost entirely independent of him of any support. and it is my honest opinion, that had sunderland people known of these facts in his financial matters, they would not have presented him with one hundred and thirteen dollars, as a token of their sympathy and esteem. still, looking at the subject from their stand-point, i have no doubt they acted conscientiously in this matter. i have never deemed it my duty to enlighten them on this subject, except as the truth is sought for from me, in a few individual isolated cases. i do not mingle with the people scarcely at all, and have sold none of my books among them. self-defence does not require me to seek the protection of enlightened public sentiment now that the laws protect my personal liberty, while in massachusetts. but fidelity to the cause of humanity, especially the cause of "married woman," requires me to make public the facts of this notorious persecution, in order to have her true legal position known and fully apprehended. and since my case is a practical illustration of what the law is on this subject--showing how entirely destitute she is of any legal protection, except what the will and wishes of her husband secures to her--and also demonstrates the fact, that the common-law, everywhere, in relation to married woman, not only gravitates towards an absolute despotism, but even protects and sustains and defends a despotism of the most arbitrary and absolute kind. therefore, in order to have her social position changed legally, the need of this change must first be seen and appreciated by the common people--the law-makers of this republic. and this need or necessity for a revolution on this subject can be made to appear in no more direct manner, than by a practical case such as my own furnishes. as the need of a revolution of the law in relation to negro servitude was made to appear, by the practical exhibition of the slave code in "uncle tom's" experience, showing that all slaves were _liable_ to suffer to the extent he did; so my experience, although like "uncle tom's," an extreme case, shows how all married women are _liable_ to suffer to the same extent that i have. now justice to humanity claims that such liabilities should not exist in any christian government. the laws should be so changed that such another outrage could not possibly take place under the sanction of the laws of a christian government. as uncle tom's case aroused the indignation of the people against the slave code, so my case, so far as it is known, arouses this same feeling of indignation against those laws which protect married servitude. married woman needs legal emancipation from married servitude, as much as the slave needed legal emancipation from his servitude. again, all slaves did not suffer under negro slavery, neither do all married women suffer from this legalized servitude. still, the principle of slavery is wrong, and the principle of emancipation is right, and the laws ought so to regard it. and this married servitude exposes the wife to as great suffering as negro servitude did. it is my candid opinion, that no southern slave ever suffered more spiritual agony than i have suffered; as i am more developed in my moral and spiritual nature than they are, therefore more capable of suffering. i think no slave mother ever endured more keen anguish by being deprived of her own offspring than i have in being legally separated from mine. god grant that married woman's emancipation may quickly follow in the wake of negro emancipation! miscellaneous questions answered. in canvassing for my books various important questions have been propounded to me, which the preceding narrative of events does not fully answer. first question. "why, mrs. packard, do you not get a divorce?" because, in the first place, i do not want to be a divorced woman; but, on the contrary, i wish to be a married woman, and have my husband for my protector; for i do not like this being divorced from my own home. i want a home to live in, and i prefer the one i have labored twenty one years myself to procure, and furnished to my own taste and mind. neither do i like this being divorced from my own children. i want to live with my dear children, whom i have borne and nursed, reared and educated, almost entirely by my own unwearied indefatigable exertions; and i love them, with all the fondness of a mother's undying love, and no place is home to me in this wide world without them. and again, i have done nothing to _deserve_ this exclusion from the rights and privileges of my own dear home; but on the contrary, my untiring fidelity to the best interests of my family for twenty-one years of healthful, constant service, having never been sick during this time so as to require five dollars doctor's bill to be paid for me or my six children, and having done all the housework, sewing, nursing, and so forth, of my entire family for twenty-one years, with no hired girl help, except for only nine months, during all this long period of constant toil and labor. i say, this self-sacrifizing devotion to the best interests of my family and home, deserve and claim a right to be protected in it, at least, so long as my good conduct continues, instead of being divorced from it, against my own will or consent. in short, what i want is, _protection in my home_, instead of a divorce from it. i do not wish to drive mr. packard from his own home, and exclude him from all its rights and privileges--neither do i want he should treat me in this manner, especially so long as he himself claims that i have _always_ been a most kind, patient, devoted wife and mother. he even claims as his justification of his course, that i am so _good_ a woman, and he _loves_ me so well, that he wants to save me from fatal errors! it is my opinions--my religious opinions--and those alone, he makes an occasion for treating me as he has. he frankly owned to me, that he was putting me into an asylum so that my reputation for being an insane person might destroy the influence of my religious opinions; and i see in one letter which he wrote to my father, he mentions this as the chief evidence of my insanity. he writes: "her many excellences and past services i highly appreciate; but she says she has widely departed from, or progressed beyond, her former religious views and sentiments--and i think it is too true!!" here is all the insanity he claims, or has attempted to prove. now comes the question: is this a crime for which i ought to be divorced from all the comforts and privileges of my own dear home? to do this,--that is, to get a divorce--would it not be becoming an accomplice in crime, by doing the very deed which he is so desirous of having done, namely: to remove me from my family, for fear of the contaminating influence of my new views? has a married woman no rights at all? can she not even think her own thoughts, and speak her own words, unless her thoughts and expressions harmonize with those of her husband? i think it is high time the merits of this question should be practically tested, on a proper basis, the basis of truth--of facts. and the fact, that i have been not only practically divorced from my own home and children, but also incarcerated for three years in a prison, simply for my religious belief, by the arbitrary will of my husband, ought to raise the question, as to what are the married woman's rights, and what is her protection? and it is to this practical issue i have ever striven to force this question. and this issue i felt might be reached more directly and promptly by the public mind, by laying the necessities of the case before the community, and by a direct appeal to them for personal protection--instead of getting a divorce for my protection. i know that by so doing, i have run a great risk of losing my liberty again. still, i felt that the great cause of married woman's rights might be promoted by this agitation; and so far as my own feelings were concerned, i felt willing to suffer even another martyrdom in this cause, if so be, my sisters in the bonds of marital power might be benefited thereby. i want and seek protection, _as a married woman_--not divorce, in order to escape the abuses of marital power--that is, i want protection from the abuse of marital power, not a divorce from it. i can live in my home with my husband, if he will only let me do so; but he will not suffer it, unless i recant my religious belief. cannot religious bigotry under such manifestations, receive _some_ check under our government, which is professedly based on the very principle of religious tolerance to all? cannot there be laws enacted by which a married woman can stand on the same platform as a married man--that is, have an equal right, at least, to the protection of her inalienable rights? and is not this our petition for protection founded in justice and humanity? is it just to leave the weakest and most defenceless of these two parties wholly without the shelter of law to shield her, while the strongest and most independent has all the aid of the legal arm to strengthen his own? nay, verily, it is not right or manly for our man government thus to usurp the whole legal power of self-protection and defence, and leave confiding, trusting woman wholly at the mercy of this gigantic power. for perverted men will use this absolute power to abuse the defenceless, rather than protect them; and abuse of power inevitably leads to the contempt of its victim. a man who can trample on all the inalienable rights of his wife, will, by so doing, come to despise her as an inevitable consequence of wrong doing. woman, too, is a more spiritual being than a man, and is therefore a more sensitive being, and a more patient sufferer than a man; therefore she, more than any other being, needs protection, and she should find it in that government she has sacrificed so much to uphold and sustain. again, i do not believe in the divorce principle. i say it is a "secession" principle. it undermines the very vital principle of our union, and saps the very foundation of our social and civil obligations. for example. suppose the small, weak and comparatively feeble states in our union were not protected by the government in any of their state rights, while the large, strong, and powerful ones had their state rights fully guaranteed and secured to them. would not this state of the union endanger the rights of the defenceless ones? and endanger the union also? could these defenceless states resort to any other means of self-defence from the usurpation of the powerful states than that of secession? but secession is death to the union--death to the principles of love and harmony which ought to bind the parts in one sacred whole. now, i claim that the marriage union rests on just this principle, as our laws now stand. the woman has no alternative of resort from any kind of abuse from her partner, but divorce, or secession from the marriage union. now the weak states have rights as well as the strong ones, and it is the rights of the weak, which the government are especially bound to respect and defend, to prevent usurpation and its legitimate issue, secession from the union. what we want of our government is to prevent this usurpation, by protecting us equally with our partners, so that we shall not need a divorce at all. by equality of rights, i do not mean that woman's rights and man's rights are one and the same. by no means; we do not want the man's rights, but simply our own, natural, womanly rights. there are man's rights and woman's rights. both different, yet both equally inalienable. there must be a head in every firm; and the head in the marriage firm or union is the man, as the bible and nature both plainly teach. we maintain that the senior partner, the man, has rights of the greatest importance, as regards the interests of the marriage firm, which should not only be respected and protected by our government, but also enforced upon them as an obligation, if the senior is not self-moved to use his rights practically--and one of these his rights, is a right to protect his own wife and children. the junior partner also has rights of equal moment to the interests of the firm, and one of these is her right to be protected by her senior partner. not protected in a prison, but in her own home, as mistress of her own house, and as a god appointed guardian of her infant children. the government would then be protecting the marriage union, while it now practically ignores it. to make this matter still plainer, suppose this government was under the control of the female instead of the male influence, and suppose our female government should enact laws which required the men when they entered the marriage union to alienate their right to hold their own property--their right to hold their future earnings--their right to their own homes--their right to their own offspring, if they should have any--their right to their personal liberty--and all these rights be passed over into the hands of their wives for safe keeping, and so long as they chose to be married men, all their claims on our womanly government for protection should be abrogated entirely by this marriage contract. now, i ask, how many men would venture to get married under these laws? would they not be tempted to ignore the marriage laws of our woman government altogether? now, gentlemen, we are sorry to own it, this is the very condition in which your man government places us. we, women, looking from this very standpoint of sad experience, are tempted to exclaim, where is the manliness of our man government! divorce, i say, then, is in itself an evil--and is only employed as an evil to avoid a greater one, in many instances. therefore, instead of being forced to choose the least of two evils, i would rather reject both evils, and choose a good thing, that of being protected in my own dear home from unmerited, unreasonable abuse--a restitution of my rights, instead of a continuance of this robbery, sanctioned by a divorce. in short, we desire to live under such laws, as will _oblige_ our husbands to treat us with decent respect, so long as our good conduct merits it, and then will they be made to feel a decent regard for us as their companions and partners, whom the laws protect from their abuse. second question. "what are your opinions, mrs. packard, which have caused all this rupture in your once happy family?" my first impulse prompts we to answer, pertly, it is no one's business what i _think_ but my own, since it is to god alone i am accountable for my thoughts. whether my thoughts are right or wrong, true or false, is no one's business but my own. it is my own god given right to superintend my own thoughts, and this right i shall never guarantee to any other human being--for god himself has authorized me to "judge ye not of your own selves what is right?" yes, i do, and shall judge for myself what is right for me to think, what is right for me to speak, and what is right for me to do--and if i do wrong, i stand amenable to the laws of society and my country; for to human tribunals i submit all my actions, as just and proper matter for criticism and control. but my thoughts, i shall never yield to any human tribunal or oligarchy, as a just and proper matter for arbitration or discipline. it is my opinion that the time has gone by for thoughts to be chained to any creeds or oligarchys; but on the contrary, these chains and restraints which have so long bound the human reason to human dictation, must be broken, for the reign of individual, spiritual freedom is about dawning upon our progressive world. yes, i insist upon it, that it is my own individual right to superintend my own thoughts; and i say farther, it is not my right to superintend the thoughts or conscience of any other developed being. it is none of my business what mr. packard, my father, or any other developed man or woman believe or think, for i do not hold myself responsible for their views. i believe they are as honest and sincere as myself in the views they cherish, although so antagonistic to my own; and i have no wish or desire to harass or disturb them, by urging my views upon their notice. yea, further, i _prefer_ to have them left entirely free and unshackled to believe just as their own developed reason dictates. and all i ask of them is, that they allow me the same privilege. my own dear father does kindly allow me this right of a developed moral agent, although we differ as essentially and materially in our views as mr. packard and i do. we, like two accountable moral agents, simply agree to differ, and all is peace and harmony. my individuality has been naturally developed by a life of practical godliness, so that i now know what i do believe, as is not the case with that class in society who dare not individualize themselves. this class are mere echoes or parasites, instead of individuals. they just flow on with the tide of public sentiment, whether right or wrong; whereas the individualized ones can and do stem or resist this tide, when they think it is wrong, and in this way they meet with persecution. it is my misfortune to belong to this unfortunate class. therefore i am not ashamed or afraid to avow my honest opinions even in the face of a frowning world. therefore, when duty to myself or others, or the cause of truth requires it, i willingly avow my own honest convictions. on this ground, i feel not only justified, but authorized, to give the question under consideration, a plain and candid answer, knowing that this narrative of the case would be incomplete without it. another thing is necessary as an introduction, and that is, i do not present my views for others to adopt or endorse as their own. they are simply my individual opinions, and it is a matter of indifference to me, whether they find an echo in any other individual's heart or not. i do not arrogate to myself any popish right or power to enforce my opinions upon the notice of any human being but myself. while at the same time i claim that i have just as good a right to my opinions as scott, clark, edwards, barnes, or beecher, or any other human being has to theirs. and furthermore, these theologians have no more right to dictate to me what i must think and believe, than i have to dictate to them what they must think and believe. all have an equal right to their own thoughts. and i know of no more compact form in which to give utterance to my opinions, than by inserting the following letter, i wrote from my prison, to a lady friend in mt. pleasant, iowa, and sent out on my "under ground railroad." the only tidings i ever got from this letter, was a sight of it in one of the chicago papers, following a long and minute report of my jury trial at kankakee. i never knew how it found its way there; i only knew it was my own identical letter, since i still retain a true copy of the original among my asylum papers. the following is a copy of the original letter, as it now stands in my own hand-writing. the friend to whom it was written has requested me to omit those portions of the letter which refer directly to herself. in compliance with her wishes, i leave a blank for such omissions. in other respects it is a true copy. the candid reader can judge for himself, whether the cherishing of such radical opinions is not a _crime_ of sufficient magnitude, to justify all my wrongs and imprisonment! is not my persecutor guiltless in this matter? copy of the letter. _jacksonville, ill., oct. d, ._ mrs. fisher. my dear old friend:-- my love and sympathy for you is undiminished. changes do not sever our hearts. i cannot but respect your self-reliant, independent, and therefore progressive efforts to become more and more assimilated to christ's glorious image. i rejoice whenever i find one who dares to rely upon their own organization, in the investigation of truth. in other words, one who dares to be an independent thinker. * * * yes, you, mrs. fisher, in your individuality, are just what god made you to be. and i respect every one who respects himself enough not to try to pervert their organization, by striving to remodel it, and thus defile god's image in them. to be natural, is our highest praise. to let god's image shine through our individuality, should be our highest aim. alas, mrs. fisher, how few there are, who dare to be true to their god given nature! that terrible dogma that our natures are depraved, has ruined its advocates, and led astray many a guileless, confiding soul. why can we not accept of god's well done work as perfect, and instead of defiling, perverting it, let it stand in all its holy proportions, filling the place god designed it to occupy, and adorn the temple it was fitted for? i, for one, mrs. fisher, am determined to be a woman, true to my nature. i regard my nature as holy, and every deviation from its instinctive tendency, i regard as a perversion--a sin. to live a natural, holy life, as christ did, i regard as my highest honor, my chief glory. i know this sentiment conflicts with our educated belief--our church creeds--and the honestly cherished opinions of our relatives and friends. still i believe a "thus saith the lord" supports it. could christ take upon himself our nature, and yet know no sin, if our natures are necessarily sinful? are not god's simple, common sense teachings, authority enough for our opinions? it is, to all honest souls. indeed, mrs. fisher i have become so radical, as to call in question every opinion in my educated belief, which conflicts with the dictates of reason and common sense. i even believe that god has revealed to his creatures no practical truth, which conflicts with the common instincts of our common natures. in other words, i believe that god has adapted our natures to his teachings. truth and nature harmonize. i believe that all truth has its source in god, and is eternal. but some perceive truth before others, because some are less perverted in their natures than others, by their educational influences, so that the light of the sun of righteousness finds less to obstruct its beams in some than in others. thus they become lights in the world, for the benefit of others less favored. * * * you preceded me, in bursting the shackles of preconceived opinions and creeds, and have been longer basking in the liberty wherewith christ makes his people free, and have therefore longer been taught of him in things pertaining to life and godliness. would that i had had the mental courage sooner to have imitated you, and thus have broken the fetters which bound me to dogmas and creeds. o, mrs. fisher, how trammelled and crippled our consciences have been! o, that we might have an open bible, and an unshackled conscience! and these precious boons we shall have, for god, by his providence, is securing them to us. yes, mrs. fisher, the persecutions through which we are now passing is securing to us spiritual freedom, liberty, a right, a determination to call no man master, to know no teacher but the spirit, to follow no light or guide not sanctioned by the word of god and our conscience--to know no "ism" or creed, but truthism, and no pattern but christ. henceforth, i am determined to use my own reason and conscience in my investigation of truth, and in the establishment of my own opinions and practice i shall give my own reason and conscience the preference to all others. * * * i know, also, that i am a sincere seeker after the simple truth. i know i am not willful, but conscientious, in my conduct. and, notwithstanding others deny this, i know their testimony is false. the searcher of hearts knows that i am as honest with myself, as i am with others. and, although like paul, i may appear foolish to others in so doing, yet my regard for truth, transcends all other considerations of minor importance. god's good work of grace in me shall never be denied by me, let others defame it, and stigmatize it as insanity, as they will. they, not i, are responsible for this sacrilegious act. god himself has made me dare to be honest and truthful, even in defiance of this heaven daring charge, and god's work will stand in spite of all opposition. "he always wins, who sides with god." mrs. fisher, i am not now afraid or ashamed to utter my honest opinions. the worst that my enemies can do to defame my character, they have done, and i fear them no more. i am now free to be true and honest, for this persecution for opinion and conscience' sake, has so strengthened and confirmed me in the free exercise of these inalienable rights in future, that no opposition can overcome me. for i stand by faith in what is true and right. i feel that i am born into a new element--freedom, spiritual freedom. and although the birth throes are agonizing, yet the joyous results compensate for all. how mysterious are god's ways and plans! my persecutors verily thought they could compel me to yield these rights to human dictation, when they have only fortified them against human dictation. god saw that suffering for my opinions, was necessary to confirm me in them. and the work is done, and well done, as all god's work always is. no fear of any human oligarchy will, henceforth, terrify me, or tempt me to succumb to it. i am not now afraid that i shall be called insane, if i avow my belief that christ died for all mankind, and that this atonement will be effectual in saving all mankind from endless torment--that good will ultimately overcome all evil--that god's benevolent purposes concerning his creatures will never be thwarted--that no rebellious child of god's great family will ever transcend his ability to discipline into entire willing obedience to his will. can i ever believe that god loves his children less than i do mine? * * * and has god less power to execute his kind plans than i have? yes, i do and will rejoice to utter with a trumpet tongue, the glorious truth, that god is infinitely benevolent as well as infinitely wise and just. mrs. fisher, what can have tempted us ever to doubt this glorious truth? and do we not practically deny it, when we endorse the revolting doctrine of endless punishment? i cannot but feel that the bible, literally interpreted, teaches the doctrine of endless punishment; yet, since the teachings of nature, and god's holy character and government, seem to contradict this interpretation, i conclude we must have misinterpreted its holy teachings. for example, jonah uses the word everlasting with a limited meaning, when he says, "thine everlasting bars are about me." although to _his_ view his punishment was everlasting, yet the issue proved that in reality, there was a limit to the time he was to be in the whale's belly. so it may be in the case of the incorrigible; they may be compelled to suffer what _to them_ is endless torment, because they see no hope for them in the future. yet the issue will prove god's love to be infinite, in rescuing them from eternal perdition. again, mrs. fisher, my determination and aim is, to become a perfect person in _christ's_ estimation, although by so doing, i may become the filth and off-scouring of all perverted humanity. what consequence is it to us to be judged of man's judgment, when the cause of our being thus condemned by them as insane, is the very character which entitles us to a rank among the archangels in heaven? again, i am calling in question my right to unite myself to any church of christ militant on earth; fearing i shall be thereby entrammelled by some yoke of bondage--that the liberty wherewith christ makes his people free may thus be circumscribed. there is so much of the spirit of bigotry and intolerance in every denomination of christians now on earth, that they do not allow us an open bible and an unshackled conscience. or, in other words, there are some to be found in almost every church, to whom we shall become stumbling blocks or rocks of offence, if we practically use the liberty which christ offers us. now what shall i do? i do want to obey christ's direct command to come out from the world and be separate, while at the same time i feel that there is more christian liberty and charity out of the church than in it. i am now waiting and seeking the spirit's aid in bringing this question to a practical test and issue. and, mrs. fisher, i fully believe, from god's past care of me, that he will lead me to see the true and living way in which i ought to walk. i will not hide my light under a bushel, but put it upon a candlestick, that it may give light to others. i will also live out, practically, my honestly cherished opinions, believing "that they that _do_ his commandments shall _know_ of the doctrine." i also fully believe that the more fully and exclusively i _live out_ the teachings of the holy spirit, the more persecution i shall experience. for they that will live godly, in christ's estimation, "shall suffer persecution." mrs. fisher, i fully believe that christ's coming cannot be far distant. his coming will restore all things, which we have lost for his sake. our cause will then find an eloquent pleader in christ himself, and through our advocate, the judge, himself, will acknowledge us to be his true, loyal subjects, and we shall enter into the full possession of our promised inheritance. with this glorious prospect in full view to the eye of faith, let us "gird up the loins of our mind." in other words, let us dare to pursue the course of the _independent thinker_, and let us run with patience the race set before us. let us carry uncomplainingly the mortifying cross, which is laid upon us, so long as god suffers it to remain; remembering that it is enough for the servant that he be as his master. for "as they have persecuted me, they will persecute you also." "be of good cheer." mrs. fisher, "i have overcome the world." blessed consolation! mrs. fisher, the only response i expect to get from this letter, is your silent heartfelt sympathy in my sorrows. no utterance is allowed for my alleviation. and the only way that i am allowed to administer consolation through the pen is by stratagem. i shall employ this means so far as lies in my power, so that when the day of revelation arrives, it may be said truthfully of me, "she hath done what she could." impossibilities are not required of us. please tell theophilus, my oft repeated attempts to send him a motherly letter, have been thwarted. and he, poor persecuted boy! cannot be allowed a mother's tender, heartfelt sympathy. o, my god, protect my precious boy! and carry him safely through this pitiless storm of cruel persecution. do be to him a mother and a sister, and god shall bless you. please deliver this message, charged to overflowing with a mother's undying love. be true to jesus. ever believe me your true friend and sympathizing sister, e. p. w. packard. third question. "do you think, mrs. packard, that your husband really believes you are an insane person?" i do not. i really believe he knows i am a sane person; and still, he is struggling with all his might to make himself and others believe this delusion, because his own conscience is accusing him constantly with this lie against it. with all his accumulated testimonials that i am insane, and all his sophistries and reasoning upon false premises to establish this lie, he cannot silence this accusing monitor within himself, testifying to the contrary. either this is in reality the case, or he has at last reached that point, where a person has made such a sinner of his own conscience as to believe his own lies; or, in other words, he has so perverted his conscience as to become _conscientiously wrong_. but it is not for me to judge his heart, only from the standpoint of his own actions, and from this basis, i give the above as my honest opinion on this point. two facts alone may be sufficient to give some corroboration in support of this opinion. after taking me from my asylum prison, and while his prisoner at my own house, he asked me to sign a deed for the transfer of some of his real estate in mt. pleasant, iowa, and finding i could not be induced to do it, without returning to me my note of six hundred dollars he had robbed me of, and also some of my good clothing, he sought to transfer it, as the law allows one to do, in case the needed witness is legally incapacitated by insanity to give their signature; and for this purpose he was obliged to take an _oath_ that i was insane. he did take this oath that i was insane, and thereby outlawed as a legal witness. it was administered by justice labrie. a few days after this, he called this same justice in to our house to witness my signing this deed, and used it as a valid signature. now to say under oath one thing one day, and to deny it the next, is rather crooked business for a healthy christian conscience to sanction. another fact. when he was preparing to put me into an insane asylum, i asked him why he was so very anxious to put the stigma of insanity upon me, when he knew i was not insane? said he, "i am doing it so that your opinions need not be believed. i must protect the cause of christ." cause of christ! i felt like exclaiming, if _your_ cause of christ needs _such_ a defence, i think it must be in a sad condition. if it can't stand before the opinions of a woman, i shouldn't think a man would attempt to protect it! the truth is, the cause of christ _to him_ is his creed--a set of human opinions. while the real cause of christ is _humanity_; and a very important part of this cause of christ to a true man, is the protection of his own wife. fourth question. "could you forgive mr. packard, and live with him again as his wife?" yes, i could, freely, promptly and fully forgive him, on the gospel condition of _practical repentance_. this condition could secure it, and this alone. as i understand christ's teachings, he does not allow me to forgive him until he does repent, and in some sense make restitution. he directs me to forgive my brother _if he repent_--yea, if he sins and repents seventy times seven, i must forgive as many times. but if he does not repent, i am not allowed to forgive him. and so long as he insists upon it, both by word and deed, that he has done only what was right for him to do, and that he shall do the same thing again, if he has a chance to, i do not see any chance for me to bestow my forgiveness upon a penitent transgressor. he feels that i am the one to ask forgiveness, for not yielding my opinions to his dictation, instead of causing him so much trouble in trying to bring me under subjection to his will, in this particular. he does not claim that i ever resisted his will in any other particular--and i have not felt it my duty to do so. i had rather yield than quarrel any time, where conscience is not concerned. he knows i have done so, for twenty-one years of married life. but to tell a lie, and be false to my honest convictions, by saying, i believed what i did not believe, i could not be made to do. my truth loving nature could never be subjected to falsify itself--i must and shall be honest and truthful. and although king david said in his haste, "all _men_ are liars," i rejoice he did not say all _women_ were, for then there would have been no chance for my vindication of myself as a _truthful_ woman! this one thing is certain, i have been imprisoned three years because i could not tell a lie, and now i think it would be bad business for me to commence at this late hour. i cannot love oppression, wrong, or injustice under any circumstances. but on the contrary, i do hate it, while at the same time i can love the sinner who thus sins; for i find it in my heart to forgive to any extent the _penitent_ transgressor. i am not conscious of feeling one particle of revengeful feeling towards mr. packard, while at the same time i feel the deepest kind of indignation at his abuses of me. and furthermore, i really feel that if any individual ever _deserved_ penitentiary punishment, mr. packard does, for his treatment of me. still, _i_ would not inflict _any_ punishment, upon him--for this business of punishing my enemies i am perfectly content to leave entirely with my heavenly father, as he requires me to do, as i understand his directions. and my heart daily thanks god that it is not my business to punish him. one sinner has no right to punish another sinner. god, our common father, is the only being who holds this right to punish any of his great family of human children. all that is required of me is, to do him good, and to protect myself from his abuse as best i can; and it is not doing him good to forgive him before he repents. it is reversing god's order. it is not to criminate him that i have laid the truth before the public. duty demands it as an act of self-defence on my part, and a defence of the rights of that oppressed class of married women which my case represents. i do not ask for him to be punished at any human tribunal; all i ask is, protection for myself, and also the class i represent. one other fact it may be well here to mention, and that is: i have withdrawn all fellowship with him in his present attitude towards me. i do not so much as speak or write to him, and this i do from the principle of self-defence, and not from a spirit of revenge. i know all my words and actions are looked upon through a very distorted medium, and whatever i say or do, he weaves into capital to carry on his persecution with. and i think i have christ's example too as my defence in this course; for when he was convinced his persecutors questioned him only for the purpose of catching him in his words, "he was speechless." i have said all i have to say to mr. packard in his present character. but when he repents, i will forgive him, and restore him to full communion. fifth question. "in what estimation is mr. packard held in the region where these scenes were enacted?" where the truth is known, and as the revelations of the court room developed the facts exactly as they were found to exist, the popular verdict is decidedly against him. indeed, the tide of popular indignation rises very high among that class, who defend religious liberty and equal rights, free thought, free speech, free press. i state this as a fact which my own personal observation demonstrates. in canvassing for my book in many of the largest cities in the state of illinois, i had ample opportunity to test this truth, and were i to transcribe a tithe of the expressions of this indignant feeling which i alone have heard, it would swell this pamphlet to a mammoth size. a few specimen expressions must therefore be taken as a fair representation of this popular indignation. "mr. packard cannot enter our state without being in danger of being lynched," is an expression i have often heard made from the common people. from the soldiers i have often heard these, and similar expressions; "mrs. packard, if you need protection again, just let us know it, and we will protect you with the bullet, if there is no other defence." "if he ever gets you into another asylum, our cannon shall open its walls for your deliverance," &c. the bar in illinois may be represented by the following expressions, made to me by the judges of the supreme court, in ottawa court house. "mrs. packard, this is the foulest outrage we ever heard of in real life; we have read of such deep laid plots in romances, but we never knew one _acted out_ in real life before. we did not suppose such a plot could be enacted under the laws of our state. but this we will say, if ever you are molested again in our state, let us know it, and we will put mr. packard and his conspiracy where they ought to be put." the pulpit of illinois almost universally condemns the outrage, as a crime against humanity and human rights. but fidelity to the truth requires me to say that there are some exceptions. the only open defenders i ever heard for mr. packard, came from the church influence, and the pulpit. among all the ministers i have conversed with on this subject, i have found only two ministers who uphold his course. one presbyterian minister told me, he thought mr. packard had done right in treating me as he had; "you have no right," said he, "to cherish opinions which he does not approve, and he did right in putting you in an asylum for it. i would treat my wife just so, if she did so!" the name and residence of this minister i could give if i chose, but i forbear to do so, lest i expose him unnecessarily. the other clergyman was a baptist minister. "i uphold mr. packard in what he has done, and i would help him in putting you in again should he attempt it." the name and place of this minister i shall withold unless self-defence requires the exposure. when i have added one or two more church members to those two just named, it includes the whole number i ever heard defend, in my presence, mr. packard's course. still, i have no doubt but that these four represent a minority in illinois, who are governed by the same popish principles of bigotry and intolerance as mr. packard is. and i think it may be said of this class, as a chicago paper did of mr. packard, after giving an account of the case, the writer said: "the days of bigotry and oppression are not yet past. if three-fourths of the people of the world were of the belief of rev. packard and his witnesses, the other fourth would be burned at the stake." the opinion of his own church and community in manteno, where he preached at the time i was kidnapped, is another class whose verdict the public desire to know also. i will state a few facts, and leave the public to draw their own inferences. when he put me off, his church and people were well united in him, and as a whole, the church not only sustained him in his course, but were active co-conspirators. when i returned, he preached nowhere. he was closeted at his own domicil on the sabbath, cooking the family dinner, while his children were at church and sabbath school. his society was almost entirely broken up. i was told he preached until none would come to hear him; and his deacons gave as their reason for not sustaining him, that the trouble in his family had destroyed his influence in that community. multitudes of his people who attended my trial, whom i know defended him at the time he kidnapped me, came to me with these voluntary confessions: "mrs. packard, i always knew you were not insane." "i never believed mr. packard's stories." "i always felt that you was an abused woman," &c., &c. these facts indicated some change even in the opinion of his own allies during my absence. as i said, i leave the public to draw their own inferences. i have done my part to give them the premises of facts, to draw them from. sixth question. "mrs. packard, is your husband's real reason for treating you as he has, merely a difference in your religious belief, or is there not something back of all this? it seems unaccountable to us, that mere bigotry should so annihilate all human feeling." this is a question i have never been able hitherto to answer, satisfactorily, either to myself or others; but now i am fully prepared to answer it with satisfaction to myself, at least; that is, facts, stubborn facts, which never before came to my knowledge until my visit home, compel me to feel that my solution of this perplexing question, is now based on the unchangeable truth of facts. for i have read with my own eyes the secret correspondence which he has kept up with my father, for about eight years past, wherein this question is answered by himself, by his own confessions, and in his own words. and as a very natural prelude to this answer, it seems to me not inappropriate to answer one other question often put to me first, namely: "has he not some other woman in view?" i can give my opinion now, not only with my usual promptness, but more than my usual confidence that i am correct in my opinion. i say confidently, he has _not_ any other woman in view, nor never had; and it was only because i could not fathom to _the cause_ of this "great drama," that this was ever presented to my own mind, as a question. i believe that if ever there was a man who _practically_ believed in the monogamy principle of marriage, he is the man. yes, i believe, with only one degree of faith less than that of knowledge, that the only bible reason for a divorce never had an existence in our case. and here, as the subject is now opened, i will take occasion to say, that as i profess to be a bible woman both in spirit and practice, i cannot conscientiously claim a bible right to be divorced. i never have had the first cause to doubt his fidelity to me in this respect, and he never has had the first cause to doubt my own to him. but fidelity to the truth of god's providential events compel me to give it as my candid opinion, that the only key to the solution of this mysterious problem will yet be found to be concealed in the fact, that mr. packard is a _monomaniac_ on the subject of woman's rights, and that it was the triumph of bigotry over his manliness, which occasioned this public manifestation of this peculiar mental phenomenon. some of the reasons for this opinion, added to the facts of this dark drama which are already before the public, lie in the following statement. in looking over the correspondence above referred to, i find the "confidential" part all refers to dates and occasions wherein i can distinctly recollect we had had a warm discussion on the subject of woman's rights; that is, i had taken occasion from the application of his insane dogma, namely, that "_a woman has no rights that a man is bound to respect_," to defend the opposite position of equal rights. i used sometimes to put my argument into a written form, hoping thus to secure for it a more calm and quiet consideration. i never used any other weapons in self-defence, except those paper pellets of the brain. and is not that man a coward who cannot stand before such artillery? but not to accuse mr. packard of cowardice, i will say, that instead of boldly meeting me as his antagonist on the arena of argument and discussion, and there openly defending himself against my knockdown arguments, with his cudgel of insanity, i find he closed off such discussions with his secret "confidential" letters to my relatives and dear friends, saying, that he had sad reason to fear his wife's mind was getting out of order; she was becoming insane on the subject of woman's rights; "but be sure to keep this fact a profound secret--especially, never let elizabeth hear that _i_ ever intimated such a thing." i presume this is not the first time an opponent in argument has called his conqueror insane, or lost to reason, simply because his logic was too sound for him to grapple with, and the will of the accuser was too obstinate to yield, when conscientiously convinced. but it certainly is more honorable and manly, to accuse him of insanity _to his face_, than it is to thus _secretly_ plot against him an imprisonable offence, without giving him the least chance at self-defence. again, i visited hon. gerrit smith, of peterborough, new york, about three years before this secret plot culminated, to get light on this subject of woman's rights, as i had great confidence in the deductions of his noble, capacious mind; and here i found my positions were each, and all, indorsed most fully by him. said he, "mrs. packard, it is high time that you _assert your rights_, there is no other way for you to live a christian life with such a man." and, as i left, while he held my hand in his, he remarked, "you may give my love to mr. packard, and say to him, if he is as developed a man as i consider his wife to be a woman, i should esteem it an honor to form his acquaintance." so it appears that mr. smith did not consider my views on this subject as in conflict either with reason or common sense. again, his physician, dr. fordice rice, of cazenovia, new york, to whom i opened my whole mind on this subject, said to me in conclusion--"i can unravel the whole secret of your family trouble. mr. packard is a monomaniac on the treatment of woman. i don't see how you have ever lived with so unreasonable a man." i replied, "doctor, i can live with any man--for i will never quarrel with any one, especially a man, and much less with my husband. i can respect mr. packard enough, notwithstanding, to do him good all the days of my life, and no evil do i desire to do him; and moreover, i would not exchange him for any man i know of, even if i could do so, simply by turning over my hand; for i believe he is just the man god appointed from all eternity to be my husband. therefore, i am content with my appointed portion and lot of conjugal happiness." again. it was only about four years before i was kidnapped, that mr. o. s. fowler, the great phrenologist, examined his head, and expressed his opinion of his mental condition in nearly these words. "mr. packard, you are losing your mind--your faculties are all dwindling--your mind is fast running out--in a few years you will not even know your own name, unless your tread-mill habits are broken up. your mind now is only working like an old worn out horse in a tread mill." thus our differences of opinion can be accounted for on scientific principles. here we see his sluggish, conservative temperament, rejecting light, which costs any effort to obtain or use--clinging, serf-like, to the old paths, as with a death grasp; while my active, radical temperament, calls for light, to bear me onward and upward, never satisfied until all available means are faithfully used to reach a more progressive state. now comes the question. is activity and progression in knowledge and intelligence, an indication of a sane, natural condition, or is it an unnatural, insane indication? and is a stagnant, torpid, and retrogressive state of mentality, a natural or an unnatural condition--a sane, or an insane state? in our mental states we simply grew apart, instead of together. he was dwindling, dying; i was living, growing, expanding. and this natural development of intellectual power in me, seemed to arouse this morbid feeling of jealousy towards me, lest i outshine him. that is, it stimulated his monomania into exercise, by determining to annihilate or crush the victim in whose mental and moral magnetism he felt so uneasy and dissatisfied with himself. while, at the same time, the influence of my animal magnetism, was never unpleasant to him; but, on the contrary, highly gratifying. yea, i have every reason to believe he ever regarded me as a model wife, and model mother, and housekeeper. he often made this remark to me: "i never knew a woman whom i think could equal you in womanly virtues." again. while on this recruiting tour, i made it my home for several weeks at mr. david field's, who married my adopted sister, then living in lyons, new york. i made his wife my confidant of my family trials, to a fuller degree than i ever had to any other human being, little dreaming or suspecting that she was noting my every word and act, to detect if possible, some insane manifestations. but, to her surprise, eleven weeks observation failed to develop the first indication of insanity. the reason she was thus on the alert, was, that my arrival was preceded by a letter from mr. packard, saying his wife was insane, and urged her to regard all my representations of family matters as insane statements. then he added, "now, mrs. field, i must require of you one thing, and that is, that you burn this letter as soon as you have read it; don't even let your husband see it at all, or know that you have had a letter from me, and by all means, keep this whole subject a profound secret from elizabeth." my sister, true to mr. packard's wishes, burned this letter, and buried the subject entirely in oblivion. but when she heard that i was incarcerated in an asylum, then, in view of all she did know, and in view of what she did not know, she deeply suspected there was foul play in the transaction, and felt it to be her duty to tell her husband all she knew. he fully indorsed her suspicions, and they both undertook a defence for me, when she received a most insulting and abusive letter from mr. packard, wherein he, in the most despotic manner, tried to browbeat her into silence. many tears did this devoted sister shed in secret over this letter and my sad fate--as this letter revealed mr. packard's true character to her in an unmasked state. "o, how could that dear, kind woman live with such a man!" was her constant thought. nerved and strengthened by her husband's advice, she determined to visit me in the asylum, and, if possible, obtain a personal interview. she did so. she was admitted to my room. there she gave me the first tidings i ever heard of that letter. while at the asylum, my attendants, amongst others, asked her this question: "mrs. field, can you tell us why such a lady as mrs. packard, is shut up in this asylum; we have never seen the least exhibition of insanity in her; and one in particular said, i saw her the first day she was entered, and she was then just the same quiet, perfect lady, you see her to be to day--now do tell us why she is here?" her reply i will not give, since her aggravated and indignant feelings prompted her to clothe it in very strong language against mr. packard, indicating that he ought to be treated as a criminal, who deserved capital punishment. in my opinion, sister would have come nearer the truth, had she said he ought to be treated just as he is treating his wife--as a monomaniac. and i hope i shall be pardoned, if i give utterance to brother's indignant feelings, in his own words, for the language, although strong, does not conflict with christ's teachings or example. among the pile of letters above alluded to, which mr. packard left accidentally in my room, was one from this mr. field, which seemed to be an answer to one mr. packard wrote him, wherein it seemed he had been calling mr. field to account for having heard that he had called him a "devil," and demanded of him satisfaction, if he had done so; for mr. field makes reply: "i do believe men are possessed with devils now a days, as much as they were in christ's days, and i believe too that some are not only possessed with one devil, but even seven devils, and i believe _you are the man_!" i never heard of his denying the charge as due mr. field afterwards! from my own observations in an insane asylum, i am fully satisfied that mr. field is correct in his premises, and i must also allow that he has a right of opinion in its application. looking from these various stand-points, it seems to me self-evident, that this great drama is a woman's rights struggle. from the commencement to its present stage of development, this one insane idea seems to be the backbone of the rebellion: a married woman has no rights which her husband is bound to respect. while he simply defended his insane dogma as an _opinion_ only, no one had the least right to call him a monomaniac; but when this insane idea became a _practical_ one, then, and only till then, had we any right to call him an insane person. now, if the course he has taken with me is not insanity--that is, an unreasonable course, i ask, what is insanity? now let this great practical truth be for one moment considered, namely, all that renders an earth-life desirable--all the inalienable rights and privileges of one developed, moral, and accountable, sensitive being, lie wholly suspended on the arbitrary will of this intolerant man, or monomaniac. no law, no friend, no logic, can defend me in the least, _legally_, from this despotic, cruel power; for the heart which controls this will has become, as it respects his treatment of me, "without understanding, a covenant breaker, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful." and let another truth also be borne in mind, namely, that this one man stands now as a fit representative of all that class in society, and god grant it may be found to be a very small class! who claim that the subjection of the wife, instead of the protection of the wife, is the true law of marriage. this marriage law of subjection has now culminated, so that it has become a demonstrated fact, that its track lies wholly in the direction of usurpation; and therefore this track, on which so many devoted, true women, have taken a through or life ticket upon, is one which the american government ought to guard and protect by legal enactments; so that such a drama as mine cannot be again legally tolerated under the flag of our protective government. god grant, that this one mute appeal of _stubborn fact_, may be sufficient to nerve up the woman protectors of our manly government, to guard us, in some manner, against woman's greatest foe--the women subjectors of society. it may be proper here to add the result of this recruiting tour. after being absent eleven weeks from my home, and this being the first time i had left my husband during all my married life, longer than for one week's time, i returned to my home, to receive as cordial and as loving a welcome as any wife could desire. indeed, it seemed to me, that the home of my husband's heart had become "empty, swept, and garnished," during my absence, and that the foul spirits of usurpation had left this citadel, as i fondly hoped, forever. indeed, i felt that i had good reason to hope, that my logic had been calmly and impassionately digested and indorsed, during my absence, so that now this merely practical recognition of my womanly rights, almost instantly moved my forgiving heart, not only to extend to him, unasked, my full and free forgiveness for the past, but all this abuse seemed to be seeking to find its proper place in the grave of forgetful oblivion. this radical transformation in the bearing of my husband towards me, allowing me not only the rights and privileges of a junior partner in the family firm, but also such a liberal portion of manly expressed love and sympathy, as caused my susceptible, sensitive, heart of affection fairly to leap for joy. indeed, i could now say, what i could never say in truth before, i am happy in my husband's love--happy in simply being treated as a true woman deserves to be treated--with love and confidence. all the noblest, purest, sensibilities of woman's sympathetic nature find in this, her native element, room for full expansion and growth, by stimulating them into a natural, healthful exercise. it is one of the truths of god's providential events, that the three last years of married life were by far the happiest i ever spent with mr. packard. so open and bold was i in this avowal, during these three happy years, that my correspondence of those days is radiant with this truth. and it was not three months, and perhaps not even two months, previous to my being kidnapped, that i made a verbal declaration of this fact, in mr. packard's presence, to deacon dole, his sister's husband, in these words. the interests of the bible class had been our topic of conversation, when i had occasion to make this remark: "brother," said i, "don't you think mr. packard is remarkably tolerant to me these days, in allowing me to bring my radical views before your class? and don't you think he is changing as fast as we can expect, considering his conservative organization? we cannot, of course, expect him to keep up with my radical temperament. i think we shall make a man of him yet!" mr. packard laughed outright, and replied, "well, wife, i am glad you have got so good an opinion of me. i hope i shall not disappoint your expectations!" but, alas! where is he now? o, the dreadful demon of bigotry, was allowed to enter and take possession of this once garnished house, through the entreaties, and persuasions, and threats, of his deacon smith, and his perverted sister, mrs. dole. these two spirits united, were stronger than his own, and they overcame him, and took from him all his manly armor, so that the demon he let in, "brought with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there," still; so that i sadly fear "the last state of that man will be worse than the first." i saw and felt the danger of the vortex into which his sister and deacon were dragging him, and i tried to save him, with all the logic of love, and pure devotion to his highest and best interests; but all in vain. never shall i forget this fatal crisis. when, just three weeks before he kidnapped me, i sat alone with him in his study, and while upon his lap, with my arms encircling his neck, and my briny cheek pressed against his own, i begged of him to be my protector, in these words: "o, husband! don't yield to their entreaties! do be true to your marriage vow--true to yourself--true to god. instead of taking the side of bigotry, and going against your wife, do just protect to me my right of opinion, which this deacon and sister seem determined to wrest from me. just say to the class, "my wife has as good a right to her opinion as the class have to theirs--and i shall _protect_ her in this right--you need not believe her opinions unless you choose; but she shall have her rights of opinion, unmolested, for i shall be my wife's protector." i added, "then, husband, you will be a _man_. you will deserve honor, and you will be sure to have it; but if you become my persecutor, you will become a traitor to your manliness; you will deserve dishonor, and you will surely get it in full measure." my earnestness he construed into anger. he thrust me from him. he determined, at all hazard, to subject my rights of opinion to his will, instead of protecting them by his manliness. the plot already laid, eight years previous, now had a rare opportunity to culminate, sure as he was of all needed help in its dreadful execution. in three short weeks i was a state's prisoner of illinois lunatic asylum, being supported as a state pauper! from this fatal evening all appeals to his reason and humanity have been worse than fruitless. they have only served to aggravate his maddened feelings, and goad him on to greater deeds of desperation. like nebuchadnezzar, his reason is taken from him, on this one subject; and unrestrained, maddened, resentment fills his depraved soul--his manliness is dead. is he not a monomaniac? false reports corrected. i find in circulation various false reports and misrepresentations, so slanderous in their bearing upon my character and reputation, and that of my family relatives, that i think they demand a passing notice from me, in summing up this brief record of events. first report. "mrs. packard's mother was an insane woman, and several of her relatives have been insane; and, therefore, mrs. packard's insanity is hereditary, consequently, she is hopelessly insane." this base and most cruel slander originated from mr. packard's own heart; was echoed before the eyes of the public, by dr. mcfarland, superintendent of the insane asylum, through the chicago tribune, in a letter which he wrote to the tribune in self-defence, after my trial. the verdict of the jury virtually impeached dr. mcfarland as an accomplice in this foul drama, and as one who had prostituted his high public trust, in a most notorious manner. this presentation of him and his institution before the public, seemed to provoke this letter, as a vindication of his course. and the most prominent part of this defence seemed to depend upon his making the people believe that the opinion of the jury was not correct, in pronouncing me sane. and he used this slander as the backbone of his argument, to prove that i was hopelessly insane, there having been no change either for the better or worse, while under his care, and that i left the institution just as i entered it, incurably insane. i think i cannot answer this slander more summarily and concisely, than by quoting, verbatim, mr. stephen r. moore's, my attorney, reply to this letter, as it was published at the time in the public papers. mr. moore's reply to dr. mcfarland's slander. "your letter starts out with a statement of an error, which i believe, to be wholly unintentional, and results from placing too much confidence in the statements of your friend, rev. theophilus packard. you say, "mrs. p., as one of the results of a strongly inherited predisposition, (her mother having been for a long period of her life insane,) had an attack of insanity previous to her marriage." such are _not_ the facts. neither the mother, nor any blood relations of mrs. packard, were ever suspected or charged with being insane. and it is a slander of one of the best and most pious mothers of new england, and her ancestry, to charge her and them with insanity; and could have emanated only from the heart of the pious ----, who would incarcerate the companion of his bosom for three years, with gibbering idiots and raving maniacs. "nor had mrs. packard an attack of insanity before her marriage. the pious packard has fabricated this story to order, from the circumstance, that when a young lady, mrs. packard had a severe attack of brain fever, and under which fever she was for a time delirious, and no further, has this a semblance of truth." this is the simple truth, which all my relatives are ready, and many of them very anxious to certify to; but the limits of this pamphlet will not admit any more space in answer to this slander. second report. "mrs. packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity." this report originated from the same source, and i will answer it in the words of the same writer, as found in his printed reply: "you say, 'mrs. packard is very adroit in concealing her insanity.' she has indeed been most adroit in this concealment, when her family physician of seven year's acquaintance, and all her friends and neighbors, with whom she visited daily, and her children, and the domestics, and lastly, the court and jury had not, and could not, discover any traces of insanity; and the only persons who say they find her insane, were dr. mcfarland, your pious friend rev. packard, his sister, and her husband, one deacon of the church, and a fascinating young convert--all members of his church--and a doctor. these witnesses each and every one swore upon the stand, "that it was evidence of insanity in mrs. packard, because she wished to leave the presbyterian church, and join the methodist." i quote the reasons given by these "lambs of the church," that you may know what weight their opinions are entitled to. the physician, upon whose certificate you say you held mrs. packard, swore upon the trial, that three-fourths of the religious community were just as insane as mrs. packard." third report. "all her family friends, almost without exception, sustain mr. packard in his course." not one of my family friends ever _intelligently_ sustained mr. packard in his course. but they did sustain him ignorantly and undesignedly, for a time, while his tissue of lies held them back from investigating the merits of the case for themselves. but as soon as they did know, they became my firm friends and defenders, and mr. packard's private foes and public adversaries. i do not mean by this, that they manifest any revengeful feelings towards him, but simply a god-like resentment of his inhuman course towards me. all my relatives, without exception, who have heard my own statement from my own lips, now unite in this one opinion, that mr. packard has had no right nor occasion for putting me into an insane asylum. but fidelity to the truth requires me to say in this connection, that among my family relatives, are three families of congregational ministers--that each of these families have refused me any hearing, so that they are still in league with, and defenders of, mr. packard. all i have to say for them is, "may the lord forgive them, for they know not what they do." but it may be urged that the published certificates of her friends contradict this statement. this is not the case. those certificates which have appeared in print since my return to my friends, all bear date to the time they were given previous to my return. and in this connection i feel conscientiously bound, in defence of my kindred, to say, that some of these certificates are mere forgeries in its strict sense; that is, they were drafted by mr. packard, himself, and most adroitly urged upon the individual whose signature he desired to obtain, and thus his logic, being based in a falsehood, which was used as a truth, and received as such, they are thus made to certify to what was not the real truth. my minor children's certificates are the mere echoes of their father's will and dictation. he has tried to buy the signatures of my two oldest sons, now of age, in chicago, by offering them some of his abundant surplus clothing, from his missionary boxes, if they would only certify that their mother was insane. but these noble sons have too much moral rectitude to sell their consciences for clothes or gold. instead of being abettors in their father's crimes, they have, and do still, maintain a most firm stand in defence of me. and for this manly act of filial piety towards me, their father has disinherited both of them, as he has me, from our family rights. another thing, it is no new business for mr. packard to practice forgery. this assertion i can prove by his own confession. not long before i was exiled from my home, he said to me one day, "i have just signed a note, which, if brought against me in law, would place me in a penitentiary; but i think i am safe, as i have fixed it." again, mr. packard sent a great many forged letters to the superintendent of the asylum, while i was there, professing to come from a different source, wherein the writer urged, very strongly, the necessity of keeping me in an asylum, and begging him, most pathetically, to _keep me there_, not only for mr. packard's sake, but also for his children's sake, and community's sake, and, lastly, for the cause of christ's sake! dr. mcfarland used to come to me for an explanation of this singular phenomenon. i would promptly tell him the letters are a forgery--the very face of them so speaks--for who would think of a minister in ohio writing, self-moved, to a superintendent in illinois, begging of him to keep another man's wife in his asylum! either these letters were exact copies of mr. packard's, with the exception of the signature, or, they were entirely drafted from mr. packard's statement, and made so as to be an echo of mr. packard's wishes, but seeming to be a self-moved act of the writer's own mind and wishes. o, how fruitful is a depraved heart in devising lies, and masking them with the semblance of truth! and how many lies it takes to defend one! the lie he was thus trying to defend was, that i was insane, when i was not, and all this gigantic frame work of certificates and testimony became necessary as props to sustain it. i now give the testimony of my lawyer, who, after witnessing the revelations of the court room, thus alludes to this subject in his reply to dr. mcfarland's letter. "the certificates produced, fully attesting her insanity, before she was admitted, i suspect were forgeries of the pious packard, altered to suit the occasion, and your too generous disposition to rely upon the statements made to you, was taken advantage of again, and they were imposed upon you, without the critical examination their importance demanded." fourth report. "mrs. packard is alienated from her kindred, and even her own father and husband." i will confess i am alienated from _such_ manifestations of love as they showed me while in the asylum; that is, from none at all. not one, except my adopted sister, and my two sons at chicago, ever made an attempt to visit me, or even wrote me scarcely one line. i do say, this was rather cold sympathy for one passing through such scenes as i was called to pass through. this fact was not only an enigma to myself, but it was so to all my asylum friends, and even to the doctor himself, if i can believe his own words. he would often say to me, "mrs. packard, who are your friends? have you any in the wide world? if so, why do they not look after you?" i used at first to say, i have many friends, and no enemies, except mr. packard, that i know of in the whole world. all my relatives love me tenderly. but after watching in vain for three years of prison life for them to show me some proof of it, i changed my song, and owned up, i had no friends worth the name; for my adversity had tried or tested their love, and it had all been found wanting--entirely wanting. so it looked to me from _that_ stand point. and i still insist upon it, this was a sane conclusion. for what is that love worth, that can't defend its friend in adversity? i say it is not worth the name of love. but it must be remembered, i saw then only one side of the picture. the other side i could not see until i saw my friends, and looked from _their_ standpoint. then i found that the many letters i had written had never reached them; for mr. packard had instructed dr. mcfarland, and had insisted upon it, that not a single letter should be sent to any of my friends, not even my father, or sons, without reading it himself, and then sending it to him to read, before sending it; and so he must do with all the letters sent to me; and the result was, scarcely none were delivered to me, nor were mine sent to my friends. but instead of this, a brisk correspondence was kept up between dr. mcfarland and mr. packard, who both agreed in representing me as very insane; so much so, that my good demanded that i be kept entirely aloof from their sympathy. i have seen and read these letters, and now, instead of blaming my friends for regarding me as insane, i don't see how they could have come to any other conclusion. from _their_ standpoint, they acted judiciously, and kindly. they were anxious to aid the afflicted minister to the extent they could, in restoring reason to his poor afflicted, maniac wife, and they thought the superintendent understood his business, and with him, and her kind husband to superintend, they considered i must be well cared for. and again, how could they imagine, that a man would wish to have the reputation of having an insane wife, when he had not? and could the good and kind mr. packard neglect even his poor afflicted wife? no, she must be in good hands, under the best of care, and it is her husband on whom we must lavish our warmest, tenderest, sympathies! yes, so it was; mr. packard managed so as to get all the sympathy, and his wife none at all. he got all the money, and she not a cent. he got abundant tokens of regard, and she none at all. in short, he had buried me in a living tomb, with his own hands, and he meant there should be no resurrection. and the statement that i was alienated from my friends when i was entered, is utterly _false_. no one ever loved their kindred or friends with a warmer or a purer love than i ever loved mine. neither was i alienated even from mr. packard, when he entered me. as proof of this, i will describe my feelings as indicated by my conduct, at the time he forced me from my dear ones at home. after the physicians had examined me as described in my introduction, and mr. packard had ordered me to dress for a ride to the asylum, i asked the privilege of having my room vacated, so that i might bathe myself, as usual, before dressing; intending myself to then secure about my person, _secretly_, my bible-class documents, as all that i had said in defence of my opinions was in writing, never having trusted myself to an extemporaneous discussion of my new ideas, lest i be misrepresented. and i then felt that these documents, alone, were my only _defence_, being denied all and every form of justice, by any trial. i therefore resorted to this innocent stratagem, as it seemed to me, to secure them; that is, i did not tell mr. packard that i had any other reason for being left alone in my room than the one i gave him. but he refused me this request, giving as his only reason, that he did not think it best to leave me alone. he doubtless had the same documents in view, intending thus to keep me from getting them, for he ordered miss rumsey to be my lady's maid, as a spy upon my actions. i dared not attempt to get them with her eye upon me, lest she take them from me, or report me to mr. packard, as directed by him so to do, as i believed. i resolved upon one more stratagem as my last and only hope, and this was, to ask to be left alone long enough to pray in my own room once more, before being forced from it into my prison. when, therefore, i was all dressed, ready to be kidnapped, i asked to see my dear little ones, to bestow upon them my parting kiss. but was denied this favor also! "then," said i, "can i bear such trials as these without god's help? and is not this help given us in answer to our own prayers? may i not be allowed, husband, to ask this favor of god _alone_ in my room, before being thus exiled from it?" "no," said he, "i don't think it is best to let you be alone in your room." "o, husband," said i, "you have allowed me no chance for my secret devotions this morning, can't i be allowed this one last request?" "no; i think it is not best; but you may pray with your door open." i then kneeled down in my room, with my bonnet and shawl on, and in the presence and hearing of the sheriff, and the conspiracy i offered up my petition, in an audible voice, wherein i laid my burdens frankly, fully, before my sympathizing saviour, as i would have done in secret. and this miss rumsey reports, that the burden of this prayer was for _mr. packard's forgiveness_. she says, i first told god what a great crime mr. packard was committing in treating his wife as he was doing, and what great guilt he was thus treasuring up to himself, by this cruel and unjust treatment of the woman he had sworn before god to protect; and what an awful doom he must surely meet with, under the government of a just god, for these his great sins against me, and so forth; and then added, that if it was possible for god to allow me to bear his punishment _for him_, that he would allow me so to do, if in that way, his soul might be redeemed from the curse which must now rest upon it. in short, the burden of my prayer was, that i might be his redeemer, if my sufferings could in any possible way atone for his sins. such a petition was, of course looked upon by this conspiracy, as evidence of my insanity, and has been used by them, as such. but i cannot but feel that in god's sight, it was regarded as an echo of christ's dying prayer for his murderers, prompted by the same spirit of gospel forgiveness of enemies. in fact, if i know anything of my own heart, i do know that it then cherished not a single feeling of resentment towards him. but my soul was burdened by a sense of his great guilt, and only desired his pardon and forgiveness. as another proof of this assertion, i will describe our parting interview at the asylum. he had stayed two nights at the asylum, occupying the stately guest chamber and bed alone, while i was being locked up in my narrow cell, on my narrow single bed, with the howling maniacs around for my serenaders. he sat at the sumptuous table of the superintendent, sharing in all its costly viands and dainties, and entertained by its refined guests, for his company and companions. while i, his companion, ever accustomed to the most polished and best society, was sitting at our long table, furnished with nothing but bread and meat; and my companions, some of them, gibbering maniacs, whose presence and society must be purchased only at the risk of life or physical injury. he could walk about the city at his pleasure, or be escorted in the sumptuous carriage, while i could only circumambulate the asylum yard, under the vigilant eye of my keeper. o, it did seem, these two days and nights, as though my affectionate heart would break with my over much sorrow. no sweet darling babe to hug to my heart's embrace--no child arms to encircle my neck and bestow on my cheek its hearty "good night" kiss. no--nothing, nothing, in my surroundings, to cheer and soothe my tempest tossed soul. in this sorrowful state of mind mr. packard found me in my cell, and asked me if i should not like an interview with him, in the parlor, as he was about to leave me soon. "yes," said i, "i should be very glad of one," and taking his arm, i walked out of the hall. as i passed on, one of the attendants remarked: "see, she is not alienated from her husband, see how kindly she takes his arm!" when we reached the parlor, i seated myself by his side, on the sofa, and gave full vent to my long pent up emotions and feelings. "o, husband!" said i, "how can you leave me in such a place? it seems as though i cannot bear it. and my darling babe! o, what will become of him! how can he live without his mother! and how can i live without my babe, and my children! o, do, do, i beg of you, take me home. you know i have _always_ been a true and loving wife to you, and how can you treat me so?" my entreaties and prayers were accompanied with my tears, which is a very uncommon manifestation with me; and while i talked, i arose from my seat and walked the room, with my handkerchief to my eyes; for it seemed as if my heart would break. getting no response whatever from him, i took down my hand to see why he did not speak to me when--what did i see! my husband sound asleep, nodding his head! "o, husband!" said i, "can you sleep while your wife is in such agony?" said he, "i can't keep awake; i have been broke of my rest." "i see," said i, "there is no use in trying to move your feelings, we may as well say our 'good bye' now as ever." and as i bestowed upon him the parting kiss, i said, "may our next meeting be in the spirit land! and if there you find yourself in a sphere of lower development than myself; and you have any desire to rise to a higher plane, remember, there is one spirit in the universe, who will leave any height of enjoyment, and descend to any depth of misery, to raise you to a higher plane of happiness, if it is possible so to do. and that spirit is the spirit of your elizabeth. farewell! husband, forever!!" this is the exact picture. now see what use he makes of it. in his letter to my father, he says: "she did not like to be left. i pitied her." (pitied her! how was his sympathy manifested?) "it was an affecting scene. but she was very mad at me, and tried to wound my feelings every way. she would send no word to the children, and would not _pleasantly_ bid me good bye." pleasantly was underlined, to make it appear, that, because i did not pleasantly bid him good bye, under these circumstances, i felt hard towards him, and this was a proof of my alienation, and is as strong a one as it is possible for him to bring in support of his charge. let the tender hearted mother draw her own inferences--man cannot know what i then suffered. and may a kind god grant, that no other mother may ever know what i then felt, in her own sad experience! the truth is, i never was alienated from my husband, until he gave me just _cause_ for this alienation, and not until he put me into the asylum, and then it took four long months more, of the most intense spiritual torture, to develop in my loving, forgiving heart, one feeling of hate towards him. as proof of this, i will here insert two letters i wrote him several weeks after my incarceration. copy of the letter. _jacksonville, july th, , sabbath, p. m._ my dear children and husband: your letter of july eleventh arrived yesterday. it was the third i have received from home, and, indeed, is all i have received from any source since i came to the asylum. and the one you received from me is all i have sent from here. i thank you for writing so often. i shall be happy to answer all letters from you, if you desire it, as i see you do, by your last. i like anything to relieve the monotony of my daily routine. * * * dr. mcfarland told me, after i had been here one week, "i do not think you will remain but a few days longer." i suspect he found me an unfit subject, upon a personal acquaintance with me. still, unfit as i consider myself, to be numbered amongst the insane, i am so numbered at my husband's request. and for his sake, i must, until my death, carry about with me, "this thorn in the flesh--this messenger of satan to buffet me," and probably, to keep me humble, and in my proper place. god grant it may be a sanctified affliction to me! i do try to bear it, uncomplainingly, and submissively. but, o! 'tis hard--'tis very hard. o, may you never know what it is to be numbered with the insane, within the walls of an insane asylum, not knowing as your friends will ever regard you as a fit companion or associate for them again, outside its walls. o, the bitter, bitter cup, i have been called to drink, even to its very dregs, just because i choose to obey god rather than man! but, as my saviour said, "the cup which my father hath given me, shall i not drink it?" o, yes, for thy sake, kind saviour, i rejoice, that i am counted worthy to suffer the loss of all things, for thy sake. and thou hast made me worthy, by thine own free and sovereign grace. yes, dear jesus, i believe that i have learned the lesson thou hast thus taught me, that "in whatsoever state i am, therewith to be content." yes, content, to sit at a table with twenty-four maniacs, three times a day, and eat my bread and meat, and drink my milk and water, while i remember, almost each time, how many vegetables and berries are upon my own dear table at home, and i not allowed to taste, because my husband counts me unworthy, or unfit, or unsafe, to be an inmate at his fireside and table. i eat, and retire, and pray god to keep me from complaining. my fare does not agree with my health, and so i have begged of our kind attendants, to furnish me some poor, shriveled wheat, to keep in my room, to eat raw, to keep my bowels open. this morning, after asking a blessing at the table, i retired to my own room, to eat my raw, hard wheat alone, with my pine-apple to soften it, or rather to moisten it going down. yes, the berries i toiled so very hard to get for our health and comfort, i only must be deprived of them at my husband's appointment. the past, o, the sad past! together with the present, and the unknown future. o, let oblivion cover the past--let no record of my wrongs be ever made, for posterity to see, for your sake, my own lawful husband. o, my dear precious children! how i pity you! my heart aches for you. but i can do nothing for you. i am your father's victim, and cannot escape from my prison to help you, even you--my own flesh and blood--my heart's treasures, my jewels, my honor and rejoicing. for i do believe you remain true to the mother who loves you so tenderly, that she would die to save you from the disgrace she has brought upon your fair names, by being stigmatised as the children of an insane mother, whom your father said he regarded as unsafe, as an inmate of your own quiet home, and, therefore, has confined me within these awful enclosures. o, may you never know what it is to go to sleep within the hearing of such unearthly sounds, as can be heard here almost at any hour of the night! i can sleep in the hearing of it, for "so he giveth his beloved sleep." o, children dear, do not be discouraged at my sad fate, for well doing. but be assured that, although you may suffer in this world for it, you may be sure your reward will come in the next. "for, if we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him." o, do commit your souls to him in well-doing for my sake, if you dare not for your own sake, for i do entreat you to let me be with you in heaven, if your father prevents it on earth. i may not have much longer to suffer here on earth. several in our ward are now sick in bed, and i give them more of my fruit than i eat myself, hoping that, when my turn comes to be sick, some one may thus serve me. but if not, i can bear it, perhaps better than they can, to be without any solace or comfort in sickness here, such as a friend needs. i have nothing to live for now, but to serve you, as i know of. but you can get along without me, can't you? pa will take care of you. do be kind to him, and make him as happy as possible. yes, honor your father, if he has brought such dishonor upon your name and reputation. i will devote my energies to these distressed objects around me, instead of attending to your wants, as a mother should be allowed to do, at least, so long as she could do so, as well as i could, and did, when i was taken from you. i know i could not, for lack of physical strength, do as much for you as i once could, still i was willing, and did do all i could for you. indeed, i find i am almost worn out by my sufferings. i am very weak and feeble. still, i make no complaints, for i am so much better off than many others here. do bring my poor lifeless body home when my spirit, which troubled your father so much, has fled to jesus' arms for protection, and lay me by my asparagus bed, so you can visit my grave, and weep over my sad fate in this world. i do not wish to be buried in shelburne, but let me rise where i suffered so much for christ's sake. o, do not, do not, be weary in well doing, for, did i not hope to meet you in heaven, it seems as though my heart would break! i am useful here, i hope. some of our patients say, it is a paradise here now, compared with what it was before i came. the authorities assure me, that i am doing a great work here, for the institution. when i had the prospect of returning home in a few days, as i told you, i begged with tears not to send me, as my husband would have the same reason for sending me back as he had for bringing me here. for the will of god is still my law and guide, so i cannot do wrong, and until i become insane, i can take no other guide for my conduct. here i can exercise my rights of conscience, without offending any one. yes, i am getting friends, from high and low, rich and poor. i am loved, and respected here by all that know me. i am their confident, their counsellor, their bosom friend. o, how i love this new circle of friends! there are several patients here, who are no more insane than i am; but are put here, like me, to get rid of them. but here we can work for god, and here die for him. love to all my children, and yourself also. i thank you for the fruit, and mirror. it came safe. i had bought one before. i am at rest--and my mind enjoys that peace the world cannot give or take away. when i am gone to rest, rejoice for me. weep not for me. i am, and must be forever happy in god's love. the questions are often asked me, "why were you sent here? you are not insane. did you injure any one? did you give up, and neglect your duties? did you tear your clothes, and destroy your things? what did you do that made your friends treat such a good woman so?" let silence be my only reply, for your sake, my husband. now, my husband, do repent, and secure forgiveness from god, and me, before it is too late. indeed, i pity you; my soul weeps on your account. but god is merciful, and his mercies are great above the heavens. therefore, do not despair; by speedy repentance secure gospel peace to your tempest-tossed soul. so prays your loving wife, elizabeth. extract from another letter. my dear husband. i thank you kindly for writing me, and thus relieving my burdened heart, by assuring me that my dear children are alive and well. i have been sadly burdened at the thought of what they are called to suffer on their mother's account. yes, the mother's heart has wept for them every moment: yet my heart has rejoiced in god my savior, for to suffer as well as to do his holy will, is my highest delight, my chief joy. yes, my dear husband, i can say in all sincerity and honesty, "the will of the lord be done." i can still by his abundant grace utter the true emotions of my full heart, in the words of my favorite verse, which you all know has been my solace in times of doubt, perplexity and trial. it is this: "with cheerful feet the path of duty run, god nothing does, nor suffers to be done, but what thou wouldst thyself, couldst thou but see, through all events of things as well as he." o, the consolation the tempest tossed spirit feels in the thought that our father is at the helm, and that no real harm can befall us with such a pilot to direct our course. and let me assure you all for your encouragement, that my own experience bears honest, practical testimony that great peace they have who make god their shield, their trust, their refuge; and i can even add that this insane asylum has been to me the gate to heaven. * * * by dr. mcfarland's leave, i have established family worship in our hall; and we never have less than twelve, and sometimes eighteen or more, quite quiet and orderly, while i read and explain a chapter--then join in singing a hymn--then kneeling down, i offer a prayer, as long as i usually do at our own family altar. i also implore the blessing of god at the table at every meal, while twenty-nine maniacs, as we are called, silently join with me. our conversation, for the most part, is intelligent, and to me most instructive. at first, quite a spirit of discord seemed to pervade our circle. but now it is quiet and even cheerful. i find that we as individuals hold the happiness of others to a great degree in our own keeping, and that "a merry heart doeth good like medicine." * * * if god so permit, i should rejoice to join the dear circle at home, and serve them to the best of my ability. "nevertheless, not as i will, but as thou wilt." i thank you, husband, for your kindness, both past and prospective. do forgive me, wherein i have wronged you, or needlessly injured your feelings, and believe me yours, elizabeth. p. s. tell the dear children to trust god, by doing right. i now do frankly own, i am fully alienated from him, in his present detestable character, as developed towards me, his lawful wife. and i claim that it is not consistent with the laws of god's moral government, for a fully sane being to feel otherwise. but it is not so with my kindred, and other friends. i am not alienated from them, for i have had no just and adequate cause for alienation. they erred ignorantly, not willfully. they were willing to know the truth; they were convicted, and are now converted to the truth. they have confessed their sin against me in thus neglecting me, and have asked my forgiveness. i have most freely forgiven them, and such penitents are fully restored to my full fellowship and confidence. to prove they are penitent, one confession will serve as a fair representation of the whole. i give it in the writer's own words, verbatim, from the letter now before me. "we are all glad you have been to visit us, and we regret we have not tried to do more for _you_, in times past. i am grieved that you have been left to suffer so much _alone_--had we known, i think something would have been done for _you_. forgive us, won't you, for our cruel neglect?" yes, i do rejoice to forgive them, for christ allows me to forgive the penitent transgressor. but he does not allow me to do better than he does--to forgive the impenitent transgressor. and i do not; but as i have before said, i stand ready with my forgiveness in my heart to extend it to him, most freely, on this gospel condition of repentance--_practical_ repentance. fifth report. "dr. mcfarland, the superintendent of the asylum, says she is insane; and he ought to _know_." yes, he ought to know. but, in my opinion, dr. mcfarland, does not know a sane from an insane person; or else, why does he keep so many in that asylum, as sane as himself? and mine is not the first case a court and jury differed from him in opinion on this subject. he has been so long conversant with the insane, that he has become a perfect monomaniac on insanity and in his treatment of the insane. i never saw such inhumanity, and cruelty, and barbarity, practiced towards the innocent and helpless as he sanctions and allows in that asylum. i could write a large volume in confirmation of this assertion, made up of scenes i myself witnessed, during my three years' incarceration in that terrible place. the material is all on hand for such a book, since i kept a secret journal of daily events, just as they occurred, so that my memory is not my only laboratory of such truths. and in arranging this matter for a book, i intend to turn jacksonville asylum inside out. that is, i shall report that asylum from the standpoint of a patient, and if this book don't prove my assertion that dr. mcfarland is a monomaniac, i am sure it will prove him to be something worse. but i claim to defend his heart from the charge of villainy, and his intellect from imbecility, for i have often said of him, "dr. mcfarland is the _greatest_ man i ever saw, and he would be the _best_ if he wasn't _so bad_!" but this is not the place to make a defence for dr. mcfarland. let him stand where his own actions put him, for that is the only proper place for either superintendent or patient to stand upon. but i will own, god made him fit for one of his great resplendent luminaries; but satan has marred this noble orb, so that now it has some very dark spots on its disk, such as his patients can behold without the aid of a telescope! yes, as a general thing, his patients are not allowed to behold anything else but these dark spots, while the public are allowed to see nothing except the splendors of this luminary. and when my telescopic book is in print, the public may look, or not look, at the scenes behind the curtain, just as they please. the exact scenes are now fully daguerreotyped on my brain and heart both, as well as on my manuscript journal. in this volume i am only allowed to report what relates to myself alone. therefore i have but little to say; for as it respects his treatment of me, individually, i regard him as a practical penitent, and on this basis, i have really forgiven him. and god only knows what a multitude of sins this man's repentance has covered! and my christianity forbids my exposing the sins of a practical penitent, after having practically forgiven him. as proof of his penitence, i bring this fact, that it was under his superintendence, and by his consent alone, that i was permitted to spend the last nine months of my prison life in writing "the great drama." this book was commenced as an act of self-defence from the charge of insanity, and this man was the first person in america that ever before allowed me any right of self-defence. and this act of practical manliness on his part, awakened, as its response, my full and hearty forgiveness of all the wrongs he had hitherto heaped upon me; and these wrongs had not been "like angels visits, few and far between." but i had, in reality, much to forgive. at least, so thought my personal friends at the asylum, if their words echoed their real feelings. their feelings on this subject were not unfrequently uttered in very strong language like the following: "if mrs. packard can forgive dr. mcfarland all the wrongs and abuses he has heaped upon her she must be more than human." and i now have before me a letter from one who had been for several years an officer in that institution, from which i will make an extract, as it corroborates this point. she says, "how the mind wanders back to those dark hours. o, that hated letter! once presented you by a ----, who delighted to torture those he could not subdue. our hearts did pity you, mrs. packard. mrs. tenny, (now the wife of the then assistant physician, but my attendant at the time referred to,) and myself often said, everything was done that could be, to annihilate and dethrone your reason. poor child! they had all fled--none to watch one hour! all i have to say is, if there can be found man or woman who could endure what you did in that three years, and not become a raving maniac, they should be canonized." yes, god, god alone, saved me from the awful vortex mr. packard and dr. mcfarland had prepared for me--the vortex of oblivion--god has delivered me from them who were stronger than i, and to his cause, the cause of oppressed humanity, for which i there suffered so much in its defence, i do now consecrate my spared intellect, and reason, and moral power. this "great drama," written there, is my great battery, which, in god's providence, i hope sometime to get rich enough to publish; and it is to the magnanimity of dr. mcfarland alone, under god, that my thanks are due, for letting me write this book. he dictated none of it. he allowed me perfect spiritual liberty, in penning this voluminous literary production of seven hundred pages; and if ever there was a book written wholly untrammelled by human dictation, this is the book. but as i said, his magnanimity, even at the eleventh hour, has, so far as i am concerned, secured my forgiveness. but he has been, and i fear still is, a great sinner against others, also; for, as i have often said, it is my candid opinion, that there were fifty in that house, as patients, who have no more right to be there than the doctor himself. judging them from their own actions and words, there is no more evidence of insanity in them, than in dr. mcfarland's words and actions. he certainly has no scruples about keeping perfectly sane persons as patients. at first, this was to me an enigma i could not possible solve. but now i can on the supposition that he don't know a sane from an insane person, because he has become a monomaniac on this subject, just as mr. packard has on the woman question. the doctor's insane dogmas are, first: all people are insane on some points; second: insane persons have no rights that others are bound to respect. he has never refused any one's application on the ground of their not being insane, to my knowledge, but he has admitted many whom he admitted were not near as insane as the friends who brought them were. he can see insanity in any one where it will be for his interest to see it. and let him put any one through the insane treatment he subjects his patients to, and they are almost certain to manifest some resentment, before the process is complete. and this natural resentment which his process evokes, is what he calls their insanity, or rather evidence of it. i saw the operation of his nefarious system before i had been there long, and i determined to stand proof against it, by restraining all manifestations of my resentful feelings, which his insults to me were designed to develop. and this is his grand failure in my case. he has no capital to make out his charge upon, so far as my own actions are concerned. no one ever saw me exhibit the least angry, resentful feelings. i say that to god's grace alone is this result due. i maintain, his treatment of his patients is barbarous and criminal in many cases; therefore he shows insanity in his conduct towards them. again, he does not always tell the truth about his patients, nor to his patients. and this is another evidence of his insanity. i do say, lying is insanity; and if i can ever be proved to be a liar, by my own words or actions, i do insist upon it i merit the charge put upon me of monomania, or insanity. but, speaking the truth, and nothing but the truth, is not lying, even if people do not believe my assertions. for the truth will stand without testimony, and in spite of all contradiction. and when one has once been proved to have lied, they have no claims on us to be believed, when they do speak the truth. were i called to prove my assertion that the doctor misrepresents, i could do so, by his own letters to my husband, and my father, now in my possession, and by letters mr. field had from him while i was in the asylum. for example, why did he write to mr. field that i "was a dangerous patient, not safe to live in any private family," and then refuse to answer direct questions calling for evidence in proof on this point, and give as his reason, that he did not deem it his duty to answer impertinent questions about his patients? simply because the assertion was a lie, and had nothing to support or defend it, in facts, as they existed. these letters abound in misrepresentations and falsehoods respecting me, and it is no wonder my friends regarded me as insane, on these representations from the superintendent of a state asylum. i have every reason to think dr. mcfarland believes, in his heart, that i am entirely sane; but policy and self-interest has prompted him to deny it in words, hoping thus to destroy the influence of the sad truths i utter respecting the character of that institution. a very intelligent employee in that institution, and one who had, by her position, peculiar advantages for knowing the real state of feeling towards me in that institution, once said to me, "mrs. packard, i can assure you, that there is not a single individual in this house who believes you are an insane person; and as for dr. mcfarland he _knows_ you are not, whatever he may choose to say upon the subject." one thing is certain, his actions contradict his words, in this matter. would an insane person be employed by him to carry his patients to ride, and drive the team with a whole load of crazy women, with no one to help take care of them and the team but herself? and yet dr. mcfarland employed me to do this very thing fourteen times; and i always came back safely with them, and never abused my liberty, by dropping a letter into the post-office, or any thing of the kind, and never abused the confidence reposed in me in any manner. would he give a crazy woman money to go to the city, and make purchases for herself? and yet he did so by me. would a crazy woman be employed to make purchases for the house, and use as a reason for employing her, that her judgment was superior to any in the house? and yet this is true of me. would a crazy woman be employed to cut, fit and make his wife's and daughter's best dresses, instead of a dressmaker, because she could do them better, in their opinion, than any dressmaker they could employ? and yet i was thus employed for several weeks, and for this reason. and would his wife have had her tailoress consult my judgment, before cutting her boy's clothes, and give as her reason, that she preferred my judgment and planning before her own, if i was an insane person? and yet she did. would the officials send their employees to me for help, in executing orders which exceeded the capacity of their own judgment to perform, if they considered my reason and judgment as impaired by insanity? and yet this was often the case. would the remark be often made by the employees in that institution, that "mrs. packard was better fitted to be the matron of the institution than any one under that roof," if i had been treated and regarded as an insane person by the officials? and yet this remark was common there. no. dr. mcfarland did not treat me as an insane person, until i had been there four months, when he suddenly changed his programme entirely, by treating me like an insane person, and ordering the employees to do so to, which order he could never enforce, except in one single instance, and this attendant soon after became a lunatic and a tenant of the poor house. my attendants said they should not treat me as they did the other patients, if the doctor did order it. the reason for this change in the doctor's treatment, was not because of any change in my conduct or deportment in any respect, but because i offended him, by a reproof i gave him for his abuse of his patients, accompanied by the threat to expose him unless he repented. i gave this reproof in writing, and retained a copy myself, by hiding it behind my mirror, between it and the board-back. several thousand copies of which are now in circulation. after this event, i was closeted among the maniacs, and did not step my foot upon the ground again, until i was discharged, two years and eight months afterwards. when he transferred me from the best ward to the worst ward, he ordered my attendants to treat me just as they did their other patients, except to not let me go out of the ward; although all the others could go to ride and walk, except myself. had i not known how to practice the laws of health, this close confinement would doubtless have been fatal to my good health and strong nerves. but as it was, both are still retained in full vigor. my correspondence was henceforth put under the strictest censorship, and but few of my letters ever went farther than the doctor's office, and most of the letters sent to me never came nearer me than his office. when i became satisfied of this, i stopped writing at all to any one, until i got an "under ground express" established, through which my mail passed out, but not in. one incident i will here mention to show how strictly and vigilantly my correspondence with the world was watched. there was a patient in my ward to be discharged ere long, to go to her home near manteno, and she offered to take anything to my children, if i chose to send anything by her. confident i could not get a letter out through her, without being detected, i made my daughter some under waists, and embroidered them, for a present to her from her mother. on the inside of these bleached cotton double waists, i pencilled a note to her, for her and my own solace and comfort. i then gave these into the hands of this patient, and she took them and put them into her bosom saying, "the doctor shall never see these." but just as she was leaving the house, the doctor asked her, if she had any letter from mrs. packard to her children with her? she said she had not. he then asked be "have you had anything from mrs. packard with you?" she said, "i have two embroidered waists, which mrs. packard wished me to carry to her daughter, as a present from her mother; but nothing else." "let me see those waists," said he. she took them from her bosom and handed them to him. he saw the penciling. he read it, and ordered the waists to the laundry to be washed before sending them, so that no heart communications from the mother to the child, could go with them. i believe he sent them afterwards by dr. eddy. in regard to dr. mcfarland's individual guilt in relation to his treatment of me, justice to myself requires me to add, that i cherish no feelings of resentment towards him, and the worst wish my heart dictates towards him is, that he may repent, and become the "model man" his nobly developed capacities have fitted him to become; for he is, as i have said, the greatest man i ever saw, and he would be the best if he wasn't so bad! and the despotic treatment his patients receive under his government, is only the natural result of one of the fundamental laws of human nature, in its present undeveloped state; which is, that the history of our race for six thousand years demonstrates the fact, that absolute, unlimited power always tends towards despotism--or an usurpation and abuse of other's rights. dr. mcfarland has, in a _practical_ sense, a sovereignty delegated to him, by the insane laws, almost as absolute as the marital power, which the law delegates to the husband. all of the inalienable rights of his patients are as completely subject to his single will, in the practical operation of these laws, as are the rights of a married woman to the will of her husband. and these despotic superintendents and husbands in the exercise of this power, are no more guilty, in my opinion, than that power is which licenses this deleterious element. no republican government ought to permit an absolute monarchy to be established under its jurisdiction. and when it is found to exist, it ought to be destroyed, forthwith. and where this licensed power is known to have culminated into a despotism, which is crushing humanity, really and practically, that government is guilty in this matter, so long as it tolerates this usurpation. therefore, while the superintendents are guilty in abusing their power, i say that government which sustains oppression by its laws, is the first transgressor. undoubtedly our insane asylums were originally designed and established, as humane institutions, and for a very humane and benevolent purpose; but, on their present basis, they really cover and shield many wrongs, which ought to be exposed and redressed. it is the _evils_ which cluster about these institutions, and these alone, which i am intent on bringing into public view, for the purpose of having them destroyed. all the good which inheres in these institutions and officers is just as precious as if not mixed with the alloy; therefore, in destroying the alloy, great care should be used not to tarnish or destroy the fine gold with it. as my case demonstrates, they are now sometimes used for inquisitional purposes, which certainly is a great perversion of their original intent. sixth report. "mrs. packard's statements are incredible. and she uses such strong language in giving them expression, as demonstrates her still to be an insane woman." i acknowledge the fact, that truth _is_ stranger than fiction; and i also assert, that it is my candid opinion, that strong language is the only appropriate drapery some truths can be clothed in. for example, the only appropriate drapery to clothe a lie in, is the strong language of _lie_ or _liar_, not misrepresentation, a mistake, a slip of the tongue, a deception, an unintentional error, and so forth. and for unreasonable, and inhuman, and criminal acts, the appropriate drapery is, insane acts; and an usurpation of human rights and an abuse of power over the defenceless, is appropriately clothed by the term, despotism. and one who defends his creed or party by improper and abusive means, is a bigot. one who is impatient and unwilling to endure, and will not hear the utterance of opinions in conflict with his own, without persecution of his opponent, is intolerant towards him; and this is an appropriate word to use in describing such manifestations. and here i will add, i do not write books merely to tickle the fancy, and lull the guilty conscience into a treacherous sleep, whose waking is death. nor do i write to secure notoriety or popularity. but i do write to defend the cause of human rights; and these rights can never be vindicated, without these usurpations be exposed to public view, so that an appeal can be made to the public conscience, on the firm basis of unchangeable truth--the truth of facts as they do actually exist. i know there is a class, but i fondly hope they are the minority, who will resist this solid basis even--who would not believe the truth should christ himself be its medium of utterance and defence. but shall i on this account withhold the truth, lest such cavilers reject it, and trample it under foot, and then turn and rend me with the stigma of insanity, because i told them the simple truth? by no means. for truth is not insanity; and though it may for a time be crushed to the earth, it shall rise again with renovated strength and power. neither is strong and appropriate language insanity. but on the contrary, i maintain that strong language is the only suitable and appropriate drapery for a reformer to clothe his thoughts in, notwithstanding the very unsuitable and inappropriate stigma of insanity which has always been the reformer's lot to bear for so doing in all past ages, as well as the present age. even christ himself bore this badge of a reformer, simply because he uttered truths which conflicted with the established religion of the church of his day. and shall i repine because i am called insane for the same reason? it was the spirit of bigotry which led the intolerant jews to stigmatize christ as a madman, because he expressed opinions differing from their own. and it is this same spirit of bigotry which has been thus intolerant towards me. and it is my opinion that bigotry is the most implacable, unreasonable, unmerciful feeling that can possess the human soul. and it is my fervent prayer that the eyes of this government may be opened to see, that the laws do not now protect or shield any married woman from this same extreme manifestation of it, such as it has been my sad lot to endure, as the result of this legalized persecution. note of thanks to my patrons. i deem it appropriate in this connection, to express the gratitude i feel for the kind, practical sympathy, and liberal patronage, which has been extended to me by the public, through the sale of my books. had it not been for your generous patronage, my kind patrons, i, and the noble cause i represent, would have been crushed to the earth, so far as my influence was concerned. for with no law to shield me, and with no "greenbacks" to defend myself with, what could i have done to escape another imprisonment, either in some asylum or poorhouse? it has been, and still is, the verdict of public sentiment, which the circulation of these books has developed, that has hitherto shielded me from a second kidnapping. and this protection you have kindly secured to me by buying my books. i would willingly have given my books a gratuitous circulation to obtain this protection, if i could possibly have done so. but where could the $ . i have paid out for the expense of printing and circulating these books have been obtained? no one could advance me money safely, so long as i was mr. packard's lawful wife, and i could not even get a divorce, without the means for prosecuting the suit. indeed, it was your patronage alone, which could effectually help me on to a self-reliant platform--the platform of "greenback independence." i have never made any appeal to the charities of the public, neither can i do so, from principle. for so long as i retain as good health as it is my blessed privilege still to enjoy, i feel conscientiously bound to work for my living, instead of living on the toil of other. my strong and vigorous health is the only capital that i can call my own. all my other natural, inalienable rights, are entirely in the hands of my persecutor, and subject to his control. but while this capital holds good, i am not a suitable object of charity. i am prosecuting business on business principles, and i am subject to the same laws of success or failure as other business persons are. i intend, and hope to make my business lucrative and profitable, as well as philanthropic and benevolent. i maintain that i have no claims upon the charities of the public, while at the same time i maintain that i have a claim upon the sympathies of our government. it is our government, the man government of america, who have placed me in my deplorable condition; for i am just where their own laws place me, and render all other married women _liable_ to be placed in the same position. it is the "common law" which our government took from english laws which makes a nonentity of a married woman, whose existence is wholly subject to another, and whose identity is only recognized through another. in short, the wife is dead, while her husband lives, as to any legal existence. and where the common law is not modified, or set aside by the statute laws, this worst form of english despotism is copied as a model law for our american people! yes, i feel that i have a just claim upon the sympathies of our government. therefore, in selling my books, i have almost entirely confined my application to the men, not the women, for the men alone constitute the american government. and my patrons have responded to my claims upon their sympathy, in a most generous, and praiseworthy manner. yea, so almost universally have i met with the sympathy of those gentlemen that i have freely conversed with on this subject, that i cherish the firm conviction, that our whole enlightened government would "en masse," espouse the principles i defend, and grant all, and even more than i ask for married woman, could they but see the subject in the light those now do, whom i have conversed with on this subject. i am fully satisfied that all that our manly government needs to induce them to change this "common law" in relation to woman is, only to know what this law is, and how cruelly it subjects the women in its practical application. for man is made, and constituted by god himself, to be the protector of woman. and when he is true to this his god given nature, he is her protector. and all true men who have not perverted or depraved their god-like natures, will, and do, as instinctively protect their own wives, as they do themselves. and the wives of such men do not need any other law, than this law of manliness, to protect them or their interests. but taking the human race as they now are, we find some exceptions to this general rule. and it is for these exceptions that the law is needed, and not for the great masses. just as the laws against crimes are made for the criminals, not for the masses of society, for they do not need them; they are a law unto themselves, having their own consciences for their judges and jurors. i see no candid, just reason why usurpation, and injustice, and oppression, should not be legislated against, in this form, as well as any other. developed, refined, sensitive woman, is as capable of feeling wrongs as any other human being. and why should she not be legally protected from them as well as a man? my confidence in this god-like principle of manliness is almost unbounded. therefore i feel that a hint is all that is needed, to arouse this latent principle of our government into prompt and efficient action, that of extending legal protection to subjected married woman. there is one word i will here say to my patrons, who have the first installment of my "great drama" in their possession, that you have doubtless found many things in that book which you cannot now understand, and are therefore liable to misinterpret and misapprehend my real meaning. i therefore beg of you not to judge me harshly at present, but please suspend your judgment until this allegory is published entire, and then you will be better prepared to pass judgment upon it. supposing bunyan's allegory of his christian pilgrim had isolated parts of it published, separate from the whole, and we knew nothing about the rest, should we not be liable to misinterpret his real meaning? another thing, i ask you to bear in mind, this book was written when my mind was at its culminating point of spiritual or mental torture, as it were, and this may serve in your mind as an excuse, for what may seem to you, as extravagant expressions; while to me, they were only the simple truth as i experienced it. no one can judge of these feelings correctly, until they have been in my exact place and position; and since this is an impossibility, you have a noble opportunity for the exercise of that charity towards me which you would like to have extended to yourselves in exchange of situations. a person under extreme physical torture, gives utterance to strong expressions, indicating extreme anguish. have we, on this account, any reason or right to call him insane? so a person in extreme spiritual or mental agony, has a right to express his feelings in language corresponding to his condition, and we have no right to call him insane for doing so. upon a calm and candid review of these scenes, from my present standpoint, i do maintain that the indignant feelings which i still cherish towards mr. packard, and did cherish towards dr. mcfarland, for their treatment of me, were not only natural, sane feelings, but also were christian feelings. for christ taught us, both by his teachings and example, that we ought to be angry at sin, and even hate it, with as marked a feeling as we loved good. "i, the lord, hate evil." and so should we. but at the same time we should not sin, by carrying this feeling so far, as to desire to revenge the wrong-doer, or punish him ourselves, for then we go too far to exercise the feeling of forgiveness towards him, even if he should repent. we are not then following christ's directions, "be ye angry and sin not." now i am not conscious of ever cherishing one revengeful feeling towards my persecutors; while, at the same time, i have prayed to god, most fervently, that he would inflict a just punishment upon them for their sins against me, if they could not be brought to repent without. for my heart has ever yearned to forgive them, from the first to the last, on this gospel condition. i think our government has been called to exercise the same kind of indignation towards those conspirators who have done all they can do to overthrow it; and yet, they stand ready to forgive them, and restore them to their confidence, on the condition of practical repentance. and i say further, that it would have been wrong and sinful for our government to have witheld this expression of their resentment towards them, and let them crush it out of existence, without trying to defend itself. i say it did right in defending itself with a resistance corresponding to the attack. so i, in trying to defend myself against this conspiracy against my personal liberty, have only acted on the self-defensive principle. neither have i ever aggressed on the rights of others in my self-defence. i have simply defended my own rights. in my opinion, it would be no more unreasonable to accuse the inmates of "libby prison" with insanity, because they expressed their resentment of the wrongs they were enduring in strong language, than it is to accuse me of insanity for doing the same thing while in my prison. for prison life is terrible under any circumstances. but to be confined amongst raving maniacs, for years in succession, is horrible in the extreme. for myself, i should not hesitate one moment which to choose, between a confinement in an insane asylum, as i was, or being burned at the stake. death, under the most aggravated forms of torture, would now be instantly chosen by me, rather than life in an insane asylum. and whoever is disposed to call this "strong language," i say, let them try it for themselves as i did, and _then_ let them say whether the expression is any stronger than the case justifies. for until they have tried it, they can never imagine the horrors of the maniac's ward in jacksonville insane asylum. in this connection it may be gratifying to my patrons and readers both, to tell them how i came to write _such_ a book, instead of an ordinary book in the common style of language. it was because such a kind of book was presented to my mind, and no other was. it was under these circumstances that this kind of inspiration came upon me. the day after my interview with the trustees, the doctor came to my room to see what was to be done. his first salutation was, "well, mrs. packard, the trustees seemed to think that you hit your mark with your gun." "did they?" said i. "and was it that, which caused such roars and roars of laughter from the trustees' room after i left?" "yes. your document amused them highly. now, mrs. packard, i want you to give me a copy of that document, for what is worth hearing once is worth hearing twice." "very well," said i, "i will. and i should like to give the trustees a copy, and send my father one, and some others of the calvinistic clergy. but it is so tedious for me to copy anything, how would it do to get a few handbills or tracts printed, and send them where we please?" "you may," was his reply, "and i will pay the printer." "shall i add anything to it; that is, what i said to the trustees, and so forth?" "yes, tell the whole! write what you please!" with this most unexpected license of unrestricted liberty, i commenced re-writing and preparing a tract for the press. but before twenty-four hours had elapsed since this liberty license was granted to my hitherto prison-bound intellect, the vision of a big book began to dawn upon my mind, accompanied with the most delightful feelings of satisfaction with my undertaking. and the next time the doctor called, i told him that it seemed to me that i must write a book--a _big book_--and "that is the worst of it," said i, "i don't want a large book, but i don't see how i can cut it down, and do it justice. i want to lay two train of cars," said i, "across this continent--the christian and the calvinistic. then i want to sort out all the good and evil found in our family institutions, our church and state institutions, and our laws, and all other departments of trades and professions, &c., and then come on with my two train of cars, and gather up this scattered freight, putting the evil into the calvinistic train, and the good into the christian train, and then engineer them both on to their respective terminus. these thoughts are all new and original with me, having never thought of such a thing, until this sort of mental vision came before my mind. what shall i do, doctor?" "write it out just as you see it." he then furnished me with paper and gave directions to the attendants to let no one disturb me, and let me do just as i pleased. and i commenced writing out this mental vision; and in six week's time i penciled the substance of "the great drama," which, when written out for the press, covers two thousand five hundred pages! can i not truly say my train of thought was engineered by the "lightning express?" this was the kind of inspiration under which my book was thought out and written. i had no books to aid me, but webster's large dictionary and the bible. it came wholly through my own reason and intellect, quickened into unusual activity by some spiritual influence, as it seemed to me. the production is a remarkable one, as well as the inditing of it a very singular phenomenon. the estimation in which the book is held by that class in that asylum who are "spirit mediums," and whose only knowledge of its contents they wholly derive from their clairvoyant powers of reading it, without the aid of their natural vision, it may amuse a class of my readers to know. it was a fact the attendants told me of, that my book and its contents, was made a very common topic of remark in almost every ward in the house; while all this time, i was closeted alone in my room writing it, and they never saw me or my book. i would often be greatly amused by the remarks they made about it, as they were reported to me by witnesses who heard them. such as these: "i have read mrs. packard's book through, and it is the most amusing thing i ever read." "calvinism is dead--dead as a herring." "mrs. packard drives her own team, and she drives it beautifully, too." "the packard books are all over the world, norway is full of them. they perfectly devour the packard books in norway." "mrs. packard finds a great deal of fault with the laws and the government, and she has reason to." "she defends a higher and better law than our government has, and she'll be in congress one of these days, helping to make new laws!" if this prophetess had said that _woman's influence_ would be felt in congress, giving character to the laws, i might have said i believed she had uttered a true prophecy. one very intelligent patient, who was a companion of mine, and had read portions of my book, came to my room one morning with some verses which she had penciled the night previous, by moonlight, on the fly-leaf of her bible, which she requested me to read, and judge if they were not appropriate to the character of my book. she said she had been so impressed with the thought that she must get up and write something, that she could not compose herself to sleep until she had done so; when she wrote these verses, but could not tell a word she had written the next morning, except the first line. i here give her opinions of the book in her own poetic language, as she presented them to me. lines suggested by the perusal of the great drama. affectionately presented to the "world's friend"--mrs. e. p. w. packard--by her friend, mrs. sophia n. b. olsen. go, little book, go seek the world; with banner new, with flag unfurled; go, teach mankind aspirings high, by _human_ immortality! thou canst not blush; thine open page will all our higher powers engage; thy name on every soul shall be, defender of humanity! the poor, the sad, the sorrowing heart, shall joy to see thy book impart solace, to every tear-dimmed eye, that's wept, till all its tears are dry. the palid sufferer on the bed of sickness, shall erect the head and cry, "life yet hath charms for me when packard's books shall scattered be." each prison victim of despair shall, in thy book, see written there another gospel to thy race, of sweet "requiescat in pace." the time-worn wigs, with error gray, their dusty locks with pale dismay, shall shake in vain in wild despair, to see their prostrate castles, where? no mourner's tear shall weep their doom, no bard shall linger o'er their tomb, no poet sing, but howl a strain farewell, thou doom'd, live not again. yes, oh, poor ichabod must lay, deep buried in aceldema! his lost consuelo shall rise no more, to cheer his death-sealed eyes. then speed thy book, oh, sister, speed, the waiting world thy works must read; bless'd be the man who cries, "go on," "hinder it not, it shall be gone." go, little book, thy destiny excelsior shall ever be; a fadeless wreath shall crown thy brow, o writer of that book! e'en now. the wise shall laugh--the foolish cry-- both wise and foolish virgins, why? because the first will wiser grow, the foolish ones some wisdom show. the midnight cry is coming soon, the midnight lamp will shine at noon; i fear for some, who snoring lie, then rise, ye dead, to judgment fly. the stars shall fade away--the sun himself grow dim with age when done shining upon our frigid earth; but packard's book shall yet have birth, but never death, on this our earth. jacksonville lunatic asylum, jan. , . so much for the opinions of those whom this age call crazy, but who are, in my opinion, no more insane than all that numerous class of our day, who are called "spirit mediums;" and to imprison them as insane, simply because they possess these spiritual gifts or powers, is a barbarity, which coming generations will look upon with the same class of emotions, as we now look upon the barbarities attending salem witchcraft. it is not only barbarous and cruel to deprive them of their personal liberty, but it is also a crime against humanity, for which our government must be held responsible at god's bar of justice. i will now give some of the opinions of a few who know something of the character of my book, whom the world recognize as sane. dr. mcfarland used to sometimes say, "who knows but you were sent here to write an allegory for the present age, as bunyan was sent to bedford jail to write his allegory?" dr. tenny, the assistant physician, once said to me as he was pocketing a piece of my waste manuscript, "i think your book may yet become so popular, and acquire so great notoriety, that it will be considered an honor to have a bit of the paper on which it was written!" i replied, "dr. tenny, you must not flatter me." said he, "i am not flattering, i am only uttering my honest opinions." said another honorable gentleman who thought he understood the character of the book, "mrs. packard, i believe your book will yet be read in our legislative halls and in congress, as a specimen of the highest form of law ever sent to our world, and coming millions will read your history, and bless you as one who was afflicted for humanity's sake." it must be acknowledged that this intelligent gentleman had some solid basis on which he could defend this extravagant opinion, namely: that god does sometimes employ "the weak things of the world to confound the mighty." these expressions must all be received as mere human opinions, and nothing more. the book must stand just where its own intrinsic merits place it. if it is ever published, it, like all other mere human productions, will find its own proper level, and no opinions can change its real intrinsic character. the great question with me is, how can i soonest earn the $ , . necessary to print it with? should i ever be so fortunate as to gain that amount by the sale of this pamphlet, i should feel that my great life-work was done, so that i might feel at full liberty to rest from my labors. but until then, i cheerfully labor and toil to accomplish it. note of thanks to the press. in this connection, i deem it right and proper that i should acknowledge the aid i have received from the public press--those newspapers whose manliness has prompted them to espouse the cause of woman, by using their columns to help me on in my arduous enterprise. my object can only be achieved, by enlightening the public mind into the need and necessities of the case. the people do not make laws until they see the need of them. now, when one case is presented showing the need of a law to meet it, and this is found to be a representative case, that is, a case fairly representing an important class, then, and only till then, is the public mind prepared to act efficiently in reference to it. and as the press is the people's great engine of power in getting up an agitation on any subject of public interest, it is always a great and desirable object to secure its patronage in helping it forward. this help it has been my good fortune to secure, both in illinois and massachusetts. and my most grateful acknowledgments are especially due the journal of commerce of chicago, also the chicago tribune, the chicago times, the post, the new covenant, and the north western christian advocate. all these chicago journals aided me more or less in getting up an agitation in illinois, besides a multitude of other papers throughout that state too numerous to mention. some of the papers in massachusetts, to whom my acknowledgments are due, are the boston journal, the transcript, the traveller, the daily advertiser, the courier, the post, the recorder, the commonwealth, the investigator, the nation, the universalist, the christian register, the congregationalist, the banner of light, and the liberator. all these boston journals have aided me, more or less, in getting up an excitement in massachusetts, and bringing the subject before the massachusett's legislature. many other papers throughout the state have noticed my cause with grateful interest. as the public came to apprehend the merits of my case, and look upon it as a mirror, wherein the laws in relation to married women are reflected, they will doubtless join with me in thanks to these journals who have been used as means of bringing this light before them. testimonials. although my cause, being based in eternal truth, does not depend upon certificates and testimonials to sustain it, and stands therefore in no need of them; yet, as they are sometimes called for, as a confirmation of my statements, i have asked for just such testimonials as the following gentlemen felt self-moved to give me. i needed no testimonials while prosecuting my business in illinois, for the facts of the case were so well known there, by the papers reporting my trial so generally. i needed no other passport to the confidence of the public. but when i came to boston to commence my business in massachusetts, being an entire stranger there, i found the need of some credentials or testimonials in confirmation of my strange and novel statements. and it was right and proper, under such circumstances, that i should have them. i therefore wrote to judge boardman and hon. s. s. jones, my personal friends, in illinois, and told them the difficulty i found in getting my story believed, and asked them to send me anything in the form of a certificate, that they in their judgment felt disposed to send me, that might help me in surmounting this obstacle. very promptly did these gentlemen respond to my request, and sent me the following testimonials, which were soon printed in several of the boston papers, with such editorials accompanying them, as gave them additional weight and influence in securing to me the confidence of the public. judge boardman is an old and distinguished judge in illinois, receiving, as he justly merits, the highest esteem and confidence of his cotemporaries, as a distinguished scholar, an eminent judge, and a practical christian. mr. jones is a middle aged man, of the same stamp as the judge, receiving proof of the esteem in which he is held by his cotemporaries, in being sent to congress by vote of illinois' citizens, and by having been for successive years a member of the legislature of that state. he was in that position when he sent me his certificate. judge boardman's letter. _to all persons who would desire to give sympathy and encouragement to a most worthy but persecuted woman!_ the undersigned, formerly from the state of vermont, now an old resident of the state of illinois, would most respectfully and fraternally certify and represent: that he has been formerly and for many years, associated with the legal profession in illinois, and is well known in the north-eastern part of said state. that in the duties of his profession and in the offices he has filled, he has frequently investigated, judicially, and otherwise, cases of insanity. that he has given considerable attention to medical jurisprudence, and studied some of the best authors on the subject of insanity; has paid great attention to the principles and philosophy of mind, and therefore would say, with all due modesty, that he verily believes himself qualified to give an opinion entitled to respectful consideration, on the question of the sanity or insanity of any person with whom he may be acquainted. that he is acquainted with mrs. e. p. w. packard, and verily believes her not only sane, but that she is a person of very superior endowments of mind and understanding, naturally possessing an exceedingly well balanced organization, which, no doubt, prevented her from becoming insane, under the persecution, incarceration, and treatment she has received. that mrs. packard has been the victim of _religious bigotry_, purely so, without a single circumstance to alleviate the darkness of the transaction! a case worthy of the palmiest days of the inquisition!! the question may be asked, how this could happen, especially in northern illinois? to which i answer that the common law prevails here, the same as in other states, where this law has not been modified or set aside by the statute laws, which gives the legal custody of the wife's person, into the hands of the husband, and therefore, a wife can only be released from oppression, or even from imprisonment by her husband, by the legal complaint of herself, or some one in her behalf, before the proper judicial authorities, and a hearing and decision in the case; as was finally had in mrs. packard's case, she having been in the first place, taken by force, by her husband, and sent to the insane hospital, without any opportunity to make complaint, or without any hearing or investigation. but how could the superintendent of the insane hospital be a party to so great a wrong? very easily answered, without necessarily impeaching his honesty, when we consider that her alleged insanity was on religious subjects; her husband a minister of good standing in his denomination, and the superintendent sympathizing with him, in all probability, in religious doctrine and belief, supposed, of course, that she was insane. she was legally sent to him, by the authority of her husband, as insane; and mrs. packard had taught doctrines similar to the unitarians and universalists and many radical preachers; and which directly opposed the doctrine her husband taught, and the doctrine of the church to which he and mrs. packard belonged; the argument was, that of course the woman must be crazy!! and as she persisted in her liberal sentiments, the superintendent persisted in considering that she was insane! however, whether moral blame should attach to the superintendent and trustees of the insane hospital, or not, in this transaction, other than prejudice, and learned ignorance; it may now be seen, from recent public inquiries and suggestions, that it is quite certain, that the laws, perhaps in all the states in relation to the insane, and their confinement and treatment, have been much abused, by the artful and cunning, who have incarcerated their relatives for the purpose of getting hold of their property; or for difference of opinion as to our state and condition in the future state of existence, or religious belief. the undersigned would further state: that the published account of mrs. packard's trial on the question of her sanity, is no doubt perfectly reliable and correct. that the judge before whom she was tried, is a man of learning, and ability, and high standing in the judicial circuit, in which he presides. that mrs. packard is a person of strict integrity and truthfulness, whose character is above reproach. that a history of her case after the trial, was published in the daily papers in chicago, and in the newspapers generally, in the state; arousing at the time, a public feeling of indignation against the author of her persecution, and sympathy for her; that nothing has transpired since, to overthrow or set aside the verdict of popular opinion; that it is highly probable that the proceedings in this case, so far as the officers of the state hospital for the insane are concerned, will undergo a rigid investigation by the legislature of the state. the undersigned understands that mrs. packard does not ask pecuniary charity, but that sympathy and paternal assistance which may aid her to obtain and make her own living, she having been left by her husband, without any means, or property whatever. all of which is most fraternally and confidently submitted to your kind consideration. william a. boardman. waukegan, ill., dec. , . hon. s. s. jones' letter. "_to a kind and sympathizing public_:-- this is to certify that i am personally acquainted with mrs. e. p. w. packard, late an inmate of the insane asylum of the state of illinois. that mrs. packard was a victim of a foul and cruel conspiracy i have not a single doubt, and that she is and ever has been as sane as any other person, i verily believe. but i do not feel called upon to assign reasons for my opinion, in the premises, as her case was fully investigated before an eminent judge of our state, and after a full and careful examination, she was pronounced sane, and restored to liberty. still i repeat, but for the cruel conspiracy against her, she could not have been incarcerated, as a lunatic, in an asylum. whoever reads her full and fair report of her case, will be convinced of the terrible conspiracy that was practiced towards a truly thoughtful and accomplished lady. a conspiracy worthy of a demoniac spirit of ages long since passed, and such as we should be loth to believe could be practiced in this enlightened age, did not the records of our court verify its truth. to a kind and sympathizing public i commend her. the deep and cruel anguish she has had to suffer, at the hands of those who should have been her protectors, will, i doubt not, endear her to you, and you will extend to her your kindest sympathy and protection. trusting through her much suffering the public will become more enlightened, and that our noble and benevolent institutions--the asylums for the insane--will never become perverted into institutions of cruelty and oppression, and that mrs. packard may be the last subject of such a conspiracy as is revealed in her books, that will ever transpire in this our state of illinois, or elsewhere. very respectfully, s. s. jones." st. charles, ill., dec. , . editorial remarks. "assuming, as in view of all the facts it is our duty to do, the correctness of the statements made by mrs. packard, two matters of vital importance demand consideration: . what have 'the rulers in the church' done about the persecution? they have not publicly denied the statements; virtually (on the principle that under such extraordinary circumstances silence gives consent,) they concede their correctness. is the wrong covered up? the guilty party allowed to go unchallenged lest "the cause" suffer by exposure? if they will explain the matter in a way to exculpate the accused, these columns shall be prompt to do the injured full and impartial justice. we are anxious to know what they have to say in the premises. if mrs. packard _is_ insane because she rejects calvinism, then _we_ are insane, liable to arrest, and to be placed in an insane asylum! we have a _personal_ interest in this matter. . read carefully judge boardman's statement as to the bearing of "common law" on mrs. packard's case. if a bad man, hating his wife and wishing to get rid of her, is base enough to fabricate a charge of insanity, and can find two physicians "in regular standing" foolish or wicked enough to give the legal certificate, the wife is helpless! the "common law" places her wholly at the mercy of her brutal lord. certainly the statute should interfere. humanity, not to say christianity, demands, that special enactments shall make impossible, such atrocities as are alleged in the case of mrs. packard--atrocities which, according to judge boardman, _can_ be enacted in the name of "common law." we trust the case now presented will have at least the effect, to incite legislative bodies to such enactments as will protect women from the possibility of outrages, which, we are led to fear, ecclesiastical bodies had rather cover up, than expose and rebuke to the prejudice of sectarian ends--the 'sacred cause.'" as i have said, there was a successful effort made in the massachusett's legislature to change the laws in reference to the mode of commitment into insane asylums that winter, , and as hon. s. e. sewall was my "friend and fellow laborer," as he styles himself, in that movement, i made application to him this next winter, for such a recommend as i might use to aid me in bringing this subject before the illinois' legislature this winter, for the purpose of getting a change in their laws also. but finding that the illinois' legislature do not meet this year, i have had no occasion to use it, as i intended. having it thus on hand, i will add this to the foregoing. hon. s. e. sewall's testimonial. "i have been acquainted with mrs. e. p. w. packard for about a year, i believe. she is a person of great religious feeling, high moral principle, and warm philanthropy. she is a logical thinker, a persuasive speaker, and such an agitator, that she sometimes succeeds where a man would fail. i think she will be very useful in the cause to which she has devoted herself, i mean procuring new laws to protect married women. i give mrs. packard these lines of recommendation, because she has asked for them. i do not think them at all necessary, for she can recommend herself, far better than i can. s. e. sewall." boston, nov. , . after these testimonials, and the editorial remarks accompanying them had appeared in these boston journals, mr. packard sent various articles to these journals in reply, designing to counteract their legitimate influence in defence of my course. some of these articles were published, and many were refused, by the editors. the "universalist," and the "daily advertiser," published a part of his voluminous defence, which was made up almost entirely of certificates and credentials, but no denial of the truth of the general statement. the chief point in his defence which he seemed the most anxious to establish was, that my trial was not correctly reported--and not a fair trial--a mere mob triumph, instead of a triumph of justice. one of these papers, containing his impeachments of the court, was sent to kankakee city, illinois, where the court was held, and elicited many prompt and indignant replies. an article soon appeared in the kankakee paper, on this subject, stating his defamations against the judge, lawyers, and jury, and then added, "mr. packard is both writing his wife into notoriety, and himself into infamy," by his publishing such statements, as he would not dare to publish in illinois; and it was astonishing to them, how such a paper as the boston "daily advertiser," should allow such scandals respecting the proceedings of illinois' courts to appear in its columns. i will here give entire only one of the many articles sent to the boston papers in reply. this article was headed, the reply of the reporter of mrs. packard's trial, to rev. theophilus packard's charge of misrepresentation. "_to the editors of the boston daily advertiser_:-- in the supplement of the boston daily advertiser of may d, appears a collection of certificates, introduced by rev. theophilus packard, which requires a notice from me. these certificates are introduced for one or two purposes. first, either to prove that the report of the trial of mrs. elizabeth packard, held before the hon. c. r. starr, judge of the second judicial circuit of the state of illinois, on the question of her insanity, as published in the "great drama," is false; or, secondly, to prove to the readers of the advertiser that mr. packard is not so bad a man as those who read the trial would be likely to suppose him to be. in determining the truth of the statements of any number of persons relative to any given subject, it is always profitable to inquire who the persons that make the statements are, what is their relation to the subject-matter, and what their means of information. i entered upon the defence of mrs. packard without any expectation of fee or reward, except such as arises from a consciousness of having discharged my duty toward a helpless and penniless woman, who was either indeed insane, or was most foully dealt with by him who had sworn to love, cherish and protect her. i was searching for the truth. i did then no more and no less than i should do for any person who claimed that their sacred rights were daily violated, and life made a burden most intolerable to be borne, by repeated wrongs. the report was made from written notes of the testimony taken during the trial. and this is the first time i ever heard the correctness of the report called in question. it would be very unlikely that i should make an incorrect report of an important case, which i knew would be read by my friends and business acquaintances, and which (if incorrect) would work a personal injury. policy and selfish motives would prevent me from making an incorrect report, if i was guided by nothing higher. the first certificate presented is signed by deacon a. h. dole, and sibyl t. dole, who are the sister and brother-in-law of mr. packard, and, as the trial shows, his _co-conspirators_; j. b. smith, another of his deacons, who was a willing tool in the transaction; and miss sarah rumsey, another member of his church, who went to live with mr. packard when mrs. packard was first kidnapped. let jeff. davis be put on trial, and then take the certificates of mrs. surratt, payne, azteroth, arnold, dr. mudd and george n. saunders, and i am led to believe they would make out jeff. to be a "christian president," whom the barbarous north were trying to murder. their further certificate "that the disorderly demonstrations by the furious populace, filling the court house while we were present at the said trial, were well calculated to prevent a fair trial," is simply bosh, but is on a par with the whole certificate. it is a reflection upon the purity of our judicial system, and upon our circuit court, that they would not make at home. and i can only account for its being made on the supposition that it would not be read in illinois. "the furious populace" consisted of about two hundred ladies of our city who visited the trial until it was completed, because they felt a sympathy for one of their own sex, whose treatment had become notorious in our city. the conspirators allege that mrs. packard is insane. they each swore to this on the trial, but a jury of twelve men after hearing the whole case, upon their oaths said in effect they did not believe these witnesses, for by their verdict they found her sane. the second certificate is from samuel packard. it is a sufficient answer to this to say that he is the son of mr. packard, and entirely under his father's control, and that it is apparent upon the document that the boy never wrote a word of it. then follows a certificate from lizzie, who takes umbrage because i called her in the report the "little daughter" of mrs. packard, and is made to say pertly she was then _fourteen_. she then acted like a good daughter, who loved her mother dearly, and her size and age never entered into the consideration of the audience of ladies whose hearts were touched and feelings stirred, till the fountain of their tears was broken, by the kind and natural emotions which were then exhibited by the mother and daughter. when mrs. packard was put in the hospital lizzie was about ten years old, and a thinking public will determine what judgment she could then form about her mother's "religious notions" and her "insanity," "to the great sorrow of all our family." one word further upon the certificate of thomas p. bonfield, and i will close. he says that the trial commenced very soon after the writ of habeas corpus was served on mr. packard, and therefore he could not obtain his evidence, and was prevented from obtaining the attendance of dr. mcfarland, superintendent of the insane hospital of illinois. dr. mcfarland was the only witness whose attendance mr. packard's counsel expressed a desire for that was not present. they had his certificate that mrs. packard was insane, which they used as evidence, and which went to the jury. the defence had no opportunity for cross-examination, while mr. packard thus got the benefit of mcfarland's evidence that she was insane, with no possibility of a contradiction. what more could he have had if the witness had been present? the certificate further states that "a large portion of the community were more intent on giving presbyterianism a blow than on investigating, or leaving the law to investigate, the question of mrs. packard's insanity." well, what did the "feelings" of the community have to do with the court and jury? you selected the jury. you said they were good men. if not good, you could have rejected them. the presiding judge is a member of the congregational church, which is nearly allied to the presbyterian. five of the twelve jurymen were regular attendants of the presbyterian church. no complaint was then made that you could not have a fair trial. if packard believed he could not, the statute of illinois provides for a change of venue, which petition for a change of venue you had mr. packard sign, but which you concluded not to present, because you thought it would _not_ be granted. if you thought it would not be granted, it was because you did not have a case that the venue could be changed, because when the proper affidavit is made for a change of venue, the court has no power to refuse the application. the trial was conducted as all trials are conducted in boston or in illinois, and the verdict of the jury pronounced mrs. packard sane. the published report of the trial is made. it no doubt presents mr. packard and his confederates in a very unfavorable light, but it is just as they presented themselves. if they do not like the picture they should not have presented the original. stephen r. moore. kankakee, ill., may , . conclusion. in view of the above facts and principles on which this argument of "self-defence from the charge of insanity" is based, i feel sure that the array of sophisms which mr. packard may attempt to marshall against it, will only be like arguing the sun out of the heavens at noon-day. he is the only one who has ever dared to bring personal evidence of insanity against me, so far as my knowledge extends. others believe me to be insane, but it is on the ground of his _testimony_, not from personal proof, by my own words and actions, independent of the coloring _he_ has put upon them. for example, i find he has reported as proof of my insanity, "that i have punished the children for obeying him." had this been the case, in the sense in which he meant it to be understood, it would look like an insane, or at least very improper, act. but it is not true that i ever punished a child for obeying their father; but on the contrary, have exacted implicit obedience to their father's wishes and commands, and have even enforced this, my own command, by punishments, to _compel_ them to respect their father's authority, by obeying his commands. but this i have also done. i have maintained the theory, by logic and practice both, that a mother had a right to enforce her own reasonable commands--that her authority to do so was delegated to her by god himself, and not by her husband--and that this right to command being delegated to her by god himself, as the god given right identified with her maternity, the husband had no right to interfere or usurp this god bestowed right from the wife. but on the contrary, it was the husband's duty, as the wife's god appointed protector, to see that this right was defended to the wife by his authority over the children, requiring of them obedience to her commands, as one whose authority they must respect. yes, i have trained my children to respect my authority as a god delegated authority, equal in power, _in my sphere_, to their father's god delegated authority. and farther, i have taught them, that i had no right to go out of _my sphere_ and interfere with their father's authority in his sphere; neither had their father a right to trespass upon my sphere, and counter order my commands. i maintain, that the one who commands is the only rightful one to countermand. therefore, the father has no right to countermand the mother's orders, except _through her_; neither has the mother a right to countermand the father's order, except through _him_. here is the principle of "equal rights," which our government is bound to respect. and it is because they do not respect it, that my husband has usurped all my maternal rights, thus proving himself traitor, not only to his own manliness, but traitor to the principles of god's government. but as this is a volume of facts, rather than theories, i will add one fact in vindication of my assertion, that i uniformly taught my children to respect their father's authority. when i was incarcerated in my prison, my oldest son, theophilus, was in the post-office in mt. pleasant, iowa, as clerk, and had not seen me for two years. his regard for me was excessive. he had been uniformly filial, and very kind to me, and therefore when he learned that his loving mother was a prisoner in a lunatic asylum, he felt an unconquerable desire to see me, and judge for himself, whether i was really insane, or whether i was the victim of his father's despotism. his father, aware of this feeling, and fearing he might ascertain the truth respecting me, by some means, sent him a letter, commanding him not to write to his mother now in the asylum, and by no means visit her there, adding, if he did so, he should disinherit him. theophilus was now eighteen years of age, and, as yet, had never known what it was to disobey either his father's or mother's express commands. but now his love for his mother led him to question the justice of this seemingly arbitrary command, and he, fearful of trusting to his own judgment in this matter, sought advice from those who had once been mr. packard's church members and deacons in mt. pleasant, and from all he got the same opinion strongly defended, that he had a right to disobey _such_ a command. he therefore ventured to visit his mother in her lonely prison home in defiance of his father's edict. i was called from my ward to meet my darling first-born son in the reception room, when i had been in my prison about two months. after embracing me and kissing me with all the fondness of a most loving child, and while shedding our mutual tears of ecstasy at being allowed once more to meet on earth, he remarked, "mother, i don't know as i have done right in coming to see you as i have, for father has forbid my coming, and you have always taught me never to disobey my father." "disobeyed your father!" said i. "yes, i have always taught you it was a sin to disobey him, and i do fear you have done wrong, if you have come to see me in defiance of your father's command. you know we can never claim god's blessing in doing wrong, and fear our interview will not be a blessing to either of us, if it has been secured at the price of disobedience to your father's command." here his tears began to flow anew, while he exclaimed, "i was afraid it would prove so! i was afraid you would not approve of my coming! but, mother, i could not bear to feel that you had become insane, and i could not believe it, and would not, until i had seen you myself; and now i see it is just as i expected, you are not insane, but are the same kind mother as ever. but i am sorry if i have done wrong by coming." i wept. he wept. i could not bear to blame my darling boy. and must i? was the great question to be settled. "my son," said i, "let us ask god to settle this question for us," and down we both kneeled by the sofa, and with my arm around my darling boy, i asked god if i should blame him for coming to see me in defiance of his father's order. while asking for heavenly wisdom to guide us in the right way, the thought came to me, "go and ask dr. mcfarland." i accordingly went to the doctor's parlor, where i found him alone, reading his paper. i said to him, "doctor, i have a question of conscience to settle, and i have sought your help in settling it, namely, has my son done wrong to visit me, when his father has forbid his coming, and has threatened to disinherit him if he did? he has the letter with him showing this to be the case." after thinking a moment, the doctor simply replied, "your son had a _right_ to visit his mother!" o, the joy i felt at this announcement! it seemed as if a mountain had been lifted from me, so relieved was i of my burden. with a light heart i sought my sobbing boy, and encircling my arms about his neck, exclaimed, "cheer up! my dear child, you had a _right_ to visit your mother! so says the doctor." why was this struggle with our consciences? was it not that we had trained them to respect paternal authority? can testimony, however abundant, change this truth into a falsehood? that principle of self-defence, which depends wholly on certificates and testimonials, instead of the principle of right, truth and justice, is not able to survive the shock which the revelation of truth brings against it. a lie, however strongly fortified by testimonials and certificates, can never be transformed into a truth. neither can the truth, however single, and isolated, and alone, be its condition, can never be transformed into a lie, nor crushed out of existence. no. the truth will stand alone, and unsupported. its own weight, simply, gives it firmness to resist all shocks brought against it, to produce its overthrow. like the house built upon a rock, it needs no props, no certificates, to sustain it. storms of the bitterest persecution may beat piteously upon it, but they cannot overthrow it, for its foundation is the rock of eternal truth. but lies, are like the house built upon the sand. while it does stand, it needs props or certificates on all sides, to sustain it. and it cannot resist the storm even of a ventilating breeze upon it, for it must and will fall, with all its accumulated props, before one searching investigation; and the more props it has so much the more devastation is caused by its overthrow. and here i wish to add, that it was not because mr. packard was a minister, that bigotry had power thus to triumph over his manliness, but because he was a man, liable to be led astray from the paths of rectitude as other human beings are. the ministerial office does not insure men against the commission of sins of the darkest hue, for the ministry is composed of men, who are subject to like frailties and passions as other men are; and ministers, like all other men, must stand just where their own actions will place them, not where their position ought always to find them. they ought to be men whose characters should be unimpeached. but they are not all so. neither are all other men what they should be in their position. it is as much the duty of the minister to be true to himself--true to the instincts of his god-like nature, as it is other men. and any deviation from the path of rectitude which would not be tolerated in any other man, ought not to be tolerated in a minister. in short, ministers must stand on a common level with the rest of the human race in judgment. that is, they, like others, must stand just where their own conduct and actions place them. if their conduct entitles them to respect, we should respect them. but if their conduct makes them unworthy of our respect and confidence, it is a sin to bestow it upon them; for this very respect which we give them under such circumstances, only countenances their sins, and encourages them in iniquity, and thus puts their own souls in jeopardy, as well as reflects guilt on those who thus helped them work out their own destruction, when they ought to have helped them work out their own repentance for evil doing. an appeal to the government. as my case now stands delineated by the foregoing narrative, all the states on this continent can see just where the common law places all married women. and no one can help saying, that any law that can be used in support of such a persecution, is a disgrace to any government--christian or heathen. it is not only a disgrace, a blot on such a government, but it is a crime, against god and humanity, to let confiding, trusting woman, be so unprotected in law, from such outrageous abuses. mr. packard has never impeached my _conduct_ in a single instance, that i know of; neither has he ever charged me guilty of one insane _act_--except that of teaching my children doctrines which i believed, and he did not! this is all he ever alleges against me. he himself confirms the testimony of all my friends, that i always did discharge my household duties in a very orderly, systematic, kind, and faithful manner. in short, they maintain that i, during all my married life, have been a very self-sacrificing wife and mother, as well as an active and exemplary co-worker with him in his ministerial duties. now i have mentioned these facts, not for self-glorification, but for this reason, that it may be seen that _good conduct_, even the best and most praiseworthy, does not protect a married woman from the most flagrant wrongs, and wrongs, too, for which she has no redress in the present laws. if a man had suffered a tithe of the wrongs which i have suffered, the laws stand ready to give him redress, and thus shield him from a repetition of them. but not so with me. i must suffer not only this tithe, with no chance of redress, but ten times this amount, and no redress then. i even now stand exposed to a life-long imprisonment, so long as my husband lives, while i not only have never committed any crime, but on the contrary, have ever lived a life of self-sacrificing benevolence, ever toiling for the best interests of humanity. think again. after this life of faithful service for others, i am thrown adrift, at fifty years of age, upon the cold world, with no place on earth i can call home, and not a penny to supply my wants with, except what my own exertion secures to me. why is this? because he who should have been my protector, has been my robber, and has stolen all my life-long earnings. and yet the law does not call this stealing, because the husband is legally authorized to steal from the wife without leave or license from her! now, i say it is a poor rule that don't work both ways. why can't the wife steal all the husband has? i am sure she can't support herself as well as he can, and the right of justice seems to be on our side, in our view. but this is not what we want; we don't wish to rob our husbands, we only want they should be stopped from robbing us. we just ask for the reasonable right to use our own property as if it were our own, that is, just as we please, just according to the dictates of our own judgment. and when we insist upon this right, we don't want our husbands to have power to imprison us for so doing, as my husband did me. it was in this manner that i insisted upon my right to my property, with this fatal issue resulting from it. while the discussions in our bible-class were at the culminating point of interest, mr. packard came to my room one day and made me the following proposition: "wife," said he, "how would you like to go to your brother's in batavia, and make a visit?" said i, "i should like it very well, since my influenza has in some degree prostrated my strength, so that i need a season of rest; and besides, i should like an excuse for retiring from this bible-class excitement, since the burden of these discussions lies so heavily upon me, and if it is not running from my post of duty, i should like to throw off this mental burden also, and rest for a season at least." he replied, "you have not only a perfect right to go, but i think it is your duty to go and get recruited." "very well," said i, "then i will go, and go, too, with the greatest pleasure. but how long do you think i had better make my visit?" "three months." "three months!" said i, "can you get along without me three months? and what will the children do for their summer clothes without me to make them?" "i will see to that matter; you must stay three months, or not go at all." "well, i am sure i can stand it to rest that length of time, if you can stand it without my services. so i will go. but i must take my baby and daughter with me, as they have not fully recovered from their influenzas, and i should not dare to trust them away from me." "yes, you may take them." "i will then prepare myself and them to go just as soon as you see fit to send us. another thing, husband," said i, "i shall want ten dollars of my patrimony money to take with me for spending money." (this patrimony was a present of $ . my father had recently sent me for my especial benefit, and i had put it into mr. packard's hands for safe keeping, taking his note on interest as my only security, except with this note he gave me a written agreement, that i should have not only the interest, but any part of the principal, by simply asking him for it whenever i wanted it. when he absconded he took not only all this my money patrimony with him, but also stole all my notes and private papers likewise.) "this you can't have," said he. "why not? i shall need as much as this, to be absent three months with two sick children. i may need to call a doctor to them, and, besides, my brother is poor, and i am rich comparatively, and i might need some extra food, such as a beef-steak, or something of the kind, and i should not like to ask him for it. and besides, i have your written promise that i may have my own money whenever i want it, and i do want ten dollars of it now; and i think it is no unreasonable amount to take with me." "i don't think it is best to let you have it. i shan't trust you with money." "shan't trust me with money! why not? have i ever abused this trust? do not i always give you an exact account of every cent i spend? and i will this time do so; and besides, if you cannot trust it with me, i will put it into brother's hands as soon as i get there, and not spend a cent but by his permission." "no, i shall not consent to that." "one thing more i will suggest. you know batavia people owe you twelve dollars for preaching one sabbath, and you can't get your pay. now, supposing brother 'dun' and get it, may i not use this money if i should chance to need it in an emergency; and if i should not need any, i won't use a cent of it? or, i will write home to you and ask permission of _you_ before spending a dollar of it." "no. you shall neither have any money, nor have the control of any, for i can't trust you with any." "well, husband, if i can't be trusted with ten dollars of my own money under these circumstances, and with all these provisions attached to it, i should not think i was capable of being trusted with two sick children three months away from home wholly dependent on a poor brother's charities. indeed, i had rather stay at home and not go at all, rather than go under such circumstances." "you shall not go at all;" replied he, in a most excited, angry, tone of voice. "you shall go into an insane asylum!" "why, husband!" said i; "i did not suspect _such_ an alternative. i had rather go to him penniless, and clotheless even, than go into an asylum!" "you have lost your last chance. you _shall_ go into an asylum!" and so it proved. it was my last chance. in a few days i was kidnapped and locked up in my asylum prison for life, so far as _he_ was concerned. now, i ask any developed man, who holds property which is rightfully his own, and no one's else, how he would like to exchange places with me, and be treated just as i was treated. now, i say it is only fair that the law makers should be subject to their own laws. that is, they should not make laws for others, that they would not be willing to submit to themselves in exchange of circumstances. just put the case to yourselves, and ask how would you like to be imprisoned without any sort of trial, or any chance at self-defence, and then be robbed of all your life earnings, by a law which women made for your good (?) as your god appointed protectors! o, my government--the men of these united states--do bear with me long enough to just make our case your own for one moment, and then let me kindly ask you this question. won't you please stop this robbery of our inalienable right to our own property, by some law, dictated by some of your noble, manly hearts? do let us have a _right_ to our own home--a _right_ to our own earnings--a _right_ to our own patrimony. a right, i mean, as _partners_ in the family firm. we do not ask for a separate interest. we want an identification of interests, and then be allowed a legal right to this common fund as the _junior partners_ of this company interest. we most cheerfully allow you the rights of a senior partner; but we do not want you to be senior, junior, and all, leaving us no rights at all, in a common interest. again, we true, natural women, want our own children too--we can't live without them. we had rather die than have them torn from us as your laws allow them to be. only consider for one moment, what your laws are, in relation to our own flesh and blood. the husband has all the children of the married woman secured to himself, to do with them just as he pleases, regardless of her protests, or wishes, or entreaties to the contrary; while the children of the single women are all given to her as her right by nature! here the maternal nature of the single woman is respected and protected, as it should be; while the nature of the married woman is ignored and set at naught, and the holiest instinct of woman is trampled in the dust of an utter despotism. in other words, the legitimate offspring of the wife are not protected to her, but given to the husband, while the illegitimate offspring of the unmarried women are protected to her. so that the only way to be sure of having our maternity respected, and our offspring legally protected to us, is to have our children in the single instead of the married state! with shame i ask the question, does not our government here offer a premium on infidelity? and yet this is a christian government! why can't the inalienable rights of the lawful wife be _as much_ respected as those of the open prostitute? i say, why? is it because a woman has no individuality, after she is joined to a man? is her conscience, and her reason, and her thoughts, all lost in him? so my case demonstrates the _law_ to be, when practically tested. and does not this legalized despotism put our souls in jeopardy, as well as our bodies, and our children? it verily does. it was to secure the interests of my immortal soul, that i have suffered all i have in testing these despotic laws. i would have succumbed long ago, and said i believed what i did not believe, had it not been that i cared more for the safety of my own soul, that i did the temporal welfare of my own dear offspring. i could not be true to god, and also true to the mandates of a will in opposition to god. and whose will was to be my guide, my husband's will, or god's will? i deliberately chose to obey god rather than man, and in that choice i made shipwreck of all my earthly good things. and one good thing i sorely disliked to lose, was my fair, untarnished reputation and influence. this has been submerged under the insane elements of this cruel persecution. but my character is not lost, thank god! nor is it tarnished by this persecution. for my character stands above the reach of slander to harm. nothing can harm this treasure but my own actions, and these are all guided and controlled by him, for whose cause i have suffered so much. yes, to god's grace alone, i can say it, that from the first to the last of all my persecutions, i have had the comforting consciousness of duty performed, and an humble confidence in the approval of heaven. strong only in the justice of my cause, and in faith in god, i have stood _alone_, and defied the powers of darkness to cast me down to any destruction, which extended beyond this life. and this desperate treason against manliness which has sought to overwhelm me, may yet be the occasion of the speedier triumph of my spiritual freedom, and that also of my sisters in like bondage with myself. the laws of our government most significantly requires us, "to work out our own salvation with much fear and trembling," lest the iron will which would hold us in subjection, should take from us all our earthly enjoyments, if we dare to be true to the god principle within us. so bitter has been my cup of spiritual suffering, while passing through this crucible of married servitude, that it seems like a miracle almost, that i have not been driven into insanity, or at least misanthropy by it. but a happy elasticity of temperament conspired with an inward consciousness of rectitude, and disinterestedness, has enabled me to despise these fiery darts of the adversary, as few women could. and i cherish such a reverence for my nature, as god has made it, that i cannot be transformed into a "man-hater." i thank god, i was made, and still continue to be, a "man-lover." indeed, my native respect for the manhood almost approaches to the feeling of reverence, when i consider that man is god's representative to me--that he is endowed with the very same attributes and feelings towards woman that god has--a protector of the weak, not a subjector of them. it is the exceptions, not the masses of the man race, who have perverted or depraved their god-like natures into the subjectors of the dependent. the characteristic mark of this depraved class is a "woman-hater," instead or a "woman-lover," as god, by nature made him. this depraved class of men find their counterpart in those women, who have perverted their natures from "men-lovers," into "men-haters." and man, with a man-hating wife, may need laws to protect his rights, as much as a woman, with a woman-hater for her husband. laws should take cognizance of _improper actions_, regardless of sex or position. all we ask of our government is, to let us stand just where our actions would place us, without giving us either the right or power to harm any one, not even our own husbands. at least, give us the power to defend ourselves, legally, against our husband's abuses, since you have licensed him with almost almighty power to abuse us. and it will be taking from these women-haters no right to take from them the right to abuse us. it may, on the contrary, do them good, to be compelled to treat us with justice, just as you claim that it will do the slave-holder good, to compel him to treat his slave with justice. it is oppression and abuse alone we ask you to protect us against, and this we are confident you will do, as soon as you are convinced there is a need or necessity for so doing. and i will repeat, it is for this purpose that i have, in this pamphlet, delineated a subjected wife's true, legal position, by thus presenting my own personal, individual, experience for your consideration. in summing up this argument, based on this dark chapter of a married woman's bitter experience of the evils growing out of the law of married servitude, i would close with a petition to the legislatures of all the states of this union, that they would so revolutionize their statute laws, as to expunge them entirely from that most cruel and degrading kind of despotism, which identifies high, noble woman as its victim. let the magnanimity of your holy, god-like natures, be reflected from your statute books, in the women protective laws which emanate from them. and may god grant that in each and all of these codes may soon be found such laws as guarantee to married woman a _right_ to her own home, and a _right_ to be the mistress of her own household, and a _right_ to the guardianship of her own minor children. in other words, let her be the legally acknowledged mistress of her own household, and a co-partner, at least, in the interests and destiny of her own offspring. let the interests of the maternity be _as much_ respected, at least, as those of the paternity; and thus surround the hallowed place of the wife's and mother's sphere of action, with a fortress so strong and invincible, that the single will of a perverted man cannot overthrow it. for home is woman's proper sphere or orbit, where, in my opinion, god designed she should be the sovereign and supreme; and also designed that man should see that this sphere of woman's sovereignty should be unmolested and shielded from any invasions, either foreign or internal. in other words, the husband is the god appointed agent to guard and protect woman in this her god appointed orbit. just as the moon is sovereign and supreme in her minor orbit, being guarded and protected there by the sovereign power of the sun, revolving in his mighty orbit. the appropriate sphere of woman being the home sphere, she should have a legal right here, secured to her by statute laws, so that in case the man who swore to protect his wife's rights here, perjures himself by an usurpation of her inalienable rights, she can have redress, and thus secure that protection in the _law_, which is denied her by her husband. in short, woman needs legal protection _as a married woman_. she has a right to be a married woman, therefore she has a right to be protected _as a married woman_. if she cannot have protection as a married woman, it is not safe for her to marry; for my case demonstrates the fact, that the good conduct of the wife is no guarantee of protection to her; neither is the most promising developments of manhood, proof against depravity of nature, approximating very near to the point of "total depravity," and then woe to that wife and mother, who has no protection except that of a totally depraved man! but, some may argue, that woman is already recognized in several of the states as an individual property owner, and as one who can do business on a capital of her own, independent of her husband. yes, we do most gratefully acknowledge this as the day star of hope to us, that the tide is even now set in the right direction. but allow me to say, this does not reach the main point we are aiming to establish, which is, that woman should be a legal _partner_ in the family firm, not a mere appendage to it. this principle of separating the interests of the married pair is not wholesome nor salutary in its results. it tends towards an isolation of interests; whereas it is an identification of interests, which the marriage contract should form and cement. we want an equality of rights, so far as copartners are concerned. these property rights should be so identified as to command the mutual respect of partners, whose interests are one and the same. in short, the wife should be the junior partner, and law should recognize her as such, by protecting to her the rights of a junior partner, and her husband should be the legally constituted senior partner of the family firm. then, and only till then, is she his companion on an equality, in legal standing, with her husband, and sharing with him the protection of that government, which she has done so much to sustain; which government is based on the great fundamental principle of god's government, namely, an equality of rights to all accountable moral agents. our government can never echo this heavenly principle, until it defends "equal rights," independent of sex or color. appendix. rev. samuel ware's certificate to the public. "this is to certify that the certificates which have appeared in public in relation to my daughter's sanity, were given upon the conviction that mr. packard's representations respecting her condition were true, and were given wholly upon the authority of mr. packard's own statements. i do therefore certify that it is now my opinion that mr. packard has had no cause for treating my daughter elizabeth as an insane person. samuel ware. _attest_, olive ware, austin ware. south deerfield, aug. , ." the reader should be informed that the above certificate was given after i had been a member of my father's family for six months, thus affording him ample opportunity to judge of my real condition, by his own personal observation, since mr. packard, and his co-conspirator, dr. mcfarland, the superintendent of the asylum, both insist upon it, that i am now in just the same condition in reference to my sanity, that i was when i was kidnapped and forced into my prison. therefore, when my own dear father's eyes were fully opened to see the deception that had been employed to secure his influence in support of this cruel conspiracy, he felt conscience bound to give the above certificate in vindication of the truth. another evidence of my father's entire confidence in my sanity is found in the fact that about this time he re-wrote his will, and so changed it that, instead of now giving me my patrimony "in trust" as before, he has bestowed it upon me, his only daughter, in precisely the same manner, and upon equal terms every way with my two only brothers. mrs. packard's address to the illinois legislature. gentlemen of illinois general assembly: thankful for the privilege granted me, i will simply state that i desire to explain my bill rather than defend it, since i am satisfied it needs no defense to secure its passage by this gallant body of gentlemen. i desire to make this public statement of some of the facts of my personal experience, relative to my incarceration in jacksonville insane asylum, that you, the law-makers of this state, may see from the standpoint of my own individual wrongs, the legal liabilities to which all married women and infants have been exposed for the last sixteen years, to false imprisonments in jacksonville insane asylum, under the act passed in , viz.: "married women and infants who, in the judgment of the medical superintendent," (meaning the superintendent of illinois state hospital for the insane,) "are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the hospital, on the request of the husband of the woman or the guardian of the infant, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." this act was nominally repealed in ; but, practically, is still existing, in retaining those who have been previously entered without evidence of insanity, and in receiving others, regardless of the law of ' , which demands a fair trial of all before commitment. in short, the present law is not in all cases enforced, but this unjust law is still in practical force in many instances. therefore, your petitioners, men of the first legal character and standing in chicago, in asking for the repeal of this unjust law, not only ask for the enforcement of the new law by a penalty, but also that a jury trial may be forthwith extended to the unfortunate victims of this unjust law, who are now confined in jacksonville insane asylum. in detailing the practical working of this law in my case, i must rely upon your good sense to pardon the egotistical character of the following statement. i am a native of massachusetts, the only daughter of an orthodox clergyman of the congregational denomination, and the wife of a congregational clergyman, who was preaching to a presbyterian church in manteno, kankakee co., ill., when this legal persecution commenced. i have been educated a calvinist, after the strictest sect, but as my reasoning faculties have been developed by a thorough, scientific education, i have been led, by the simple exercise of my own reason and common sense, to endorse theological views, in conflict with my educated belief and the creed of the church with which i am connected. in short, from my present standpoint, i cannot but believe that the doctrine of total depravity, (which is the great backbone of the calvinistic system,) conflicts with the dictates of reason, common sense, and the bible. and, gentlemen, the only crime i have committed is to dare to be true to these, my honest convictions, and to give utterance to these views in a bible class in manteno, at the special request of the teacher of that class, and with the full and free consent of my husband. but the popular endorsement of these new views by the class and the community generally, led my husband and his calvinistic church to fear, lest their church creed would suffer serious detriment by this license of private judgment and free inquiry, and as these liberal views emanated from his own family, and he, (for reasons best known to himself,) declining to meet me on the open arena of argument and free discussion, chose, rather, to use this marital power which your laws license him to use, and as this unjust law permits, and got me imprisoned at jacksonville insane asylum, without evidence of insanity, and without any trial, hoping, as he told me, that by this means he could destroy my moral influence, and thereby defend the cause of christ; as he felt bound to do! it was under these circumstances i was legally kidnapped, as your laws allow, and imprisoned three years at jacksonville, simply for claiming a right to my own thoughts. the first intimation i had of this legal exposure, was by two men entering my room, on the th of june, , and kidnapping me. two of his church-members, attended by sheriff burgess of kankakee, took me up in their arms and carried me to the wagon, and thence to the cars, in spite of my lady-like protests, and regardless of all my entreaties for some sort of trial before imprisonment. my husband replied, "i am doing as the laws of illinois allow me to do--you have no protection in law but myself, and i am protecting you now; it is for your good i am doing this; i want to save your soul; you don't believe in total depravity; i want to make you right." "husband," said i, "have not i a right to my opinion?" "yes, you have a right to your opinions if you think right." "but does not the constitution defend the right of religious tolerance to all american citizens?" "yes, to all citizens it does defend this right, but you are not a citizen; while a married woman, you are a legal nonentity, without even a soul in law. in short, you are dead as to any legal existence, while a married woman, and therefore have no legal protection as a married woman." thus i learned my first lesson in that chapter of "common law," which denies to married woman a legal right to their own individuality or identity. here i was taken from my little family of six children, while my babe was only eighteen months old, while in the faithful discharge of all my duties as wife and mother, having done all my own work for twenty-one years, besides educating our own children, and nearly fitting our oldest son for college; in perfect health and sound mind, and forced into an imprisonment of an indefinite length, without the mere form of a trial, and without any chance at self-defense. true, my husband did even more than this "unjust law" demands, for he did get the certificates of two orthodox physicians that i was insane--like henry ward beecher, and horace greeley, and spurgeon, and three-fourths of the religious community; and, besides, he obtained the names of forty others, mostly his own church members, who thus co-conspired to sustain their minister in this mode of defending the cause of christ against the contagious influence of dangerous heresies and fatal errors. the influence of the community outside of the church was thrown into the opposite scale entirely; but their influence was overpowered by the majesty of the law, added to the dignity of the pulpit. i was conveyed by sheriff burgess, deacon dole and mr. packard to your state hospital, in defiance of the indignant community who had assembled at the depot in large crowds to defend me. dr. simmington, the methodist minister at manteno, remarked to me, "mrs. packard, you will not be there long," and plainly intimated that, in his opinion, no man was fit for his position who would retain such an inmate as myself. dr. mcfarland, of course, was obliged to receive me on this superabundant testimony that i was an insane person, although he apologized to me afterwards for receiving me at all, and for four months he treated me himself, and caused me to be treated, with all the respect of a hotel boarder. he even trusted me with the entire charge of a carriage load of insane patients, and the care of my own team, fourteen times; sometimes i would be absent nearly a half day on some pleasant excursion to the fair-grounds or cemetery, and he never expressed the least solicitude for our safe return. indeed, he trusted me almost in every situation he would trust the matron. but, at the expiration of this time, with no change whatever in my deportment, i forfeited all his good-will and favors, by presenting him a written reproof for his abuse of his patients, which was afterwards printed, wherein i told him i should expose him when i got out, unless he treated his patients with more justice. he then removed me from the best ward to the worst, where were confined the most dangerous class of patients, and instructed his attendants to treat me just as they did the maniacs, and be sure to keep me a close prisoner, and on no account to allow me to leave the ward, and compel me to sleep in a dormitory with from three to six crazy patients, where my life was exposed, both night as well as day, with no room of my own to flee to for safety from their insane flights and dangerous attacks. i have been dragged around this ward by the hair of my head by the maniacs; i have received blows from them that almost killed me. my seat at the table was by the side of mrs. triplet, the most dangerous and violent patient in the whole ward, who almost invariably threatened to kill me every time i went to the table. i have had to dodge the knives and forks and tumblers and chairs which have been hurled in promiscuous profusion about my head, to avoid some fatal blow. i have begged and besought dr. mcfarland to remove me to some place of safety, where my life would not be so exposed, only to see him turn, speechless, away from me! i have endured the scent and filth of a ward, from which my delicate, sensitive nature revolts in loathsome disgust, until i had had time to clean the whole ward with my own hands, before it could be a decent place for human beings to inhabit. from this eighth ward i was not removed until i was discharged, two years and eight months from the day i was consigned to it. i did not set my foot upon the ground in the mean time, although, for the last part of my imprisonment there, dr. mcfarland exchanged some of the noisiest and most boisterous patients for a more quiet class. i have been threatened with the screen-room, and this threat has been accompanied with the flourish of a butcher knife over my head, for simply passing a piece of johnny-cake through a crack under my door to a hungry patient, who was locked in her room to suffer starvation as her discipline for her insanity. i have heard a fond and tender mother begging and pleading, for one whole night and part of a day, for one drink of cold water, but all in vain! simply because she had annoyed her attendant, by crying to see her darling babe and dear little ones at home. i finally persuaded the matron, mrs. waldo, to interpose, and give her a drink of water. there was but one of all the employees at that asylum whom the dr. could influence to treat me, personally, like an insane person. this was mrs. de la hay. besides threatening me with the screen-room, as i have stated, she threatened to jacket me for speaking at the table. one day, after she had been treating her patients with great injustice and cruelty, i addressed mrs. mckonkey, who sat next to me at the table, and in an undertone remarked, "i am thankful there is a recording angel present, noting what is going on in these wards;" when mrs. de la hay, overhearing my remark, exclaimed in a very angry tone, "mrs. packard, stop your voice! if, you speak another word at the table i shall put a straight jacket on you!" mrs. lovel, one of the patients, replied, "mrs. de la hay, did you ever have a straight jacket on yourself?" "no, my position protects me! but i would as soon put one on mrs. packard as any other patient, 'recording angel' or no 'recording angel,' and dr. mcfarland will protect me in doing so, too!" the indignant feeling of the house soon became so demonstrative, in view of the treatment i was receiving, that the dr. seemed compelled to discharge mrs. de la hay to defend his own character from the charge of abusing me, and mrs. de la hay soon after became insane, and a tenant of jacksonville poor-house. he cut me off from all written communication with the outside world, except under the strictest censorship, and made it a dischargeable offence of his employees to permit me to have any means of communication with the outside world. he has refused mrs. judge thomas and other friends, whom he knew desired to comfort me with human sympathy and some choice viands, admission into my presence, and has put them off with the inquiry, "why do you wish to single out mrs. packard from the other patients, to administer to her comfort?" and when asked by his guests, who often mistook me for the matron, "why he kept so intelligent a lady in an insane asylum?" he would reply, "you must not take any notice of what a patient says!" and the reply he would make to my indignant friends at the hospital, who ventured sometimes to inquire "why are you treating mrs. packard in this manner?" has invariably been, "it is all for her good!" time will not allow me to detail my sufferings and persecutions at that hospital; i will only add, may the lord forgive dr. mcfarland for the injustice i have suffered at his hands! and god grant that the legislature of may have the moral courage to effectually remove the liabilities to a repetition of wrongs like my own! various attempts were made by my manteno friends to rescue me, but all in vain. my legal non-existence rendered it difficult to extend legal aid to a nonentity, except it come through the identity of my only legal protector, and so long as it was possible to cut me off from any direct application for deliverance, he could ward off the habeas corpus investigation they wished to institute, and as long as the doctor claimed i was insane, so long this unjust law consigned me to legal imprisonment. my relatives and other friends applied to lawyers, judges and the governor in my behalf, but all in vain, as these officers were only authorized to administer existing laws; they could neither repeal them nor act contrary to them. on the th of june, , i was finally removed from my asylum prison, by order of the trustees, as the result of a personal interview which dr. mcfarland kindly consented to grant me, and put again into the custody of my husband, who consigned me to a prison in my own house, claiming, as his excuse, that i was just as insane as when i was entered just three years previously, for i had neither recanted nor yielded my right to my identity: therefore, in the judgment of your superintendent, i am hopelessly insane, and am doomed, by his certificates, to a life-long imprisonment in the insane asylum at northampton, mass., and my husband was just on the point of starting with me for a consignment in that living tomb, when he was arrested by a writ of habeas corpus, issued by judge starr, of kankakee city, and used by my manteno friends in defence of my personal liberty. i was now where i could make direct application, by passing a letter clandestinely through a crack in my window. the trial lasted five days, and resulted in a complete vindication of my sanity, although his witnesses swore that it was evidence of insanity for a person to wish to leave a presbyterian church and join a methodist! a full account of this trial is found in this "three years imprisonment for religious belief." it was reported by one of my lawyers, and is an impartial record of the whole case. during the trial, mr. packard "fled his country" in the night, to avoid the danger of a mob retribution. he took with him all our personal property, even my own wardrobe and children, and rented our home, so that i found myself, at the close of court, homeless, penniless and childless. and this, gentlemen, is legal usurpation, also, on the slavish principle of common law--the legal nonentity of the wife, the man and wife being one, and the one, the man! gentlemen, we married women need emancipation; and will you not be the pioneer state in our union, in woman's emancipation? and thus use my martyrdom for the identity of a married woman, to herald this most glorious of all reforms--married woman's legal emancipation, from that of a slave in law, to that of a partner and companion of her husband, in law, as she now is in society? and, lest there be a misunderstanding on this subject, permit me here to explain what kind of slavery i refer to. this slavish position which the principles of common law assigns the married woman, is a relic of barbarism, which the progress of civilization will, doubtless, ere long, annihilate. in the dark ages, married woman was a slave to her husband, both socially and legally, but, as civilization has progressed, she has outgrown her social position--that of a slave--and is now regarded in society as the companion and partner of her husband. but the law has not progressed with civilization, so that married woman is still a slave, legally, while she is his companion, socially. man, we know, is woman's natural protector, and, in most instances, is all the protection a married woman needs. still, as the laws are made for the exceptional cases, where man is not a law unto himself, what can be the harm in emancipating woman from this slavish position, so that she can receive governmental protection of her right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," as well as the marital protection? so, in case where the marital fails, she can have legal protection, while married as well as when single. then when your darling daughter is called to exchange the paternal protection for the marital, she will not be obliged to alienate her right to governmental protection by this exchange of her natural protectors, but she, the tenderest and the best, can then claim of her government, while a married woman, the same protection of her rights as a woman, which your sons now claim as men. the need of this radical change in married woman's legal position, is more fully elucidated in this book, which contains a detailed account of my persecutions in illinois, when your state hospital was used, in my case, as inquisition. my object in bringing these facts to your notice is to secure legislative action, where these facts show the need of action. in conclusion, gentlemen of this assembly, may i be allowed to read a few extracts from dr. mcfarland's published letters on this subject, showing, from his own words, his ground of self-defense. the doctor says: "all mrs. packard's wrongs, persecutions and sufferings, of every description, are utterly the creation of a diseased imagination." now, i ask, is this so? can facts be transmuted into fiction by the simple assertion of one man? and is it a mere creation of a diseased imagination that has torn me from my helpless babe and deprived my darling children of a fond mother's tender care? is it the mere creation of a diseased imagination to find that good conduct, not even the best, is any guarantee of protection to a wife and mother under illinois laws? neither dr. mcfarland nor mr. packard himself, has ever denied one of the facts in the statement i have made; but as their only justification, they claim that i am insane--and the only proof of insanity they have ever brought in support of this opinion is, "her views of things," as the doctor expresses himself, or, my private, individual opinions. now i wish to ask the gentlemen of this assembly, if, for my using my right of opinion, or my right of private judgment, the public sentiment of this age is going to justify illinois in keeping me a prisoner three years, under the subterfuge of insanity, based wholly upon my "views of things?" just consider, for one moment, the principle. here my personal liberty, for life, hangs suspended wholly on the opinion of this one man, whom policy or interest might tempt to say i was insane when i was not; for this law expressly states that the class i represent may be imprisoned without evidence of insanity, and without trial! just make the case your own, gentlemen: would it be easy for you to realize that it was a mere creation of your imagination to have two men take you by force from your business and family, without evidence of insanity and without trial, and your kidnappers claim as their only justification, that you are insane on some point in your religious belief, simply because dr. mcfarland says you are, and then lock you up for life, on his single testimony, without proof? now we, married women and infants, have had our personal liberty, for sixteen years, suspended on this one man's opinion; and possibly he may be found to be a fallible man, and capable of corruption, if we may be allowed to judge of this great man from the standpoint of his own words and actions. now, if the doctor was required to prove his patients insane, from their own conduct, there would be a shadow of justice attached to his individual judgment; but while this law allows him to call them insane, and treat them as insane, without evidence of insanity, where is the justice of such a decision? you do not hang a person without proof from the accused's own actions that he is guilty of the charge which forfeits his life. so the personal liberty of married women should not be sacrificed without proof that they are insane, from their own conduct. when dr. mcfarland has brought forward one proof from my own conduct, by one insane act of my own, in support of his position, i will then say he has cause for calling me an insane person; but until that time arrives, i claim he is begging the question entirely, in calling me an insane person, without one evidence to sustain his charge. gentlemen, it is not merely for my own self-defence from this unpleasant charge, that i lay this argument before you, but it is that you may see, from my standpoint, how exceedingly frail is the thread on which our reputation for sanity is suspended, and how very liable married women and infants are to be thus falsely imprisoned in jacksonville insane asylum. if my testimony might be allowed to add weight to this suspicion or presumption, i would state that, to my certain knowledge, there were married women there when i left, more than three years since, who were not insane then at all, and they are still retained there, as hopelessly insane patients, on the simple strength of the above ground of evidence; and it is my womanly sympathy for this class of prisoners that has moved me to come, alone, from massachusetts, in the depth of winter, to see if i could not possibly induce this legislature to compassionate their case: for it is under your laws, gentlemen, i have suffered, and they are still suffering, and it is to this legislature of that we apply for a legal remedy; and we confidently trust you will vindicate the honor of your state in the action you take upon this subject. we trust you will not only have the manliness and moral courage to repeal this unjust law, forthwith, but also extend, promptly, a just trial to its wronged and injured victims. again, dr. mcfarland writes: "mr. packard is suffering from a cause which only gather his church and the public about him, in the bonds of a generous sympathy." i reply to this assertion by stating a few simple facts. mr. packard's church and people in manteno, illinois, withdrew from him their confidence and support, while i was incarcerated, instead of gathering about him, because public sentiment would not tolerate him, as a minister, with this stigma upon him; and it was the fear of lynch law which drove him from this state during the court, to seek shelter and employment in massachusetts, his native state. there he succeeded in securing a place as stated supply, by ignoring the decision of your court, and by misrepresenting the west to be in such a semi-barbarous state that it was impossible to get a just decision at any legal tribunal in this uncivilized region, where, he tells them, "a large portion of community were more intent on giving presbyterianism a blow, than in investigating the question of mrs. packard's insanity!" he occupied his new field in sunderland, mass., fifteen months, when i returned to my father's house in sunderland, on a visit, and the result was, my personal presence, together with the facts in the case, upset him, so that neither sunderland nor any other society in new england can be induced to employ him in defiance of enlightened public sentiment. indeed, the public sentiment of new england has so blighted and withered his ministerial influence, that the remark of a lawyer in worcester, mass., made a few months since, reflects his true social position there, at present. said he, "there is not a man in new england, neither do i think there is one man in the united states, who would dare to stand the open defender of mr. packard in the course he has taken, and in view of the facts as they are now known to exist." now i would like to ask dr. mcfarland, where are to be found these "bonds of generous sympathy" to which he refers? in the region of the west, or in the east? here, where the doctor's assertion is found to be plainly contradicted by facts, can his simple assertions be relied upon as infallible testimony and infallible authority? again, another extract, and i am done. dr. mcfarland writes, "i have no question but that mrs. packard's committal here was as justifiable as in the majority of those now here." now if this statement of your superintendent is true, viz.: that i am a fair specimen of the majority of his patients, then the doctor himself must admit that the majority of inmates there are capable of assuming a self-reliant position, and, instead of being supported there as state paupers, as i was during my imprisonment of three years, ought they not to be liberated, and supporting themselves and their families as i am now doing? mr. packard has become an object of charity since he cast me penniless upon the world, while i have, without charity, not only supported myself, but have already become voluntarily responsible for his support, and the support and education of my children, from the avails of my own hard labor, since my discharge from my prison; while at the same time, he will not allow me to live in the house with my dear children, lest my heresies contaminate them! now, gentlemen, is it not better that i be thus employed, selling my books for their support, rather than be held as your state's prisoner and state's pauper simply because my "views of things" do not happen to coincide with your superintendent's views of things? it is true, and, gentlemen, your superintendent's own statement verifies it, that i am not the only one who has been so unjustly imprisoned there, and in the name and behalf of those now there, i beg of this body that you extend to such a fair trial or a discharge. really, the claims of humanity and the honor of your state both demand that my case stimulate the illinois legislature of to provide legal safeguards against false commitments like my own. permit me here to add, that although i have come from massachusetts to illinois at my own expense, without money and without price, for the express purpose of bringing these claims of oppressed humanity to your notice, i do not demand nor ask for any remuneration for my false imprisonment in your state institution, nor for any personal redress of those legal wrongs which have deprived me of my reputation, my home, my property, my children, my liberty; but i do ask that the legal liabilities to such like outrages may be effectually removed by this legislature, and that the justice of a trial by jury may be forthwith extended to those now in that asylum, who have been consigned to an indefinite term of imprisonment, without any trial. gentlemen of this assembly, in view of the facts now before you, please allow me the additional privilege of adding a few suggestions. you see it has become a demonstrated fact that i, a minister's wife, of illinois, have been three years imprisoned in your state, by your laws, simply because i could not tell a lie--that is, i could not be false to my own honest convictions; and since i simply claim the right to be an individual instead of a parasite, or an echo of others' views, i am branded by your laws as hopelessly insane! is it not time for you to legislate on this subject, by enacting laws which shall make it a crime to treat an illinois citizen as an insane person simply for the utterance of opinions, no matter how absurd those opinions may be to others? opinions cannot harm the truth, nor the individual, especially if they are absurd or insane opinions. but for irregularities of conduct, such as my persecutors have been guilty of, the law ought to be made to investigate. imprisonment for religious belief! what is it but treason against the vital principle of this american government, viz.: religions toleration? would that i could have claimed protection under the banner of my country's flag, while a citizen of illinois. but no; this unjust statute law has consigned me to the reign of despotism. and so are all my married sisters in illinois liable to this consignment, so long as this barbarous law is in force. and o! the horrors of such a consignment! only think of putting your own delicate, sensitive daughter through the scenes i have been put through. do you think she would have come out unharmed? god only knows. but this i do know: that it is one principle of ethics, that a person is very apt to become what they are taken to be. you may take the sanest person in the world, and tell them they are insane, and treat them as your superintendent treats them there--it is the most trying ordeal a person can pass through and not really become insane. and most reverently does mrs. packard attribute it to god's grace alone, for carrying her safely through this most awful ordeal, unharmed, and--i am almost tempted to add--god himself could not have done this thing without the strictest conformity on my part, to his own laws of nature, in connection with a well-balanced organization. as it is, to god's grace alone. i say it, i am a monument for the age--a standing miracle, almost, of the power of faith to shield one from insanity, by having come out unharmed, through a series of trials, such as would crush into a level with the beasts, i may say, any one, who did not freely use this antidote. here let me make one practical suggestion. is that kind of treatment which causes insanity the best adapted to cure insanity? o, my brothers! my gallant brothers! will you not protect us from such liabilities? will you not have the manliness to grant to us, married women, the legal right to stand just where our own actions will place us, regardless of our views of things, or our private opinions? that is, may we not have the privilege of being legally protected, as you are, in our rights of opinion and conscience, so long as our good conduct deserves such protection? we have an individuality of our own, which is sacred to ourselves; will you not protect our personal liberty, while in the lawful, lady-like exercise of it? for personal liberty is a boon of inestimable value to ourselves as well as you, and by guarding our liberty against false commitment there, you may have fortified the personal liberty of some of illinois' best and sanest class of citizens, whose interests are now vitally imperiled by this unjust law. yes, gentlemen, i, their representative, now stand legally exposed to be kidnapped again, and hid for life in some lunatic asylum; and since no laws defend me, this may yet be done. should public sentiment--the only law of self-defence i have--endorse the statements of this terrible conspiracy against the personal liberty and stainless character of an innocent woman, i may yet again be entombed, to die a martyr for the christian principle of the identity of a married woman. three long years of false imprisonment does not satisfy this lust for power to oppress the helpless. no; nothing but a life-long entombment can satisfy the selfhood of my only legal protector. o! i do want laws to protect me, and, as an american citizen, i not only ask, but i demand that my personal liberty shall depend upon the decision of a jury--not upon the verdict of public sentiment, or forged certificates, either. my gallant brothers, be true to my cause, if false to me. be true to woman! defend her as your weak, confiding sister, and heaven shall reward you; for god is on her side, "and he always wins who sides with god." fear not; fear nothing so much as the sin of simply not doing your duty. maintain your death grapple in defence of the heaven-born principles of liberty and justice to all human kind, especially to woman. emancipate her! for above this cross hangs suspended a crown, of which even our martyred lincoln's crown of negro emancipation is but a mere type and shadow in brilliancy. and god grant that this immortal crown of unfading honor may be the rightful heritage--the well-earned reward of illinois' gallant sons, as embodied in their legislators. and all we have to ask for dr. mcfarland is, that you not only allow, but require this great man to stand just where his own actions will place him, regardless of his position, or the opinion of his enemies or his friends. gentlemen, permit me also to say, that when you have once liberated the sane inmates of that hospital and effectually fortified the rights of the sane citizens of illinois against false commitments there, you will have taken the first progressive step in the right direction, in relation to this great humanitarian reform. and here i will say, that from what i do know of the practical workings of the internal machinery of that institution, as seen from behind the curtain, from the standpoint of a patient, and from what i know of the personal and private character of illinois statesmen, i predict it will not be the last. and, notwithstanding the temporary disfigurement of illinois' proud escutcheon by this foul stain of religious persecution, which, i regret to say, it now has upon it, may god grant that the present statesmen of illinois may yet so fully vindicate its honor, as that the van of this great humanitarian reform may yet be heralded to the world in the action of illinois representatives, as embodied in this legislature of . i hold myself in readiness, gentlemen, to answer any questions, or perform any service in behalf of this cause you may desire of me; and, as an incentive to your acting efficiently in this matter, i will state that several legislatures in new england are watching eagerly the result of my application to you, this winter, and they have engaged me to report to them the result. i desire, therefore, an opportunity to vindicate your character before these legislatures, on the basis of your own actions, for, after you know of the existence of this barbarous law, and its direct application to me, one of its wronged and injured victims, as you now do, i shall no longer be able to plead your ignorance of the existence of such a law, as your vindication from the charge of barbarism, and you must know that the intelligence of the whole civilized world cannot but call a state barbarous in its legislation, so long as this black and cruel law has an existence, even in continuing to hold its victims in its despotic grasp. i know, gentlemen, that since , i can plead that you have nominally repealed it, but so long as this law of ' is without a penalty to enforce it, it is only a half law, or in other words, it is merely legislative advice--it is not a statute law, and so long as you do retain its injured victims in their false imprisonment, you have not repealed it. now, gentlemen, much as i would like to gratify the wishes of a member of your house, in erasing the record of this law from my book, on the ground of its having been already repealed, i cannot conscientiously do it so long as that institution continues to receive inmates without any trial by jury, or retains those who have never had any such trial. no, gentlemen; this law and its application to me, cannot be obliterated, for it has already become a page of illinois' history, which must stand to all coming time, as a living witness against the legislation of illinois in the nineteenth century. there is one way, and only one, by which you can redeem your state from this foul blot of religious persecution which now desecrates your nationality in the estimation of the whole civilized world, and that is by such practical repentance as this bill demands. this done, i can then, and only till then, vindicate the character of illinois statesmen, on the ground of their own honorable acts. in an appendix to this book, you will then find not only mrs. packard's appeal to illinois' legislature of , but also the noble manly response of its legislators, as echoed by their own honorable acts. but, should you, for any reason, choose to turn a deaf ear to this appeal in defense of your injured citizens, i shall not rest until i have made this same appeal to the people of this state, and asked from them the justice i am denied from their representatives. and should i be denied there, i shall go to work single-handed and alone, in liberating this oppressed class, by the habeas corpus act, before i shall feel that my skirts are washed from the guilt of hiding these public sins against humanity, which i know to have existence in the state of illinois. and can you blame me for this manifestation of my heart sympathy for my imprisoned sisters? can a sensitive woman feel a less degree of sympathy for her own sex, when she knows, as i do from my own bitter experience, the injustice they are daily and hourly now receiving in that dismal prison? and o! if you or your darling daughter were in their places, would you feel like reproaching me as a fanatic, for thus volunteering in your defence? no; you would not. but i should reproach myself, and so must a just god reproach me, should i dare to do less; for there is a vow recorded in the archives of high heaven, that mrs. packard will do all in her power to do, for the deliverance of these victims of injustice, if god will but grant her deliverance. i am delivered! my vow stands recorded there! shall this vow be a witness against me, or shall it not? gentlemen of this assembly, i shall try to redeem that pledge, and so far as you are concerned, my work is now done. yours remains to be done. god grant you may dare to do right! that you may have the moral courage to dare to settle this great question, just upon its own intrinsic merits, independent of the sanity or the insanity of its defender. very respectfully submitted to the general assembly of illinois, now in session, by-- mrs. e. p. w. packard. springfield, illinois, february th, . the result of this appeal was the passage of the "personal liberty bill," entitled "an act for the protection of personal liberty." action of illinois legislature on this subject. an act in relation to insane persons and the illinois state hospital for the insane. section . _be it enacted by the people of the state of illinois, represented in the general assembly_: that the circuit judges of this state are hereby vested with power to act under and execute the provisions of the act passed on the th of february, , entitled "an act to amend an act entitled 'an act to establish the illinois state hospital for the insane,'" in force march st, , in so far as those provisions confer power upon judges of county courts; and no trial shall be had of the question of sanity or insanity before any judge or court, without the presence or in the absence of the person alleged to be insane. and jurors shall be freeholders and heads of families. sec. . whenever application is made to a circuit or county judge, under the provisions of this act and the act to which this is an amendment, for proceedings to inquire into and ascertain the insanity or sanity of any person alleged to be insane, the judge shall order the clerk of the court of which he is judge to issue a writ, requiring the person alleged to be insane to be brought before him, at the time and place appointed for the hearing of the matter, which writ may be directed to the sheriff or any constable of the county, or the person having the custody or charge of the person alleged to be insane, and shall be executed and returned, and the person alleged to be insane brought before the said judge before any jury is sworn to inquire into the truth of the matters alleged in the petition on which said writ was issued. sec. . persons with reference to whom proceedings may be instituted for the purpose of deciding the question of sanity or insanity, shall have the right to process for witnesses, and to have witnesses examined before the jury; they shall also have the right to employ counsel or any friend to appear in their behalf, so that a fair trial may be had in the premises; and no resident of the state shall hereafter be admitted into the hospital for the insane, except upon the order of a court or judge, or of the production of a warrant issued according to the provisions of the act to which this is an amendment. sec. . the accounts of said institution shall be so kept and reported to the general assembly, as to show the kind, quantity and cost of any articles purchased for use; and upon quarterly settlements with the auditor, a list of the accounts paid shall be filed, and also the original vouchers, as now required. sec. . all former laws conflicting with the provisions of this act are hereby repealed, and this act shall take effect on its passage. approved february , . two years practice under this law developed its inability to remove the evils it was designed to remedy. this law, having no penalty to enforce it, was found to be violated in many instances, as it was ascertained to be a fact that dr. mcfarland was constantly receiving patients under the old law of , which this law had nominally repealed. therefore, a petition was sent to the legislature of , signed by i. n. arnold, j. young scammon, and thirty-six other men of the first legal standing in chicago, asking for the practical repeal of the old law of , by the enforcement of the new law of . the old law of is as follows, viz.: "married women and infants who, in the judgment of the medical superintendent, (meaning the superintendent of the illinois state hospital for the insane,) are evidently insane or distracted, may be entered or detained in the hospital on the request of the husband of the woman, or the guardian of the infant, _without_ the evidence of insanity required in other cases." the legislature was led to see that by the practical enforcement of this unjust law, the personal liberty of married women and infants was still imperiled, and also that the law of did not relieve the wronged and injured victims of this unjust law, now imprisoned at jacksonville insane asylum. therefore, the legislature of passed the following "act for the protection of personal liberty." an act for the protection of personal liberty. section . _be it enacted by the people of the state of illinois, represented in the general assembly_: that no superintendent, medical director, agent or other person, having the management, supervision or control of the insane hospital at jacksonville, or of any hospital or asylum for insane and distracted persons in this state, shall receive, detain or keep in custody at such asylum or hospital any person who has not been declared insane or distracted by a verdict of a jury and the order of a court, as provided by an act of the general assembly of this state, approved february , . sec. . any person having charge of, or the management or control of any hospital for the insane, or of any asylum for the insane in this state, who shall receive, keep or detain any person in such asylum or hospital, against the wishes of such person, without the record or proper certificate of the trial required by the said act of , shall be deemed guilty of a high misdemeanor, and liable to indictment, and on conviction be fined not more than one thousand dollars, nor less than five hundred dollars, or imprisoned not exceeding one year, nor less than three months, or both, in the discretion of the court before which such conviction is had: _provided_, that one half of such fine shall be paid to the informant, and the balance shall go to the benefit of the hospital or asylum in which said person was detained. sec. . any person now confined in any insane hospital or asylum, and all persons now confined in the hospital for the insane at jacksonville, who have not been tried and found insane or distracted by the verdict of a jury, as provided in and contemplated by said act of the general assembly of , shall be permitted to have such trial. all such persons shall be informed by the trustees of said hospital or asylum, in their discretion, of the provisions of this act and of the said act of , and on their request, such persons shall be entitled to such trial within a reasonable time thereafter: _provided_, that such trial may be had in the county where such person is confined or detained, unless such person, his or her friends, shall, within thirty days after any such person may demand a trial under the provisions of said act of , provide for the transportation of such person to, and demand trial in the county where such insane person resided previous to said detention, in which case such trial shall take place in said last mentioned county. sec. . all persons confined as aforesaid, if not found insane or distracted by a trial and the verdict of a jury as above, and in the said act of provided, within two months after the passage of this act, shall be set at liberty and discharged. sec. . it shall be the duty of the state's attorneys for the several counties to prosecute any suit arising under the provisions of this act. sec. . this act shall be deemed a public act, and take effect and be in force from and after its passage. approved march th, . the public will see that, under the humane provisions of this act, all the inmates of every insane asylum in the state of illinois, whether public or private, who have been incarcerated without the verdict of a jury that they are insane, are now entitled to a jury trial, and unless this trial is granted them within sixty days from the th of march, , they are discharged, and can never be incarcerated again without the verdict of a jury that they are insane. no person can be detained there after sixty days, who has not been declared insane by a jury. it is thus that the barbarities of the law of are wiped out by this act of legislative justice. now, all married women and infants who have been imprisoned "without evidence of insanity," as this unjust law allows, and who are still living victims of this cruel law, will now be liberated from their false imprisonment, unless they have become insane by the inhumanity of their confinement. and if it is found by the testimony that they were sane when they were imprisoned, and that they have become insane by being kept there, is it humane to perpetuate the cause of their insanity, under the pretext that their cure demands it? or, in other words, is that kind of treatment which caused their insanity the best adapted to cure their insanity? this great question, who shall be retained as fit subjects for the insane asylum, is now to depend, in all cases, upon the decision of a jury; and each case must be legally investigated, as the law of directs. another act of legislative justice--appointment of an investigating committee. _resolved, the senate concurring_, that a joint committee of three from this house and two from the senate be appointed to visit the hospital for the insane, after the adjournment, of the legislature, at such times as they may deem necessary, with power to send for persons and papers, and to examine witnesses on oath; that said committee be instructed thoroughly to examine and inquire into the financial and sanitary management of said institution; to ascertain whether any of the inmates are improperly detained in the hospital, or unjustly placed there, and whether the inmates are humanely and kindly treated, and to confer with the trustees of said hospital in regard to the speedy correction of any abuses found to exist, and to report to the governor, from time to time, at their discretion. _and be it further resolved_, that said committee be instructed to examine the financial and general management of the other state institutions. adopted by the house of representatives, f. corwin, _speaker_. concurred in by the senate, wm. bross, _speaker_. the following gentlemen compose the committee: hon. e. baldwin, farm ridge, lasalle county; hon. t. b. wakeman, howard, mchenry county; hon. john b. ricks, taylorville, christian county, on the part of the house of representatives. hon. allen c. fuller, belvidere, boone county; hon. a. j. hunter, paris, edgar county, on the part of the senate. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. punctuation has been corrected without note. the following misprints have been corrected: "dont" corrected to "don't" (page [twice]) "misued" corrected to "misused" (page ) "ful" corrected to "full" (page ) "other'" corrected to "other's" (page ) "o" corrected to "to" (page ) "massachusets" corrected to "massachusetts" (page ) "one s" corrected to "one's" (page ) "pedition" corrected to "perdition" (page ) "arduour" corrected to "arduous" (page ) "ander" corrected to "under" (page ) "dont" corrected to "don't" (page ) "kankahee" corrected to "kankakee" (page ) "satte" corrected to "state" (page ) other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. generously made available by the internet archive.) on the state of lunacy and the legal provision for the insane, with observations on the construction and organization of asylums. by john t. arlidge, m.b., a.b. (lond.), licentiate of the royal college of physicians; associate of king's college, london; physician to the west of london hospital; formerly medical superintendent of st. luke's hospital, and physician to the surrey dispensary, etc. london: john churchill, new burlington street. . printed by taylor and francis, red lion court, fleet street. to the right honourable the earl of shaftesbury, chairman of the commission of lunacy, whose long-continued and untiring efforts in behalf of the insane have earned for him the highest esteem and admiration of all who feel interested in the welfare of that class of the afflicted, this treatise is, by permission, respectfully dedicated by his lordship's most obedient humble servant, the author. preface. the writer of a book is usually expected to show cause for its production,--a custom which, however commendable as a sort of homage to his readers for challenging their attention to his lucubrations, must often put the ingenuity of an author to the test. indeed the writer of this present treatise would feel some embarrassment in accounting for its production, did he not entertain the conviction that he has, in however imperfect a manner, supplied a work on several important subjects which have never before been so placed before the public, and which, moreover, occupy just now a most prominent position among the topics of the day. in the last parliament, up to the period of its dissolution, a special committee of the house of commons was engaged in examining into the condition of lunatics and the laws of lunacy; and the present government has re-appointed the committee, in order to resume the inquiry preparatory to the introduction of new enactments into the legislature. the subjects treated of in the following pages relate to the same matters which have engaged the attention of parliament, and elicited the special inquiry mentioned, viz. the present state of lunacy and of the legal provision for the insane with reference to their future wants. in order to a better appreciation of the existing provision for the insane, and of its defects, the author has introduced certain preliminary chapters on the number of the insane, on the increase of insanity, on the inadequacy of the existing public provision for the insane, and on the curability of insanity. in reviewing the character and extent of the provisions for the insane, the course adopted has been to regard them in reference to their effects on recovery, and to discover the conditions inimical to it, whether without or within asylums. hence the evils of private treatment and of workhouse detention of lunatics, particularly of the latter, have largely claimed attention. the condition of pauper lunatics boarded with their friends or with strangers demanded special notice, as did the long-complained-of evils of sending unfit cases to the county asylums, often to the exclusion of recent and curable ones, which might by proper treatment be restored to health and society. turning to the consideration of our public asylums, considered as curative institutions, the disposition to extend them to an unmanageable size, and to substitute routine for treatment, has called for animadversion, as an error pregnant with numerous evils to their afflicted inmates. another error pointed out is that of appointing too small a medical staff to asylums; and in proving this, as well as in estimating the proper size of asylums, the experience and opinions of both english and foreign physicians are copiously referred to. the future provision for the insane forms an important chapter, which, in order to consider the several schemes proposed, is divided into several sections, viz. concerning the propriety of building separate asylums for recent and for chronic cases--of constructing distinct sections--of distributing certain patients in cottage homes--of erecting separate institutions for epileptics and for idiots. the registration of lunatics has appeared to the author's mind of so great necessity and value that he has devoted several pages to unfold his views and to meet probable objections; and, in order to render the plan effectual, he has propounded as a complementary scheme the appointment of district medical officers, and entered into detail respecting the duties to be imposed upon them. viewing the commission of lunacy as the pivot upon which any system of supervising and protecting all classes of lunatics must turn, it became necessary to examine into the capability of the present board for its duties; and the result of that examination is, that this board is inadequate to the effectual performance of the duties at present allotted to it, and that it would be rendered still more so by the adoption of any scheme for a thoroughly complete inspection and guardianship of all lunatics. this conclusion suggests the proposition to enlarge the commission, chiefly or wholly, by the appointment of assistant commissioners, charged particularly with the duties of inspectors. the concluding chapter, on asylum construction, may be considered supplementary. its chief intent is to develope a principle generally ignored, although (unless the arguments in support of it fail) one of great importance if asylums are to serve, not as simple refuges for lunatics, but as instruments for treating them. this _résumé_ of the heads of subjects discussed in the ensuing pages will, on the one hand, show that the present is not to be reckoned as a medical treatise, but as one addressed to all who are interested either in the legislation for lunatics or in their well-being and treatment; and, on the other, make good, it is trusted, the assertion that it occupies an untrodden field in the literature of insanity, and that its matter is good, even should its manner be thought not so. assuming the publication of the book to be justifiable, it only remains for the author to add that he has not undertaken its composition without bringing to the task thirteen years' study and practical experience among the insane, treated in private houses, in licensed houses, and in public asylums, together with the fruits of observation gathered from the visitation of most of the principal asylums of france, germany, and italy. in conclusion, he hopes that this small volume may in some measure contribute towards the amelioration of the condition of the insane, who have such especial claims on public sympathy and aid. j. t. a. kensington, july . contents. preliminary observations. importance of an inquiry relative to the number of the insane, and the legal provision for them, . chap. i.--of the number of the insane. official returns imperfect, .--divergence of returns of lunacy commissioners and of poor-law board, .--unreported 'private' lunatics, .--criminal lunatics in prisons, .--inadequate estimate of the number of the insane, .--illustration of the difficulty of discovering the true statistics of lunacy, .--number of pauper lunatics in workhouses, .--paupers not enumerated in official returns, .--estimate of the total number of the insane on st of january , .--causes of apparent increase, . chap. ii.--on the increase of insanity. materials for calculation unsatisfactory, .--rate of accumulation of the insane in asylums, .--estimate of increase made by the commissioners, .--table of number of lunatic paupers in workhouses, .--calculation of their rate of increase, .--increase of pauper lunatics not in workhouses or asylums, .--total increase and accumulation of lunatics, .--positive increase of insanity by new cases, .--table of admissions in four years, .--total number of new cases added yearly, .--expenditure on account of the pauper insane, .--proportion of the insane to the population, .--cause of accumulation of the insane, .--suggestions for obtaining improved statistics of pauper lunatics, . chap. iii.--state of the present provision for the insane in asylums.--its inadequacy. commissioners' calculation of asylum accommodation wanted, .--their conclusion that the present provision is inadequate, .--on the accuracy of the commissioners' conclusions, .--pauper lunatics accommodated in workhouses, and boarded out, .--their unsatisfactory condition, .--colony of insane at gheel, in belgium, .--character of lunatics in workhouses, .--unfit cases of insanity in workhouses, .--commissioners' estimate that one-half of lunatic inmates of workhouses are improperly detained, .--estimate of asylum accommodation required, . chap. iv.--on the curability of insanity. insanity a very curable disorder, .--experience of american physicians, .--exceptional circumstances in american asylums, .--experience of st. luke's hospital, london, .--experience of the derby county asylum, .--advantages of early treatment, . chap. v.--on the causes diminishing the curability of insanity, and involving the multiplication of chronic a. _causes external to asylums._ § _detention of patients in their own homes._ absence of all curative influences at home, .--causes of delay in submitting patients to treatment, .--impediments to transmission to county asylums, .--evils of pauper test in public asylums, .--characters of continental asylums, .--practice followed in america, .--scheme of assessment of means of those applying for admission to public asylums, .--failure of the pauper test to protect the rate-payers, .--its demoralizing and degrading effects, .--suggestion as to conditions and mode of admission into county asylums, .--act in force to recover the costs of maintenance objectionable and inefficient, . § _detention of patients in workhouses._ detention practised on economical considerations, .--examination of the value of such considerations, .--estimated cost in asylums and in workhouses includes different items in the two, .--illustration from the devon asylum report, .--children constitute above two-thirds of workhouse inmates, .--material effect of this on the cost of maintenance, .--inmates of asylums almost all adult, .--fluctuations among inmates of workhouses greater than in asylums, .--mode of estimating the rate per head of cost in workhouses, .--population of workhouses, sane and insane mixed, ;--that of asylums of insane especially, .--those insane who involve increased cost rejected from workhouses, .--remarks on this point by dr. bucknill, .--economy of workhouses for the insane doubtful, .--cost of asylums contrasted with that of workhouses, .--system of asylum structure hitherto adopted unnecessarily expensive, .--workhouses and asylums not fairly comparable as to cost, .--plan to diminish cost of asylums one-half, .--chronic lunatics can be provided with asylum accommodation at a rate not exceeding that for workhouses, .--internal cost of asylums and workhouses compared, .--mistaken policy of constructing lunatic wards, .--unfitness of workhouses for insane patients, , .--evils attending presence of lunatics in workhouses, .--american experience in the matter, .--workhouses unfit by structure and organization, , .--workhouse detention especially prejudicial to recent cases, , .--deficiency of medical care and of nursing in workhouses, , .--the dietary of workhouses insufficient for lunatics, , .--injurious effects of workhouse wards upon lunatics, , .--lunacy commissioners' remarks thereon, .--dr. bucknill's remarks on the same subject, .--characters of the lunatic inmates of workhouses, .--the majority of them imbecile and idiotic, .--proportion especially claiming asylum care, .--epileptics and paralytics unfit inmates of workhouses, .--old demented cases badly provided for in workhouses, .--imbecile patients are, as a rule, unfit inmates, .--idiots improperly detained in workhouses, .--none but a few imbeciles permissible in workhouses, .--on the class of supposed 'harmless' lunatics, .--remarks by dr. bucknill on this class, .--experience of the surrey magistrates on transferring 'harmless' patients to workhouses, .--degradation of the patients' condition in workhouses, .--legality of workhouse detention examined, .--remarks on this subject by the lunacy commissioners, .--clauses of the lunacy asylums act bearing on the subject, .--defects of the law in protecting the pauper insane, .--remarks of the lunacy commissioners on the anomalies of the law, .--objections to the powers conferred upon parochial officers, .--the law obscure, and open to evasion, .--duties of the parish medical officers ill-defined, .--proposal of a district medical officer, .--contravention of the law by boards of guardians, , .--the further construction of lunatic wards should be stopped, .--necessity for the supervision of the lunacy commissioners over workhouses, .--several amendments of the lunacy laws suggested, .--proposed regulations for supervision of workhouses containing lunatics, , .--lunatics in workhouses should be under certificates, .--proposal to increase powers of lunacy commissioners over workhouses, .--on the supplement to the 'twelfth report' ( ) 'of the commissioners in lunacy,' on workhouses, .--abstract of its contents:--unfitness of workhouses for lunatics, .--workhouses in large towns most objectionable, .--lunatic wards more objectionable than the intermixture of the insane with the other inmates, .--miserable state of the insane in lunatic wards, , .--no efficient visitation of workhouse lunatics, .--insufficiency of the dietary for insane inmates, .--medical treatment and nursing most defective, .--fearful abuse of mechanical restraint in workhouses, .--wretched neglect and want in the internal arrangements for lunatics in workhouses, .--abuse of seclusion in workhouses, .--varieties of mechanical restraint employed, .--absence of all means for exercise and occupation, .--lunatics in workhouses committed to gaol, .--neglect and contravention of the law by parish officers, .--amendments in the law suggested by the lunacy commissioners, .--proposal to erect asylums for chronic cases, , .--visiting justices of asylums to supervise workhouse lunatic inmates, , . § _pauper lunatics living with relatives or strangers._ number of such lunatics, .--neglect of their condition, .--question of insanity should be left to the district medical officer, , .--this officer should visit and report on their condition, , .--indications of the unsatisfactory state of this class of pauper lunatics, .--evidence from dr. hitchman's reports, .--wretched state of 'single' pauper patients in scotland, .--neglect of poor-law medical officers towards such patients, .--objections to boarding pauper lunatics with strangers, .--district medical officer to select their residence, , .--advantage of keeping them in lodgings near asylums, , .--distribution of lunatics in cottage homes, , .--notice of the colony of insane at gheel, , . § _unfit cases sent to asylums.--improper treatment prior to admission._ recklessness and cruelty in transmitting patients, .--non-lunatic cases sent to asylums, .--cases of very aged persons sent, .--previous horrible neglect of patients, and their moribund state on admission, .--extracts from reports of asylum superintendents illustrative of the facts, - .--transfer of lunatics to asylums must be committed to some competent and independent officer, .--want of instruction for medical men in insanity, ;--errors committed owing to the want of it, .--neglect of psychological medicine in medical education, .--law regulating transfer of weak cases to asylums, .--an amendment of the law requisite, . chap. vi.--causes operating within asylums to diminish the curability of insanity, and involving a multiplication of chronic lunatics. § _magisterial interference_ and § _excessive size of asylums_. defective medical staff in large asylums, .--efficient treatment impossible, , .--degeneration of management into routine, .--exclusive estimation of so-called 'moral treatment,' .--a very large asylum especially prejudicial to recent cases, .--delegation of medical duties to attendants, .--evils of absence of medical supervision over individual patients, .--evils of large asylums upon character of attendants, .--routine character of medical visits, , .--necessity of medical supervision being complete, , , .--distinction of asylum attendants into two classes--attendants proper, or nurses, and cleaners, .--objections advanced by the lunacy commissioners to large lunatic asylums, .--the erection of large asylums supposed to be economical, .--the supposition fallacious, .--commissioners' remarks on these topics, .--rate of maintenance higher in the largest asylums, .--inadequate remuneration of medical superintendents, .--lord shaftesbury's advocacy of improved salaries, . § _limit to be fixed to the size of asylums._ proper number to be accommodated in an asylum, , , _et seq._--estimate of american physicians, .--estimate of french and german physicians, .--peculiar organization of german asylums, , . § _increase of the medical staff of asylums._ opinions of foreign physicians on the subject, .--estimate of the medical staff requisite, .--erroneous views prevalent in some asylums, .--illustration furnished by the middlesex asylums, .--jacobi's views of asylum organization, .--advantages of unity in the organization of asylums, .--appointment of a chief physician, paramount in authority, .--circumstances affecting the selection of asylum superintendents, . chap. vii.--on the future provision for the insane. rapid extension in the demand for accommodation, .--illustrated by reference to the middlesex asylums, . § _separate asylums for the more recent and for chronic cases._ objections to such separate establishments, .--examination of the value of these objections, .--cases to be transferred from one institution to the other, how determined, .--mixture of recent with chronic cases undesirable, , .--examination of the present relative position of acute and chronic cases, .--separate treatment of recent cases desirable, .--influence of distance on the utility of an asylum as a place of treatment, .--borough asylums, .--many chronic cases removable from asylums, .--less expensive buildings needed for chronic cases, .--views of the lunacy commissioners on these points, .--evidence of lord shaftesbury, .--french system of dividing asylums into 'quarters,' .--permissive power of lunacy act to build distinct asylums for chronic cases, .--on the powers of the home secretary to control asylum construction, .--amendment of present act proposed, .--on mixed asylums, for recent and chronic cases together, .--conditions under which distinct institutions are desirable, .--advantages of an hospital for recent cases, .--number of inmates proper in such an hospital, .--regulations required in it, .--organization of asylums for chronic cases, .--union of counties for the purpose of constructing joint asylums, . § _construction of distinct sections to asylums._ german system of 'relative connexion' of asylums for recent and chronic cases, .--proposition of lunacy commissioners to place industrial classes of patients in distinct wards, .--advantages of separate sections, .--objections to a purely 'industrial classification' of patients, . § _distribution of the chronic insane in cottage homes._ subdivision of asylums for chronic cases, .--illustration of cottage provision for the insane at gheel, .--the system at gheel impracticable as a whole, .--the 'cottage system' deserving of trial under proper restrictions, .--suggestions as to the arrangements required, .--'cottage system' supplementary to asylums, .--economy of 'cottage system,' . § _separate provision for epileptics and idiots._ epileptics need separate provision, .--idiots not fit inmates of lunatic asylums, .--idiots require special asylum provision, .--removal of idiots from workhouses, . chap. viii.--registration of lunatics. necessity of registering the insane, .--large number of insane at present unprotected, .--legal advantages of registration, .--desirability of correct statistics of insanity, .--lord shaftesbury's evidence on this point, .--registration as a means of discovering the existence and condition of lunatics, .--registration would promote early treatment, .--should be accompanied by visitation, .--enactment necessary to regulate the sending of lunatics abroad, .--practice pursued in sardinia, .--suggestions offered, .--all patients removed uncured from asylums ought to have the place of their removal reported, .--objections raised to registration, .--their validity examined, .--principle of a compulsory registration and visitation of all lunatics recognized in belgium, .--english enactments respecting 'single' patients, .--their failure, .--lunatics secluded under the name of 'nervous' patients, .--lord shaftesbury's observations on defects in the lunacy laws respecting 'single' cases, .--clauses to act, proposed by his lordship, to deal with 'nervous' patients, .--clauses open to some objections, .--lord shaftesbury's proposal to report every 'nervous' patient, .--compulsory powers of lunacy act defective, .--suggestions made, .--proposition to report all lunatics to a district medical officer, who should visit, .--additional certificate granted by this officer, .--lunatics well protected, .--modification of present form of certificates of insanity, .--objections to two forms of certificates, .--determination of the nature of certificate to be given, .--clause in scotch asylums act respecting 'single' cases, .--need of mitigated certificates and of intermediate asylums for certain cases of mental disturbance, . chap. ix.--appointment of district medical officers. district physicians appointed in italy and germany, .--recognition of principle of appointing district officers in england, in the instance of sanitary medical officers, .--district medical officers need to be independent, .--extent of districts, .--such officers to register and visit reported cases of lunacy, .--their reports of cases valuable, .--idiots also should be registered, .--district officer might sign order for admission to an asylum, .--better qualified for the duty than magistrates, , .--illustrations from evidence of lord shaftesbury and mr. gaskell, .--suggestions respecting signature of orders, .--objections to clergymen signing orders, .--magistrate's order not required for private patients, .--remarks on proposition of commissioners to leave selection of cases in workhouses for asylum treatment to the union medical officer, .--district officer best qualified for this duty, .--additional protection afforded to lunatics by the appointment of district medical officers, .--district officer to inspect lunatics in workhouses, .--regulations for his guidance, .--lunatics in workhouses should be under certificate, .--medical officer best judge of the wants of cases, .--no removal of lunatics from workhouses without supervision, .--committee of visiting magistrates for workhouses, .--principles of action of the lunacy commission, .--commissioners' recommendation of visiting committees, .--workhouses licensed to receive lunatics, .--lunatics in workhouses reported by district officer, .--visitation of pauper lunatics by parish authorities, .--no such visitation of county lunatics, .--desirability that county lunatics should have a visitor, .--determination of question of lunatics chargeable best left to district officer, .--duties of district officer with outdoor pauper lunatics, .--need of inspection of singly-placed lunatics, .--cost of such inspection, .--district officer to visit single cases in lodgings, &c., .--to visit private asylums as the physician, joined in inspection with the magistrates, .--position and remuneration of district officers, .--such officers to be met with, .--district officers engaged in medico-legal inquiries, .--such a class of officers much needed, .--neglect of organization in state medical matters, .--a proper organization not necessarily costly, . chap. x.--on the lunacy commission. centralization dreaded as an evil, .--importance of a central and independent body to the interests of the insane, , .--want of power in the hands of commissioners, .--reasons for a central board, .--more frequent visitation of asylums desired, .--value of commissioners' opinion on lunatic cases, .--inquiries of commissioners respecting the payment for patients, .--divided authority of commissioners and magistrates in the case of private asylums, .--anomaly of this state of things, .--lunacy commissioners too few, .--magistrates not effectual as asylum visitors, .--jurisdiction of the commission should be the same throughout the country, .--licensing powers of magistrates, .--duties of office of masters in lunacy, .--commissioners should visit all lunatics, whether chancery or not, .--proposed division of lunacy commission, , .--advantages of the division proposed, .--reasons for increasing commission, .--want of commissioners' supervision of lunatics in gaols, .--inadequacy of the present number of commissioners, .--appointment of assistant commissioners, . chap. xi.--of some principles in the construction of public lunatic asylums. principles of construction in general use, .--authorities on asylum construction, .--examination of the 'ward system,' .--sketch of the conditions of life in a 'ward,' .--disadvantages of the arrangements, .--the arrangements of a ward vary widely from those of ordinary life, .--day and night accommodation should be quite separate, .--advantages of this plan, .--salubrity, warming, and ventilation promoted, .--economy resulting therefrom, .--means of communication facilitated, .--supervision facilitated, .--classification improved, .--domestic arrangements facilitated, .--management facilitated, .--a smaller staff of attendants required, .--the cost of construction diminished, .--objections to a third story removed, . the state oe lunacy, and the legal provision for the insane. preliminary observations. the number of the insane, and the legal provision requisite for their protection, care, and treatment, are subjects which will always recommend themselves to public attention and demand the interest alike of the political economist, the legislator, and the physician. to the first, the great questions of the prevalence of insanity in the community, its increase or decrease, its hereditary character, and others of the same kind, possess importance in relation to the general prosperity and advance of the nation; to the second devolves the duty of devising measures to secure the protection both of the public and the lunatic, with due regard to the personal liberty, and the proper care and treatment, of the latter; to the last belongs the practical application of many of the provisions of the law, besides the exercise of professional skill in the management and treatment of the insane. moreover it will not be denied that, owing to the intimate manner in which he is concerned with all that relates to the lunatic, with all the details of the laws regulating his custody and general treatment, as well as with the institutions in which he is detained, with the features of his malady, and with all his wants, the physician devoted to the care of the insane is well qualified to offer suggestions and recommendations to the legislator. hence the present pages, in which the aim is to examine the present state of lunacy; the advantages to be gained by early treatment; and the adequacy of the existing legal provision for the insane; and to offer some suggestions for improving the condition, and for amending the laws relating to the care and treatment, of this afflicted class of our fellow-creatures. the whole subject of the efficiency of the lunacy laws and of their administration, occupies just now a prominent place in public attention, owing to the rapid multiplication of county asylums and the constantly augmenting charges entailed by them; to the prevalent impression that insanity is rapidly increasing; to recent agitation in our law courts respecting the legal responsibility of the insane and the conditions under which they should be subjected to confinement, and still more to the proposed legislation on the matter during the present session of parliament. it would be a great desideratum could the lunacy laws be consolidated, and an arrest take place in the almost annual additions and amendments made to them by parliament; but, perhaps, this is next to impracticable, owing to the attempts at any systematic, effectual, and satisfactory legislation for the insane, being really of very recent date, and on that account subject to revisions enforced by experience of its defects and errors. however, the present time appears singularly suited to make the attempt at consolidation, so far as practicable, inasmuch as the appointment of a special committee of the house of commons on the lunacy laws, furnishes the means for a complete investigation into existing defects, and for receiving information and suggestions from those practically acquainted with the requirements of the insane, and with the operations of existing enactments. to fulfil the objects taken in hand, and, in the first place, to sketch the present state of lunacy in this country, it will be necessary to investigate the number of the insane, and the annual rate of their increase; then to examine the extent of the present provision for them in asylums and of probable future wants. this done, after a brief essay on the curability of insanity, as a means of judging what may be done to mitigate the evil, we shall review the present provision for lunatics, point out its defects, and suggest various remedial measures, calculated in our opinion to improve the condition of the insane, diminish the evil of the accumulation of chronic cases, and render asylums more serviceable and efficient. in carrying out our design, we shall be found in some measure occupying ground already taken up by the commissioners in lunacy, and by some able essayists in the medical journals. we do not regret this, although it may deprive us somewhat of the merit of originality of conception and elucidation, as it will strengthen our positions and enhance the value of our remarks. fortunately, too, we coincide generally with the opinions from time to time put forth by the lunacy commissioners, to whom so great merit is due for their labours in the interests of the insane, and for the character and position our county asylums enjoy in the estimation of our own people and of foreign nations. to attempt the character of a reformer when the affairs of lunacy and lunatic asylums are in such good hands may be deemed somewhat ambitious; yet as sometimes an ordinary looker-on may catch sight of a matter which has eluded the diligent observer, and, as the views and suggestions advanced are the result of mature and independent thought, aided by experience of considerable length, and very varied, the undertaking may, we trust, be received with favour. at all events, we flatter ourselves that the representation of the state of lunacy in england and wales; the estimate of its increase and of the provision made for it; the evils of workhouses as primary or permanent receptacles for the insane; the ill consequences of large asylums, and some of the legal amendments proposed, are in themselves subjects calculated to enlist the attention of all interested in the general welfare of our lunatic population, and in the administration of the laws and institutions designed whether for its protection or for its care and treatment. chap. i.--of the number of the insane. this inquiry must be preliminary to any consideration of the provision made or to be made for the insane. in carrying it out, we have chiefly to rely upon the annual reports of the commissioners in lunacy along with, so far as pauper lunatics are concerned, those of the poor-law board. however, these reports do not furnish us with complete statistics, and the total number of our insane population can be only approximately ascertained. the lunacy commission is principally occupied with those confined in public asylums and hospitals, and in licensed houses, and publishes only occasional imperfect returns of patients detained in workhouses or singly in private dwellings. on the other hand, the poor-law board charges itself simply with the enumeration of pauper lunatics supported out of poor-rates, whether in asylums or workhouses, or living with friends or elsewhere. hence the returns of neither of these public boards represent the whole case; and hence, too, the chief apparent discrepancies which occur when those returns are compared. to show this, we may copy the tables presented in appendix h of the report of the commissioners in lunacy for , p. . "increase of lunatics of all classes during the last five years, according to commissioners' reports paupers , , private patients , , ------ ------ , , "according to returns published by poor law board during same period county and borough asylums , , licensed houses , , workhouses , , with friends or elsewhere , , ------ ------ , , ." this very considerable difference of patients between the two estimates is mainly due--as reference to the summary (at p. ) proves--to the omission, on the part of the lunacy commissioners, of those resident in workhouses and "with friends, or elsewhere," reckoned in the table of the poor-law board. this explanation, however, is only partial, for, after allowing for it, the two estimates are found to diverge very considerably. thus, on adding the numbers in the categories last named, viz. + = , in ,--and + = , , in to the total given by the commissioners in each of those years, viz. to , and , , respectively, we obtain a total of , in , and one of , in ; a variation of in the former, and of in the latter year, from the results given in the table presented by the poor-law board. much of this wide difference is explicable by the board last mentioned not having reckoned the private patients, who amounted in to , and in to . still, after all attempts to balance the two accounts, there is a difference unaccounted for, of in , and of in . no clue is given in the official documents to the cause of this discrepancy, and we are left in doubt which estimate of our lunatic population is the more correct. the excess occurs in the commissioners' returns; for on adding together, in each year in question, the numbers reported by the poor-law board, as detained in county and borough asylums and in licensed houses, we find that the totals respectively are less than the whole number of paupers as calculated by the lunacy commissioners, by the precise difference we have made out, viz. in and in . of the two returns before us, we accept that of the lunacy commission, viz. that there were, including those in workhouses, and with friends or elsewhere, , reported lunatics in , and , in ; and account for this larger total by the fact that the poor-law board returns apply only to unions and omit the lunacy statistics of many single parishes, under local acts, and some rural parishes under 'gilbert's act,'--containing in them together above a million and a half people more than are found in unions. moreover, the poor-law board returns do not include county and borough patients. looking to these facts, the excess of in , and of in , over and above the totals quoted from the summary of the poor-law board, is not surprising; indeed, taking the average usually allowed of one lunatic in every , the number in one million and a half would be above ; that is, more than half as many again as ; a result, which would indicate the commissioners' total to be within the truth. we have just used the term 'reported lunatics,' for, besides those under certificates and those returned as chargeable to parishes, comprised in the foregoing numbers, there are very many of whom no public board has cognizance. most such are private patients supported by their own means, disposed singly in the residences of private persons, throughout the length and breadth of the country, and, with few exceptions, without the supervision, in reference to their accommodation and treatment, of any public officer. the lunacy commissioners justly deplore this state of things; lament their inability, under existing acts, to remedy it, and confess that not a tithe of such patients is reported to them, according to the intention of the law ( & vict. cap. . sect. xvi.). it would appear that less than such cases are known to them; and it would not be an extravagant or unwarrantable estimate to calculate their whole number at about half that of the inmates of licensed houses, viz. at . this number would comprise those found lunatic by inquisition, not enumerated in the commissioners' summary, although under the inspection of the "medical visitors of lunatics." according to the returns moved for by mr. tite "of the total number of lunatics in respect of whom commissions in lunacy are now in force," there were, on the th july, , such lunatics, and of them were, according to the commissioners' tables, detained in asylums or licensed houses, leaving not reckoned upon. in addition to this class of the insane there is an unascertained small number of persons of unsound mind in the horde of vagrant paupers, alluded to occasionally in the lunacy commissioners' reports. the number of criminal lunatics in asylums is noted in the returns, but that of those in jails is not reckoned. although this is comparatively small, owing to the usual custom of transferring prisoners, when insane, to asylums, yet, at any one period, a proportion sufficient to figure in a calculation of the whole insane population of the country will always be found. nay more, besides such scattered instances in county prisons, there is a very appreciable number in the government jails and reformatories, as appears from the returns presented to parliament (reports of the directors of convict prisons, .) the prisons included in these reports are:--pentonville, millbank, portland, portsmouth, dartmoor, parkhurst, chatham, brixton, fulham refuge, and lewes. in the course of , persons of unsound mind were confined, some for a longer or shorter period, others for the whole of the year, in one or other of those prisons. making allowance for those of the who by removal from one prison to another (a transfer apparently of common occurrence, the rationale of which we should find it difficult to explain), might be reckoned twice, it may be safely stated that at least were in the prison-infirmaries in question the whole year. in fact, the infirmary of dartmoor prison has wards specially appropriated to insane patients, and actually constitutes a criminal asylum of no insignificant magnitude. for instance, the report tells us that on the st of january, , there remained in that prison cases; that were received during the year; discharged (where, or how, we are not told, except of , who were sent to bethlem hospital); and remained on the st of january . it is also worth noting that in this dartmoor prison infirmary, epileptics remained on january st, ; were admitted, discharged, and remained on january st, . the total of epileptics coming under notice in the infirmaries of the several prisons in question, in the course of , amounted to . the remarks on some of these cases of epilepsy by the medical officers, are sufficient to show that the convulsive malady has seriously affected the mental health, and that they might rightly be placed in the category of the insane. however, having no wish to enhance the proportion of the subjects for lunatic asylums, we will deal only with those enumerated as mentally disordered. these amounted, according to the preceding calculations, in the government prisons, to , and it would seem no exaggerated estimate to assert that an equal number may be found in the various other prisons and reformatories throughout the country. to put the matter in another form, lunatics are to be found in english prisons at any date that a census may be taken. consequently this sum of must be added in calculating the total of insane persons in this kingdom. to establish still further the proposition with which we set out, that our public statistics of insanity are incomplete, the history of every county asylum might be adduced: for, notwithstanding very considerable pains have been taken, on the proposition to build a new asylum, to ascertain the probable number of claimants, and a wide margin over and above that estimate has been allowed in fixing on the extent of accommodation provided, yet no sooner has the institution got into operation, than its doors have been besieged by unheard-of applicants for admission, and within one-half or one-third of the estimated time, its wards have been filled and an extension rendered imperative. such is a _résumé_ of the general history of english county asylums, attested in the strongest manner by that of the middlesex, the lancashire, and the montgomery asylums; and confirmatory of the fact of the augmentation of insanity in the country at a rate exceeding, more or less, that collected from county returns and public statistics. it is, moreover, to be observed, that the official statistics represent the total of lunatics existing on one particular day, usually the first of january, in each year, and take no account of those many who are admitted and discharged within the year, and who rightly should be reckoned in an estimate of the total number of the insane belonging to that period. the average daily number resident in asylums would be a more correct representation of their insane population than the total taken on any one day, although it would fail to show the lunacy of the year. lastly, to illustrate the point discussed, to indicate how imperfect our present estimate of the prevalence of insanity most probably is, and to show the difficulties and defects of any ordinary census, we may appeal to the experience of the special commission charged by the legislature of massachusetts to examine the statistics of lunacy and the condition of asylums in that state, as recorded in their report, published in . "in " (they write, p. ), "a committee of the legislature, appointed to 'consider the whole subject connected with insanity within the commonwealth,' ascertained and reported the number of insane in this state to be , of whom were able to furnish the means of their own support, and were unable to do so, and the pecuniary condition of was not ascertained. "in making that survey in , the commissioners addressed their letters of inquiry 'to the municipal authorities of every city and town in the commonwealth.' "these public officers had direct means of knowing the number and condition of the pauper insane, and probably this part of the report was complete; but they had no other facilities of knowing the condition of those lunatics who were in private families, and supported by their own property or by their friends, than other men not in office, and could only speak of those who were within their circle of personal acquaintance. consequently the report included only a part of the independent insane who were then actually in, or belonged to, the state." "in (p. ), the marshals, the agents of the national government who were appointed to take the census, visited every family; and, among other items of information, they asked for the insane and idiots in the household. "by this personal and official inquiry, made of some responsible member of every family, the marshals obtained the account of only insane persons and idiots, which is but little more than two-thirds of the number ascertained by this commission. "making all due allowance for the increase of population, and consequently of the insane and idiots, these figures undoubtedly show far less than the real amount of lunacy and idiotcy at that time, and render it extremely probable that many concealed the facts that the law required them to state to the marshals." thus the marshals discovered the number of insane to be in nearly double that returned in , and from their apparently searching inquiry, it might have been presumed that they had made a near approximation to the truth in the figures they published. however, the most pains-taking and varied investigations of the special commissioners in , prove the marshals to have much underrated the number, for the result arrived at was, that in the autumn of the year just named, there were lunatics, of whom were idiots, in the state of massachusetts. the partial explanation of the divergence in numbers, viz.:--"that it is probable that many of the families refused or neglected to report to the marshals the insane and idiots who were in their households,"--is of itself an indication of one of the impediments to a correct enumeration of the insane members of a community, even when such is attempted under favourable circumstances. it is one likewise which, however operative in the united states, where the public asylums are open to, and resorted to by, all classes of the community, must be still more so in this country, where family pride endeavours in every way to ignore and keep secret the mental affliction of a member, as though it were a plague spot. besides this, in no english census yet taken, has the enumeration of the insane constituted a special subject of inquiry. this illustration from american experience, coupled with the considerations previously advanced, suffice to demonstrate that the published statistics of insanity in england and wales are incomplete and erroneous, and that the machinery hitherto employed for collecting them has been imperfect. the corollary to this conclusion is, that the number of lunatics mentioned in the public official papers is much below the real one. however, the facts and figures in hand justify the attempt to fix a number which may be taken to represent _approximatively_ the total insane population of this kingdom. in their last report ( ), the english commissioners in lunacy state that, on january st, , there were confined in asylums, hospitals, and licensed houses, , pauper, and private patients, exhibiting an increase of pauper and of private cases upon the returns of the year preceding. pauper lunatics in workhouses are stated ( th annual report of the poor law board, ) to have numbered , and those receiving out-door relief , ; making a total of , . by the kindness of mr. purdy, the head of the statistical department of the poor-law office, we are enabled to explain that it is the custom of the office to reckon pauper lunatics in asylums and licensed houses among those receiving out-door relief; consequently the sum of , comprises both those patients provided for as just specified, and others boarded with their friends or elsewhere. we, however, learn further, from the same excellent authority, that, owing to the imperfection of the periodical returns, only a comparatively small portion of the pauper insane confined in asylums and licensed houses is included in that total. indeed, the fact of its being very much smaller than that of the lunatics in asylums and licensed houses, clearly enough shows that the latter are not reckoned in it except partially. considering that the poor law board obtain no record of the pauper insanity in one million and a half of the population of england and wales, nor of the number of insane belonging to counties and boroughs,--for this reason, that their cost of maintenance is not directly defrayed out of the poor-rates, there must necessarily be a much greater number in workhouses at large than the mentioned, and no inconsiderable proportion of poor lunatics dispersed abroad in the country not enumerated in the counted as existing in january st, . on these grounds, we assume as an approximative figure to represent the total of insane poor not under confinement in asylums and workhouses, believing fully that it will be found, on the publication of the returns for this year ( ), within the mark. private patients not in asylums, or licensed houses, often confined without certificates, and the majority unknown to the lunacy commissioners, we have put down, at a moderate estimate, at . the present state of the law does not enable the commissioners or others to discover these, often, we fear, neglected patients: and, on the other hand, the operation of the laws regulating asylums, and the feeling evoked by certain public trials of individuals confined in licensed houses, have, together, combined to render them more numerous, by inducing friends to keep them at home, to send them abroad to continental institutions, or to place them under the care of private persons or attendants in lodgings. this completes our enumeration; and the figures stand thus, on the st of january, :-- _pauper._ _private._ _total._ in asylums and licensed houses , , , in workhouses , ... , with friends, or elsewhere , , , in prisons, vagrants, &c. ... ------- ------- ------- , , , to extend the estimate to the commencement of the present year ( ), we require to add the gross increase of lunatics during to the total just arrived at: , . what this increase may be cannot be decisively stated; but to anticipate the estimate of it, which we shall presently arrive at, viz. per annum, the result is, that _on the st of january_ there were in england and wales, in round numbers, , persons of unsound mind, or, to employ the legal phraseology, lunatics and idiots. it perhaps should be explained, and more particularly with reference to those detained in workhouses or supported by their parishes at their own houses, that besides idiots, or those congenitally deficient, a very large proportion of them is composed of weak and imbecile folk, who would, in olden times, have been considered and called "fools," and not lunatics, and been let mix with their fellow-men, serve as their sport or their dupes, and exhibit their hatred and revenge by malicious mischief and fiendish cruelty. but, thanks to modern civilization and benevolence, these poor creatures are rightly looked upon as proper objects for the supervision, tending and kindness of those whom providence has favoured with a higher degree of intelligence. this act of philanthropy, effected at a great cost, elevates at the same time, very materially, the ratio of insane persons to the population, and thereby gives cause of alarm at the prevalence of mental disorder, and makes our sanitary statistics contrast unfavourably with those of foreign lands, where the same class of the sick poor has not been so diligently sought out and brought together with a view to their moral and material well-being. chap. ii.--on the increase of insanity. the only data at hand to calculate the gross increase of the insane in this country, year by year, or over a series of years, are those contained in the official reports of the commissioners in lunacy and of the poor-law board. these, as we have just shown in the preceding chapter, are incomplete as records of the state of lunacy, since they take no notice of numerous patients not in recognized asylums. moreover, the annual summary of the returns made by the commissioners of insane patients confined in asylums and licensed houses, represents a compound quantity, made up of the increment by accumulation in past years, and of the fresh cases admitted in any particular year, and remaining at its close. the same is true of the figures supplied by the poor-law board. now, though these summaries are useful to show the rate of accumulation of the insane in the various receptacles for them, annually or over any fixed period, they do not tell us how many persons are attacked by madness in any year, or other space of time; or, in other words, they do not inform us whether there is an actual increase, or a decrease in the annual number of persons becoming insane. this question of the simple increase or decrease of insanity cannot be correctly answered. it is elucidated in some measure, so far as licensed institutions for the insane are concerned, by the tables of admission for different years furnished by the reports of the lunacy commissioners; and it may be assumed to be partially answered by the returns of the number of lunatics in workhouses published by the poor-law board, after an allowance made for the diminution caused by deaths which have taken place in the twelvemonth; but no means whatever exist of discovering the number of persons annually attacked with mental disorder, who do not fall under the cognizance of the public boards. with the materials in hand, let us in the first place examine the results which follow from a comparison of the lunacy statistics of the commissioners, instituted at intervals of more or fewer years. by this course we shall attain, not indeed an estimate of the progressive increase of our insane population, but a valuable comparative return of the number of those enjoying the advantages of asylum care and management in different years. the summary presented in each annual report shows that there were in _males._ _females._ _total._ --private patients , , = , } pauper patients , , = , } = , --private patients , , = , } pauper patients , , = , } = , --private patients , , = , } pauper patients , , = , } = , from these tables it therefore appears that the accumulation of insane persons in asylums in the ten years between and , equalled ; and in the five years between and , ; or progressed at the rate of per annum in the ten years, and of · (or in round numbers ) per annum in the five years under review, or upwards of per cent. faster in the latter space of time. in their twelfth report ( ) the commissioners in lunacy attempt to calculate the probable demands for asylum accommodation on the st of january , from the increased number of lunatics in the space of one year, from january st, , to january st, , amounting to . but as we have pointed out in a paper in the "journal of mental science" (vol. v. , p. ), the conclusion drawn from such data must be fallacious. for instance, a calculation on the result of one year's statistics is evidently worth little. there are many causes at work in asylums which materially affect the relative number of admissions and discharges, and consequently produce an inequality in the rate of increase viewed year by year. moreover, where the same plan of calculation has been adopted in determining what asylum accommodation was necessary, experience has soon exhibited the fallacy, and both the admissions and the demands for admission have far exceeded the total reckoned upon. to arrive at a nearer approximation to the truth, the augmentation in the number of lunatics ought to be noted for a space of several years; and to make the deduction more satisfactory, the increase of the general population, the conditions of the period affecting the material prosperity of the people, and its political aspects; and, lastly, the mere circumstance of the opening of new asylums,--a circumstance always followed by an unexpected influx of patients, need be taken into account. in the preceding considerations only the returns of lunatics in asylums, hospitals, and licensed houses are discussed; but, as we have seen, there is an almost equally large number detained in workhouses, or boarded with their relatives, or other persons, at the expense of their parishes, whose increase or decrease is a matter of kindred importance. on reviewing the returns of their numbers at periods when they have been taken cognizance of by the lunacy commission, we find that there were in workhouses and elsewhere, together, in , _in workhouses._ _with friends and elsewhere._ , , = , , , = , exhibiting an increase of in the ten years between and , and a decrease in the four between and of , owing, doubtless, to the opening of new asylums during that space of time. the returns of the two classes of pauper lunatics together being both so infrequently made, and, as before shown (p. ), open to criticism on account of their incompleteness, we shall attempt to arrive at a more correct estimate of increase than that just made. in the first place, with respect to union workhouses, the summary of indoor paupers, published by the poor law commission ( th report, p. ), affords the necessary data. according to this tabular statement, we find, that, there were on the st of january in each of the ensuing years the following numbers of pauper lunatics:-- , , , , , , , , , , , these columns show, that since the minimum number of insane, at a corresponding date in each year, occurred in . once indeed since, but at a different period of the year, viz. on july st, , the number fell to , or less than at the date before named. two or three years excepted, the increment has been progressive; at one time, indeed, much more rapidly so than at another. the fluctuations observable are, in the first place, due to the opening of new, or the repletion of existing, asylum accommodation; and in a lesser degree, to the rise or fall of pauperism in the community at large, or to an increased mortality at times, as, for example, in , when cholera prevailed--an event which in part, at least, explains the smaller figure of insane inmates in . but whatever the fluctuations observable year by year may be, there is a most distinct increase in the space of any five or ten years selected from the list, suggestive of the unwelcome fact that, notwithstanding the very large augmentation of asylum accommodation and the reduction of numbers by death, the rate of accumulation has proceeded in a ratio exceeding both those causes of decrease of workhouse inmates combined. thus, to take the decennial period between and , we discover an increase of just , or an average annual one of ; and, what is remarkable, as large a total increase, within a few units, is met with in the quinquennial period between and , and consequently the yearly average on the decennial period is doubled; viz. instead of . this doubling of the average in the last five years would be a more serious fact, were it not that in the number of workhouse inmates had been reduced upon , and had only slightly advanced above that of . rejecting the maximum rate of accumulation, we will calculate the average of the last three years cited, from to , a period during which there has been no notable cause of fluctuation, and no such increase of population as materially to affect the result, and for these reasons better suited to the purpose. in this space of time the increment equalled , or an average of per annum; which may fairly be considered to represent the rate of accumulation of lunatics in union workhouses at the present time. the absence of returns of lunatics in the workhouses of parishes under local acts, is an obstacle to a precise computation of them; however, on the assumption that the proportion of lunatics in those workhouses to the population ( , , ) of the parishes they belong to, is equal to that of those in union workhouses to the estimated population ( , , ) of the unions, and that the average increase is proportionate in the two cases, this increase should equal / th of , or somewhat more than , per annum; making the total average rate of accumulation in workhouses at large annually. unfortunately, no separate record is regularly kept of those poor insane persons who are boarded with friends or others, and their number has been only twice published, viz. in and , when, as seen in a preceding page, it was, respectively, and . these two sums exhibit an increase of to have accrued in the ten years included between those dates, or an average one of per annum. we have, above, calculated the average annual increase on those in union workhouses and those with friends, at annually; and consequently that of the latter being , the yearly increase of the former stands, according to the returns employed, at . however, we have proved that the average increase, in union workhouses, has reached in the last three years the amount of , and in workhouses at large , which, added to , produces , or in round numbers, , as the sum-total of accumulation of pauper lunatics not in asylums, hospitals, or licensed houses. adding the annual rate of increase of the insane in asylums, viz. , to that among paupers, unprovided with asylum accommodation, , we obtain the total accumulation per annum of lunatics reported to the public boards. to this sum there should rightly be added the accumulative increase among insane persons not known to those boards, and which, in the absence of any means to ascertain its amount, may be not extravagantly conceived to raise the total to . we come now to the second part of our present task, viz. to discover the comparative number of new cases in several past years, so as to obtain an answer to the question,--has there been an increase of the annual number of persons attacked with lunacy during that period? for previous figures leave no doubt there is an augmented ratio of insane persons in the population of the country. at the outset of this inquiry an insuperable difficulty to a correct registration of the number arises from the circumstance that, during any term of years we may select, the accommodation for the insane has never, even for one year, been fixed, but has been progressively increased by the erection of new, and the enlargement of old asylums. this occurrence, necessarily, very materially affects the returns made by the commissioners of the number of admissions into asylums and licensed houses. even if the comparison of the annual admissions into any one county asylum only, were of value to our purpose, the same difficulty would ensue by reason of the enlargement of the institution from time to time, and of the circumstance that, as it progressively filled with chronic cases, the number of admissions will have grown smaller. likewise, the farther that the inquiry is extended back, the more considerable will this difficulty in the desired computation be. in short, it may be stated generally, that the proportion of admissions will vary almost directly according to the accommodation afforded by asylums, and the inducements offered to obtain it. on the other hand, the consequences of the variations in asylum accommodation upon the total of admissions are to a certain extent compensated for by the fluctuations they produce upon the number of lunatics not provided for in asylums; for this reason, that where a county asylum opens for the reception of patients, the majority of these are withdrawn from licensed houses and workhouses, and thereby a reduction is effected in the number of inmates of those establishments. after the above considerations, it is clear that an estimate of the number of insane persons in any year, as gathered from the statistics of those brought under treatment in asylums or elsewhere, can be only an approach to the truth. still it is worth while to see what results follow from an examination of the returns of admissions, as collected by the commissioners in lunacy. it would be of no service to extend the inquiry far backward in time, on account of the rapidity with which asylum accommodation has been enlarged; we will therefore compare the admissions over the space of four years, viz. , , , and , during which the changes in asylums have been less considerable. _table of admissions._ --county and borough asylums , hospitals licensed houses , ----- total , ----- --county and borough asylums , hospitals licensed houses , ----- total , ----- --county and borough asylums , hospitals licensed houses , ----- total , ----- --county and borough asylums , hospitals licensed houses , ----- total , ----- there is a remarkable degree of uniformity in the sum of admissions in each of these four years; and if each several sum could be taken to represent the accession of new cases of insanity in the course of the year, there would appear no actual progressive increase of the disease in the community during the four years considered. the average of the admissions for that period is ; those therefore of and are in excess, and those of and are within it. the widest difference is observed in , when a sudden rise takes place, which, by the way, is not explicable by the greater provision of asylum accommodation in that year than in the three preceding. yet this increase is not so striking when viewed in relation to the totals of other years; for it exceeds the average only by , a sum little greater than that expressing the decrease of upon the total of . it is difficult to decide what value should be assigned to these results, deducible from a comparison of the yearly admissions, in determining the question of the increase of insanity, viewed simply as that of the comparative number attacked year by year,--it would, however, seem a not unreasonable deduction from them, that the proportion of persons attacked by mental disorder advances annually at a rate little above what the progressive increase of population is sufficient to explain. if this be so, the increase by accumulation of chronic and incurable cases becomes so much the more remarkable, and an investigation of the circumstances promoting, and of those tending to lessen, that accumulation, so much the more important. there are, as heretofore remarked, very many insane persons who are not sent to asylums or private houses, at least to those in this country, and whose relative number yearly it is impossible, in the absence of all specific information, to compute. although the agitation of the public mind respecting private asylums, and the facility and economy of removing insane persons abroad, may have latterly multiplied the number of such unregistered patients, yet there is no reason to assume that their yearly positive increase is other than very small. the pauper lunatics living in workhouses have as yet been omitted from the present inquiry. their yearly number is affected not only by the introduction of fresh cases, but also by removals to asylums and by deaths; or, in other words, it is a compound quantity of new inmates received and of the accumulation of old. however, the returns above quoted (p. ) show that between and there was an increase of almost exactly , or, as before calculated, an average of annually. the poor law board report unfortunately gives no returns of the annual admissions; hence we do not possess the means of discovering what proportion of the growing increase observed is due year by year to the accession of fresh inmates. the advancing growth in numbers of those pauper insane receiving out-door relief is not clearly discoverable: from the few data in possession, as before quoted (p. ), about are annually added. it appears pretty clearly, then, that there are at least reported lunatics added to the insane population of the country yearly, and of this increase only , or in · , are supported out of their own resources in asylums; the remainder, with some few exceptions, falling upon the rates for their entire maintenance. it would therefore be difficult to exaggerate the importance of the question of the provision for the insane poor in this country, both to the political economist and to the legislator. there are certainly more than persons yearly so affected in mind as to be unfit or unable to take care of themselves, and to obtain their own livelihood, and who, under this distressing infliction of providence, demand the care and charity of their neighbours, and the succour of the state, properly to protect and provide for them. to perform this duty at the least cost, compatible with justice to these afflicted individuals, involves a tax upon the community of which few persons have any adequate conception. supposing, by way of illustration, that the number mentioned required the accommodation of an asylum, the cost of providing it, according to the system hitherto in vogue, would nearly equal that incurred in the establishment and maintenance of the middlesex county asylum at colney hatch, or a sum of £ , for land, buildings, and fittings (equal, at per cent. to a yearly rental of £ , ), and an annual charge of £ , for maintenance. the example of colney hatch, chosen for illustration, is a very fair one, and the figures used in round numbers are actually within the average expenditure in and for the establishment of county asylums in this country, as may be seen on reference to appendix d. (commissioners' report, ), and to the table of asylums in course of erection, printed at p. of their twelfth report ( ). on applying these results to the total number of pauper lunatics in asylums, which, according to the return on the st of january , amounted to , , the sum of £ , , (not including interest) will have been expended in providing them accommodation, and an annual charge incurred of £ , for their care and maintenance. all this, too, is independent of the cost on account of those maintained in licensed houses, in workhouses, and in lodgings with friends or others, the amount of which we do not possess sufficient information to determine. the commissioners in lunacy, in their elaborate report in , took the population of england and wales at , , , and reckoned on the existence of , lunatics on the st january of that year, of whom , were paupers. the latter, they calculated, stood in the proportion of to in the population, or, more correctly, in ; and the total lunatics as to . on the st of january , they found the pauper lunatics to be in the proportion of in ; whilst pauper and private together equalled in , to the estimated population, , , . adopting the figures arrived at in the preceding discussion, viz. that there are , insane persons in this country, and assuming the population on the st of january, , to have been , , , the proportion of the insane would be as high as in persons. this much-enlarged ratio of insanity to the population admits of several explanations, without a resort to the belief that the disease is actually and fearfully on the increase. as before said, we regard the accumulation of chronic and incurable lunatics to be the chief element in raising the total number, and this accumulation is favoured by all causes operating against the cure of insanity; by the increased attention to the disease, and by all those conditions improving the value of life of the insane, supplied, at the present day, in accordance with the improved views respecting their wants, and the necessity of placing them under conditions favourable for their health, care and protection. on the operation of these causes, favouring the multiplication of insane persons in the community, we shall, however, not at present further enter, but proceed to inquire how far the existing provision for the insane is adequate to their requirements. before entering on this inquiry, a few words are wanting to convey a suggestion or two respecting the collection of the statistics of pauper lunatics. it is most desirable we should be able to discover, from the official returns of the public boards, with precision, what number of insane persons is wholly or partially chargeable to the poor rates, what to borough, and what to county rates. the returns of the poor-law office ought not to be marred by the omission of the statistics of parishes, which by local or special acts escape the direct jurisdiction of the board. if the central board be denied a direct interference in their parochial administration, it ought to be informed of the number of their chargeable poor, including lunatics. it is equally unsatisfactory, that the pauper registry kept by the poor-law board is not rendered complete by the record of all those chargeable to counties and boroughs, as this could be so readily done by the clerks of county and borough magistrates. an amendment, too, is desirable in the practice of the poor-law office of reckoning together in their tables pauper lunatics in asylums among the recipients of out-door relief with those boarded with their friends or elsewhere, whence it is impossible to gather the proportion of such class. this technicality of considering workhouse inmates as the only recipients of _in-door_ relief, to the exclusion of asylum patients who are in reality receiving it in an equal degree, although in another building than the workhouse, is an official peculiarity we can neither explain nor approve; and it appears to us most desirable that lunatic paupers in asylums should be arranged in a distinct column, and that the same should be done with those living with their friends or others. by the adoption of this plan the questions of the number of the pauper insane, of their increase and decrease, whether in asylums or elsewhere, and of the adequacy of accommodation for them, could be ascertained by a glance at the tables. we would likewise desire to see those paupers belonging to parishes not in union and under local acts, and those chargeable to counties and boroughs, tabulated in a similar manner. a practical suggestion, connected with the statistics of insanity, we owe to mr. purdy, viz. that section of the "lunatic asylums' act, " ( & vict. cap. ) should be amended by the insertion of a few words requiring the clerks of unions to make the returns of the number of chargeable lunatics on a specified day, as on the first of january in each year. this practice was formerly enjoined, and probably its omission from the act now in force was accidental. the present enactment requires that the clerks of unions "shall, on the first day of january in every year, or as soon after as may be, make out and sign a true and faithful list of all lunatics chargeable to the union or parish;" and the only alteration required is the addition of two or three words at the end of this paragraph, such as:--'on the first day of january of that year.' the want of a fixed date of this kind, mr. purdy says, imposes great trouble in getting the clerks to make their returns with reference to the same day in the several unions and parishes. chap. iii.--state of the present provision for the insane in asylums.--its inadequacy. in their report for , the commissioners in lunacy have presented us with a memorandum of the present accommodation afforded in county asylums, and of that in course of being supplied, and have attempted further a calculation of the probable requirements on the st of january . the former may be accepted as nearly correct, but the latter affords, as before noticed, a rough, and not sufficiently accurate, estimate. their statement is, that on the st of january, , , beds were provided in public asylums; that, by the projected enlargement of existing institutions, others would be obtained, and, by the completion of eight asylums in course of erection, there would be added more--a total of , on or before january . of the increase in additional buildings, beds, or thereabouts, would not be ready at so early a date as that named; and in calculating existing provision, need be deducted from the total of , ; consequently the accommodation in county asylums would, according to the commissioners, in this year, , reach , , and in , , . the county asylum accommodation on january st, , expressed by the sum of , , exceeded the total of pauper lunatics returned as actually partaking its advantages at that date, viz. , , by the large number of ; showing a surplus to that amount, including beds, in infirmary wards. what may be the precise number of the last, or, in other words, of those generally inapplicable to ordinary cases, labouring under no particular bodily infirmity, we cannot tell, but we feel sure that of them would be available; in fact, the whole number by classification might be rendered so. be this so or not, the commissioners have omitted any reference to this present available accommodation, in calculating what may be necessary in . on the other hand, they have rather over-estimated the future provision in asylums, by adding together that in the beds., herts., and hunts. asylum now in use, viz. , with that to be secured in the new one, viz. , instead of counting on the difference only, , as representing the actual increase obtained,--for the intention is to disuse the old establishment as a county institution. to proceed. the commissioners calculate on an addition of beds to the number provided in january (according to our correction, in round numbers, ), and proceed to say, that "if to this estimate ... we apply the ratio of increase in the numbers requiring accommodation observable during the last year, some conclusion may be formed as to the period for which these additional beds are likely to be found sufficient to meet the constantly increasing wants of the country, and how far they will tend towards the object we have sought most anxiously to promote ever since the establishment of this commission, namely, the ultimate closing of licensed houses for pauper lunatics. on the st of january, , the number of pauper lunatics in county and borough asylums, hospitals, and licensed houses, amounted to , . on the st of january, , this number had increased to , , showing an increase during the year of patients; and of the total number were confined in the various metropolitan and provincial licensed houses. "assuming, then, that during the next two years the progressive increase in the number of pauper lunatics will be at least equal to that of the year , it follows, that on the st of january, , accommodation for additional patients will be required; and if to this number be added the patients who are now confined in licensed houses, there will remain, to meet the wants of the ensuing year, only vacant beds. it is obvious, therefore, that if licensed houses are to be closed for the reception of pauper lunatics, some scheme of a far more comprehensive nature must be adopted in order to provide public accommodation for the pauper lunatics of this country." this conclusion must indeed be most unwelcome and discouraging to the rate-payers, and to the magistracy, in whose hands the government reposes the duty of providing for the due care of pauper lunatics in county asylums. to the latter it must be most dispiriting, when we reflect on the zeal and liberality which have generally marked their attempts to secure, not merely the necessary accommodation, but that of the best sort, for the insane poor of their several counties. it is, indeed, an astounding statement for the tax-payer to hear, that, after the expenditure of one or two millions sterling to secure the pauper lunatics of this country the necessary protection, care, and treatment, and the annual burden for maintenance, that a far more comprehensive scheme is demanded. no wonder that the increase of insanity is viewed as so rapid and alarming; no wonder that every presumed plan of saving expense by keeping patients out of asylums should be readily resorted to. the value of the conclusion, and of the facts whereon it rests, certainly merit careful examination; and after the investigation made as to the number of the insane, and their rate of increase and accumulation, such an examination can be more readily accomplished. to revert to the figures put forward by the commissioners, of the number of beds existing in asylums on the st of january, , and of that to be furnished by . they reckoned on , beds at the former date, and on the addition of by the year , or a total of , . we have, however, shown, that in january there were vacant beds, and that there was an over-estimate of the future increase by about , leaving, without reckoning the number in progress, to meet coming claims. this sum being therefore added, gives a total of , to supply the wants of the pauper insane between the st of january, , and the completion of the new asylums in . using the average increase adopted by the commissioners, viz. per annum, there would be at the commencement of the year , applicants for admission, to be added to the confined in licensed houses, whom the lunacy commissioners are so anxious to transfer to county institutions, making in all . but according to our corrected valuation, there would be in the course of , room for patients, that is, a surplus accommodation for . it must be admitted as incorrect on the part of the commissioners, in the report just quoted, to calculate on the whole number of beds obtained by new buildings, as available in january , when, in all probability, of them will not be ready much before the close of the year; still, after making allowance for the increased number of claimants accruing between that date and the opening of the new asylums, there would, according to the data used, remain vacancies for some thousand or more, instead of the reckoned upon by the commissioners. our review, therefore, is thus far favourable, and suggestive of the possibility of a breathing time before the necessity of a scheme of a "far more comprehensive nature" need be adopted. but, alas! the inquiries previously gone into concerning the number and increase of the insane render any such hope fallacious, and prove that the commissioners have very much underestimated the number to be duly lodged and cared for in asylums; unless indeed, after having secured the transfer of those now in licensed houses to county asylums, they should consider their exertions on behalf of the unfortunate victims of mental disorder among the poor brought to a close. such an idea, however, is, we are persuaded, not entertained by those gentlemen, who have, on the contrary, in their reports frequently advocated the provision of asylums for all the pauper insane with few exceptions, and distinctly set forth the objections to their detention in workhouses. in fact, every well-wisher for the lunatic poor, is desirous to see workhouses disused as receptacles for them, and it naturally appears more important to transfer some of their inmates to proper asylums than to dislodge those detained in licensed houses, where, most certainly, the means of treatment and management available are superior to those existing in workhouse wards. but our efforts on behalf of the insane poor must not cease even when those in workhouses are better cared for, since there then remains that multitude of poor mentally disordered patients scattered among the cottagers of the country, indifferently lodged, and not improbably, indifferently treated, sustained on a mere pittance unwillingly doled out by poor-law guardians, and under no effectual supervision, either by the parish medical officers or by the members of the lunacy board. some provision surely is necessary for this class of the insane; some effectual watching over their welfare desirable; for the quarterly visits required by law ( & vict. cap. , sect. ) to be made to them by the overworked and underpaid union medical officers cannot be deemed a sufficient supervision of their wants and treatment. these visits, for which the noble honorarium of _s._ _d._ is to be paid, whatever the distance the medical officer may have to travel,--are intended by the clause of the act to qualify the visitor to certify "whether such lunatics are or are not properly taken care of, and may or may not properly remain out of an asylum;" but practically nothing further is attained by them than a certificate that the pauper lunatic still exists as a burden upon the parish funds; and even this much, as the commissioners in lunacy testify, is not regularly and satisfactorily obtained. a proper inquiry into the condition of the patient, the circumstances surrounding him, the mode of management adopted, and into the means in use to employ or to amuse him, cannot be expected from a parish medical officer at the remuneration offered, engaged as he is in arduous duties; and, more frequently than not, little acquainted with the features of mental disease, or with the plans for its treatment, alleviation, or management. even in the village of gheel in belgium, which has for centuries served as a receptacle for the insane, where there is a well-established system of supervision by a physician and assistants, and where the villagers are trained in their management, those visitors who have more closely looked into its organization and working, have remarked numerous shortcomings and irregularities. but compared with the plan of distributing poor demented patients and idiots, as pursued in this country, in the homes of our poorer classes and peasantry, unused to deal with them, too often regarding them as the subjects of force rather than of persuasion and kindness, and under merely nominal medical oversight four times a year, gheel is literally "a paradise of fools." indeed a similar plan might with great advantage be adopted, particularly in the immediate vicinity of our large county asylums. but to return to the particular subject in question, viz. the proportion of insane poor in workhouses and elsewhere who should rightly find accommodation in asylums, a class of lunatics, as said before, not taken into account by the commissioners in their estimate of future requirements. we let pass the inquiry, what should be done for the poor imbecile and idiotic paupers boarded in the homes of relatives or others, and confine our observations to the inmates of workhouses. now, although we entertain a strong conviction of the evils of workhouses as receptacles for the insane, with very few exceptions,--a conviction we shall presently show good grounds for, yet, instead of employing our own estimate, we shall endeavour to arrive at that formed by the lunacy commissioners, of the proportion of lunatics living in them, for whom asylum accommodation should be provided. the principal and special report on workhouses, in relation to their insane inmates, was published in , and in it the commissioners observe (p. ), that they believe they "are warranted in stating, as the result of their experience, that of the entire number of lunatics in workhouses,--two-thirds at the least--are persons in whom, as the mental unsoundness or deficiency is a congenital defect, the malady is not susceptible of cure, in the proper sense of the expression, and whose removal to a curative lunatic asylum, except as a means of relieving the workhouse from dangerous or offensive inmates, can be attended with little or no benefit. a considerable portion of this numerous class, not less perhaps than a fourth of the whole, are subject to gusts of passion and violence, or are addicted to disgusting propensities, which render them unfit to remain in the workhouse.... but although persons of this description are seldom fit objects for a curative asylum, they are in general capable of being greatly improved, both intellectually and morally, by a judicious system of training and instruction; their dormant or imperfect faculties may be stimulated and developed; they may be gradually weaned from their disgusting propensities; habits of decency, subordination, and self-command may be inculcated, and their whole character as social beings may be essentially ameliorated." in their ninth report ( ), speaking of those classed in the workhouse in-door relief lists, under the head of lunatics or idiots, they observe:--"these terms, which are themselves vague and comprehensive, are often applied with little discrimination, and in practice are made to include every intermediate degree of mental unsoundness, from imbecility on the one hand, to absolute lunacy or idiotcy on the other; and, in point of fact, a very large proportion of the paupers so classed in workhouses, especially in the rural districts, and perhaps four-fifths of the whole, are persons who may be correctly described as harmless imbeciles, whose mental deficiency is chronic or congenital, and who, if kept under a slight degree of supervision, are capable of useful and regular occupation. in the remainder, the infirmity of mind is for the most part combined with and consequent upon epilepsy or paralysis, or is merely the fatuity of superannuation and old age; and comparatively few come within the description of lunatics or idiots, as the terms are popularly understood." lastly, in the eleventh report ( ), the class of pauper insane, whose detention in workhouses is allowable, is indicated in the following paragraph:--"they (workhouses) are no longer restricted to such pauper lunatics as requiring little more than the ordinary accommodation, and being capable of associating with the other inmates, no very grave objection rests against their receiving.... but these are now unhappily the exceptional cases." these extracts are certainly not precise enough to enable us to state, except very approximatively, what may be the estimate of the lunacy commissioners of the numbers who should be rightly placed in asylums. that first quoted appears to set aside one-third as proper inmates of a curative asylum, and amenable to treatment; and then to describe a fourth of the remaining two-thirds, that is, one-sixth, as proper objects of asylum care. on adding these quantities, viz. one-third to one-sixth, we get as the result, one-half as the proportion of workhouse insane considered to be fit subjects for asylums. the second quotation by itself is of little use to our purpose, except in conjunction with the third one and with the context, as printed in the report from which it is taken, relative to the general question of the evils of workhouses as receptacles for the insane. so examined in connection, the published statements and opinions of the commission, lead to the conclusion that the great majority of the insane in workhouses should rightly enjoy the advantages of the supervision, general management, nursing, and dietary of asylums. however, to escape the possible charge of attempting to magnify the deficiency of asylum accommodation, we will, for the time, assume that only one-half of the lunatic inmates of workhouses require asylum treatment; even then we had some to be provided with it at the beginning of , and should have at the least by january . having now reduced the estimate of the demands for asylum care to figures, it is practicable to calculate how far those demands can be met by the existing provision in asylums and what may be its deficiency. on the one side, there will be, at the most moderate computation, made as far as possible from data furnished by the reports of the lunacy commissioners, inmates of workhouses, who should, on or before january st, , obtain asylum care and treatment. on the other, there will be, as above shown, about beds unoccupied at the date mentioned, after accommodation is afforded to the pauper residents in licensed houses, and to the number of insane resulting from accumulation and increase in the course of two years from january . the consequence is, that in january , there will remain some pauper lunatics unprovided for in proper asylums. in the course of the preceding arguments, we have kept as closely as possible to data furnished by the lunacy commissioners' reports, and withal have made out, satisfactorily we trust, that the provision supplied by existing asylums and by those now in progress of erection, is inadequate to the requirements of the insane population of this country. the idea of its inadequacy would be very greatly enhanced by the employment of the statistical conclusions we have arrived at respecting the number of the insane and their rate of accumulation, and by the reception of the views we entertain against their detention, with comparatively few exceptions, in other receptacles than those specially constructed and organized for their care and treatment. the truth of our opinions we shall endeavour to establish in subsequent pages; and respecting the rate of accumulation of pauper cases, we feel confident that per annum is within the truth. to meet this increase, both the asylums in existence and those in course of erection are undoubtedly inadequate, and, as the necessary result, workhouse pauper inmates must continue to multiply. if the opinion were accepted that public asylum accommodation should be provided for all the pauper poor, not many more than one-half are at present found to be in possession of it, that is, , of the , in the country. hence it would be required, to more than double the present provision in asylums for pauper lunatics, to give room for all and to meet the rapid annual rate of accumulation. chap. iv.--on the curability of insanity. an inquiry into the curability of insanity forms a natural pendent to that concerning the provision required for the insane, and is at the same time a fitting prelude to an investigation of the insufficiency and defects of the present organization of asylums: for it is important to satisfy ourselves as to what extent we may hope to serve the insane, by placing them under the most advantageous circumstances for treatment, before incurring the large expenditure for securing them. now it may be most confidently stated that insanity is a very curable disorder, if only it be brought early under treatment. american physicians go so far as to assert, that it is curable in the proportion of per cent., and appeal to their asylum statistics to establish the assertion. the lunacy commission of the state of massachusetts (_op. cit._ p. ) thus write:--"in recent cases the recoveries amount to the proportion of to per cent. of all that are submitted to the restorative process. yet it is an equally well-established fact, that these disorders of the brain tend to fix themselves permanently in the organization, and that they become more and more difficult to be removed with the lapse of time. although three-fourths to nine-tenths may be healed if taken within a year after the first manifestation of the disorder, yet if this measure be delayed another year, and the diseases are from one to two years' standing, the cures would probably be less than one-half of that proportion, even with the same restorative means; another and a third year added to the disease diminishes the prospect of cure, and in a still greater ratio than the second; and a fourth still more. the fifth reduces it so low, as to seem to be nothing." dr. kirkbride, physician to the pennsylvania hospital for the insane, in his book "on the construction and organization of hospitals for the insane," says (p. ):--"of recent cases of insanity, properly treated, between and per cent. recover. of those neglected or improperly managed, very few get well." this is certainly a very flattering estimate, and, inasmuch as it is founded on experience, cannot fairly be questioned. however, before comparing it with the results arrived at in this country, there are some circumstances which call for remark. in the first place, american public asylums are not branded with the appellation 'pauper,' they are called 'state asylums,' and every facility is offered for the admission of cases, and particularly of recent ones, whatever their previous civil condition. again, there is not in the united states the feeling of false pride, of imaginary family dishonour or discredit, to the same extent which is observed in this country, when it pleases providence to visit a relative with mental derangement,--to oppose the transmission to a place of treatment. from these two causes it happens that in america the insane ordinarily receive earlier attention than in this country. lastly, the united states' institutions, by being more accessible, admit a certain proportion of cases of temporary delirium, the consequence of the abuse of alcoholic drinks, of overwrought brain and general excitement,--causes more active in that comparatively new, changing, and rapidly-developing country than in ours. but such cases, which for the most part get well, do not find their way into the asylums of this kingdom. such are some of the circumstances influencing favourably the ratio of cures in america, which need be remembered when comparing it with that which is attained in our own land. the proportion of recoveries above stated, is calculated upon cases of less than a year's duration. let us see what can be effected in england under conditions as similar as practicable, though not equally advantageous. the most satisfactory results we can point to are those obtained at st. luke's hospital, london, where the cures have averaged per cent. upon the admissions during the last ten years. at this and likewise at bethlehem hospital, the rules require that the disorder be not of more than one year's duration at the time of application for admission, and that it be not complicated with epilepsy or paralysis, maladies which so seriously affect its curability. such are the conditions favourable to a high rate of recoveries enforced by rule. on the other hand, there are at st. luke's not a few circumstances in operation prejudicial to the largest amount of success possible. its locality is objectionable, its general construction unfavourable, its grounds for exercise and amusement very deficient, and the means of employment few. but apart from these disadvantages, so prejudicial to its utility and efficiency, there are other causes to explain its ratio of success being less than that estimated by our american brethren to be practicable. though the rule excludes patients the benefit of the hospital if their disease be of more than a year's duration, yet from the great difficulties attending in many cases the inquiry respecting the first appearance of the insanity; its sometimes insidious approach; the defect of observation, or the ignorance, and sometimes the misrepresentations of friends, resorted to in order to ensure success in their application to the charity, older cases gain admission. again, of those admitted in any year, there are always several whose disorder is known to be of nine, ten, or eleven months' duration, and at least a fourth in whom it is of six months' date and upwards. further, although the rules exclude epileptics and paralytics, yet at times the history of fits is withheld by the patients' friends, or the fits are conceived to be of a different character, or the paralysis is so little developed as not to be very recognizable; and as in all ambiguous cases,--whether it be the duration or the complication of the mental disorder which is in doubt, the committee of the hospital give the benefit of the doubt to the patient,--the consequence is, that several such unfavourable cases are received annually. on referring to the statistical tables of the institution, these "unfit" admissions are found to amount to per cent. we have thought these details desirable, on the one hand, to account for the difference in the ratio of cures attained in st. luke's compared with that fixed by american writers; and on the other, to show that though the rate of recoveries at that london hospital is highly gratifying, it might be rendered yet more so if certain impediments to success were removed, and that similar benefits could be realized elsewhere if due provision were made for the early and efficient treatment of the malady. were we at all singular in the assertion of the curability of insanity, we should endeavour to establish it by an appeal to the statistics of recoveries among recent cases in the different english asylums; but instead of advancing a novel opinion, we are only bearing witness to a well-recognized fact substantiated by general experience. this being so, it would be fruitless to occupy time in quoting many illustrations from asylum reports: one will answer our purpose. at the derby county asylum, under the charge of dr. hitchman, a high rate of cures has been reached. in the third report that able physician writes (p. ),--"it cannot be too often repeated, that the date of the patient's illness at the time of admission is the chief circumstance which determines whether four patients in a hundred, or seventy patients in a hundred, shall be discharged cured. of the cases which have been admitted into the asylum during the past year, eleven only have been received within a week of the onset of their malady; of these eleven, ten have been discharged cured,--the other has been but a short time under treatment." in his sixth report ( , p. ), the same gentleman observes,--"the cures during the past year have reached per cent. upon the admissions; but the most gratifying fact has been, that of twenty patients, unafflicted with general paralysis, who were admitted within one month of the primary attack of their maladies, sixteen have left the asylum cured,--three are convalescent, and will probably be discharged at the next meeting of the committee, and the other one was in the last stage of pulmonary consumption when she came to the asylum, and died in three weeks after her admission." after this review of what may be effected in restoring the subjects of mental disorder to reason and society, to their homes and occupations, by means of early treatment, it is discouraging to turn to the average result of recoveries on admissions obtained in our county asylums at large. this average may be taken at per cent., and therefore there will remain of every patients admitted, sixty-five, or, after deducting per cent. of deaths, fifty-five at the end of the year. this number, fifty-five, might fairly be taken to represent the annual per centage of accumulation of the insane in asylums, were the data employed sufficient and satisfactory. but so far as we have yet examined the point, this proportion is larger than a calculation made over a series of years, and may be approximatively stated at per cent. on the admissions. how great would be the gain, alike to the poor lunatic and to those chargeable with his maintenance, could this rapid rate of accumulation be diminished, by raising that of recoveries, or, what is tantamount to it, by securing to the insane prompt and efficient care and treatment! how does it happen that this desideratum is not accomplished by the asylums in existence? what are the impediments to success discoverable in their organization and management, or in the history of their inmates prior to admission? and what can be done to remedy discovered defects, and to secure the insane the best chances of recovery? such are some of the questions to be next discussed. chap. v.--on the causes diminishing the curability of insanity, and involving the multiplication of chronic lunatics. in the preliminary chapters on the number and increase of the insane in this country, we limited ourselves to determine what that number and that increase were, and entered into no disquisition respecting the causes which have operated in filling our asylums with so many thousands of chronic and almost necessarily incurable patients. nor shall we now attempt an investigation of them generally, for this has been well done by others, and particularly by the lunacy commissioners in their ninth report, ; but shall restrict ourselves to intimate that the increase of our lunatic population, mainly by accumulation, is due to neglect in past years; to the alteration of the laws requiring the erection of county asylums for pauper lunatics generally; to the collection and discovery of cases aforetime unthought of and unknown; to the extension of the knowledge of the characters and requirements of the insane both among professional men and the public; and, lastly, to the advantages themselves of asylum accommodation which tend to prolong the lives of the inmates. such are among the principal causes of the astounding increase in the number of the insane of late years, relatively to the population of the country, some of which fortunately will in course of time be less productive. those, however, which we now desire to investigate, are such as directly affect the curability of insanity, either by depriving its victims of early and efficient treatment, or by lessening the efficiency and usefulness of the public asylums. the history of an insane patient is clearly divisible into three portions: st, that before admission into an asylum; nd, that of his residence in an asylum; and rd, of that after his discharge from it. the last division we have at present nothing to do with; and with reference to the causes influencing his curability, these group themselves under two heads parallel to the first two divisions of the patient's history; viz. , those in operation external to, and , those prevailing in, asylums. a. _causes external to asylums._ the chief cause belonging to this first class is that of delay in submitting recent cases to asylum care and treatment. this delay, as we have sufficiently proved, operates most seriously by diminishing the curability of insanity, and thereby favours the accumulation of chronic lunatics. it takes place in consequence either of the desire of friends to keep their invalid relatives at their homes; or of the economical notions of poor-law officers, who, to avoid the greater cost of asylums, detain pauper lunatics in workhouses. other causes of incurability and of the accumulation of incurables are found in injudicious management and treatment before admission, and in the transmission of unfit cases to asylums. to discuss the several points suggested in these considerations will require this chapter to be subdivided; and first we may treat of the detention of patients in their own homes. § _detention of patients in their own homes._ although the immense importance of early treatment to recent cases of insanity is a truth so well established and so often advocated, yet the public generally fail to appreciate it, and from unfortunate notions of family discredit, from false pride and wounded vanity, delay submitting their afflicted relatives to efficient treatment. unless the disorder manifest itself by such maniacal symptoms that no one can be blind to its real character, the wealthier classes especially will shut their eyes to the fact they are so unwilling to recognize, and call the mental aberration nervousness or eccentricity; and as they are unwilling to acknowledge the disorder, so are they equally indisposed to subject it to the most effectual treatment, by removing the patient from home, and the exciting influence of friends and surrounding circumstances in general, to a properly organized and managed asylum. usually a patient with sufficient resources at command, is kept at home as long as possible, at great cost and trouble; and if he be too much for the control of his relatives and servants, attendants are hired from some licensed house to manage him; the only notion prevailing in the minds of his friends being that means are needed to subdue his excitement and to overcome his violence. there are, in fact, no curative agencies at work around him, but on the contrary, more or fewer conditions calculated to exalt his furor, to agitate and disquiet his mind, and to aggravate his malady. the master of the house finds himself checked in his will; disobeyed by his servants; an object of curiosity, it may be, of wonder and alarm; and sadly curtailed in his liberty of action. the strange attendants forced upon him are to be yielded to only under passionate protests, and probably after a struggle. in all ways the mental disorder is kept up if not aggravated, and every day the chances of recovery are diminished. perhaps matters may grow too bad for continued residence at home, or the malady have lasted so long, that the broken-up state of family and household can no longer be tolerated, and a transfer from home is necessitated. yet even then removal to an asylum,--the only step which can hold out a fair prospect of recovery, is either rejected as quite out of the question, or submitted to usually after still longer delay,--a "trial" being made of a lodging with a medical man or other person, probably with an asylum attendant. by this plan certainly the patient is saved from the presence and excitement of his family, and placed under altered conditions, calculated to exercise in some respects a salutary influence on his mind; still many others are wanting, and no guarantee is attainable of the manner in which he is treated; for as a single patient, and as is usually the case, restrained without certificates, he is almost invariably unknown to the commissioners, and virtually unprotected, even though a medical man be paid to attend him occasionally. at last, however, except for a few, the transfer to the asylum generally becomes inevitable, and too often too late to restore the disordered reason; and years of unavailing regret fail to atone for time and opportunity lost. the same unwillingness to subject their insane friends to asylum care and treatment pervades, moreover, the less wealthy classes, and even the poorer grades of the middle class of society. madness, to their conceptions likewise, brings with it a stigma on the family, and its occurrence must, it is felt, be kept a secret. hence an asylum is viewed as an evil to be staved off as long as possible, and only resorted to when all other plans, or else the pecuniary means, are exhausted. if it be the father of the family who is attacked, the hope is, that in a few days or weeks he may resume his business or return to his office, as he might after ordinary bodily illness, without such loss of time as shall endanger his situation and prospects, and without the blemish of a report that he has been the inmate of a madhouse. if it be the wife, the hope is similar, that she will shortly be restored to her place and duties in her family. should progress be less evident than desired, a change away from home will probably be suggested by the medical attendant, and at much expense and trouble carried out. but too frequently, alas! the hopes are blighted and the poor sufferer is at length removed with diminished chance of cure to an asylum. for the poorer members of the middle class, and for many moving in a somewhat higher circle of society, whom the accession of mental disorder impoverishes and cuts off from independence, there are, it is most deeply to be regretted, few opportunities of obtaining proper asylum care and treatment. in very many instances, the charges of even the cheapest private asylum can be borne for only a limited period, and thus far, at the cost of great personal sacrifices and self-denial. sooner or later no refuge remains except the county asylum, where, it may be, from the duration of his disorder, the patient may linger out the remainder of his days. how happy for such a one is it--a person unacquainted with the system of english county asylums, might remark--that such an excellent retreat is afforded! to this it may be replied, that the public asylum ought not to be the _dernier ressort_ of those too poor to secure the best treatment and care in a well-found private establishment, and yet too respectable to be classed and dealt with as paupers entirely and necessarily dependent on the poor's rate. yet so it is under the operation of the existing law and parochial usages, there is no intermediate position, and to reap the benefits of the public asylum, the patient must be classed with paupers and treated as one. his admission into it is rendered as difficult, annoying, and degrading as it can be. his friends, worn out and impoverished in their charitable endeavours to sustain him in his independent position as a private patient, are obliged to plead their poverty, and to sue as paupers the parish officials for the requisite order to admit their afflicted relative to the benefits of the public asylum as a pauper lunatic. in short, they have to pauperize him; to announce to the world their own poverty, and to succumb to a proceeding which robs them of their feelings of self-respect and independence, and by which they lose caste in the eyes of their neighbours. as for the patient himself, unless the nature and duration of his malady have sufficiently dulled his perception and sensibilities, the consciousness of his position as a registered pauper cannot fail to be prejudicial to his recovery; opposed to the beneficial influences a well-regulated asylum is calculated to exert, and to that mental calm and repose which the physician is anxious to procure. in the class of cases just sketched, we have presumed on the ability of the friends to incur the cost of private treatment for a longer or shorter period; but many are the persons among the middle classes, who if overtaken by such a dire malady as insanity, are almost at once reduced to the condition of paupers and compelled to be placed in the same category with them. as with the class last spoken of, so with this one, the law inflicts a like injury and social degradation, and at the same time operates in impeding their access to proper treatment. no one surely, who considers the question, and reflects on the necessary consequences of the present legal requirement that, for a lunatic to enjoy the advantages of a public asylum, towards which he may have for years contributed, he must be formally declared chargeable to the rates as a pauper,--can deny the conclusion that it is a provision which must entail a social degradation upon the lunatic and his family, and act as a great impediment to the transmission of numerous recent cases to the county asylum for early treatment. it will be urged as an apology for it, that the test of pauperism rests on a right basis; that it is contrived to save the rate-payer from the charge of those occupying a sphere above the labouring classes, who fall, as a matter of course, upon the parochial funds whenever work fails or illness overtakes them. it is, in two words, a presumed economical scheme. however, like many other such, it is productive of extravagance and loss, and is practically inoperative as a barrier to the practice of imposition. if it contributes to check the admission of cases at their outbreak into asylums, as no one will doubt it does, it is productive of chronic insanity and of permanent pauperism; and, therefore, besides the individual injury inflicted, entails a charge upon the rates for the remaining term of life of so many incurable lunatics. if, on the contrary, our public asylums were not branded by the appellation "pauper;" if access to them were facilitated and the pauperizing clause repealed, many unfortunate insane of the middle class in question, would be transmitted to them for treatment; the public asylum would not be regarded with the same misgivings and as an evil to be avoided, but it would progressively acquire the character of an hospital, and ought ultimately to be regarded as a place of cure, equivalent in character to a general hospital, and as entailing no disgrace or discredit on its occupant. the commissioners in lunacy, in their ninth report ( , p. ), refer to the admissions into county asylums, of patients from the less rich classes of society reduced to poverty by the occurrence of the mental malady, and hint at their influence in swelling the number of the chronic insane, owing to their transfer not taking place until after the failure of their means and the persistence of their disorder for a more or less considerable period. this very statement is an illustration in point; for the circumstance deplored is the result of the indisposition on the part of individuals to reduce their afflicted relatives to the level of paupers by the preliminaries to, and by the act of, placing them in an asylum blazoned to the world as the receptacle for paupers only; an act, whereby, moreover, they advertise to all their own poverty, and their need to ask parish aid for the support of their poor lunatic kindred. on the continent of europe and in the united states of america we obtain ample evidence that the plan of pauperizing patients in order to render them admissible to public asylums, is by no means necessary. most continental asylums are of a mixed character, receiving both paying and non-paying inmates, and care is taken to investigate the means of every applicant for admission, and those of his friends chargeable by law with his maintenance. those who are paid for are called "pensioners" or boarders, and are divided into classes according to the sum paid, a particular section of the asylum being assigned to each class. besides those pensioners who pay for their entire maintenance, there are others whose means are inadequate to meet the entire cost, and who are assessed to pay a larger or smaller share of it. lowest in the scale of inmates are those who are entirely chargeable to the departmental or provincial revenue, being devoid of any direct or indirect means of support. probably the machinery of assessment in the continental states might not accord with english notions and be too inquisitorial for adoption _in toto_; but at all events, on throwing open public asylums for the reception of all lunatics who may apply for it, without the brand of pauperism being inflicted upon them, some scheme of fairly estimating the amount they ought to contribute to their maintenance should be devised. for the richer classes a plan of inquisition into their resources is provided, and there seems no insuperable difficulty in contriving some machinery whereby those less endowed with worldly goods might, at an almost nominal expense, have their means duly examined and apportioned to their own support and that of their families. overseers and relieving officers are certainly not the persons to be entrusted with any such scheme, nor would we advocate a jury, for in such inquiries few should share; but would suggest it as probably practicable that the amount of payment might be adjudged by two or three of the committee of visitors of the asylum with the clerk of the guardians of the union or parish to which the lunatic belonged. in the united states of america, every tax-payer and holder of property is entitled as a tax-payer, when insane, to admission into the asylum of the state of which he is a citizen. he is considered as a contributor to the erection and support of the institution, and as having therefore a claim upon its aid if disease overtake him. the cost of his maintenance is borne by the township or county to which he belongs, and the question of his means to contribute towards it is determined by the county judge and a jury. most of the asylums of the republic also receive boarders at fixed terms, varying according to the accommodation desired; hence there are very few private asylums in the states. in the state of new york there is a special legal provision intended to encourage the early removal of recent cases to the asylum; whereby persons not paupers, whose malady is of less than one year's duration, are admitted without payment, upon the order of a county judge, granted to an application made to him, setting forth the recent origin of the attack and the limited resources of the patient. such patients are retained two years, at the end of which time they are discharged, their friends being held responsible for the removal. their cost in the asylum is defrayed by the county or parish to which they belong. we have said above, that the requirement of the declaration of pauperism is ineffectual in guarding the interests of the rate-payer against the cost of improper applicants. indeed, the proceeding adopted to carry it out is both absurd and useless, besides being, as just pointed out, mischievous in its effects. in the interpretation clause of "the lunatic asylums' act, ," it is ordered that a "pauper shall mean every person maintained wholly or in part by, or chargeable to, any parish, union, or county." hence when insanity overtakes an unfortunate person who is not maintained by a parish or union, it is required that he be made chargeable to one, or, as we have briefly expressed the fact, that he be pauperized. to effect this object, the rule is, that the patient shall reside at least a day and a night in a workhouse. this proceeding, we repeat, carries absurdity on the face of it. either it may be a mere farce privately enacted between the parish officers and the friends of the patient, to the complete frustration of the law so far as the protection of the rate-payers is contemplated; or, it may be made to inflict much pain and annoyance on the applicants by the official obstructiveness, impertinent curiosity, obtuseness, and possible ill-feeling of the parish functionaries in whose hands the law has practically entrusted the principal administration of the details regulating the access to our public asylums. it is no secret among the superintendents of county asylums, that by private arrangements with the overseers or guardians of parishes, cases gain admission contrary to the letter and spirit of the law, and to the exclusion of those who have legally a prior and superior claim. we have, indeed, the evidence of the lunacy commissioners, to substantiate this assertion. in their ninth report ( , p. ) they observe,--"in some districts a practice has sprung up, by which persons, who have never been themselves in receipt of parochial relief, and who are not unfrequently tradesmen, or thriving artisans, have been permitted to place lunatic relations in the county asylums, as pauper patients, under an arrangement with the guardians for afterwards reimbursing to the parish the whole, or part, of the charge for their maintenance. this course of proceeding is stated to prevail to a considerable extent in the asylums of the metropolitan counties, and its effect in occupying with patients, not strictly or originally of the pauper class, the space and accommodations which were designed for others who more properly belong to it, has more than once been made the subject of complaint." desiring, as we do, to see our county asylums thrown open to the insane generally, by the abolition of the pauper qualification, it is rather a subject of congratulation that cases of the class referred to do obtain admission into them, even when contrary to the letter of the law. but we advance the quotation and assertion above to show, that the pauperizing provision of the act is ineffective in the attainment of its object; and to remark, that the opportunities at connivance it offers to parochial officials, must exercise a demoralizing influence and be subversive of good government. if private arrangements can be made between the applicants for an assumed favour, and parish officers, who will undertake to say that there shall not be bribery and corruption? sufficient, we trust, has been said to demonstrate the evils of the present system of pauperizing patients to qualify them for admission into county asylums, and the desirability of opening those institutions to all lunatics of the middle classes whose means are limited, and whose social position as independent citizens is jeopardized by the existence of their malady. this class of persons, as before said, calls especially for commiseration and aid; being so placed, on the one hand, that their limited means must soon fail to afford them the succour of a private asylum; and on the other, with the door of the public institution closed against them, except at the penalty of pauperism and social degradation. what we would desire is, that every recent case of insanity should at once obtain admission into the public asylum of the county or borough, if furnished with the necessary medical certificates and with an order from a justice who has either seen the patient or received satisfactory evidence as to his condition (see remarks on duties of district medical officers), and obtained from the relatives an undertaking to submit to the assessment made by a commission as above proposed, or constituted in any other manner thought better; or the speedy admission of recent cases might otherwise be secured by prescribing their attendance and that of their friends before the weekly committee of the visitors of the asylum, by whom the order for reception might be signed on the requisite medical certificates being produced, and the examination for the assessment of the patient's resources formally made, with the assistance possibly of some representative of the parish interests,--such for instance as the clerk to the board of guardians. in the county courts the judges are daily in the habit of ordering periodical payments to be made in discharge of debts upon evidence offered to them of the earnings or trade returns of the debtor; and there seems no _a priori_ reason against the investigation of the resources of a person whose friends apply for his admission into a county asylum. it is for them to show cause why the parish or county should assume the whole or the partial cost of the patient's maintenance, and this can be done before the committee of the asylum or any private board of inquiry with little annoyance or publicity. rather than raise an obstacle to the admission of the unfortunate sufferer, it would be better to receive him at once and to settle pecuniary matters afterwards. we must here content ourselves with this general indication of the machinery available for apportioning the amount of payment to be made on account of their maintenance by persons not paupers, or for determining their claim upon the asylum funds. yet we cannot omit the opportunity to remark that the proceedings as ordered by the existing statute with a similar object are incomplete and unsatisfactory. these proceedings are set forth in _sects._ xciv. and civ. ( & vict. cap. ). the one section of the act is a twin brother to the other, and it might be imagined by one not "learned in the law," that one of the two sections might with little alteration suffice. be this as it may, it is enacted that if it appear to two justices (_sect._ xciv.) by whose order a patient has been sent to an asylum, or (_sect._ civ.) "to any justice or justices by this act authorized to make any order for the payment of money for the maintenance of any lunatic, that such lunatic" has property or income available to reimburse the cost of his maintenance in the asylum, such justices (_sect._ xciv.) shall apply to the nearest known relative or friend for payment, and if their notice be unattended to for one month, they may authorize a relieving officer or overseer to seize the goods, &c. of the patient, whether in the hands of a trustee or not, to the amount set forth in their order. _sect._ civ. makes no provision for applying to relatives or friends in the first instance, but empowers the justice or justices to proceed in a similar way to that prescribed by _sect._ xciv., to repay the patient's cost; with the additional proviso that, besides the relieving officer or overseer, "the treasurer or some other officer of the county to which such lunatic is chargeable, or in which any property of the lunatic may be, or an officer of the asylum in which such lunatic may be," may proceed to recover the amount charged against him. concerning these legal provisions, we may observe, that the state of the lunatic's pecuniary condition is left to accidental discovery. the justices signing the order of admission (_sect._ xciv.) have no authority given them to institute inquiries, although they may learn by report that the patient for whom admission is solicited is not destitute of the means of maintenance. nor are the justices who make the order for payment (_sect._ civ.) in any better position for ascertaining facts. there is, in short, no authorized and regular process for investigating the chargeability of those who are not actually in the receipt of parochial relief on or before application for their admission into the county asylum, or who must necessarily be chargeable by their social position when illness befalls them. again, according to the literal reading of the sections in question, no partial charge for maintenance can be proposed; no proportion of the cost can be assessed, where the patient's resources are unequal to meet the whole. lastly, the summary process of seizing the goods or property of any sort, entrusted to those who are most probably the informers of the justices, namely overseers and relieving officers; and, by _sect._ civ., carried out without any preliminary notice or application, and without any investigation of the truth of the reports which may reach the justices, is certainly a proceeding contrary to the ordinary notions of equity and justice. § _detention of patients in workhouses._ in the case of the insane poor, whose condition, circumstances, and social position have been such that whenever any misfortune, want of work, or sickness has overtaken them, the workhouse affords a ready refuge, the requirement of pauperization to qualify for admission to the county asylum is in itself no hardship and no obstacle to their transmission to it. probably the prevailing tactics of parish officers may at times contribute to delay the application for relief, but the great obstacle to bringing insane paupers under early and satisfactory treatment in the authorized receptacle for them--the county asylum, is the prevalence of an economical theory respecting the much greater cheapness of workhouse compared with asylum detention. the practical result of this theory is, that generally where a pauper lunatic can by any means be managed in a workhouse, he is detained there. if troublesome, annoying, and expensive, he is referred to the county asylum; this is the leading test for the removal; the consideration of the recent or chronic character of his malady is taken little or no account of. in fresh cases the flattering hope is that the patients will soon recover, and that the presumed greater cost of asylum care can be saved; in old ones the feeling is that they are sufficiently cared for, if treated like the other pauper inmates, just that amount of precaution being attempted which may probably save a public scandal or calamity. to the prevalence of these economical notions and practice may be attributed the large number of lunatics detained in workhouses (nearly ), and the equally large one living with their friends or others. now it is very desirable to inquire whether these theories of the superior economy of workhouses compared with asylums as receptacles for the insane, are true and founded on facts. this question is in itself twofold, and leaves for investigation, first, that of the mere saving in money on account of maintenance and curative appliances; and secondly, that of the comparative fitness or unfitness, the advantages or disadvantages, the profit or loss, of the two kinds of institutions in relation to the welfare, the cure, and the relief of the poor patients placed in them. these questions press for solution in connexion with the subject of the accumulation of lunatics and the means to be adopted for its arrest, or, what is equivalent to this, for promoting the curability of the insane. on making a comparative estimate of charges, it is essential to know whether the same elements of expenditure are included in the two cases; if the calculated cost per head for maintenance in workhouses and asylums respectively comprises the same items, and generally, if the conditions and circumstances so far as they affect their charges are rightly comparable. an examination we are confident, will prove that in no one of these respects are they so. in the first place, the rate of maintenance in an asylum is calculated on the whole cost of board, clothing, bedding, linen, furniture, salaries, and incidental expenditure; that is, on the total disbursements of the establishment, exclusive only of the expenditure for building and repairs, which is charged to the county. on the contrary, the "in-maintenance" in workhouses comprises only the cost of food, clothing, and necessaries supplied to the inmates (see poor-law board tenth report, p. ). the other important items reckoned on in fixing the rate of cost per head in asylums are charged to the "establishment" account of the workhouse, and are omitted in the calculation of the rate of maintenance. reference to the tables given in the poor-law board returns (tenth report, p. , sub-column _e_ and a portion of _f_) will prove that the expenditure on account of those other items must be nearly or quite equal to that comprehended under the head of "in-maintenance" cost. we have no means at hand to calculate with sufficient precision what sum should be added to the "in-maintenance" cost of paupers per head in workhouses, but it is quite clear that the figures usually employed to represent it, cannot be rightly compared with those exhibiting the weekly charge of lunatics in asylums. at the very least half as much again must be added to a workhouse estimate before placing it in contrast with asylum cost. since the preceding remarks were written, dr. bucknill has favoured us with the thirteenth report of the devon asylum, in which he has discussed this same question and illustrated it by a special instance. to arrive at the actual cost of an adult sane pauper in a union-house, he gathered "the following particulars relative to the house of the st. thomas union in which this asylum is placed; a union, the population of which is , , and which has the reputation of being one of the best managed in the kingdom. the cost of the maintenance of paupers in this union-house is _s._ _d._ per head, per week, namely, _s._ _d._ for food and _d._ for clothing. the establishment charges are _s._ - / _d._ per head, per week, making a total of _s._ - / _d._ for each inmate. the total number of pauper inmates during the twelfth week of the present quarter was ; and of these were infants and children, and youths above sixteen and adults. a gentleman intimately acquainted with these accounts, some time since calculated for me that each adult pauper in the st. thomas's union-house cost _s._ a week. now the average cost of all patients in the devon asylum at the present time is _s._ _d._, but of this at least _s._ must be set down to the extra wages, diet, and other expenses needful in the treatment of the sick, and of violent and acute cases, leaving the cost of the great body of chronic patients at not more than _s._ _d._ a week. now if a sane adult pauper in a union-house costs even _s._ _d._ a week, is it probable that an insane one would cost less than _s._ _d._? for either extra cost must be incurred in his care, or he must disturb the discipline of the establishment, and every such disturbance is a source of expense." this quotation is really a reiteration of dr. bucknill's conclusions as advanced in , in an excellent paper in the 'asylum journal' (vol. iv. p. ), and as a pendent to it the following extract from this paper is appropriate; viz. "that the cost of a chronic lunatic properly cared for, and supplied with a good dietary, in a county asylum, is not greater than that of a chronic lunatic supplied with a coarse and scanty dietary, and detained in neglect and wretchedness as the inmate of a union workhouse." another most important circumstance to be borne in mind when the cost of workhouses and asylums is contrasted, is that in the former establishments more than two-thirds of the inmates are children. thus the recipients of in-door relief on the st of january, , consisted, according to the poor-law returns, of , adults, and , children under sixteen years of age. now as the rate of maintenance is calculated on the whole population of a workhouse, adults and children together, it necessarily follows that it falls much within that of asylums, in which almost the whole population is adult. this very material difference in the character of the inmates of the two institutions may fairly be valued as equivalent to a diminution of one-fourth of the expense of maintenance in favour of workhouses; and without some such allowance, the comparison of the cost per head in asylums and union-houses respectively is neither fair nor correct. again, there is another difference between asylums and workhouses, which tells in favour of the latter in an economical point of view, whilst it proves that the expenditure of the two is not rightly comparable without making due allowance for it along with the foregoing considerations. this difference subsists in the character of the two institutions respectively; namely, that in the asylum the movements of the population are slight, whereas in the workhouse they are very considerable by the constant ingress and egress of paupers; driven to it by some passing misfortune or sickness, it may be for a week or two only or even less, and discharging themselves so soon as the temporary evil ceases to operate or the disorder is overcome: for the poor generally, except the old and decrepit who cannot help themselves, both dread a lodging in the workhouse, and escape from it as soon as possible; in fact, even when they have no roof of their own to shelter them, they will often use the union accommodation only partially, leaving it often by day and returning to it by night. all this implies a large fluctuation of inmates frequently only partially relieved, whether in the way of board or clothing; and consequently when the average cost per head of in-door paupers is struck, it appears in a greater or less degree lower than it would have done had the same constancy in numbers and in the duration and extent of the relief afforded prevailed as it does in asylums. the effect of the fluctuations in population in union-houses ought, we understand, to be slight, if the "orders in council" laid down to guide parochial authorities in the calculation of the cost of their paupers, were adhered to; viz. that for all those belonging to any one parish in union, who may have received in-door relief during the year or for any less period of time, an equivalent should be found representing the number who have been inmates throughout the year; or the total extent of relief be expressed by estimating it to be equal to the support of one hypothetical individual for any number of years equivalent to the sum of the portions of time the entire number of the paupers of the particular parish received the benefits of the establishment. we do not feel sure that these plans of calculating the cost per head are faithfully and fully executed; the rough method of doing so, viz. by taking the whole cost of "in-maintenance" at the end of the year and dividing it by the number of its recipients, and assuming the quotient to represent the expenditure for each. whether this be the case or not, these daily changes among its inmates, the frequent absence of many for a great part of the day and the like, are to be enumerated among the circumstances which tend to keep down expenditure of workhouses; and which are not found in asylums. there is yet another feature about workhouses which distinguishes them from asylums, and is of considerable moment in the question of the comparative cost of maintenance in the two: this is, the circumstance of the population of workhouses being of a mixed character, of which the insane constitute merely a small section; while, on the contrary, that of asylums is entirely special, and each of its members to be considered a patient or invalid demanding particular care and special appliances. therefore, _a priori_, no comparison as to their expenditure can justly be drawn between two institutions so dissimilar. yet even this extent of dissimilarity between them is not all that exists; for the union-house is so constituted by law as to serve as a test of poverty; to offer no inducements to pauperism, and to curtail the cost of maintenance as far as possible. it has properly no organization for the detention, supervision, moral treatment and control, nor for the nursing or medical care of the insane; and when its establishment is attempted it is a step at variance with its primary intention, and involves an extra expenditure. consequently, before overseers or guardians can with any propriety contrast the workhouse charges of maintenance with those of asylums, it is their business to estimate what an adult pauper lunatic costs them per week, instead of, as usual, quoting the cost per head calculated on the whole of the inmates, old and young, sane and insane. once more, even after a fair estimate of the cost of an adult insane inmate of a workhouse is obtained, there is still another differential circumstance favourable to a less rate than can be anticipated in asylums; for this reason:--that in the former institutions the practice is to reject all violent cases, the major portion of recent ones, and, generally, all those who give particular annoyance and trouble; whilst the latter is, as it rightly should be, regarded as the fitting receptacle for all such patients;--that is, in other words, those classes of patients which entail the greatest expense are got rid of by the workhouses and undertaken by the asylums. dr. bucknill has well expressed the same circumstances we have reviewed, in the following paragraph (report, devon asylum, , p. ):--"in estimating the cost of lunatic paupers in asylums, the important consideration must not be omitted, that the charge made for the care and maintenance of lunatics in county asylums is averaged upon those whose actual cost is much greater, and those whose actual cost is less than the mean; so that it would be unfair for the overseers of a parish to say of any single patient that he could be maintained for a smaller sum than that charged, when the probability is that there are or have been patients in the asylum from the same parish, whose actual cost to the asylum has been much greater than that charged to the parish. i have shown, that the actual cost of chronic patients in an asylum exceeds that of adult paupers in union-houses to a much smaller extent than has been stated: but if all patients of this description were removed from the asylum, the inevitable result must be that the average cost of those who remained would be augmented, so that the pecuniary result to the parishes in the county would be much the same. the actual cost of an individual patient, if all things are taken into calculation, is often three or four times greater than the average. leaving out of consideration the welfare of the patients, it would be obviously unfair to the community, that a parish having four patients in the asylum, the actual cost of two of whom was _s._ a week, and of the other two only _s._ a week, should be allowed to remove the two who cost the smaller sum, and be still permitted to leave the other two at the average charge of _s._" the conclusion of the whole matter is, that _cæteris paribus_, _i. e._ supposing workhouses to be equally fitting receptacles for the insane as asylums, the differential cost of the two can only be estimated when it is ascertained that the items of maintenance are alike in the two, and after that an allowance is made for the different characters of their population and of their original purpose; that is, in the instance of workhouses, for the very large number of juvenile paupers; for the great fluctuations in the residents; for the mixed character of their inmates, of sane and insane together, and the small proportion of insane, and for the exclusion of the most expensive classes of such patients. let these matters be fairly estimated, and we doubt much if, even _primâ facie_, it can be shown that the workhouse detention of pauper lunatics is more economical than that of properly constructed and organized asylums. should we even be so far successful as to make poor-law guardians and overseers perceive that the common rough-and-ready mode of settling the question of relative cost in asylums and workhouses, by contrasting the calculated rate per head for in-door relief with that for asylum care, is not satisfactory; we cannot cherish the flattering hope that they will be brought to perceive that, simply in an economical point of view, no saving at all is gained by the detention of the insane in workhouses. those poor-law officials generally are so accustomed to haggle about fractional parts of a penny in voting relief, to look at an outlay of money only with reference to the moment, forgetful of future retribution for false economy, and to handle the figures representing in their estimate the economical superiority of the workhouse for the insane, when they desire to silence an opponent;--that the task of proving to them that their theory and practice are wrong, is equivalent to the infelicitous endeavour to convince men against their will. still, however unpromising our attempt may appear, it is not right to yield whilst any legitimate arguments are at hand; and our repertory of them, even of those suited to a contest concerning the pounds, shillings, and pence of the matter, is not quite exhausted; for we are prepared to prove, that asylum accommodation can be furnished to the lunatic poor at an outlay little or not at all exceeding that for workhouses. now this point to be argued, the cost of asylum construction, is not, like the foregoing considerations, chiefly the affair of poor-law guardians and overseers, but concerns more particularly the county magistrates, inasmuch as it is defrayed out of the county instead of the poor rate. but although this is the case, there is no doubt that the very great expense of existing asylums has acted as an impediment to the construction of others, and has seemed to justify, to a certain extent, the improper detention of many insane persons in workhouses: for, on one side, asylums are found to have cost for their construction and fittings, £ , £ , and upwards per head, whilst on the other, workhouses are built at the small outlay, on an average, of eighty-six such establishments, of £ per head. the "return" made to the house of commons, june , , "of the cost of building workhouses in england and wales, erected since ," shows indeed a very wide variation of cost in different places, from £ per head for the congleton union house; £ for the erpingham; £ for the stockton and tenterden, to £ for the kensington; £ for the dulverton; £ for the city of london; £ for st. margaret westminster; and £ for the paddington. this enormous difference of expenditure on workhouse lodging,--for, unlike asylum costs, it does not include fittings, extending from £ to £ per inmate,--is really inexplicable, after allowing for the varying ideas of parish authorities as to what a workhouse should be, and for the slight differences in the cost of building materials and labour in some parts of the country than in others. either some workhouses must be most miserable and defective habitations even for paupers, or others must be very extravagant and needlessly expensive in their structure. there is this much to be said in explanation of the contrast of cost in different workhouses, that in those belonging to large town populations, infirmary accommodation becomes an item of importance and involves increased expenditure, whilst in those situated in agricultural districts, this element of expense is almost wanting. moreover it is in town workhouses generally that lunatic inmates are found, who, if not in the infirmary, are lodged in special wards, often so constructed as to meet their peculiar wants, and therefore more costly than the rest of the institution occupied by the ordinary pauper inmates. this is the same with saying that where workhouses are used as receptacles for the insane, it greatly enhances the cost of their construction. it will be evident to every thinking person that the costs of asylum and of workhouse construction are not fairly comparable. the asylum is a special building; an instrument of treatment; peculiarly arranged for an invalid population, affording facilities for classification, recreation, and amusements; and fitted with costly expedients for warming and ventilation; whereas the workhouse is essentially a refuge for the destitute, necessarily made not too inviting in its accommodation and internal arrangements; suited to preserve the life of sound inmates who need little more than the shelter of a roof and the rude conveniences the majority of them have been accustomed to. now these very characteristics of workhouses are among the best arguments against the detention of lunatics within these buildings; but of these hereafter. there is doubtless a permissible pride in the ability to point to a well-built asylum, commanding attention by its dimensions and architectural merits, and we would be the last to decry the beauties and benefits of architecture, and know too, that an ugly exterior may cost as much or more than a meritorious one; yet we must confess to misgivings that there has been an unnecessary and wasteful expenditure in this direction. nevertheless it is with asylums as with railways, the present race of directors are reaping instruction from the extravagances and errors its predecessors fell into. the change of opinion among all classes respecting the character and wants of the insane and their mode of treatment, is of itself so great, that many of the structural adaptations and general dispositions formerly made at great cost, are felt to be no longer necessary, and the very correct and happy persuasion daily gains ground, that the less the insane are dealt with as prisoners, and treated with apprehension and mistrust, the more may their accommodation be assimilated to that of people in general, and secured at a diminished outlay. all this suggests the possibility of constructing asylums at a much less cost than formerly, and of thereby lessening the force of one of the best pleas for using workhouses as receptacles for the insane. the possibility of so doing has been proved both theoretically and practically. in an essay 'on the construction of public asylums,' published in the "asylum journal" for january (vol. iv. p. ), we advocated the separation of the day- from the night-accommodation of patients, and the abolition of the system of corridors with day- and sleeping-rooms, or, as we briefly termed it, "the ward-system," and showed that by so doing a third of the cost of construction might be saved, whilst the management of the institution would be facilitated, and the position of the patients improved. by a careful estimate, made by a professional architect, with the aid of the necessary drawings, for a building of considerable architectural pretension, it was calculated that most satisfactory, cheerful, and eligible accommodation could be secured, including farm-buildings, and fittings for warming, ventilation, drainage, gas, &c., at the rate of £ per head for patients of all classes, or at one-half of the ordinary cost. experience has shown that chronic lunatics, at least, can be accommodated in an asylum at a lower rate, in fact, at little more than half the expense that we calculated upon. like other county asylums, the devon became filled with patients; still they came, and after attempts to cram more into the original edifice, by slight alterations, and by adding rooms here and there, it was at length found necessary to make a considerable enlargement. instead of adding floors or wings to the old building, which would have called for a repetition of the same original expensive construction of walls, and of rooms and corridors, the committee, with the advice of their excellent physician, wisely determined to construct a detached building on a new plan, which promised every necessary convenience and security with wonderful cheapness; and, for once in a way, an architect's cheap estimate was not exceeded. instead of £ or £ per head, as of old, accommodation was supplied at the rate of £ : _s._ per patient, including fittings for all the rooms and a kitchen:--a marvel, certainly, in asylum construction, and one which should have the effect of reviving the hopes and wishes of justices, once at least so laudably entertained, to provide in county asylums for _all_ pauper lunatics of the county. it is only fair to remark, that, as dr. bucknill informs us (asylum journal, , p. ), this new section of the devon asylum is dependent on the old institution for the residences of officers, for chapel, dispensary, store-rooms, &c. "it is difficult," writes dr. bucknill, "to estimate the proportion which these needful adjuncts to the wards of a complete asylum bear to the expense of the old building; they can scarcely, however, be estimated at so high a figure as one-eighth of the whole." but, as a set-off against the increased cost per patient involved in supplying the necessary offices described by dr. bucknill, we may mention that there are twenty single sleeping-rooms provided in the building, and that a greater cost was thereby entailed, than many would think called for, where only chronic, and generally calm patients, were to be lodged. these illustrations of what may be done in the way of obtaining good asylum accommodation for pauper lunatics at no greater rate, we are persuaded, than that incurred in attempting to provide properly for them in workhouses, furnish a most valid reason for discontinuing their detention in the latter, and the more so, if, as can be demonstrated, they are unfit receptacles for them. the possibility of constructing cheap asylums being thus far proved, the question might be put, whether the internal cost of such institutions could not be lessened? we fear that there is not much room for reform in this matter, if the patients in asylums are rightly and justly treated, and the officers and attendants fairly remunerated. in producing power, an asylum exceeds a workhouse, and therein derives an advantage in diminishing expenditure and the cost of maintenance. on the other hand, the expenditure of a workhouse is much less in salaries, particularly in those given to its medical officer and servants, a form of economy which will never repay, and, we trust, will never be tried in asylums. warming, ventilation, and lighting are less thought of, little attempted, and therefore less expensive items in workhouse than in asylum accounts. with respect to diet and clothing, workhouses ought to exhibit a considerable saving; but this saving is rather apparent than real, and certainly in the wrong direction; for lunatics of all sorts require a liberal dietary, warm clothing, and, from their habits frequently, more changes than the ordinary pauper inmates; yet these are provisions, which, except there is actual sickness or marked infirmity, the insane living in a workhouse do not enjoy; for they fare like the other inmates, are clothed the same, and are tended or watched over by other paupers; the saving, therefore, is at the cost of their material comfort and well-being. excepting, therefore, the gain to be got by the labours of the patients, there is no set-off in favour of asylum charges; in short, in other respects none can be obtained without inflicting injury and injustice. on the other hand, workhouse expenditure need be raised if the requisite medical and general treatment, nursing, dietary, employment, and recreation are to be afforded; which is the same as saying, that workhouses, if receptacles for the insane at all, should be assimilated to asylums,--a principle, which, if admitted and acted upon, overturns at once the only argument for their use as such, viz. its economy. the perception on the part of parochial authorities, that something more than the common lodging and attendance of the workhouse is called for by the insane inmates, has led to the construction of "lunatic wards" for their special accommodation, a scheme which may be characterized as an extravagant mistake, whether viewed in reference to economical principles or the welfare of the patients. if structurally adapted to their object, they must cost as much as a suitable asylum need; and if properly supervised and managed, if a sufficient dietary be allowed, and a proper staff of attendants hired, no conceivable economical advantage over an asylum can accrue. on the contrary, as dr. bucknill has remarked (asylum journal, vol. iv. p. ), any such attempts at an efficient management of the insane in small and scattered asylums attached to union workhouses, will necessarily increase their rate of maintenance above that charged in a large central establishment, endowed with a more complete organization and with peculiar resources for their management. dr. bucknill returns to the discussion of this point in his just published report (rep. devon asylum, , p. ). he puts the question, "would a number of small asylums, under the denomination of lunatic wards, be more economical than one central asylum?" and, thus proceeds to reply to it:--"the great probability is that they would not be; st, on account of the larger proportion of officials they would require; nd, on account of the derangement they would occasion to the severe economy which is required by the aim and purpose of union-houses as tests of destitution. where lunatics do exist in union-houses in consequence of the want of accommodation in the county asylum, the commissioners in lunacy insist upon the provision of what they consider things essential to the proper care of insane persons wherever they be placed. the following are the requirements which they insisted upon as _essential_ in the liverpool workhouse:--a sufficient staff of responsible paid nurses and attendants; a fixed liberal dietary sanctioned by the medical superintendent of the asylum; good and warm clothing and bedding; the rooms rendered much more cheerful and better furnished; the flagged court-yards enlarged and planted as gardens; the patients frequently sent to walk in the country under proper care; regular daily medical visitation; and the use of the official books kept according to law in asylums. if the direct cost of such essentials be computed with the indirect cost of their influence upon the proper union-house arrangements, it will require no argument to prove that workhouse lunatic wards so conducted would effect no saving to the ratepayers. the measures needed to provide in the union-house kitchen a liberal dietary for the lunatic wards and a restricted one for the sane remainder, to control the staff of paid attendants, to arrange frequent walks into the country for part of the community, while the other part was kept strictly within the walls;--these would be inevitable sources of disturbance to the proper union-house discipline, which would entail an amount of eventual expenditure not easily calculated." if, on economical grounds, the system of lunatic wards has no evident merit, none certainly can be claimed for it on the score of its adaptation to their wants and welfare. indeed, the argument for workhouse accommodation, on the plea of economy, loses all its weight when the well-being of the insane is balanced against it. for, if there be any value in the universally accepted opinions of enlightened men, of all countries in europe, of the requirements of the insane, of the desirability for them of a cheerful site, of ample space for out-door exercise, occupation and amusement, of in-door arrangements to while away the monotony of their confinement and cheer the mind, of good air, food and regimen, of careful watching and kind nursing, of active and constant medical supervision and control, or to sum up all in two words, of efficient medical and moral treatment,--then assuredly the wards of a workhouse do not furnish a fitting abode for them. the unfitness of workhouses for the detention of the insane, and the evils attendant upon it, have been repeatedly pointed out by the commissioners in lunacy in their annual reports, and by several able writers. we were also glad to see from the report of his speech, on introducing the lunatic poor (ireland) bill into the house of commons, that lord naas is strongly opposed to the detention of the insane in workhouses, and therein agrees with the irish special lunacy commissioners ( , p. ), who have placed their opinion on record in these words:--"it appears to us that there can be no more unsuitable place for the detention of insane persons than the ordinary lunatic wards of the union workhouses." this is pretty nearly the same language as that used by the english commissioners in , viz. "we think that the detention in workhouses of not only dangerous lunatics, but of all lunatics and idiots whatever, is highly objectionable." to make good these general statements, we will, at the risk of some repetition, enter into a few particulars. on the one hand, the presence of lunatics in a workhouse is a source of annoyance, difficulty, and anxiety to the official staff and to the inmates, and withal of increased expense to the establishment. if some of them may be allowed to mix with the ordinary inmates, there are others who cannot, and whose individual liberty and comfort must be curtailed for the sake of the general order and management, and of the security and comfort of the rest. some very pertinent observations occur in the report of the massachusetts lunacy commission (_op. cit._ p. ), on the mixing of the sane and insane together in the state almshouses, which correspond to our union workhouses. they report that the superintendents "were unanimous in their convictions that the mingling of the insane with the sane in these houses operated badly, not only for both parties, but for the administration of the whole institution." further on, the commissioners observe (p. ), "by this mingling the sane and insane together, both parties are more disturbed and uncontrollable, and need more watchfulness and interference on the part of the superintendent and other officers.... it has a reciprocal evil effect in the management of both classes of inmates. the evil is not limited to breaches of order; for there is no security against violence from the attrition of the indiscreet and uneasy paupers with the excitable and irresponsible lunatics and idiots. most of the demented insane, and many idiots, have eccentricities; they are easily excited and disturbed; and nothing is more common than for inmates to tease, provoke, and annoy them, in view of gratifying their sportive feelings and propensities, by which they often become excited and enraged to a degree to require confinement to ensure the safety of life.... the mingling of the state paupers, sane and insane, makes the whole more difficult and expensive to manage. it costs more labour, watchfulness, and anxiety to take care of them together than it would to take care of them separately." these sketches from america may be matched in our own country; and they truthfully represent the reciprocal disadvantages of mixing the sane and insane together in the same establishment. even supposing the presence of insane in workhouses involved, on the one hand, no disadvantages to the institutions, or to the sane inmates; yet on the other, the evils to the lunatic inhabitants would be condemnatory of it; for the insane necessarily suffer in proportion as the workhouse accommodation differs from that of asylums; or, inversely, as the economical arrangements and management of a workhouse approach those of an asylum. they suffer from many deficiencies and defects in locality and organization, in medical supervision and proper nursing and watching, in moral discipline, and in the means of classification, recreation, and employment. workhouses are commonly town institutions; their locality often objectionable; their structure indifferent and dull; their site and their courts for exercise confined and small, and their means of recreation and of occupation, especially out of doors, very limited. petty officers of unions so often figure before the world, and have been so admirably portrayed by dickens and other delineators of character, on account of their peculiarities of manner and practice, that no sketch from us is needed to exhibit their unfitness as guardians and attendants upon the insane. as to workhouse nurses, little certainly can be expected from them, seeing that they are only pauper inmates pressed into the service; if aged, feeble and inefficient; if young, not unlikely depraved or weak-minded; always ignorant, and it may be often cruel; without remuneration or training, and chosen with little or no regard to their qualifications and fitness. however satisfactory the structure of the ward and its supervision might be rendered, its connexion with a union workhouse will be disadvantageous to the good government and order of the establishment, as above noticed, and detrimental to the welfare of the insane confined in it. thus it must be remembered that very many of the lunatic inmates have been reduced to seek parochial aid solely on account of the distressing affliction which has overtaken them; before its occurrence, they may have occupied an honourable and respectable position in society, and, consequently, where consciousness is not too much blunted, their position among paupers--too often the subjects of moral degradation--must chafe and pain the disordered mind and frustrate more or less all attempts at its restoration. to many patients, therefore, the detention in a workhouse is a punishment superadded to the many miseries their mental disorder inflicts upon them; and consequently, when viewed only in this light, ought not to be tolerated. of all cases of lunacy, the wards of a workhouse are least adapted to recent ones, for they are deficient of satisfactory means of treatment, whether medical or moral, and the only result of detention in them to be anticipated, must be to render the malady chronic and incurable. yet although every asylum superintendent has reported against the folly and injury of the proceeding, and notwithstanding the distinct and strong condemnation of it by the commissioners in lunacy, the latter, in their report for , have to lament an increasing disposition, on the part of union officers, to receive and keep recent cases in workhouses. moral treatment we hold to be impossible in an establishment where there are no opportunities of classification, no proper supervision and attendance, and no means for the amusement and employment of the mind; but where, on the contrary, the place and organization are directly opposed to it, and the prospects of medical treatment are scarcely less unfavourable. an underpaid and overworked medical officer, in his hasty visits through the wards of the workhouse daily, or perhaps only three or four times a week, very frequently without any actual experience among the insane, cannot be expected to give any special attention to the pauper lunatics, who are mostly regarded as a nuisance in the establishment, to be meddled with as little as possible, and of whose condition only unskilled, possibly old and unfeeling pauper nurses, can give any account. indeed, unless reported to be sick, it scarcely falls into the routine of the union medical officer regularly to examine into the state and condition of the pauper lunatics. these remarks are confirmed by the statement of the lunacy commissioners, in their 'further report,' (p. ), that pauper inmates, "in their character of lunatics merely, are rarely the objects of any special medical attention and care," and that it "was never found (except perhaps in a few cases) that the medical officer had taken upon himself to apply remedies specially directed to the alleviation or cure of the mental disorder. nor was this indeed to be expected, as the workhouse never can be a proper place for the systematic treatment of insanity." it would unnecessarily extend the subject to examine each point of management and organization affecting the well-being of the insane in detail, in order to show how unsuitable in all respects a workhouse must be for their detention; yet it may be worth while to direct attention to one or two other matters. except when some bodily ailment is apparent, the lunatic fare like the ordinary inmates; that is, they are as cheaply fed as possible, without regard to their condition as sufferers from disease, which, because mental, obtains no special consideration. it is in the power of the medical officer, on his visits, to order extra diet if he observes any reason in the general health to call for it; but the dependent position of this gentleman upon the parish authorities, and his knowledge that extra diet and its extra cost will bring down upon him the charge of extravagance and render his tenure of office precarious, are conditions antagonistic to his better sentiments concerning the advantages of superior nutriment to his insane patients. moreover, the cost of food is a principal item in that of the general maintenance of paupers, and one wherein the guardians of the poor believe they reap so great an economical advantage over asylums. but this very gain, so esteemed by poor-law guardians, is scouted as a mistake and proved an extravagance, _i. e._ if the life and well-being of the poor lunatics are considered, by the able superintendents of county asylums. dr. bucknill has well argued this matter in a paper "on the custody of the insane poor" (asylum journal, vol. iv. p. ), and in the course of his remarks says,--"the insane cannot live on a low diet; and while they continue to exist, their lives are rendered wretched by it, owing to the irritability which accompanies mental disease. the assimilating functions in chronic insanity are sluggish and imperfect, and a dietary upon which sane people would retain good health, becomes in them the fruitful source of dysentery and other forms of fatal disease." in his just published report, already quoted, the same excellent physician remarks (p. ),--"a good diet is essential to the tranquil condition of many idiots and chronic lunatics, and is, without doubt, a principal reason why idiots are easily manageable in this asylum, who have been found to be unmanageable in union houses. the royal commission which has recently reported on the lunatic asylums in ireland states this fact broadly, that 'the ordinary workhouse dietary is unsuited and insufficient for any class of the insane.' it is therefore my opinion, founded upon the above considerations, that neither the lunatics nor the idiots in the list presented are likely to retain their present state of tranquillity, and to be harmless to themselves and others, if they are placed in union houses, unless they are provided with those means which are found by experience to ensure the tranquillity of the chronic insane, and especially with a sufficient number of trustworthy attendants, and with a dietary adapted to their state of health. i have thought it desirable to ascertain the practice of charitable institutions especially devoted to the training of idiots, and i find that a fuller dietary is used in them than in this asylum." until a recent date, it was the custom in workhouses, with few exceptions, to allow most of their insane inmates to mingle with the ordinary pauper inmates of the same age and sex, and in general to be very much on the same footing with them "in everything that regards diet, occupation, clothing, bedding, and other personal accommodation" (report, , p. ). this mingling of the sane and insane, having been found subversive of good order and management, gave rise first to the plan of placing most of the latter class in particular wards, many of them in the infirmary, and, subsequently, owing to the advance of public opinion respecting the wants of the insane, to the construction, in many unions, of special lunatic wards, emulating more or less the character and purposes of asylums. the false economy of this plan has been already exposed; and although the lunacy commissioners have always set their faces against lunatic wards, yet their construction has of late been so rapid as to call forth a more energetic denunciation of it:--"impressed strongly (the commissioners write, report, , p. ) with a sense of their many evils, it became our duty, during the past year, to address the poor-law board against the expediency of affording any encouragement or sanction to the further construction, in connexion with union workhouses, of lunatic wards." the evils of lunatic wards, alluded to in the last-quoted paragraph, are thus enlarged upon in another page of the same report (p. ):--"it is obvious that the state of the workhouses, as receptacles for the insane, is becoming daily a subject of greater importance. they are no longer restricted to such pauper lunatics as,--requiring little more than the ordinary accommodation, and being capable of associating with the other inmates,--no very grave objection rests against their receiving. indeed it will often happen that residence in a workhouse, under such conditions, is beneficial to patients of this last-mentioned class; by the inducements offered, from the example of those around them, to engage in ordinary domestic duties and occupations, and so to acquire gradually the habit of restraining and correcting themselves. but these are now unhappily the exceptional cases. many of the larger workhouses, having lunatic wards containing from to inmates, are becoming practically lunatic asylums in everything but the attendance and appliances which ensure the proper treatment, and above all, in the supervision which forms the principal safeguard of patients detained in asylums regularly constituted. "the result is, that detention in workhouses not only deteriorates the more harmless and imbecile cases to which originally they are not unsuited, but has the tendency to render chronic and permanent such as might have yielded to early care. the one class, no longer associating with the other inmates, but congregated in separate wards, rapidly degenerate into a condition requiring all the attendance and treatment to be obtained only in a well-regulated asylum; and the others, presenting originally every chance of recovery, but finding none of its appliances or means, rapidly sink into that almost hopeless state which leaves them generally for life a burthen on their parishes. nor can a remedy be suggested so long as this workhouse system continues. the attendants for the most part are pauper inmates, totally unfitted for the charge imposed upon them. the wards are gloomy, and unprovided with any means for occupation, exercise, or amusement; and the diet, essential above all else to the unhappy objects of mental disease, rarely in any cases exceeds that allowed for the healthy and able-bodied inmates." the subject had previously received their attention, and is thus referred to in their ninth report (p. ):--"they are very rarely provided with any suitable occupation or amusement for the inmates. the means of healthful exercise and labour out of doors are generally entirely wanting, and the attendants (who are commonly themselves paupers) are either gratuitous, or so badly organized and so poorly requited, that no reliance can be placed on the efficiency of their services. in short, the wards become in fact places for the reception and detention of lunatics, without possessing any of the safeguards and appliances which a well-constructed and well-managed lunatic asylum affords. your lordship, therefore, will not be surprised to learn that while we have used our best endeavours to remedy their obvious defects and to ameliorate as far as possible the condition of their inmates, we have from the first uniformly abstained from giving any official sanction or encouragement to their construction." they further make this general observation:--"so far as the lunatic and idiotic inmates are concerned, the condition of the workhouses which have separate wards expressly appropriated to the use of that class, is generally inferior to that of the smaller workhouses, and in some instances extremely unsatisfactory." dr. bucknill, whose excellent remarks on lunatic wards in their economical aspect we have already quoted, has very ably canvassed the question of their fitness as receptacles for the insane, and, in a paper in the 'asylum journal' (vol. iii. p. ), thus treats on it:--"it is deserving of consideration, whether the introduction of liberally-conducted lunatic wards into a union workhouse would not interfere with the working of the latter in its legitimate scope and object. a workhouse is the test of destitution. to preserve its social utility, its economy must always be conducted on a parsimonious scale. no luxuries must be permitted within its sombre walls; even the comforts and conveniences of life must be maintained in it below the average of those attainable by the industry of the labouring poor. how can a liberally-conducted lunatic ward be engrafted upon such a system? it would leaven the whole lump with the taint of liberality, and the so-called pauper bastile would, in the eyes of the unthrifty and indolent poor, be deprived of the reputation which drives them from its portals." there is a general concurrence among all persons competent to form any opinion on the matter, that workhouses are most unfit places for the reception of recent cases of insanity. on the other hand, there is a prevalent belief that there is a certain class of the insane, considered "harmless," for whom such abodes are not unsuitable. the lunacy commissioners, in the extract from the eleventh report above quoted, partake in this opinion: let us therefore endeavour to ascertain, as precisely as we can, the class of patients intended, and the proportion they bear to the usual lunatic inmates of union workhouses. in their 'further report' for , the commissioners enter into a particular examination of the characters of the lunatics found in workhouses, and class them under three heads (p. ):-- st, those who, from birth, or from an early period of life, have exhibited a marked deficiency of intellect as compared with the ordinary measure of understanding among persons of the same age and station; ndly, those who are demented or fatuous; that is to say, those whose faculties, not originally defective, have been subsequently lost, or become greatly impaired through the effects of age, accident, or disease; and rdly, those who are deranged or disordered in mind, in other words, labouring under positive mental derangement, or, as it is popularly termed, "insanity." those in whom epilepsy or paralysis is complicated with unsoundness of mind, although their case requires a separate consideration, do not in strictness constitute a fourth class, but may properly be referred, according to the character of their malady and its effects upon their mental condition, to one or other of these three classes. further on in the report, after remarking on the difficulties besetting their inquiry, they write (p. ):-- "we believe, however, we are warranted in stating, as the result of our experience thus far, that of the entire number of lunatics in workhouses, whom we have computed at or thereabouts, two-thirds at the least, or upwards of , would be properly placed in the first of the three classes in the foregoing arrangement; or, in other words, are persons in whom, as the mental unsoundness or deficiency is a congenital defect, the malady is not susceptible of cure, in the proper sense of the expression; and whose removal to a curative lunatic asylum, except as a means of relieving the workhouse from dangerous or offensive inmates, can be attended with little or no benefit. "a considerable portion of this numerous class, not less, perhaps, than a fourth of the whole, are subject to gusts of passion and violence, or are addicted to disgusting propensities, which render them unfit to remain in the workhouse; and it is the common practice, when accommodation can be procured, to effect the removal of such persons to a lunatic asylum, where their vicious propensities are kept under control, and where, if they cannot be corrected, they at least cease to be offensive or dangerous. but although persons of this description are seldom fit objects for a curative asylum, they are in general capable of being greatly improved, both intellectually and morally, by a judicious system of training and instruction; their dormant or imperfect faculties may be stimulated and developed; they may be gradually weaned from their disgusting propensities; habits of decency, subordination, and self-command may be inculcated, and their whole character as social beings may be essentially ameliorated." the conclusion to be deduced from these extracts is, that one-fourth or two-thirds, that is, one-sixth of the whole number of occupants in workhouses of unsound mind, found in , were unfit for those receptacles, and demanded the provision of institutions in which a moral discipline could be carried out, and their whole condition, as social beings, ameliorated and elevated. a further examination of the data supplied in the same report will establish the conviction that, besides the proportion just arrived at, requiring removal to fitting asylums, there is another one equally large demanding the same provision. in this number are certainly to be placed all those of the third class "labouring under positive mental derangement," and who, although reported as "comparatively few" in , have subsequently been largely multiplied, according to the evidence of the 'eleventh report' (_ante_, p. ). those, again, "in whom epilepsy or paralysis is complicated with unsoundness of mind," are not suitable inmates for workhouse wards. no form of madness is more terrible than the furor attendant on epileptic fits; none more dangerous; and, even should the convulsive affection have so seriously damaged the nervous centres that no violence need be dreaded, yet the peril of the fits to the patient himself, and their painful features, render him an unfit inmate of any other than an establishment provided with proper appliances and proper attendants. as to the paralytic insane, none call for more commiseration, or more careful tending and nursing--conditions not commonly to be found in workhouses. the commissioners in lunacy have not omitted the consideration of workhouses as receptacles for epileptics and paralytics, and have arrived at the following conclusions:--after treating, in the first place, of epileptics whose fits are slight and infrequent, and the mental disturbance mild and of short duration, they observe that, as such persons "always require a certain amount of supervision, and as they are quite incompetent, when the fits are upon them, to take care of themselves, and generally become violent and dangerous, it would seem that the workhouse can seldom be a suitable place for their reception, and that their treatment and care would be more properly provided for in a chronic hospital especially appropriated to the purpose." concerning paralytics, they state that they are far less numerous than epileptics, and being for the most part helpless and bedridden, are treated as sick patients in the infirmary of the workhouse. their opinion is, however, that a chronic hospital would be a more appropriate receptacle for them,--a conclusion in which all must coincide, who know how much can be done to prolong and render more tolerable their frail and painful existence, by good diet and by assiduous and gentle nursing,--by such means, in short, as are not to be looked for in establishments where rigid economy must be enforced, and pauper life weighed against its cost. to turn now to the second class of workhouse lunatic inmates, the demented from age, accident, or disease: these, we do not hesitate to say, are not suitably accommodated in workhouses, for, like the paralytic, they require careful supervision, good diet and kind nursing; they are full-grown children, unable to help or protect themselves, to control their habits and tendencies; often feeble and tottering, irritable and foolish, and, without the protection and kindness of others, the helpless subjects of many ills. for such, the whole organization of the workhouse is unsuited; even the infirmary is not a fitting refuge; for, on the one hand, they are an annoyance to the other inmates, and, on the other, pauper nurses--whose office is often thrust upon them without regard to their fitness for it,--are not fitting guardians for them. in fine, where age, accident or disease has so deteriorated the mental faculties, we have a complication of physical and mental injury to disqualify the patient from partaking with his fellow-paupers in the common accommodation, diet, and nursing. in the reverse order which we have pursued, the first class of congenital, imbecile, and idiotic inmates comes to be considered last. this happens by the method of exclusion adopted in the argument; for the second and third classes have been set aside as proper inmates of some other institution than a workhouse, and it now remains to inquire, who among the representatives of the first class are not improperly detained in workhouses. this class includes, as already seen, some two-thirds of the whole number of inmates mentally disordered; and among whom, we presume, are to be found those individuals who may, in the commissioners' opinion, mix advantageously with the general residents of the establishment. the number of the last cannot, we believe, be otherwise than very small; for the very supposition that there is imbecility of mind, is a reason of greater or less force, according to circumstances, for not exposing them to the contact of an indiscriminate group of individuals, more especially of that sort to be generally found in workhouses. the evils of mingling the sane and insane in such establishments have already been insisted upon; and besides these, such imbecile patients as are under review, lack in workhouses those means of employment and diversion which modern philanthropy has suggested to ameliorate and elevate their physical and moral condition. lastly, if the remaining members of this class be considered, in whom the imbecility amounts to idiocy, the propriety of removing them from the workhouse will be questioned by few. indeed, will any one now-a-days advocate the "_laissez faire_" system in the case of idiots? experience has demonstrated that they are improveable, mentally, morally, and physically; and if so, it is the duty of a christian community to provide the means and opportunities for effecting such improvement. it cannot be contended that the workhouse furnishes them; on the contrary, it is thoroughly defective and objectionable by its character and arrangements, and, as the commissioners report, (_op. cit._ p. ) a very unfit abode for idiots. on looking over the foregoing review of the several classes of lunatic inmates of workhouses distinguished by the commissioners in lunacy, the opinion to be collected clearly is, that only a very few partially imbecile individuals among them are admissible into workhouses, if their bodily health, their mental condition, their due supervision and their needful comforts and conveniences are to be duly attended to and provided for. in accordance with the views we entertain, as presently developed, of the advantages of instituting asylums for confirmed chronic, quiet, and imbecile patients, we should permit, if any at all, only such imbecile individuals as residents in workhouses, who could pass muster among the rest, without annoyance, prejudice or discomfort to themselves or others, and be employed in the routine occupations of the establishment. so much is heard among poor-law guardians and magistrates about a class of "harmless patients" suitably disposed of in workhouses and rightly removeable from asylums, that a few remarks are called for concerning them. to the eye of a casual visitor of an asylum, there does certainly appear a large number of patients, so quiet, so orderly, so useful and industrious, that, although there is something evidently wrong about their heads, yet the question crosses the mind, whether asylum detention is called for in their case. the doubt is not entertained by the experienced observer, for he knows well that the quiet, order, and industry observable are the results of a well-organized system of management and control; and that if this fails, the goodly results quickly vanish to be replaced by the bitter fruits generated by disordered minds. the "harmless" patient of the asylum ward becomes out of it a mischievous, disorderly, and probably dangerous lunatic. in fact, the tranquillity of many asylum inmates is subject to rude shocks and disturbances, even under the care and discipline of the institution; and the inoffensive-looking patient of to-day may, by his changed condition, be a source of anxiety, and a subject for all the special appliances it possesses, to-morrow. any asylum superintendent would be embarrassed to select a score of patients from several hundred under his care whom he could deliberately pronounce to be literally "harmless" if transferred to the workhouse. he might be well able to certify that for months or years they have gone on quietly and well under the surrounding influences and arrangements of the asylum, but he could not guarantee that this tranquillity should be undisturbed by the change to the wards of the workhouse; that untrained attendants and undesirable associates should not rekindle the latent tendency to injure and destroy; that defective organization and the absence of regular and regulated means of employment and recreation should not revive habits of idleness and disorder; or that a less ample dietary, less watchfulness and less attention to the physical health, should not aggravate the mental condition and engender those disgusting habits, which a good diet and assiduous watching are known to be the best expedients to remedy. dr. bucknill has some very cogent remarks on this subject in his last report of the devon asylum (p. ). "the term 'harmless patients,' or in the words of the statute, those 'not dangerous to themselves or others' (he writes), i believe to be inapplicable to any insane person who is not helpless from bodily infirmity or total loss of mind: it can only with propriety be used as a relative term, meaning that the patient is not so dangerous as others are, or that he is not known to be refractory or suicidal. it should not be forgotten, that the great majority of homicides and suicides, committed by insane persons, have been committed by those who had previously been considered harmless; and this is readily explained by the fact, that those known to be dangerous or suicidal are usually guarded in such a manner as to prevent the indulgence of their propensities; whilst the so-called harmless lunatic or idiot has often been left without the care which all lunatics require, until some mental change has taken place, or some unusual source of irritation has been experienced, causing a sudden and lamentable event. in an asylum such patients may truly be described as not dangerous to themselves or others, because they are constantly seen by medical men experienced in observing the first symptoms of mental change or excitement, and in allaying them by appropriate remedies; they are also placed under the constant watchfulness and care of skilful attendants, and they are removed from many causes of irritation and annoyance to which they would be exposed if at large, in villages or union houses. "it not unfrequently happens that idiots who have lived for many years in union houses, and have always been considered harmless and docile, under the influence of some sudden excitement, commit a serious overt act, and are then sent to an asylum. one of the most placid and harmless patients in this asylum, who is habitually entrusted with working tools, is a criminal lunatic, of weak intellect, who committed a homicide on a boy, who teased him while he was breaking stones on the road. if this is the case with those suffering only from mental deficiency, it is evidently more likely to occur in those suffering from any form of mental disease, which is often liable to change its character, and to pass from the form of depression to one of excitement. for these reasons i am convinced that all lunatics, and many strong idiots, can only be considered as 'not dangerous to themselves or others,' when they are placed under that amount of superintendence and care which it has been found most desirable and economical to provide for them in centralized establishments for the purpose. "for the above reasons, i am unable to express the opinion that any insane patients who are not helpless from bodily infirmity or total loss of mind are _unconditionally_ harmless to themselves and others. i have, however, made out a list of sixty patients who are incurable, and who are likely, _under proper care_, to be harmless to themselves and others. "of the patients in this list who are lunatic, only nine have sufficient bodily strength to be engaged in industrial pursuits. the remaining twenty-three are so far incapacitated by the infirmities of old age, or by bodily disease, or by loss of mental power, that they are unable to be employed, and require careful nursing and frequent medical attendance. the patients who have sufficient bodily strength to be employed, are also with the least degree of certainty to be pronounced harmless to themselves and others. as the result of long training, they willingly and quietly discharge certain routine employments under proper watch; but it is probable, that if removed from their present position, any attempts made to employ them by persons unaccustomed to the peculiarities of the insane, will be the occasion of mental excitement and danger. "the twenty-eight idiots have, with few exceptions, been sent to the asylum from union houses, where it has been found undesirable to detain them, on account either of their violent conduct, or of their dirty habits, or some other peculiarity connected with their state of mental deficiency; habits of noise or indecency for instance." probably the following extract from the report of the committee of the surrey asylum ( ) may have more weight with some minds than any of the arguments and illustrations previously adduced, to prove that the detention of presumed "harmless patients" in workhouses will not answer. the declaration against the plan on the part of the surrey magistrates is the more important, because they put it into practice with the persuasion that it would work well. but to let them speak for themselves, they write,--"the committee adverted at considerable length in their last annual report to the circumstance of the asylum being frequently unequal to the requirements of the county, and of their intention to attempt to remedy the defect by discharging all those patients, who, being harmless and inoffensive, it was considered might be properly taken care of in their respective union houses. "the plan has been tried, and has not been successful. patients who, under the liberal and gentle treatment they experience in the asylum, are quiet and tractable, are not necessarily so under the stricter regulations of a workhouse; indeed, so far as the experiment has been tried, the reverse has been found to be the case; most of the patients so discharged having been shortly afterwards returned to the asylum, or placed in some other institution for the insane, in consequence of their having become, with the inmates of the workhouse, 'a mutual annoyance to each other.' any arrangement, short of an entire separation from the other inmates of the workhouse, will be found to be inefficient." this is the same as saying that if lunatics are to reside in workhouses, a special asylum must be instituted in the establishment for their care, and the comfort and safety of the other inmates. if the well-being of the insane were the only question to be settled, no difficulty would attend the solution, for experience has most clearly evidenced the vast advantages of asylums over workhouses as receptacles for insane patients, whatever the form or degree of their malady. dr. bucknill has some very forcible remarks in his paper on "the custody of the insane poor" (asylum journal, vol. iv. p. ), with illustrative cases; and in his report last quoted, reverts to this subject of the relative advantages of asylums and workhouses; but we forbear to quote, if only from fear of being thought to enlarge unduly upon a question which has been decided long ago by the observation and experience of all those concerned in the management of the pauper insane; viz. that whatever the type and degree of mental disorder and of fatuity, its sufferers become improved in properly managed asylums, as intellectual, moral, and social beings upon removal from workhouses; and by a reverse transfer, are deteriorated in mind, and rendered more troublesome and more costly. to the workhouse the lunatic ward is an excrescence, and its inmates an annoyance: in its organization, there is an absence or deficiency of almost all those means conducive to remedy or remove the mental infirmity, and the very want of which contributes as much as positive neglect and maltreatment to render the patient's condition worse, by lowering his mental and moral character. but such deterioration or degradation is not an isolated evil, or the mere negation of a better state; for it acts as a positive energy in developing moral evil, and brings in its train perverseness, destructiveness, loss of natural decency in habits, conversation and conduct, and many other ills which render their subjects painfully humiliating as human beings, and a source of trouble, annoyance, and expense to all those concerned with them. in a previous page we have sought to determine what was the proportion of lunatic inmates found by the lunacy commissioners in workhouses considered to be not improperly detained in them, and have estimated it at one-half of the whole number. the foregoing examination, however, of the adaptation of workhouses for the several classes of lunatics distinguishable, leads to the conviction that a very much less proportion than one-half ought to be found in those establishments. for our own part, we would wish to see the proportion reduced by the exclusion of most of its component members, reckoned as "harmless" patients; a reduction which would well nigh make the proportion vanish altogether. what is to be done with the lunatics removed from workhouses, is a question to be presently investigated. but before proceeding further, some consideration of the legal bearings of workhouse detention of lunatics is wanting, for it has been advanced by some writers that such detention is illegal. now, in the first place, it must be admitted that a workhouse is not by law, nor in its intent and purpose, a place of imprisonment or detention. its inmates are free to discharge themselves, and to leave it at will when they no longer stand in need of its shelter and maintenance. whilst in it, they are subject to the general rules of workhouse-government, and to a superior authority, empowered, if not by statute, yet by orders of the poor-law board, or by bye-laws of the guardians, to exercise discipline by the enforcement of penalties involving a certain measure of punishment. temporary seclusion in a room may be countenanced, although not positively permitted by law; but prolonged confinement, the deprivation of liberty, and a persistent denial of free egress from the house, are proceedings opposed to the true principles of english law. yet it may be that a plea for their detention might be sustained in the case of sick or invalid patients (with whom the insane would be numbered) under certificate of the parochial medical officer, provided no friend came forward to guarantee their proper care, or that they could not show satisfactorily the means of obtaining it; for, of such cases, the workhouse authorities may be considered the rightful and responsible guardians, required in the absence of friends to undertake their charge and maintenance. upon such grounds, probably, cause might be shown for the detention of the greater part of workhouse lunatic inmates, although there is no act of parliament explicitly to sanction it. should such a plea be admitted, the notion, entertained by dr. bucknill, that an action would lie for false imprisonment against the master and guardians of the workhouse, would be found erroneous. the lunacy commissioners presented some remarks on this question, indicating a similar view to that just advanced in their 'further report,' . for instance (p. , _op. cit._), they observed:-- "how far a system of this kind, which virtually places in the hands of the masters, many of whom are ignorant, and some of whom maybe capricious and tyrannical, an almost absolute control over the personal liberty of so many of their fellow men, is either warranted by law, or can be wholesome in itself, are questions which seem open to considerable doubt. probably if the legality of the detention came to be contested before a judicial tribunal in any individual case, the same considerations of necessity or expediency which originally led to the practice, might be held to justify the particular act, provided it were shown that the party complaining of illegal detention could not be safely trusted at large, and that his detention, therefore, though compulsory, instead of being a grievance, was really for his benefit as well as that of the community." again, in the second place, the law, without direct legislation to that effect, yet admits,--by the provisions it makes for pauper lunatics not in asylums or licensed houses, and by the distinction it establishes between persons proper to be sent to an asylum, and lunatics generally so-called,--that insane patients may be detained elsewhere than in asylums. for instance, by _sect._ lxvi. & vict. cap. , , provision is made for a quarterly visit by the union or parish medical officer to any pauper lunatic _not being_ in a workhouse, asylum, registered hospital, or licensed house, in order that he may ascertain how the lunatic is treated, and whether he "may or may not properly remain out of an asylum." so likewise by _sect._ lxiv. of the same act, the clerk or overseers are required to "make out and sign a true and faithful list of all lunatics chargeable to the union or parish in the form in schedule (d)." this form is tabular, and presents five columns, under the heading of "where maintained," of which three are intended for the registry of the numbers not confined in asylums, hospitals, and licensed houses, but who are ( ) in workhouses, ( ) in lodgings, or boarding out, or ( ) residing with relatives. further, the law distinguishes, by implication, a class of lunatics as specially standing in need of asylum care, and as distinct from others. by the poor-law amendment act ( & will. iv. cap. . sect. ), it is ordered that nothing in that act "shall authorize the detention in any workhouse of any dangerous lunatic, insane person, or idiot for any longer period than fourteen days; and every person wilfully detaining in any workhouse any such lunatic, insane person, or idiot for more than fourteen days, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanour." this section is still in force, is constantly acted upon by the poor-law board, and is legally so read as if the word 'dangerous' were repeated before the three divisions of mentally-disordered persons referred to, viz. lunatics, insane persons, and idiots. so, likewise, by _sect._ lxvii. ( & vict. cap. )--the "lunatic asylums' act, ," now in operation,--the transmission of an insane individual to an asylum is contingent on the declaration that he is "a lunatic and a _proper person to be sent to an asylum_." moreover, by _sect._ lxxix. of the same act, it is competent to any three visitors of an asylum, or to any two in conjunction with the medical officer of the asylum, to discharge on trial for a specified time "any person detained in such asylum, whether such person be recovered or not;" and by the following section (lxxx.) it is ordered, that, upon receipt of the notice of such discharge, "the overseers or relieving officers respectively shall cause such lunatic to be forthwith _removed to_ their parish, or to the _workhouse of the union_." by the th section it is further provided, that "in case any person so allowed to be absent on trial for any period do not return at the expiration of such period, and a medical certificate as to his state of mind, certifying that his detention in an asylum is no longer necessary, be not sent to the visitors, he may, at any time, within fourteen days after the expiration of such period, be retaken, as herein provided in the case of an escape." on the other hand, simple removal from an asylum is by the th section, curiously enough interdicted except to another asylum, a registered hospital, or a licensed house. this intent, too, of the section is not changed by the amendment, _sect._ viii. & vict. cap. . lastly, no other place than an asylum, registered hospital, or licensed house, is constituted lawful by _sect._ lxxii. for the reception of any person found lunatic and under "order by a justice or justices, or by a clergyman and overseer or relieving officer, to be dealt with as such." but this section has to be read in connexion with preceding ones, for instance, with _sect._ lvii., by which it is laid down that the justices or other legal authority must satisfy themselves not only that the individual is a lunatic, but also that he is "a proper person to be sent to an asylum." these quotations indicate the state of the law respecting the detention of lunatics elsewhere than in asylums. this state cannot be held to be satisfactory: it evidently allows the detention of lunatics in workhouses, while at the same time it affords them little protection against false imprisonment, and makes no arrangement for their due supervision and care, except by means of the visits of the lunacy commissioners, which are only made from time to time, not oftener than once a year, and rarely so often. the alleged lunatics are for the most part placed and kept in confinement without any legal document to sanction the proceeding; without a certificate of their mental alienation, and without an order from a magistrate. within the workhouse, they are, unless infirm or sick, treated like ordinary paupers, save in the deprivation of their liberty of exit; they may be mechanically restrained, or placed in close seclusion by the order of the master, who is likely enough to appreciate the sterner means of discipline and repression, but not the moral treatment as pursued in asylums; and, lastly, they live deprived of all those medical and general measures of amelioration and recovery as here before sketched. an extract from the 'further report' of the commissioners in lunacy will form a fitting appendix to the observations just made. it occurs at p. (_op. cit._), and stands thus:-- "it certainly appears to be a great anomaly, that while the law, in its anxiety to guard the liberty of the subject, insists that no persons who are insane--not even dangerous pauper lunatics--shall be placed or kept in confinement in a lunatic asylum without orders and medical certificates in a certain form, it should at the same time be permitted to the master of a workhouse forcibly to detain in the house, and thus to deprive of personal liberty, any inmate whom, upon his own sole judgment and responsibility, he may pronounce to be a person of unsound mind, and therefore unfit to be at large." it is unsatisfactory that the law recognizes the distinction between dangerous and other lunatics, designated as "harmless;" for we have pointed out that no such rigid separation can be made; that it is with very few exceptions impracticable to say with certainty what patients are harmless and what not, inasmuch as their state is chiefly determined by surrounding conditions, by the presence or absence of moral control and treatment. it is likewise to be regretted that so much is left to the discretion of relieving officers and overseers, in the determination of the lunatics "proper to be sent to an asylum;" for those parish functionaries nearly always display a proclivity, where relief is to be afforded, to any plan which at first sight promises to be the most cheap; and hence it is, as remarked in previous pages, they think to serve the rate-payers best by keeping, if practicable, the insane in workhouses. the expediency of asylum treatment for those who claim it, is surely not a question to be determined by such officers. yet the wording of the act (_sect._ lxvii.), that, if they have notice from the parish medical officer of any pauper who "is, or is deemed to be a lunatic, and a proper person to be sent to an asylum," or if they in any other manner gain knowledge of a pauper "who is, or is deemed to be a lunatic, and a proper person to be sent to an asylum, they shall within three days" give notice thereof to a magistrate,--seems to put the solution of the question pretty much in their hands. although when they receive a notice of a pauper lunatic from the union medical officer, they would appear by _sect._ lxx. to be bound to apprise a justice of the matter, yet, in the absence of such a notice, an equal power in determining on the case is lodged in their hands as in those of the medical officer, by the phrase "is, or is deemed to be a lunatic, and a proper person to be sent to an asylum;" for this clause respecting the fitness of the case, reads with the parts of the sentence as though it stood thus in full--'is a lunatic and a proper person to be sent to an asylum, or is deemed a lunatic and a proper person to be sent to an asylum;' and there is nothing in _sect._ lxx. to enforce, under these circumstances, a notice being sent to a justice. it is, indeed, evidently left to the discretion of the overseer or relieving officer to report a case of lunacy falling within his own knowledge to a justice, for he is empowered to assume the function of deciding whether it is or is not a proper one for an asylum. moreover, we cannot refrain from thinking that a parochial medical officer is not always sufficiently independent, as a paid _employé_, to certify to the propriety of asylum care so often as he might do, where the guardians or other directors of parish affairs are imbued with rigid notions of economy, and hold the asylum cost for paupers in righteous abhorrence. in fine, were this enactment for reporting pauper lunatics to county and borough justices, in order to obtain a legal sanction for their detention, sufficiently clear and rigidly enforced, there would not be so many lunatics in workhouses, and none of those very unfit ones animadverted upon by the commissioners in lunacy (see p. , and th rep. c. l. ). the first clause of _sect._ lxvii. is ambiguous; for though it is evidently intended primarily to make the union medical officer the vehicle of communicating the knowledge of the existence of pauper lunatics in his parish, yet it is neither made his business to inquire after such persons, nor when he knows of their existence, to visit and ascertain their condition. it is left open for him to act upon a report that such a pauper "is deemed to be a lunatic, and a proper person to be sent to an asylum," without seeing the individual; but generally he will officially hear first of such patients through the channel of the relieving officer, by receiving an order to visit them. indeed, the relieving officer is legally the first person to be informed of a pauper requiring medical or other relief; and, as we have seen, it is competent for him to decide on the question of asylum transmission or not for any case coming directly to his knowledge. hence, in the exercise of his wisdom, he may order the lunatic forthwith into the union-house, and call upon the medical officer there to visit him. the consignment of the lunatic to the workhouse being now an accomplished fact, it becomes a hazardous enterprise, and a gratuitous task on the part of the medical officer (for no remuneration is offered for his report), to give the relieving officer or overseer a written notice that the poor patient should rightly be sent to the asylum, when he knows that those parish authorities have made up their minds that it is not a proper case to be sent there. in fact, the law makes no demand of a notice from the medical officer of the union necessary where the knowledge of a lunatic pauper first reaches the relieving officer or overseer, or where the patient is already in the workhouse; and no report will be sought from him under such circumstances, unless the parochial authorities decide that they will not take charge of the case in the workhouse. the object of the th and five following sections is evidently to promote the discovery of pauper lunatics, and to ensure the early transmission of all those amenable to treatment to county asylums; but these advantages are not attained, the legal machinery being defective. to fulfil the intention, it should be made imperative on the part of the relatives or friends to make known the occurrence of a case of lunacy at its first appearance to a duly-appointed medical man, who should visit and register it, and, with the concurrence of a magistrate, order detention in a properly-constituted asylum. such a medical officer would have a district assigned to him; of his duties at large we shall have occasion hereafter to speak; to allude further to them in this place will cause us to diverge too widely from the subject under consideration. the th section of the "lunatic asylums' act," which has above been submitted to criticism, we find referred to in the lunacy commissioners' eleventh report, wherein it is spoken of as disregarded by parochial authorities; its ambiguity and the loophole to a contravention of its meaning being, however, unnoticed. the reference occurs in the following passage (_op. cit._ p. ), which censures a practice we have already animadverted upon:-- "and here we take occasion to remark, that if the law were more strictly carried out in one particular, the same temptation to a mistaken and ill-judged economy would not so frequently present itself to boards of guardians; nor could it so often occur to them as an advantage, that they should themselves manage their insane poor by the resources at their own disposal. a custom prevails, very generally, of sending all pauper lunatics to the workhouses in the first instance, instead of at once procuring an order for their transmission to an asylum; and nothing has more contributed to the many recent and acute cases improperly so detained. the practice, it is hardly necessary to say, is in direct contravention of the law applicable to insane paupers. assuming that they come ordinarily at first under the care of the district parish surgeon, he is bound to give notice (under the th section of the lunatic asylums' act) to the relieving officer, by whom communication is to be made to the magistrate, upon whose order they are to be conveyed to an asylum; but in effect these provisions are disregarded altogether. and thus it follows, that the patient, if found to be manageable in the workhouse, is permanently detained there; or even should he ultimately find his way to an asylum, it is not until so much valuable time has been lost that his chances of cure are infinitely lessened. for, although it is our invariable habit, on the occasion of visiting workhouses, to recommend the removal to asylums of all whom we consider as curable, or exposed to treatment unsuited to their state, we find nothing so difficult as the enforcement of such recommendations; and for the most part the report of the medical officer of the union, to the effect that the patient is 'harmless,' is suffered to outweigh any opinion we can offer." in this quotation, therefore, we have an official proof that the defective and ambiguous legislation above commented upon is practically not without its mischievous fruits to the well-being of the insane poor. to amend it, some such scheme as we have sketched is called for to secure the reporting of lunatics, their examination and registration, and the legal sanction to their detention for the purposes of their own safety and that of others, and of their treatment; and were it not that at the present moment asylum accommodation cannot be afforded to all the pauper lunatics of the kingdom, their confinement in workhouses ought to be at once rendered illegal. convinced as we are, that asylums for the insane could be erected, fitted, organized, and maintained at a cost which would leave no pecuniary advantage economically on the side of workhouses; and that, even were the primary expenditure of the latter considerably less, they would in the long run be more expensive on account of their unfitness for lunatic patients, whatever the type of their malady, the injuries they entail on the well-being of all, and the chronic insanity they produce and foster,--it is with much reluctance we are forced to endorse the statement made by the commissioners in lunacy, in their th report (p. ), that workhouse "lunatic wards will have to be continued for some time longer," until, we may add, a more comprehensive, and withal a modified scheme be brought into operation, to cherish, to succour, and to cure those suffering under the double evil of poverty and insanity. though a remedy to meet the whole case must unfortunately be delayed, yet the lunacy commissioners nevertheless need continue energetically to discourage the plan of building special lunatic wards to workhouses, as one, according to their own showing, indeed, fraught with very many evils to their inmates. such erections ought, in fact, to be rendered illegal; the money spent on them would secure proper accommodation in connexion with a duly organized and managed asylum, as demonstrated in previous pages (p. ), for all those classes of pauper lunatics, which, under any sort of plea or pretence, can be detained in workhouses. lastly, we must look to the commissioners to maintain an active supervision over workhouse inmates,--to hold, at least, an annual "jail delivery" of every union-house, to order the immediate transfer of evidently improper inmates, and to remove others, so to speak, for trial. the "leading principles," as laid down by the commissioners in (report, p. ), and to which, in subsequent reports, they state their continued adhesion, are as good as the present state of lunacy and lunatic asylums permit to be enforced; but they can be enforced only by the commissioners themselves, or others possessing equal authority; for workhouse officials will interpret them through the medium of their own coloured vision; and if magistrates were entrusted with the task, we have no confidence that it would be efficiently performed by them as inexperienced, non-medical men, with whom economical considerations will hold the first place. the principles referred to are expressed in the following paragraph:-- "we have invariably maintained that the permanent detention in a workhouse of any person of unsound mind, whether apparently dangerous or not, whose case is of recent origin, or otherwise presents any hope of cure through the timely application of judicious treatment, or who is noisy, violent, and unmanageable, or filthy and disgusting in his habits, and must therefore be a nuisance to the other inmates, is an act of cruelty and injustice, as well as of great impolicy; and we have on all occasions endeavoured, so far as our authority extends, to procure the speedy removal of persons of that description to a lunatic asylum." the following practical suggestions, calculated to improve the condition of the insane poor, are deducible from the foregoing remarks on workhouses considered as receptacles for lunatics. . the county asylums should afford aid to all insane persons unable to procure proper care and treatment in private asylums; and , such patients should be directly transmitted to them; the circumstance of their entire or partial liability to the poor-rates being, if necessary, subsequently investigated. . as a corollary to the last suggestion, the primary removal of patients to a workhouse should, save in very exceptional cases, such as of distance from the asylum and unmanageable violence at home, be rendered illegal; or, what is nearly tantamount to it, for the future no alleged lunatic should be suffered to become an inmate of a workhouse, except with the written authority of the district medical officer or inspector proposed to be appointed. . without the sanction of this officer, likewise, no lunatic should be permitted to be discharged or removed from a workhouse. this is necessary for the patient's protection, for securing him against confinement in any house or lodging under disadvantages to his moral and physical well-being, to check improper discharges, and to protect the asylum against the transfer to it of unfit cases, a circumstance which will presently be shown to be of frequent occurrence. . no person should be detained as a lunatic or idiot, or as a person of unsound mind in a workhouse, except under a similar order as that required in the case of asylum detention, and a medical certificate to the fact of his insanity. . if workhouses need be used, whether as temporary or as permanent receptacles for the insane, they should be directly sanctioned by law, placed under proper regulations, and under effective supervision, not only of the lunacy commissioners, but also of a committee of visitors, and of the district medical officer, whose duty it would be to watch over the welfare of the insane inmates, their treatment, diet, occupation, and amusement. the visitors should be other than guardians or overseers of the poor of the union or parish in which the workhouse is situated, although every union should be represented on the committee; and they might be selected from the magistrates, and from the respectable classes among the rate-payers. if the county were large, it might be advantageously divided into districts, a committee of visitors of workhouses being appointed in each district. . every workhouse containing lunatics should be licensed as a place of detention for them by the committee of visitors, who should have authority to revoke the license. this power of revoking the license should be also vested in the commissioners in lunacy. . every such workhouse, and the number of its insane inmates, should be reported to the lunacy commissioners. according to our scheme, the district medical officer would do this, as well as report generally to the lunacy board, the condition and circumstances both of the workhouse and of its insane inmates. . for the future, the erection or the appropriation of distinct lunatic wards to workhouses should be interdicted by law. by the preceding suggestions reforms are, indeed, proposed to render confinement in workhouses legal; to make it more satisfactory; to provide for effectual supervision, and in general to assimilate the wards of union-houses more closely to those of asylums. yet all this is done only on the ground of the necessity for some legislation on these matters, and more particularly under the pressing circumstances of the time. the present state of lunacy compels acquiescence in the lunacy commissioners' statement, that workhouse-wards must for some time longer be used for the detention of insane paupers; and this fact alone supplies an apology for making suggestions to improve them. moreover, apart from it, the workhouse will at times necessarily be the temporary refuge for some few cases, and may be occupied as a permanent dwelling by those rare instances of imbecility of mind which can be allowed to intermingle with the other inmates, and be usefully occupied; and for these reasons it need be rendered both a legal and not unsuitable abode. at the same time, it is most desirable that the lunacy commissioners should be able not only to discourage, but also to veto the construction of lunatic-wards for the future, on the grounds already so largely pointed out; and for this reason, moreover, that where such wards exist, they are thought good enough for their poor inmates, and are looked upon as asylums over which the county institution has little preference. the existence, therefore, of any specially erected or adapted ward, may always be urged against the proposition for further expenditure in providing for pauper lunatics elsewhere in suitable asylums;--a plea, which should consequently be set aside by overturning the foundation whereon it rests. since the preceding observations on the detention of pauper lunatics in workhouses were in print, a most important supplementary report on the subject has been put forth by the commissioners in lunacy (supplement to the twelfth report; ordered to be printed th of april, ). we have read this report with pleasure, so far as it confirms the views we have taken, but with surprise and pain at the details it unfolds of practices the most revolting to our better feelings, and, in general, of a state of things discreditable to a civilized and christian country. by being confirmatory of the opinions and statements advanced by us, it may be said to give an official sanction to them; and as it is one of the most important documents ever issued by the board, we shall attempt an analysis of its contents. in the first place, the commissioners resort to some recent corrected returns of the poor-law board, and discover that the number of pauper lunatics in workhouses was, on the st of january, , , _i. e._ upwards of above that returned in the tenth report of the same board, and referred to in the foregoing pages; and on the st of july in that same year it amounted to . they then proceed to describe the "character and forms of insanity most prevalent in workhouses," and show that their insane inmates all require protection and control; that "some, reduced to poverty by their disease, are of superior habits to those of ordinary paupers, and require better accommodation than a workhouse affords. many are weak in body, and require better diet. many require better nursing, better clothing, and better bedding; almost all (and particularly those who are excitable) require more healthful exercise, and, with rare exceptions, all require more tender care and more vigilant superintendence than is given to them in any workhouse whatsoever." on turning to the "design and construction of union buildings," they rightly point out that the stringent conditions to ensure economy, and to check imposition and abuse, the "reduced diet, task labour, confinement within the narrow limits of the workhouse premises," the plan of separating the inmates into classes, the scanty means of out-door exercise, &c., are inimical to the well-being of the insane residents. in the "modes of workhouse direction and administration" there is great unfitness. the rules under which the officers act "are mainly devised to check disorderly conduct in ordinary paupers; and it is needless to say with how much impropriety they are extended to the insane. any increase of excitement, or outbreak of violence, occurring in the cases of such patients, instead of being regarded as a manifestation of diseased action requiring medical or soothing treatment, has subjected the individual to punishment, and in several instances led to his imprisonment in a jail. in addition to these hardships, the lunatic patient is for the most part precluded from leaving the workhouse at his own will. in effect he becomes a prisoner there for life, incapable of asserting his rights, often of signifying his wants, yet amenable to as much punishment as if he were perfectly sane, and a willing offender against the laws or regulations of the place. nor, as will hereafter be seen, is his lot much bettered in the particular cases where it is found convenient to the authorities to relax those restrictions, and give him the power at will to discharge himself." rural workhouses of small size are generally preferable abodes for the insane than those of larger dimensions, since their "arrangements have a more homely and domestic character, and there are more means of occupation and of free exercise in the open air;" and where their imbecile inmates can be associated with the ordinary paupers, and regularly employed, their condition is not unfavourable; "but these form only the exceptions." workhouses in the metropolis and in large towns generally, are for the most part "of great size, old, badly constructed, and placed in the midst of dense populations. the weak-minded and insane inmates are here generally crowded into rooms of insufficient size, sometimes in an attic or basement, which are nevertheless made to serve both for day and sleeping accommodation. they have no opportunity of taking exercise; and, from the want of space and means of separation, are sometimes associated with the worst characters, are subjected unnecessarily to seclusion and mechanical restraint, and are deprived of many of the requisites essential to their well-being." "of the workhouses in england and wales, somewhat more than a tenth part are provided with separate lunatic and idiot wards." the "objections to intermixture of inmates" are briefly stated. "there is no mode of complying with suggestions for" the peculiar benefit of insane inmates, "without disturbing the general economy of the house,--a fact which shows how important it is that no lunatic or idiot should be retained for whom any special arrangements are necessary." separate lunatic wards are declared to be more objectionable than the intermixture of the pauper inmates. only occasionally are such wards found at all tolerable; and even then, the constant medical supervision, proper attendants and nursing, sufficient diet, exercise, occupation, and other needful provisions, are deficient. the majority are thus sketched:--"in some of the wards attached to the old workhouses the rooms are crowded, the ventilation imperfect, the yards small and surrounded by high walls; and in the majority of instances the bed-rooms are used also as day-rooms. in these rooms the patients are indiscriminately mixed together; and there is no opportunity for classification. there is no separation where the association is injurious; and no association where such would be beneficial. in fact, patients of all varieties of character,--the weak, the infirm, the quiet, the agitated, the violent and vociferous, the dirty and epileptic,--are all mingled together, and the excitement or noise of one or more injures and disturbs the others. the restless are often confined to bed to prevent annoyance to the other patients, and the infirm are thus disposed of for the want of suitable seats. their condition when visited in the daytime is obviously bad, and at night must be infinitely worse. even in workhouses where the wards are so constructed as to provide day-rooms, these are often gloomy, much too small in size, and destitute of ordinary comforts; while the furniture is so poor and insufficient, that in some instances, there being no tables whatever, the patients are compelled to take their meals upon their knees. other cases to be hereafter mentioned will indeed show that it is reserved for lunatic wards of this description, and now happily for them only, to continue to exhibit some portion of that disregard of humanity and decency, which at one time was a prevailing characteristic in the treatment of insanity." not only, again, are there no sufficiently responsible authorities in the house, and no qualified responsible attendants, but also no records of restraint, of seclusion, of accident, or injury, or of medical or other treatment. "above all, there is no efficient and authoritative official visitation. the visiting justices never inspect the lunatic wards in workhouses, and our own visits are almost useless, except as enabling us to detect the evil that exists at the time of our visit, and which, after all, we have no power to remove." the "results of neglect in deteriorating the condition of patients" of all classes are ably portrayed. in the absence of attentive and experienced persons to watch and to supply their wants, many of the insane suffer unheeded and without complaint, to the prejudice of their mental and bodily state; or become inattentive to natural wants, and prone to violence and mischief. "in a very recent case of semi-starvation at the bath union, when the frauds and thefts of some of the attendants had, for a considerable time, systematically deprived the patients of a full half of their ordinary allowance of food, the only complaint made was by the wan and wasted looks of the inmates." in the two next sections the commissioners insist that the duty of distinguishing the cases in workhouses to be classified as "lunatics, insane persons and idiots," should be performed by the medical man independently of the master; and that, without examination and sanction from that officer, no person of weak mind should be discharged, or allowed to discharge himself. very ample cause for this latter proposition is shown in the illustrations appended, particularly in the case of imbecile females, who not unfrequently become, when at large, the prey to the vicious, further burden the parish by their illegitimate offspring, and often by an idiotic race. "the diet necessary for the insane" is required to be more liberal than for other inmates; yet the commissioners have "in very numerous instances" animadverted upon its inadequacy, both in quantity and quality, but without result, except "in very few instances:" for, notwithstanding that "the medical officer of a union has full power" (by the consolidated order , art. no. ) "to give directions, and make suggestions as to the diet, classification and treatment of the sick paupers, and paupers of unsound mind," yet, we are sorry to learn, that "the power thus given, although backed by our constant recommendations, is rarely exercised by the medical officer." this circumstance is so far confirmatory of a view we have above taken, that the medical officer of a parish or union is neither sufficiently independent, as the paid _employé_ of the guardians, to carry out measures that may be necessary for the alleviation of the condition of lunatics in workhouses, where such means involve increased cost (we regret to entertain the notion); nor always sufficiently acquainted with the wants of the insane. considering the disadvantages of workhouses as receptacles for them, the general statement follows naturally, that as a class of workhouse inmates, the lunatics "are manifestly lower in health and condition than the same class in asylums. hence," add the commissioners, "the patients' bodily health and mental state decline upon removal from asylums to workhouses--an effect chiefly due to the inferior diet." there are great "variations in workhouse dietaries,"--from one spare meat dinner in the week to a meat dinner daily. this latter provision is furnished "in a very small number of houses." these dietaries are indeed much inferior to those considered necessary for criminals in jails; a fact that affords a sad comment on english consistency, which is thus found dealing with more favour and consideration towards those who have transgressed the laws of their country, than to those whose only crime is poverty, or poverty complicated with disease or infirmity. medical treatment would, in truth, seem to be not legally provided at all for lunatics in workhouses: no clause makes a visit of the union medical officer to the lunatic-ward of a workhouse imperative. as examples of the slight esteem in which medical supervision is held, the leicester and the winchcombe houses are quoted. in the former, the visits of the medical officer were only made quarterly; in the latter, by stipulation three times a week, but in practice very irregularly. attendance and nursing are, as might be expected, on a par with medical treatment. even imbeciles have been found exercising the functions of nurses, and, generally speaking, the selection of attendants is made from old and feeble people, having no experience, no aptness for the duties, no particular qualities of intellect or temper to recommend them, and receiving such a mere pretence, if any at all, in the way of remuneration for their trouble, that no painstaking efforts can be looked for from them. "yet to such individuals, strait waistcoats, straps, shackles, and other means of restraining the person are not unfrequently entrusted; and they are, moreover, possessed of the power of thwarting and punishing at all times, for any acts of annoyance or irregular conduct, which, although arising from disease, are nevertheless often sufficient to provoke punishment from an impatient and irresponsible nurse." the interior accommodation, fittings, and furniture are, if not abominably bad, excessively defective: and on reaching this part of the report, where the details of internal fittings and management come under review, the impression derivable from its perusal is akin to that gathered from the revelations of madhouses made by the parliamentary committees of and . the sketch of the evils suffered by lunatics in workhouses, which we have ourselves attempted in past pages, tells a flattering tale compared with the realities unfolded to us by the commissioners, and adds a tenfold force to the arguments against the detention of lunatics in such places. to continue the practice would be to perpetuate a blot upon the internal polity, the philanthropy and the christianity of the country. let those who would know the whole case refer to the report in question; it is sufficient for our purpose to attempt a mere outline of its revelations. patients are frequently kept in bed because there are no suitable seats for them; a tub at times answers the double purpose of a urinal and a wash-basin; a privy is partitioned off in a small dormitory; baths are almost unknown; a trough or sink common to all supplies the want of basins for washing, and an outhouse or the open air furnishes the appropriate place for personal ablutions. clothing, again, is often ragged and insufficient; in an unwarmed dormitory, a single blanket, or only a coverlet, is all the covering afforded by night; loose straw in a trough bedstead usually constitutes the bed for wet and dirty patients to nestle in; and whether the bed be straw or not, the practice of using it night after night, when "filthy with dirt, and often rotting from frequent wetting, has been many times animadverted upon." in some workhouses two male patients are constantly placed in the same bed; nor is the character of the bedfellows much heeded; for a sane and insane, two idiots, one clean and one dirty, and even two dirty inmates, have been found associated together in the same bed, occasionally in a state of complete nudity. further, the want of exercise and employment, the absence of supervision and control, and the entrusting of means of coercion to irresponsible and unfit attendants, lead to the most shocking abuse of restraint, and to cruel seclusion. "the requirement occasionally made by the visiting commissioner, that the master shall make a written record of such proceedings, is utterly neglected. the dark, strong cells, constructed for the solitary confinement of refractory paupers, are used for the punishment of the insane, merely to prevent trouble; quiet helpless creatures, from whom no violence could be apprehended, are kept in bed during the daytime, or coerced; and even the dead-house has been made to serve the purpose of a seclusion-room." "the examples of restraint practised," as adduced in the report, recall to mind all those barbarities which civilized men of the present day are in the habit of congratulating themselves as matters of the past, and the subject of history. the catalogue of appliances for restraint reappears once more on the scene; and we read of straps, leather muffs, leg-locks, hobbles, chains and staples, strait-jackets, and other necessary paraphernalia, as of yore, worn for days, or weeks, or months. excellent matter, indeed, in all this, to garnish a discourse on the advancement of civilization, on the prevalence of improved notions respecting the treatment of the insane, or on some similar topic addressed to the vanity of the present generation! but the chapter does not end here. "it would be difficult to select places so entirely unfit for the purpose of exercise, or so prejudicial to the mental or bodily state of the person confined," as the yards or spaces set apart for it; and yet "of all the miseries undergone by this afflicted class, under the manifold disadvantages before described, and of all the various sources of irritation and discomfort to which we have shown that they are exposed, there is probably none which has a worse effect than the exclusion from all possibility of healthy movement. nothing more powerfully operates to promote tranquillity than the habit of extensive exercise; and in its absence, the patients often become excited, and commit acts of violence more or less grave, exposing them at once to restraint or seclusion, and not unfrequently to punishment. in not a few instances the outbreak has been looked upon as an offence or breach of discipline, and as the act of a responsible person; and the patient has been taken before a magistrate and committed to prison. "a very grave injustice, it is hardly necessary to add, is thus committed, in punishing by imprisonment individuals who are recognized and officially returned as being of unsound mind. these persons in no respect differ from the class of the insane usually met with in asylums, and are equally entitled to the same protection, and the same exemption from punishment. instead of such protection, however, the patient is exposed to double injury:--first, he is subjected to various sources of irritation while confined in the workhouse, directly occasioning excitement; and, secondly, the mental disturbance resulting therefrom is regarded as a crime, and is punished by imprisonment." the commissioners in lunacy next direct attention to the principal cause of the evils described, which they discover in the neglect and evasion of the duties imposed by the law on the officers of parishes and unions, in the interests of the pauper insane. thus, as remarked in previous pages,--"instead of causing the patient to be dealt with as directed by the th and th sections of the lunatic asylums' act, , and immediate steps to be taken for his direct removal to the asylum, workhouses have been to a great extent made use of primarily as places for the reception, and (in many instances) for the detention of recent cases of insanity. "the workhouse is thus illegally made to supply the place of a lunatic establishment, and the asylum, with its attendant comforts and means of cure, which the law has provided for the insane poor, is altogether disregarded; or it comes into operation only when the patient, by long neglect, has become almost hopelessly incurable. we should remark that this occurs most frequently in the larger workhouses, and in those having insane wards." ... "how totally unfit even workhouses having insane wards are for the proper treatment of recent curable cases, we have endeavoured to exhibit in some detail. nevertheless, the practice of making use of them for all classes of insane patients is rapidly increasing, and our efforts to check it have proved hitherto quite ineffectual." after further adverting to the influence of the neglect of the laws in increasing pauper lunacy, they very briefly discuss the comparative cost of lunatics in workhouses and in asylums, but their examination adds nothing to what we have much more fully put forward on this subject. their "conclusion" contains some valuable suggestions, more or less identical with those we have ourselves independently advanced, and which may be briefly summed up as follows:-- "to remedy many of the evils adverted to would, in our opinion, be impracticable, so long as insane patients are detained in workhouses, whether mixed with other inmates or placed in distinct wards. "the construction and management of workhouses present insurmountable obstacles to the proper treatment of the disease of insanity; and therefore the removal of the majority of the patients, and the adoption of stringent measures to prevent the admission of others, have become absolutely necessary." the notions of parish authorities of the very great comparative economy of workhouses over asylums rest, say the commissioners, on a false basis; and to place the question fairly before them, "it is essential that the mode of keeping the accounts should be assimilated in each, and that in the asylum only food and clothing should be charged to the parishes, and all other expenses to the county. in such case, we believe it would be found that the charges in each would be brought so nearly to a level, that there would exist little or no inducement on the plea of economy to tempt the guardians to keep their insane patients in workhouses, instead of sending them at once to a county asylum." to provide proper accommodation for the insane poor in workhouses, inasmuch as many asylums are on "so large a scale as not to admit of the necessary extension, whilst some are of a size much beyond that which is compatible with their efficient working," the commissioners propose "the erection of inexpensive buildings, adapted for the residence of idiotic, chronic, and harmless patients, in direct connexion with, or at a convenient distance from, the existing institutions. these auxiliary asylums, which should be under the management of the present visiting justices, would be intermediate between union workhouses and the principal curative asylums. the cost of building need not, in general, much exceed one-half of that incurred in the erection of ordinary asylums; and the establishment of officers and attendants would be upon a smaller and more economical scale than those required in the principal asylums." "whether or not such additional institutions as we recommend be provided, we think it essential that visiting justices of asylums should be invested with full power, by themselves or their medical officers, to visit workhouses, and to order the removal of insane inmates therefrom to asylums at their discretion. they should also be empowered, upon the report of the commissioners, to order the removal into the asylum of pauper patients boarded with strangers." "and in the event of our obtaining your lordship's approval of such suggestions for legislative enactment, we would further recommend that it should include the following provisions:-- "no lunatic, or alleged lunatic, to be received into or detained in a workhouse, unless he shall have been duly taken before a justice or officiating clergyman, and adjudged by him as not proper to be sent to an asylum. "in any case, however, wherein an order for a lunatic's reception into an asylum shall be made by a justice or officiating clergyman, it shall be competent to him, if, for special reasons to be set forth in his order, he shall deem it expedient, to direct that such lunatic be taken, _pro tempore_, to the workhouse, and there detained for such limited period, not exceeding two clear days, as may be necessary, pending arrangements for his removal to the asylum. "a list of all inmates of unsound mind to be kept by the medical officer of a workhouse, and left accessible to the visiting commissioners. "the medical officer to specify, in such list, the forms of mental disorder, and to indicate the patients whom he may deem curable, or otherwise likely to benefit by, or in other respects proper for, removal to an asylum. "the visiting commissioner, and the poor-law inspector, to be empowered to order and direct the relieving officer to take any insane inmate before a justice, under the provisions of the th section of the lunatic asylums' act, . "in all cases of inmates of unsound mind temporarily detained in workhouses, the medical officer to be invested with full powers as respects classification, diet, employment, and medical and moral treatment, and otherwise." of some of these suggestions we shall take a future opportunity to speak, and at present pass from the consideration of the state and wants of lunatics in workhouses to notice, briefly, the condition of those living with their friends or elsewhere. § _pauper lunatics living with their relatives or with strangers._ in the previous chapter "on the state of the present provision for the insane," some remarks have been made on the class of lunatic poor living with their relatives or strangers, calculated to arrest attention to their numbers and their neglected position. the commissioners in lunacy have as a rule, and in the absence of particular information, calculated that they are about equal in number to those resident in workhouses. considering the imperfect nature of the statistical records of them, and the fact that they escape official observation and inquiry to a much greater extent than even the lunatic inmates of workhouses, we have assumed them to be more numerous, and that there are so distributed in the homes of our industrial classes. of these , more or less, poor persons, dependent, on account of distinct imbecility or idiocy, upon others for protection and support, no one outside their abodes, it may be generally said, thoroughly knows their condition, although a partial knowledge may be possessed by the parochial authorities of the union or parish to which they are chargeable. to these authorities, however, they possess no interest; they are regarded as burdens upon the public purse, to be arranged for on the cheapest terms. the only person at all responsible for their condition is the parish medical officer, who is required by sect. ( & vic. cap. ) to visit them quarterly, and to certify "whether such lunatics are or are not properly taken care of, and may or may not remain out of an asylum." in the first place, the matter of deciding what pauper reported as insane, imbecile, or idiotic is actually so, is not by law given to any parochial officer; hence it frequently happens that differences of opinion and divisions arise between the medical officer on the one hand, and the poor-law guardians on the other, as to the chargeability of this and that pauper to the parish as insane; and the decision acquires intensified importance from the fact that one half-crown per quarter is at stake on each pauper chattle in dispute; for if the medical man gain the day, just that sum has to be squeezed out of the rate-payers to compensate him for his quarterly call upon the admitted lunatic. we leave the reader to imagine the battlings of the vestrymen on the knotty point; sane or not insane, that is the question, the solution of which must cause the consumption of much time and breath yearly to many an honourable board of guardians, to animated discussions, bold definitions and fine-drawn distinctions, lost to the _profanum vulgus_ enjoying no seat in the conclave. here, then, appears a duty which, in our opinion, should be performed by a duly appointed officer, such as a district medical inspector or examiner; for we would deprive the guardians of the poor of all voice in deciding on the sanity or insanity of any individual. the law might with equal or with greater propriety leave the decision of the success or non-success of the operation of vaccination to a vestry, as that of the question under remark. further, since many might argue, that to leave the determination of the question to an officer like the parish medical man, directly interested in settling it in one way, and who might saddle the parish with an annual charge for every poor person in it who did not come up to his standard of mental strength, would be unfair to the rate-payers; an independent opinion, given by an officer in no way interested in the decision of the point at issue, would seem to afford the very best means of settling the point, and a sufficient guarantee against any supposable irregularities. we would suggest, therefore, that the district inspector should visit every poor person wholly or partially chargeable, or proposed to be made chargeable to any parish, as being of unsound mind, and make a return to the parochial authorities and to the poor-law board, and that the certificate of this officer should be held to be a sufficient proof of the insanity of the individual. but the duties of this officer, in relation to the lunatic poor under consideration, would not stop here. in his visit we would require him to investigate more narrowly than a union medical officer can be expected to do at the remuneration offered, and amid his many other arduous engagements,--into the condition and the circumstances by which the poor patient is surrounded, to report thereon to the lunacy board and to the proper union officials, and in general to state, in the words of the act, whether he is or is not properly taken care of, and is or is not a fit subject for asylum care. the officer we propose, would approach the inquiry independently of the parish authorities, and indifferent to their censure, having no position and no pay to lose by his decision; whilst as an experienced physician, understanding the varying features of mental disorder, and the conditions necessary to its amelioration or cure, his opinions would claim greater respect. inasmuch as it is impossible, owing to their small number, for the lunacy commissioners, without totally neglecting their other duties, to make themselves acquainted with the condition of these pauper lunatics, scattered here and there over the country, in cottages and lodgings, we really possess, as before said, under the existing system, no information worth having, what that condition really is. judging from the state in which workhouse lunatic inmates are found, the impression is unavoidable, that the pauper lunatics under notice must be in a worse one, since there is not only no sort of supervision over them equivalent to that provided in workhouses, but also the sums allowed towards their maintenance are most scanty, and, where they are lodged with strangers, no care and no sustenance beyond what is felt to be actually paid for, can be presumed to be given. now and then a glimpse of the actual state of things is casually afforded by the report of a county asylum; and such are the glimpses we have got through this medium, that, except to arouse public attention by their recital, in order to bring about a reform, it were well, for the sake of the reputation of the country, that the revelations were unrecorded. asylum superintendents could, indeed, more frequently raise the veil upon scenes of wretchedness and cruelty undergone by our lunatic poor in the habitations where parish officials place or keep them; but they generally forbear to do so in their reports, although enough is shown by the description of the state in which patients are admitted into the asylums, and of the length of time that has been suffered to elapse since the commencement of their sad malady. dr. hitchman, in the reports of the derby county asylum, has more than once referred to the state of patients on admission from their homes or lodgings. thus, in , he narrates the case of a poor woman who had been demented for five years, and "kept at home until she fell into the fire and became extensively and severely burnt;" and not till after this accident was she taken to the asylum. a little way further on, in the same report, he observes,--"those only who have lived in public asylums know the misery, the wretchedness, and the wrong which are constantly inflicted upon lunatics in obscure places, even by their relatives and 'friends,' and which cease only with the life of the patient, unless he be conveyed to a well-conducted institution. it is, moreover, a remarkable phenomenon, that many individuals who perpetrate these enormities upon their kith and kin, who have habitually fastened them with cords, who have deprived them of a proper supply of clothing or of food, who have, in short, rendered them permanent cripples in body, as well as hopeless idiots in mind, have done so without malice, as a general rule, without passion, by slow degrees, and with no conception whatever of the present suffering or ultimate mischief effected by their proceedings. they affect no secrecy among their neighbours while these things are going on. familiarity to the spectacle blinds their perceptions and blunts their feelings.... others there are, who, from penurious and selfish motives, inflict much wrong upon the lunatic. of such a kind appears the following:--'t. g., removed from the custody of his relatives by the order of the magistrates. has been insane thirty-eight years, under the management of his relatives, who have generally had him confined in an out-building.' 'he is stated to have been unclothed for many years. when brought into the asylum he was naked, except that around his pelvis were the remains of an article of dress; his hands were tightly bound to each other by ligatures passing around the wrists. when in the cart he was covered with a blanket, but this fell from him during his struggles on being removed. he roared hideously as he was being conveyed to the wards. he is a person of lofty stature and great size. his head and neck are very large; one side of his forehead is greatly disfigured by scars, and he has lost an eye. his ears have been deprived of their normal shape, and their lobes much thickened by the deposition of fibrine or other matter. his lips are large and pouting. his beard has been long unshaven, but has been recently cut with a pair of scissors. the bones and muscles of his arms are of great size; his lower extremities are red, swollen, and 'pit,' under pressure; one of his toes is deprived of its nail, and the whole foot appears to have suffered from the effects of cold. he walks with a stooping gait, and appears unable to retain the erect posture without support. he resists powerfully all attempts to clothe him, and appears to be entirely ignorant of the use of a bedstead. he whines after the manner of a dog that has lost its home. he dreads all who approach him; on being taken from his room in the evening, he hurried back to it with all the haste he could, and on all occasions he shrinks from observation. he is lost to every sense of decency; nakedness is congenial to him, but he will sometimes coil himself in a blanket for the sake of its warmth. he is guided by the lowest instincts only, and his whole appearance and manner, his fears, his whines, his peculiar skulking from observation, his bent gait, his straight hair, large lips, and gigantic fore-arm painfully remind one of the more sluggish of the anthropoid apes, and tell but too plainly to what sad depths the human being can sink under the combined influence of neglect and disease.'" the same excellent physician reverts to these cases in his fourth report ( ), and laments the sad condition of health, and the horrible state of neglect of many patients on their admission. he says, "one or two patients had been confined by manacles in their own cottages until rescued by charitable interference, and were brought to the asylum with their wrists and ankles excoriated by the ligatures deemed necessary for their proper control." one such case had been confined twenty-five years in his cottage-home. these illustrations will suffice for our purpose. they indicate the existence of abuses and wrongs here in england, too similar, alas! to those the special lunacy commission of scotland brought to light by their well-known inquiry in (report, edinburgh, ), and such as the general description in their report, and the particulars in appendix k, too amply demonstrate. it is referred to as "the wretched state" of single patients living with their friends or others, and well merits the designation. they found these poor afflicted beings generally in a state of moral and physical degradation, ill-fed, ill-treated, ill-clothed, miserably lodged, shockingly dirty, abused, restrained by all sorts of mechanical contrivances of the coarser kind, or left to wander unheeded and uncared for; whilst among the imbecile or fatuous women, many were the instances where they had become the mothers of an illegitimate and often idiotic offspring. judging from the specimens before us, we repeat, we have great misgivings lest a similar searching inquiry into the condition of pauper lunatics in england distributed in the homes of our cottagers and labouring classes, should reveal a state of things no less disgraceful to a civilized country. to recall a conviction before expressed, additional legislative provision is demanded for this class of pauper insane. the quarterly visit of the hard-worked and underpaid union medical officer or of his assistant, affords no sufficient guarantee, even when regularly made, that they are duly taken care of, and not improperly deprived of the advantages of asylum treatment. but if we accept official statements, these visits are irregularly made and much neglected, and the reports of them far from properly attended to. in the report of the hants asylum for , the committee took occasion to remark on the extended neglect and the inefficiency of these legal visits and reports; and though the commissioners in lunacy admit that of late matters have improved, yet they say that they are far from satisfactory. from these and other considerations adverted to, we have suggested that the inspection of the lunatic poor in question should be specially undertaken by the district medical officer, and that a report on them should after each visit be made to the lunacy commission, and, with advantage, also to the poor-law board. this officer should be informed of every pauper or other lunatic living with friends or others, and should investigate, as said above, all the circumstances surrounding him, and decide whether or not a transference to an asylum would be for the better. it would consequently be for him to select and recommend the removal to an asylum of all such patients as afforded a prospect of recovery; and since good food and proper nursing improve not only the body, but also the mind and the moral feelings, and promote the lasting relief of the mental disorder,--it should also devolve upon him to signify the extent and mode of out-door relief to be afforded. defective and faulty nutrition concurs powerfully to produce insanity, and, when it is induced, to make it permanent; the best policy must therefore be to nourish pauper lunatics sufficiently;--a policy, which we see, however, under existing circumstances, no prospect of being acted upon by the guardians of the poor. the allowance made to out-door lunatic paupers differs much; for it may be intended to supply almost all the moderate wants of the recipient, or only a small part of them. it is always, however, very limited, and less than the calculated cost of in-door paupers per head, and can never suffice to procure the poor patient adequate nourishment and suitable attendance and clothing. its amount, moreover, is regulated by no definite principles, but is left very much to the caprice of the relieving officers, and to the liberal or the opposite sentiments in the ascendant among the parochial guardians. it is contributed as a grant in aid to the relatives of the patient, and to those not related as a compensation for the outlay and trouble incurred on his account. the former are naturally liable to the maintenance of their lunatic kinsman, and no sufficient objection obtains to his being detained among them, provided his condition is not prejudiced by his exclusion from an asylum, and is duly watched over by competent medical officers, and that those relatives are able to afford him proper control, food and clothing, with or without parochial assistance. but the case is different in respect of those not related to the patient, who as strangers can have little interest in him; but who, on the contrary, have to make his detention serve their own purposes so far as possible, and cannot be expected to do or supply more than they are paid for. now, as the weekly allowance from the parish is to be by rule kept as low as it can be, the lowest offers possess the highest recommendation for acceptance, and the comforts and well-being of the poor imbecile or idiotic people are almost necessarily sacrificed at the shrine of economy. the whole system, therefore, of boarding pauper lunatics in the homes of the poor unconnected with them by blood, as now pursued without restrictions or method, appears fraught with injury to those helpless beings. what sort of attention, food, and lodging can be expected for some or shillings a week? what sort of supervision and control can be looked for from a poor, illiterate labourer or artisan? even a patient's own relatives may and do grudge the cost and the trouble he puts them to, or they may be very imperfectly able to furnish in their cottage-home the means needed to ensure his protection and the conveniences and comforts of others, and be ill-adapted by character and education to act as his directors and guardians. but these difficulties and defects are augmented manifold when the patient becomes a dweller among strangers. only under very peculiar circumstances indeed would we tolerate the boarding of pauper lunatics with strangers; when, for instance, their comforts and safety are hedged round by legal provisions sufficiently ample, and by systematized arrangements to secure them. these ends are to be attained by taking the selection of the abode and the pecuniary details from the hands of parochial officers, and by entrusting them to some competent medical man, who should be responsible that the patients are properly cared for and treated. it should be for him to select the residence, and in so doing to seek out those who by character and condition are best fitted for the charge. if the law were so amended that asylum relief should be afforded to all on the appearance of their malady, the majority of those to be provided for in lodgings would come from the class of chronic, imbecile patients, accounted harmless, whose discharge from the asylum under proper surveillance might be recommended. hence it would render the scheme more perfect and satisfactory, to retain these chronic lunatics in homes within a moderate distance of the county asylum they were previously placed in, so that they might be under the supervision of the medical staff of that institution, and that the propriety of their prolonged absence from it, or of their return to it, might be therefore determinable by those best qualified to judge from past experience of their case. yet, in all probability, this restriction as to the district for receiving patients as boarders, would not always be practicable; and frequently, where the insane poor had near relatives capable and willing to receive them under their care, though at a distance from the asylum, it would not be desirable to sacrifice the advantages of the guardianship of friends to those obtainable by vicinity to the asylum; and, from these or other causes, many poor insane people would be found distributed here and there throughout a county under the charge of cottagers and others. in their cases we would make the district medical inspector the special protector and guardian of their interests and well-being provided by law, and require him to visit them at least twice a quarter, report on their condition, and on the fitness or unfitness of the persons boarding them. in all cases, he should as a preliminary proceeding inquire into the accommodation and general circumstances of the persons proposing to receive an individual of unsound mind into their family, and should reject the application of those who are unable to afford suitable conveniences and adequate management. could a properly-organized system of supervision and control be established, the disposal of poor insane persons in the homes of the industrious classes would not be open to the objections it is at present, when no adequate legal provision to ensure their inspection and welfare is in existence. indeed, it would be an improvement and blessing to many of the chronic lunatics in our great asylums, could they so far be set at liberty, and have their original independence restored to them by a distribution in the cottage-homes of our country, where, under sufficient control, they could exercise useful employments, and relieve the rates of part of their cost. we have used the term 'cottage-homes' advisedly, because it is evident, that, except in very small towns, a town-residence would be most unsuitable. the example of the great colony of insane persons at gheel, in belgium, has suggested this plan of boarding lunatics in the homes of the working classes, chiefly of agriculturists, to the minds of many english philanthropists desirous to ameliorate the condition of our pauper insane, and to lessen the large costs of asylum provision. the only attempt, however, as far as we are aware, partaking at all of the conditions calculated to render such a scheme satisfactory and successful, hitherto made, is that on a small scale at the devon asylum under the direction of dr. bucknill, and we are happy to find from this gentleman's report that the arrangement has hitherto worked well. we shall return to this subject in a subsequent section,--"on the distribution of the chronic insane in cottage-homes." § _transmission of unfit cases to asylums--improper treatment prior to admission._ in preceding pages it has been remarked that the transfer of lunatics to asylums is regulated not by the nature of their case, and its amenability to treatment or amelioration, but by the circumstance of their being refractory and troublesome, annoying by their habits, or so infirm and sick as to require attentive nursing; or, in general, in such a state that their residence involves an increased and unworkhouse-like cost. the question of the recency of the attack is treated as of far less moment; for if the poor sufferer have what are called harmless delusions, or if he is only so melancholic that suicide is not constantly apprehended, then under these and such similar conditions, the economical theory of the establishment commonly preponderates over every consideration of the desirability of treatment in the presumedly expensive asylum, and the patient is retained. in course of time his malady becomes chronic, and in all probability incurable, and his condition so deteriorated in all respects by the absence of proper measures for his mental and moral treatment, that sooner or later his physical health gives way, or his habits grow inconveniently annoying and troublesome, and then it is that workhouse officials discover that the county asylum is his suitable abode. by this system of 'clearance' the workhouses are relieved of their most burdensome and costly inmates, who fall to the charge of asylums, in which their presence necessarily keeps down the rate of recoveries, multiplies the proportion of chronic lunatics, and increases the expenses and the rate of mortality. the medical superintendents of our asylums bear witness to the recklessness, and to the cruelty, at times, which often mark the doings of workhouse authorities when they wish to rid themselves of the cost and trouble of any of the lunatic poor in their keeping. the illustrations at hand, obtained from county asylum reports, are so numerous, that we must content ourselves with a selection of a few of the more striking. dr. boyd, the distinguished physician of the somerset county asylum, makes the following statement in his sixth report ( ):--"several aged persons, and many others in a feeble state, have been admitted during the year, so that the mortality, although less than in the preceding year, has still been considerable. for example, two cases have been recently admitted: one that of a man with dropsy, and broken down in constitution, who is reported to have been given to excess in drinking ardent spirits, and to have been subject to epileptic fits; he was disappointed at not being admitted into a general hospital, became violent, and was sent as a patient here; he has been free from fits since his admission, is rational, but apparently in the last stage of bodily disease. the other case is that of a woman about seventy, paralysed, and unable to sit up in the arm-chair without support. she was troublesome in the union workhouse, and was reported _as dangerous_, and so was sent to the asylum. there have been four males with paralysis recently sent in from being dirty in their habits.... one female was improperly sent with _delirium_ attending on _fever_: she died a fortnight after admission." in his ninth report, this same superintendent says,--"some are sent to the asylum in a state of paralysis, some are aged and in a state of fatuity, and others when they become troublesome, or are in a diseased and feeble state of bodily health, and require more nurse-tending than they receive in the workhouses.... under the existing arrangements, lunatic asylums are gradually losing their proper character of hospitals for the recovery of the insane, and sinking down to be mere auxiliaries to workhouses." out of eighty admissions at the worcester county asylum, fourteen were between sixty and eighty years of age, and for the most part "the subjects of organic disease of the brain, lungs, and heart, or suffered from long-continued mental disease, or from the superannuation of old age, and deficient nutrition of the brain and nervous centres. four of them died during the year.... during the early part of the year some correspondence was entered into with several unions, from which patients had been sent in a dying or exhausted state; and the impropriety of such proceeding was pointed out by your committee.... it is not supposed that those unfortunate cases are wilfully detained with improper intentions at their homes or elsewhere, but from ignorance; and from want of the necessary appliances, and the assistance of those accustomed to the insane, proper measures cannot be adopted for their care and recovery," and various injuries are inflicted. the experienced superintendent of the beds., herts., and hunts. asylum reports, in , that of , as many as twelve died within three months of their being admitted; five did not survive a fortnight. "one male, an epileptic seventy-nine years of age, and having been bedridden for years from contracted limbs, and nearly exhausted from the journey, died on the twelfth day. a female, aged sixty-eight, with disease of the heart, died on the fourth day from exhaustion, having been some time without rest, and having refused her food previous to admission. a female in the last stage of pulmonary consumption, lived but seventeen days; and one very distressing case of a female ... was brought to the asylum, who, worn out from constant excitement, and having a large wound on the leg, with ulcerations from ligatures on the wrists and ankles, sank on the fourteenth day. the two last-mentioned patients were reported to have refused food for nearly a week, but took every kind of nourishment offered to them from the moment they were in the asylum." the report of the suffolk county asylum records the admission of ten poor persons in "nearly seventy years of age, nine over seventy, three over eighty; sixteen in a state of bodily exhaustion; nine either idiots from birth, or imbeciles for a very long period; one child with well-known disease of the heart, and a woman, a cripple, scrofulous, blind and deaf." "what," asks dr. kirkman, the venerable superintendent, "can be done more than good nursing to support a peevish mind in a patient eighty-four, admitted only a few days ago?" he adds, "to give other instances, one man was received some time back on a very qualified certificate, and upon whose case a qualified certificate only could be given; and another (somewhat experimentally) with the notice that his mania, if such it were, existed only in the want of a slight resistance to a wayward will; and another, a girl of sixteen, subsequently found not to be insane, but suffering from aggravated cataleptic hysteria, supposed to have been caused by fright, having spinal disease, and deformed throughout the body." dr. hitchman, whose reports we have found so valuable in former sections of this work, has repeatedly called attention to the subject now under notice. in he writes:--"it is with feelings of deepest sorrow that your physician is compelled to state, that patients continue to be sent to the asylum in very advanced stages of bodily and mental disease.... so long as no violent or overt act has been perpetrated; so long as the sufferer can be 'managed' in the privacy of his miserable home, or by the 'cheap' resources of a workhouse, he is often detained from the lunatic hospital. disease, aggravated by neglect, continues its direful course, the 'harmless' lunatic becomes very dirty in his habits, or very violent in his conduct, windows are broken, clothes are torn, persons are injured, and the strap, the strait-waistcoat, and the chain are brought into service to control for a time the ravings and the mischief of the patient. steps are now taken for his removal--bound, bruised, dirty, and paralysed, the poor creature is taken to an asylum. one glance is sufficient to reveal to the experienced eye that _cure_ is hopeless; that while every resource of the institution will be needed to sustain the exhausted energies of the patient--to preserve him from the sufferings consequent upon the loss of his self-control over the excretions of his body, yet for two or three years he may survive to swell the list of incurables--to diminish the per-centage of cures--to crowd the hospital, and, worse than all, to perpetuate this popular belief, and to encourage the pernicious practice, which are now leading to the moral death and social extinction of hundreds of our fellow-creatures." speaking of the admissions in , he says:--"several were in advanced stages of bodily disease; thus, i. c. expired in eight hours after his arrival at this hospital. he was removed from the vehicle in which he was brought to his bed, where he remained tranquil until the moment of his decease. the state of great prostration in which he was brought, forbade the employment of the usual washing-bath; nor was he subjected to the fatigue of being shaved (of which he stood in much need) in consequence of his exhaustion. f. g., aged years, admitted with the marks of restraint round her wrists, survived eighteen days--only by the administration of wine and warmth. s. c., brought bound by straps and a strait-waistcoat in the afternoon of the th, was so convulsed and epileptic, that she died on the morning of the th, having scarcely spoken during the time she was in the asylum. others were in advanced stages of dropsy, phthisis, and general paralysis, and, although in a hopeless condition, lived on for several weeks under the fostering care of the institution. one poor girl, admitted from lincolnshire, in a perfectly helpless condition (the delirium of fever having been mistaken for the ravings of insanity), was conveyed from the vehicle to a water-bed, where she has remained in a state of great suffering for upwards of twelve weeks, and is never likely again to recover the use of her limbs." the experience of the kent asylum is similar. the age of eleven persons admitted in averaged , and twelve were from to . "in many of these the malady was simply decay of mind, or was due to apoplectic seizures, and attended by palsy." in the report for - , dr. huxley goes more at large into the question of unfitness for asylum admission, and the vigour and clearness of his remarks induces us to quote them at length. he observes:--"it seems difficult to understand on what principle patients are sometimes sent. one man, for an intemperate threat uttered under considerable provocation, is hastened off to the asylum. he can then only be deemed insane in a constructive sense, and in reliance on the undoubted good faith of the whole proceedings for his removal. he is seen to be sane; he remains so, and merely awaits the next discharging-day. in the interval he has had time to reflect on the danger of uncontrolled speech; but perhaps he and his family ought not to have incurred the reproach (as it is held) of insanity in the blood. perhaps, also, he ought not to have swelled the list of persons insane, adding his mite to the evidence which supports the general belief in an actual increase of disorders of the mind. "again, the facility with which a drunken prostitute finds admission and re-admission is astonishing. the delirium, rather than insanity proper, produced by excessive drinking, has, indeed, some alarming modes of expression; but it is a different thing from true mental derangement, and is transient, the patient being generally nearly all right again on arrival. i confess to a feeling which grudges to such patients the benefits of an asylum and association with the inmates who are truly unfortunate. their detention is wholly unsatisfactory; it leads to nothing. long or short, it proves no warning against a return to former bad courses; whilst the presence of people (i do not call them patients) of this sort seriously injures the interior comfort of the wards. ought such cases to swell the returns of lunacy? then, in estimating the supposed growth of insanity among the people, let the fact be remembered, that here is one contributing element, which was not represented until of late years. once again, the extent to which strongly-marked senility is now made the reason for admission to the asylum is, i think, unprecedented. to grow childish, wilful, and intractable; to lose memory, and forget the good habits of a life; to take no note of times and seasons; to wake by night and be restless, and to become generally incapable, are the rule rather than the exception at the close of an extended life. i do not think these natural ills ought to be the cause so frequently as they are found to be, for sending the subjects of them to an asylum. workhouses may not contain the little special accommodation needful for such cases; but it would not be a good argument to hold, that because they _do_ not, the asylum must be the proper receptacle. "poverty is, truly, the great evil; it has no friends able to help. persons in middle society do not put away their aged relatives because of their infirmities, and i think it was not always the custom for worn-out paupers to be sent to the asylum. may not this practice be justly regarded as an abuse of the asylum? it is one more of the ways in which, at this day, the apparent increase of insanity is sustained. it is not a real increase, since the aged have ever been subject to this sort of unsoundness. "decayed persons, once placed in an asylum, are ever after held to have been rightfully deemed insane. if any of their descendants, therefore, become mentally afflicted, the hereditary taint is straightway accounted to them. this is, indeed, to show cause why all the world should be mad! i hold it to be wrong to send persons to an asylum merely on account of second childhood, and a wrong operating to general disparagement. in the first place, the practice is only an indirect consequence of poverty; next, it helps improperly to force asylums to a size inconsistent with their best management; and thirdly, it is one amongst other apparent, but not real grounds, for that increase of mental disorder, which is apprehended with such general alarm. "we received at least twelve persons, who, in my judgment, needed not, and therefore ought not to have been sent, viz. seven aged, being of , , , , , , and years; three children, of , , and years; and two adults. one of the children was not insane, but suffering from chorea (st. vitus's dance) affecting the whole body. this disorder had, apparently, been mistaken for mania." we will close these quotations by one from dr. bucknill's report for :-- "there can be little doubt that those asylums, the admission into which is restricted by legal formalities alone, are not unfrequently made use of as hospitals for the treatment of bodily disease and for the care of the bodily infirm. to such asylums patients are sent suffering from serious and troublesome bodily diseases, whose mental condition would never have been considered a sufficient cause for removal had it existed alone. the number of patients has not been small, who, from time to time, have been admitted into the devon asylum with serious disease of the several organs of the body, and with no greater amount of mental disturbance than is the frequent result of such disease. "patients have been admitted suffering from heart disease, aneurism, and cancer, with scarcely a greater amount of melancholy than might be expected to take place in many sane persons at the near and certain prospect of death. some have been received in the last stages of consumption, with that amount only of cerebral excitement so common in this disorder; others have been received in the delirium or the stupor of typhus; while in several cases the mental condition was totally unknown after admission, and must have been unknown before, since the advanced condition of bodily disease prevented speech, and the expression of intelligence or emotion, either normal or morbid. "these observations are made in no spirit of complaint. the capabilities of these institutions to treat all ailments of mind or body are indeed felt to be a source of satisfaction and pride. it ought, however, to be known, that this county asylum is, to some extent, made use of as a public infirmary, and that the result of such employment must be expected in an obituary somewhat lengthened, if not also in a list of cures somewhat abbreviated." sufficient proofs are surely furnished in the above extracts, selected from many similar ones, to establish the general statements advanced at the beginning of the present subject, viz. that both recklessness and cruelty not unfrequently mark the proceedings of workhouse officials in their transmission of patients to the county asylums. they, moreover, supply facts to prove that the neglect in transferring proper cases for asylum treatment, and the inexcusable folly of sending to asylums the victims of second childishness, the imbecile paralytics, the peevish and perverse sufferers from chronic organic disease, such as poor consumptives, whose days are measured by the shortest span, tend to promote the accumulation of incurable inmates, to raise the mortality, and to increase the expenditure of these institutions. in fact, the annual returns of county asylum experience demonstrate that the transmission to asylums is regulated by no rule, and is attended by great abuses. the practical lesson deducible from this is, that the matter must be placed in other hands, and guided according to some rational principles. the insane poor must no longer be left to pine in neglect and misery in their own homes, until their friends tire of the trouble of them, or some casual circumstance class them, in a relieving officer's opinion, as proper candidates for an asylum; nor must their presence in the workhouse be, for the future, regulated by the mere circumstance of the care, attention and expense they involve, in the estimation of workhouse governors. there need be some specially appointed officer, whose business it should be to know both the existence of every insane person in his district and his condition and treatment, and to report those who require the care of a curative asylum, those who only need the nursing and supervision of a chronic one, and those who can be duly and efficiently tended and cherished in the homes of their families. by the exertions of such an officer, we should no longer read of the removal of dying patients, only to die in the asylums; or of the victims of neglect and wretchedness detained in workhouses or their homes, until the advance of their mental malady, the complication of organic disease, or some casualty, has rendered them hopelessly incurable, and burdensome in cost,--a cause of a decreased rate of cures and of an augmentation of deaths in the asylum. but there is yet another lesson to be learned from the foregoing extracts, confirmatory of our own experience, which we might well wish to ignore, viz. the want of knowledge, both of the characters of insanity and of the treatment it demands, among our professional brethren. undoubtedly a vast stride has been made of late years in diffusing correct views of insanity and its treatment, yet much remains to be done; and it is humiliating to read of cases of delirium from fever, or from organic disease, affecting other organs than the brain; of patients afflicted with chorea; of others delirious from exhaustion or from alcoholic drinks, sent to asylums as cases of insanity. for it is to be remembered, that a medical certificate is a necessary preliminary to the entrance of every person into an asylum; and where the nature of the cases indicates no flagrant error of diagnosis, it at all events exhibits a carelessness or recklessness of the medical man, or his want of moral courage and of official independence, where, for example, he acts as the agent in sending to asylums the aged imbecile of fourscore years, or the poor restless, irritable victim of consumption or other fatal organic bodily disease. moreover, it speaks ill of union medical officers, who are entrusted with the supervision, medical care and treatment, and with the dietary of the lunatic poor, to read of the neglected and wretched state in which they are too often found, both in workhouses and in their own homes, and of the condition in which they sometimes are when received into asylums. the bonds and bands, the physical exhaustion from want of food, are matters rightly placed, in a greater or less measure, in their hands. the treatment by cupping, leeches, general bleeding, blistering and purging, and by other depressing means, lies wholly at their door; and such treatment, we regret to say, is still, by some medical practitioners, deemed proper, although experience has for years shown that madness is a disease of debility, and that to use debilitating means is the most direct way to render it incurable. there is yet another indication of the deficiency of information among medical men in general, often noticed by asylum physicians, viz. their inability to recognize the peculiar form of paralysis attended with disordered mind, known as "general paralysis." where, as at st. luke's hospital, at bethlem, and at hanwell, under the recent regulation for promoting the early treatment of recent cases, the existence of general paralysis disqualifies an applicant from admission, the rejection of patients, on the ground of its presence, often gives rise to disappointment and to irritation on the part of the medical men signing the certificates, who will stoutly deny the justice of the exclusion, because they see no such loss of motion or sensation as they do in hemiplegia or paraplegia, or those forms of palsy to which they are accustomed to restrict the appellation. this defective knowledge of insanity and its treatment ought not to be found, were medical instruction complete. but whilst the medical curricula make no requirement of instruction in mental disease necessary to medical qualifications, they are expanded so as to comprehend almost every branch of human knowledge, under the heads of 'preliminary education' and of 'collateral sciences,' and yet ignore psychological medicine, as though human beings were without minds, or, at least, without minds subject to disorder. the consequence is, as facts above illustrate, medical men enter into practice with no conception of the varied phenomena of mental disorder; unable to diagnose it; unfit to treat it, and glad to keep out of the way of its sufferers. some, as before intimated, associate it, in their views, with inflammatory or congestive disease, and treat it accordingly, by blood-letting and the other parts of the so-called antiphlogistic regimen, to the speedy destruction of the patient, by increased maniacal excitement and concurrent exhaustion, or to his extreme detriment in relation to his prospects of recovery. let us hope that this state of things may ere long be entirely amended, and that medical practitioners may be required to understand disorders of the mind as perfectly as those of the lungs. before quitting the subject of this section, a brief comment on the state of the law regulating the transference of weak cases to asylums will not be misplaced. according to _sect._ lxvii. & vict. cap. , providing for the examination of alleged lunatics prior to removal to an asylum, it is enacted, "that in case any pauper deemed to be lunatic, cannot, on account of his health or other cause, be conveniently taken before a justice, such pauper may be examined at his own abode;" and that, if found lunatic, he shall be conveyed to an "asylum, hospital, or house...; provided also, that if the physician, surgeon, or apothecary by whom any such pauper shall be examined shall certify in writing that he is not in a fit state to be removed, his removal shall be suspended until the same or some other physician, surgeon, or apothecary shall certify in writing that he is fit to be removed; and every such physician, surgeon, and apothecary is required to give such last-mentioned certificate as soon as in his judgment it ought to be given." a similar provision is made in the case of "lunatics wandering at large, not being properly taken care of, or being cruelly treated" or neglected by their relatives, by the section next following (_sect._ lxviii). further, by _sect._ lxxvii., empowering the visitors of asylums to remove patients, it is provided "that no person shall be removed under any such order without a medical certificate signed by the medical officer of the asylum, or the medical practitioner, or one of the medical practitioners, keeping, residing in, or visiting the hospital, or licensed house, from which such person is ordered to be removed, certifying that he is in a fit condition of bodily health to be removed in pursuance of such order." from the clauses above quoted, it is evidently the intent of the law to shield the unfortunate sufferers from mental disease, where prostrated by exhaustion or by organic lesions, against hasty and injudicious removal detrimental to their condition, or dangerous to life; yet, as already seen, these provisions are inoperative in preventing the evil. those, indeed, regulating the transfer or removal of patients to or from an asylum are to a certain extent obligatory, and are probably attended to; but it is not so with those designed to protect lunatics from injurious removals under the direction of parochial authorities, as enacted by _sect._ lxvii. for by this section it is left to the discretion of the medical practitioner called in, to examine the patient, and to certify, in writing, to his unfitness for removal; but much too commonly, according to the testimony of every asylum superintendent, the humane intentions of the law are neglected. this th section need, therefore, to be assimilated to the th, so far as to make it imperative on the part of the medical man who examines the patient, to certify "that he is in a fit state of bodily health to be removed." this is but a slight amendment, but it might save many a poor creature in a totally broken-down, exhausted, or moribund state, from being carried to an asylum far away, only to pine away and die. it is hard to write against the members of one's own profession, but the details put forth by asylum physicians of the manner in which patients are conveyed to the public institutions, and of the state in which they are received, demand, on the score of humanity, a condemnation of the indifference and negligence which sometimes mark the performance of duties rightly chargeable to parochial medical officers. partial excuses for these officers may be found in abundance, on account of their usual wretched remuneration, and the too dependent position they occupy in reference to the parish boards appointing them; but no sufficient explanation appears for their withholding a certificate allowed by law, which might prevent the removal of a patient delirious with fever, of one perishing from heart disease or consumption, or of one dying from the exhaustion of cerebral excitement and defective nutrition. chap. vi.--causes diminishing the curability of insanity, and involving the multiplication of chronic lunatics. other causes than those already examined are in existence, sending to diminish the curability and to multiply the permanent sufferers of insanity, to be found unfortunately in the character and constitution of the very establishments constructed to afford requisite care and treatment for our pauper lunatics. according to the division of our subject (p. ), these causes belong to the second head; or are-- b. _causes in operation within asylums._ § _magisterial interference. excessive size of asylums. insufficient medical supervision._ there are in too many asylums grave errors of construction, government, and management, which detract from their utility, and damage the interests of both superintendents and patients. in several there is too much magisterial meddling, subversive of that unity of action and management which should prevail in an asylum, as it must do in a ship, and prejudicial to the position and authority of the superintendents, by diminishing their responsibility, their self-respect and independence, and their importance in the estimation of those under their direction. the visiting justices of an asylum mistake their office when they descend from matters of general administration and supervision to those of superintendence and internal management. when they exchange their legal position as occasional visitors of the wards for that of weekly or more frequent inspectors; when they directly occupy themselves with the details of the establishment, with the circumstances affecting the patients, with their occupations and amusements, irrespective of the medical officer; when they suffer themselves to be appealed to, and to act as referees in matters of internal discipline; when they assume to themselves the hiring and discharging of attendants; and when, without taking counsel with the medical superintendent, they determine on alterations and additions to their asylum,--they are most certainly pursuing a policy calculated to disturb and destroy the government and the successful operation of the establishment. a meddling policy is in all ways mischievous and bad; it irritates honourable minds, and deters them in their praiseworthy and noble endeavours to merit approval and reward; whilst it at the same time acts as an incentive to apathy, indolence, and neglect: for freedom and independence of action, a feeling of trust reposed, and of merit appreciated, are necessary to the cheerful, energetic and efficient performance of duties. so soon as the zeal of any man of ordinary moral sensibility is doubted, so soon as his competency for his office is so far questioned by the activity and interference of others in his particular field of labour, so soon is a check given to his best endeavours in the discharge of his duties, his interest in them abates, and a blow is inflicted upon his feelings and self-respect. in short, it cannot be disputed, that if an asylum have a duly qualified and trustworthy superintendent, the less a committee of visitors interferes with its internal organization and the direction of its details, the more advantageous is it for the well-being of the institution. again, many asylums have grown to such a magnitude, that their general management is unwieldy, and their due medical and moral care and supervision an impossibility. they have grown into lunatic colonies of eight or nine hundred, or even of a thousand or more inhabitants, comfortably lodged and clothed, fed by a not illiberal commissariat, watched and waited on by well-paid attendants, disciplined and drilled to a well-ordered routine, gratified by entertainments, and employed where practicable, and, on the whole, considered as paupers, very well off; but in the character of patients, labouring under a malady very amenable to treatment, if not too long neglected, far from receiving due consideration and care. although the aggregation of large numbers of diseased persons, and of lunatics among others, is to be deprecated on various grounds, hygienic and others, yet the objections might be felt as of less weight, contrasted with the presumed economical and administrative advantages accruing from the proceeding, were the medical staff proportionately augmented, and the mental malady of the inmates of a chronic and generally incurable character. but, in the instance of the monster asylums referred to, neither is the medical staff at all proportionate to the number of patients, nor are their inmates exclusively chronic lunatics. the medical officer is charged with the care and supervision of some three, four, or five hundred insane people, among whom are cases of recent attack, and of bodily disease of every degree of severity, and to whom a considerable accession of fresh cases is annually made; and to his duties as physician are added more or fewer details of administration, and all those of the internal management of the institution, which bear upon the moral treatment of its inmates, and are necessary even to an attempt at its harmonious and successful working. now, little reflection is needed to beget the conviction, that a medical man thus surcharged with duties cannot efficiently perform them; and the greater will his insufficiency be, the larger the number of admissions, and of recent or other cases demanding medical treatment. he may contrive, indeed, to keep his asylum in good order, to secure cleanliness and general quiet, to provide an ample general dietary, and such like, but he will be unable to do all that he ought to do for the cure and relief of the patients entrusted to him as a physician. to treat insane people aright, they must be treated as individuals, and not _en masse_; they must be individually known, studied, and attended to both morally and medically. if recent insanity is to be treated, each case must be closely watched in all its psychical and physical manifestations, and its treatment be varied according to its changing conditions. can a medical man, surrounded by several hundred insane patients, single-handed, fulfil his medical duties to them effectively, even had he no other duties to perform, and were relieved from the general direction of the asylum? can he exercise a vigilant and efficient superintendence over the inmates? can he watch and personally inform himself of their mental, moral and bodily condition, prescribe their appropriate treatment, diagnose disease and detect its many variations; secure the due administration of medicines and of external appliances; order the necessary food and regimen; feed those who would starve themselves; attend to casualties and to sanitary arrangements; judiciously arrange the classification, the employments and recreations; keep the history of cases, make and record autopsies, and watch the carrying out of his wishes by the attendants? can, we repeat, an asylum superintendent properly perform these, and those many other minor duties of his office, conceivable to all those who experimentally understand the matter, though not readily conveyed by description? can any person perform these duties, if they were separable, without injury to the working of the institution, from the many details of general management which the position of superintendent has attached to it? can he be justly held accountable, if the huge and complex machine goes wrong in any part? can he feel sure that his patients are well looked after, attended to according to his wishes, and kindly treated? can he do justice, lastly, as a physician, to any one afflicted patient, whose restoration to health and to society depends on the efficient exercise of his medical skill, and do this without neglecting other patients and other duties? to these questions, surely, every thinking, reasoning man will reply in the negative. the consequence is, that asylum superintendents, who thus find themselves overburdened with multifarious and onerous duties, and feel the hopelessness of a personal and efficient discharge of all of them, are driven to a system of routine and general discipline, as the only one whereby the huge machine in their charge can work, and look upon recoveries as casual successes or undesigned coincidences (_see further_, p. ). the inadequacy of the medical staff of most asylums is a consequence, in part, of the conduct of superintendents themselves, and in part of the notions of economy, and of the little value in which medical aid is held by visiting justices in general. the contrast of a well-ordered asylum at the present day, with the prison houses, the ill-usage and neglect of the unhappy insane at a period so little removed from it, has produced so striking an effect on mankind at large, that public attention is attracted and riveted to those measures whereby the change has been brought about; in other words, to the moral means of treatment,--to the liberty granted, the comforts of life secured, the amusements contrived, and the useful employment promoted,--all which can, to a greater or less extent, be carried out equally by an unprofessional as by a professional man. it is therefore not so surprising that the importance of a medical attendant is little appreciated, and that the value of medical treatment is little heeded. there has, in fact, been a revulsion of popular feeling in favour of the moral treatment and employment of the insane; and, as a popular sentiment never wants advocates, so it has been with the one in question; and by the laudation by physicians of the so-called moral means of treatment, and the oblivion into which medical aid has been allowed to fall, magistrates, like other mortals, have had their convictions strengthened, that medical superintendents, considered in their professional capacity, are rather ornamental than essential members of an asylum staff; very well in their way in cases of casual sickness or injury, useful to legalize the exit of the inmates from the world, and not bad scape-goats in misadventures and unpleasant investigations into the management, and in general not worse administrators, under the safeguard of their own magisterial oversight, than would be members of most other occupations and professions. as before remarked, the magnitude of an asylum, and the paucity of its medical officers, are matters of much more serious import where recent cases of insanity are under treatment. in a colossal refuge for the insane, a patient may be said to lose his individuality, and to become a member of a machine so put together as to move with precise regularity and invariable routine;--a triumph of skill adapted to show how such unpromising materials as crazy men and women may be drilled into order and guided by rule, but not an apparatus calculated to restore their pristine condition and their independent self-governing existence. in all cases admitting of recovery, or of material amelioration, a gigantic asylum is a gigantic evil, and, figuratively speaking, a manufactory of chronic insanity. the medical attendant, as said before, is so distracted by multitudinous duties, that the sufferer from the acute attack can claim little more attention than his chronic neighbour, except at the sacrifice of other duties. no frequent watching several times a day, and no special interest in the individual case, can be looked for. there is such a thing as a facility in observing and dealing with the phenomena of acute mental disorder, acquired by experience; but it would be well nigh unjust to expect it in a medical officer, in whose field of observation a case of recent attack is the exception, and chronic insanity the rule, among the hundreds around. the practical result of this state of things is, that the recently attacked patient almost inevitably obtains less attention than he needs from the physician, who, from lack of sufficient personal observation, must trust to the reports of others, to the diligence, skill and fidelity of his attendants, and who, in fine, is compelled to repose work in others' hands which should rightly fall into his own. this being the case, the character of the attendants for experience, knowledge, tact and honesty acquires importance directly proportionate to the size of asylums, and the degree of inability of the medical superintendents to perform his duties personally. now, though we need testify to the excellent qualities of some asylum attendants, yet, notwithstanding any admissions of this sort, it is a serious question how far such agents should be employed to supply the defects and omissions of proper medical supervision and treatment. the class of society from which they are usually derived; their common antecedents, as persons unsuccessful or dissatisfied with their previous calling, or otherwise tempted by the higher wages obtainable in asylums, are circumstances not calculated to prepossess the feelings in favour of their employment in that sort of attendance on the insane alluded to. they have no preliminary instruction or training, but have to learn their duties in the exercise of them. many are their failures, many their faults, and often are they very inefficient, as the records of every asylum testify; yet, on the whole, considering their antecedents, and the nature of the duties imposed upon them, their success is remarkable. however, whatever their character as a body, as individuals they require the direct and ever-active oversight and control of the superintendent. the institution of head-attendants is a great relief to the labour of the latter, but rightly affords him no opportunity to relax his own inspection and watchfulness. in a large asylum there must be general routine: it can be conducted only by routine; and the attendants are the immediate agents in carrying it out. their duties necessarily partake largely of a household character; they are engaged in cleaning and polishing, in bed-making and dressing, in fetching and carrying, and in serving meals. but along with these they are entrusted with certain parts of the 'moral treatment' of the patients,--in enforcing the regulations as to exercise, employment, amusement, the distribution of meals, and the general cleanliness and order both of the wards and their inmates; and in the exercise of these functions acquire much knowledge respecting the character and habits of those under their care. yet withal, they are not fit and efficient persons to have medical duties delegated to them. they are not qualified to observe and record the symptoms of disease, to note its changes, nor, except under close surveillance, to apply remedies externally or internally. such is the onset or the serious march of bodily sickness not unfrequently, that even the experienced medical observer is prone to overlook it. this is true where disease attacks those sound in mind, and able to express their sufferings, and to lend the aid of their intelligence towards the discovery of the nature and seat of their malady; but the danger of oversight is increased tenfold when the insane are the subjects of bodily lesion. where the mind is enfeebled and sensibility blunted, and where melancholy broods heavily over its victim, disease is to be discovered only by a watchful and experienced practitioner of medicine; for the unfortunate patient will make no complaint, and the fatal malady may evince itself to the ordinary uninstructed observer by no sufficient symptom to awaken attention; and even where the mind is not imbecile, nor weighed down by its fears and profound apathy, yet the features of its disorder will interfere, in most instances, with the appreciation and interpretation of the symptoms which may reach the knowledge of those about the sufferer, and thereby mask the disease from the non-professional looker-on, and render its diagnosis even difficult to the medical examiner. with respect to the female attendants of asylums, it may also be observed, that they are frequently young women without experience in disease, and rarely qualified as nurses conversant with certain medical matters; and, from our own observation, they are found to be often backward and shy in reporting particulars respecting the female patients, and badly qualified in administering to their wants when sick. moreover, equally with the male attendants, there is, by their education and training, no security for a well-governed temper, for long suffering, patience and sympathy. indeed, the wages given in most asylums are not sufficient to induce a higher class of young women to accept the onerous and often painful and disagreeable duties of attendants on the insane, than that which furnishes housemaids and kitchenmaids to respectable families. if, therefore, their origin be only looked to, it would be contrary to experience to expect from the nurses of asylums, as a body, the possession of high moral principle and sensibility, of correct notions of duty, and of a hearty interest in their duties. we make these remarks, with no intention to censure the whole race of asylum nurses, among whom are many meritorious women; but merely to enforce the opinion that something may be done to improve their character and condition, and that, as a class, they are not rightly chargeable with duties of the kind and to the extent we are engaged in pointing out. on the contrary, their history, position, and education conspire to make them servants in tone and character, unfit often to exercise the discipline and authority entrusted to them; whilst the general duties connected with the cleanliness and order of their wards and rooms, and the observation of the universal routine of the asylum, contribute to the same effect, and the more so in large establishments, where the almost constant supervision of the superintendent is wanting, where individual interest in patients is all but dead, and where their number renders the inmates mere automatons, acted on in this or that fashion according to the rules governing the great machine. from the necessity of the case, the medical superintendent of a colossal asylum is compelled mainly to trust to the observation of his attendants to discover disease, and to report mishaps. he has his mile or upwards of wards and offices to perambulate daily, and, to keep up some connexion with their four or five hundred inmates, must adopt some general plan. for instance, he refers to the attendant of each ward he enters, demands from him if he has anything to report, wends his way through the apartment, looks right and left, remarks if the floor and rooms are duly swept and garnished; now and then inspects the bed and bedding, bids good morning to more or fewer of the patients who may be present, and unless brown or jones has something to report of any one of them, bids good day to all, to recommence the same operation in the next ward. now brown or jones might have had something to report had they medical eyes, and information to detect the first symptoms of disease in one of their patients; but as they have not, the disorder has a fair opportunity to steal a march upon the doctor, and possibly to take such firm possession of its victim before this or that attendant is persuaded something is going wrong, that the doctor only commences his professional operations against it in time to render his certificate of death satisfactory, and the result explicable without a coroner's inquest. we do not blame the medical men for not doing more, but we deprecate the system which places it out of their power to do so. no one can gainsay the possibility, nay, the actual occurrence, of avoidable deaths in the large asylums we condemn; and those who know the working of such institutions, know also that the duties are performed much after the sketch delineated, and could be got through in no greatly improved fashion. but it must not be supposed, that it is only when disease exists or has to be discovered, that the delegation of the principal part of the supervision of patients to ordinary asylum attendants operates injuriously to their well-being; far from it, for many are the cases which require the presence of a more instructed and more sympathizing mind; of a person to appreciate their moral and mental condition; to overrule by his official position disorderly manifestations, to pacify the excitable, to encourage and cheer the melancholy; to espy and anticipate the wants of all; to hear the complaints of some, and to be the confidant of others; to mark the mental changes of individuals, and to adapt surrounding circumstances, their occupations and amusements accordingly. to give such superintendence, or, in other words, to apply such moral and mental treatment, the medical officer is the only fitting person; from him the patients will and do naturally look for it. let any one follow a medical superintendent in his ordinary visits through the wards; and he will observe how ardently the visit is anticipated by many; how numerous are the little troubles and ailments they wish to disclose to the physician, and only to him; how often he can arrest excitement and calm irritation, only aggravated by the interposition of attendants; how often he can recognize mental and bodily symptoms demanding attention, and, in general, how largely he can supply those minutiæ of treatment, insignificant as they appear, and unthought of as they are by others, whose moral feelings, whose intellectual acumen, whose education and manners, and whose position are deficient to conceive them, and insufficient to put them in force. there is no question, it must be granted, but that whatever medical supervision may be supplied, yet that the carrying out of most of the details of management must always devolve upon the attendants; it becomes, therefore, a matter of paramount importance to render that class of asylum functionaries as efficient as possible. they need be encouraged by good wages and good treatment; and, what is of great moment, these should be sufficiently good, to induce persons of a better class than that which usually furnishes attendants, to accept such posts. this idea will probably be scouted by the stickler to "a due regard for economy," at first sight; but we think his economical penchant might be gratified by the plan of carrying out more fully in the wards the distinction of attendants upon the insane and of household servants. for is it not practicable to import the system adopted in the large london hospitals, where the office of 'sisters,' to nurse the patients, is separated from that of under-nurse, to whom the cleanliness of the wards is committed? if so, the immediate attendants on the insane might receive higher wages without increasing the general expenditure of the asylum; for those concerned in the cleaning of the wards would only earn the wages of common household servants. we throw out this suggestion, in passing, for the nature of our treatise forbids our enlarging upon such matters of asylum organization; otherwise, much might be written respecting the duties and the remuneration of attendants, and the advantages of pensions for them after a certain term of faithful service. to conclude this topic, we may remark that it would be easy, did the subject stand in need of proof, to multiply illustrations, showing that, to transfer the work of medical and moral supervision to attendants, in any similar extent and measure to that which must of necessity prevail in the excessively large asylums which county magistrates rear in opposition to the decided opinion of those best able to judge, is to frustrate the object of those institutions as curative asylums, and to detract from their advantages as refuges for the incurable. the evils of overgrown asylums have not, as might be expected, escaped the observation and reprobation of the commissioners in lunacy, who have referred to them in several of their annual reports, but more at large in that of , wherein they detail their contest with the middlesex magistrates respecting the further enlargement of the enormous asylums of hanwell and colney hatch, and their strange defeat, the magistrates having contrived to influence the home secretary in opposition to the decided opinion of the commissioners, though seconded by experience, by the general assent of all asylum physicians, and by their position as the referees appointed by the state in all matters touching the erection and management of asylums. with this acquiescence in the erroneous scheme of a county magistracy in opposition to a government commission, we have at present no immediate concern, and may content ourselves with reporting it as an anomalous proceeding which ought never to have occurred: but to revert to the sentiments of the commissioners, they are expressed in the following quotation from the report mentioned. "it has always been the opinion of this board that asylums beyond a certain size are objectionable: they forfeit the advantage which nothing can replace, whether in general management or the treatment of disease, of individual and responsible supervision. to the cure or alleviation of insanity, few aids are so important as those which may be derived from vigilant observation of individual peculiarities; but where the patients assembled are so numerous that no medical officer can bring them within the range of his personal examination and judgment, such opportunities are altogether lost, and amid the workings of a great machine, the physician as well as the patient loses his individuality. when to this also is added, what experience has of late years shown, that the absence of a single and undivided responsibility is equally injurious to the general management, and that the rate of maintenance for patients in the larger buildings has a tendency to run higher than in buildings of a smaller size, it would seem as if the only tenable plea for erecting them ought to be abandoned. to the patients, undoubtedly, they bring no corresponding benefit. the more extended they are, the more abridged become their means of cure; and this, which should be the first object of an asylum, and by which alone any check can be given to the present gradual and steady increase in the number of pauper lunatics requiring accommodation, is unhappily no longer the leading characteristic of colney hatch or of hanwell." as may be supposed, the disposition to build huge asylums is due to the same cause as that of the detention of insane persons in workhouses, viz. to the plea of economy; a plea, which we believe to be about as fallacious in the one case as in the other. the economy is supposed to arise from the saving in commissariat matters and in the governing staff; and it is no doubt proportionately cheaper to provision persons than , other things being the same. but, on the one hand, very competent persons assert that the cost of officers and servants for a population of insane is more than double that for one of half that amount, when proportionately compared. the multiplication of inferior officers beyond a certain point entails that of superior ones in a higher ratio to overlook them; there is not the same amount of productive labour considering the number employed. the capability of the superintendent to supervise his attendants and the patients stops at a certain point, and he need call to his aid a head attendant at superior wages, and so add an extra person to the staff; if the extent of his charge is farther increased by additional patients and their necessary attendants, then an officer of a higher grade is called for, and other overlookers of attendants and of the _régime_ of the house. but figures showing the relative costs presently appealed to will do more to convince the reader of the fact under notice than any 'aids to reflection' we can supply. there can be no question, that to build asylums for the insane above a certain size is a fallacy when viewed even in an economical aspect; but when regarded in relation to its ulterior consequences, the plan is not only erroneous, but reprehensible. were it really the case that a pecuniary saving resulted from the aggregation of large masses of mentally disordered folk, according to the figures in the ledger of the institution, yet no positive gain could be boasted of until it was proved that every case was placed in the most favourable conditions for recovery. can it be pretended that the very extensive asylums of this country, with their present corps of medical officers, furnish such conditions? certainly not, if there be any truth in the account we have published of their evils and defects. and if those conditions are not supplied, the primary object of these institutions, _i. e._ the cure of the insane, is frustrated, and chronic lunacy increased. where, then, is the economy, if patients, failing to receive the means of recovery, by reason of the constitution of the asylum on so large a scale, fall into chronic disease, and become permanent burdens on its funds? where is the economy of a system, which, by standing in the way of efficient treatment, reduces the proportion per cent. of recoveries to twenty or thirty, when under different arrangements that proportion may equal per cent. or upwards? it will be a happy day for the insane, and for the contributors to their maintenance, when visiting justices arrive at the conviction, that they have not done all they can on behalf of the poor disordered people under their guardianship, when they have provided good lodging, board and clothing for them, and such a system of routine and discipline as to check the manifestation of their mental vagaries; and that it is not enough for a recent case, to introduce it into an asylum and the companionship of lunatics, with practically no positive provision for its medical treatment. it will be well, too, for the insane, when the truth becomes more generally assented to, that their malady is no mythical, spiritual alteration, but the consequence of a material lesion of the brain, the marvellous instrument, the subject and servant of the immortal soul, which can by its divine essence know no disorder. this is perhaps, strictly speaking, a digression from the subject; yet erroneous ideas are the parents of erroneous practices, and those we have hinted at form no exception to the rule. but, to return, we have some excellent illustrative remarks on the fallacy of the belief in the economy of very large asylums, contained both in the report of the american and of the english lunacy commissioners. the former thus write in their report (_op. cit._ p. ):-- "the policy which has built large establishments for the insane is a questionable one as applied to economy. after having built a house sufficiently large, and gathered a sufficient number of patients for their proper classification and for the employment of a competent corps of officers and attendants, and allowing each to receive just as much attention as his case requires, and providing no more, any increase of numbers will either crowd the house, or create the necessity of building more rooms; and their management must be either at the cost of that attention which is due to others, or must create the necessity of employing more persons to superintend and to watch them. "if the house be crowded beyond the appropriate numbers, or if the needful attention and the healing influences due to each individual are diminished, the restorative process is retarded, and the recovery is rendered more doubtful; and if additional provision, both of accommodations and professional and subsidiary attendance, is made to meet the increase of patients beyond the best standard, it would cost at least as much per head as for the original number. dr. kirkbride thinks it would cost more, and that the actual recoveries of the curable, and the comfortable guardianship of the incurable, are not so easily attained in large hospitals as in such as come within the description herein proposed. 'it might be supposed that institutions for a much larger number of patients than has been recommended could be supported at a less relative cost; but this is not found to be the case. there is always more difficulty in superintending details in a very large hospital; there are more sources of waste and loss; improvements are apt to be relatively more costly; and, without great care on the part of the officers, the patients will be less comfortable.' "besides the increased cost of maintaining and the diminished efficiency of a large establishment, there is the strong objection of distance and difficulty of access, which must limit the usefulness of a large hospital in the country, and prevent its diffusing its benefits equally over any considerable extent of territory to whose people it may open its doors." having pointed out the evils of large asylums to their inmates, the english commissioners, in their eleventh report (p. ), remark, "that the rate of maintenance for patients in the larger buildings has a tendency to run higher than in buildings of a smaller size," ... and that it therefore "would seem as if the only tenable plea for erecting them ought to be abandoned." to substantiate this assertion, they appeal to the table of weekly charges of the several county asylums, set forth in the appendix c.c. of the same report, which certainly shows that the cost per head is at its maximum in those which receive the largest number of patients. this being so, surely no one can withhold assent to the just conclusion of the commissioners, that the system of erecting asylums above certain dimensions ought to be abandoned, inasmuch as the only plea that can be urged in its behalf, that, namely, of its economy,--a bad plea, by the way, if the real interests of patients and ratepayers are concerned,--is founded in error. one more topic needs a few words, viz. the very inadequate remuneration of the medical superintendents in some asylums,--a circumstance, confirmatory of the small value assigned by their committees of visitors to professional qualifications. the worst instances of underpayment are, in fact, met with in those very asylums where the number of inmates attains its maximum, and the medical provision for their care is at its minimum; where the administrative power of the medical men is the most limited and most interfered with, and their ability to discharge their duties conscientiously and efficiently, utterly crippled by the multitude of claimants upon their attention surrounding them; and where, in fine, they are merely accessory officials, useful in cases of sickness and accident. it must, indeed, be gratifying to the advocates of the rights of women to know, that in one asylum, at least, female labour is rated as equal to male professional labour; that the matron is as well paid as the medical officers, and more valued in the estimation of the committee of visitors. but, however this circumstance may be viewed by the partisans of the interests of the fair sex, we venture to believe that to most people it will appear a gross anomaly. for our own part, we consider also that it would be to the interests both of patients and rate-payers to elevate the position of the medical superintendents of asylums, and to pay them liberally. as this section of our work is passing through the press, we have got the report, just printed, "from the select committee on lunatics," and are most happy in being able to extract from its pages a very decided opinion expressed by the earl of shaftesbury respecting the scanty salaries of medical superintendents. his lordship, in reply to the question ( ), "have you any other remedies to apply to county asylums?" said,--"i do not know whether it is a matter that could be introduced into the bill, but i think the attention of the public should be very much drawn to the state of the medical superintendents in these asylums. it is perfectly clear, that to the greater proportion of the medical superintendents in these asylums, very much larger salaries should be given; and unless you do that, you cannot possibly secure the very best service.... the great object must be to raise the status and character of the superintendents to the highest possible point." in the course of further examination on this subject, his lordship repeats and adds to the opinion just recorded. for instance, he remarks,--"one of the great defects of the present system is, that the salaries of the medical officers are much too low for the service they perform. i think that the county ought to secure the very best talent and responsibility that can be found, and they ought to raise their salaries higher. i believe in some of the asylums the salaries are higher, but i hardly know one where the salary is adequate to the work done.... i cannot think that any superintendent ought to receive much less than from £ to £ a year, besides a house and allowances." in this matter, we hope the liberal views of the noble chairman of the lunacy commission will sooner or later be reciprocated by the visitors of asylums; in the mean time, the thanks of the medical profession are heartily due to his lordship for his able advocacy of its just claims. § _limit to be fixed to the size of asylums._ one remedy against extending the evil consequences of large asylums, is to restrict the size of future buildings within certain limits. we do not hope to persuade the advocates of gigantic asylums, by any representation we can offer of their ill-effects to the patients and their false economy, to abandon their notions; but we do hope that there will be a parliamentary interdiction to their perpetuation, or that the commissioners in lunacy will have sufficient authority lodged in their hands to limit the size of future asylums. although all persons conversant with the treatment and requirements of the insane concur in condemning such huge asylums as hanwell and colney hatch, yet there is some difference in opinion, of no very great extent indeed, among them with regard to the number of patients who should be assigned to the care of a single superintendent. moreover, the number who may be treated in the same building and by one physician, will differ according to the nature of the cases--whether all acute, or all chronic, or mixed, acute and chronic together. in this country all the asylums are of a mixed character, but, excepting two or three hospitals for the insane, contain a large preponderance of chronic cases. they are, moreover, all spoken of by the lunacy commissioners as curative asylums. let us now examine the opinions of some of the best authorities upon the subject, so that a tolerably accurate judgment may be formed of the limits within which the size of asylums should be restricted. in , the metropolitan commissioners in lunacy laid it down as a rule that "no asylum for curable lunatics should contain more than patients, and is, perhaps, as large a number as can be managed with the most benefit to themselves and the public in one establishment."--report, , p. . the present commissioners have expressed similar views, which also were clearly stated before the special committee of the house of commons this year, by the noble chairman, the earl of shaftesbury. if we look to american opinion, we find (rep. commiss. massachus. , p. ) that "it is the unanimous opinion of the american association of medical superintendents of insane asylums that not more than patients should be gathered into one establishment, and that is a better number. when this matter was discussed, there was no dissent as to the maximum; yet those who had the charge of the largest hospitals, and knew the disadvantages of large numbers, thought that a lower number should be adopted. "taking the average of the patients that now present themselves in massachusetts, of whom per cent. are supposed to be curable, and need active treatment, and per cent. incurable, and require principally general management and soothing custodial guardianship, and having 'due regard to the comfort and improvement of the patients,' this limit of should not be exceeded. "the principal physician is the responsible manager of every case, and should therefore be personally acquainted with the character and condition of his patients, the peculiarities of the diseased mind, as manifested in each one, and the sources of trouble and depression, or exaltation and perversity. this knowledge is necessary, in order that he should be able to adapt his means of medical or of moral influence with the best hope of success." dr. kirkbride, in his special treatise on the construction and organization of asylums, thus expresses his views (p. ):--"whatever differences of opinion may have formerly existed on this point (the size of the institution), i believe there are none at present. all the best authorities agree that the number of insane confined in one hospital, should not exceed , and it is very important that at no time should a larger number be admitted than the building is calculated to accommodate comfortably, as a crowded institution cannot fail to exercise an unfavourable influence on the welfare of its patients. the precise number that may be properly taken care of in a single institution, will vary somewhat, according to the ratio of acute cases received, and of course to the amount of personal attention required from the chief medical officer. in state institutions, when full, at least one half of all the cases will commonly be of a chronic character, and require little medical treatment. even when thus proportioned, will be found to be as many as the medical superintendent can visit properly every day, in addition to the performance of his other duties. when the proportion of acute or recent cases is likely to be much greater than that just referred to, the number of patients should be proportionately reduced, and will then be found to be a preferable maximum. while no more patients should be received into any hospital than can be visited daily by the chief medical officer, it is desirable that the number should be sufficiently large to give an agreeable company to each class, and to permit a variety of occupations and amusements that would prove too costly for a small institution, unless filled with patients paying a very high rate of board, or possessed of some permanent endowment. it might be supposed that institutions for a much larger number of patients than has been recommended, could be supported at a less relative cost; but this is not found to be the case. there is always more difficulty in superintending details in a very large hospital--there are more sources of waste and loss; improvements are apt to be relatively more costly; and without great care on the part of the officers, the patients will be less comfortable. "whenever an existing state institution built for patients, contains that number, and does not meet the wants of the community, instead of crowding it, and thereby rendering all its inmates uncomfortable, or materially enlarging its capacity by putting up additional buildings, it will be found much better at once to erect an entirely new institution in another section of the state; for under any circumstances, the transfer of acute cases from a great distance, is an evil of serious magnitude, and constantly deplored by those who have the care of the insane." french authorities take the same views. m. ferrus, who wrote so long back as , and is now one of the inspectors of asylums in france, says, in his book, 'des aliénés,' that an asylum for the treatment of mental disorder ought not to contain above , or at most patients; but that one having a mixed population of cases requiring treatment of incurables and idiots, may receive or even such inmates, provided the physician is afforded sufficient medical assistance. however, his brother inspector, m. parchappe, whose able work, 'des principes à suivre dans la fondation et la construction des asiles d'aliénés' (published so recently as ), forms the most valuable treatise on those subjects, does not approve so large a number of inmates to be collected in an asylum as m. ferrus would sanction. he writes:--"after taking every consideration into account, i think the minimum of patients ought to be fixed at , and the maximum at . below , the economical advantages decline rapidly without a compensatory benefit; above , although the economical advantages augment, it is at the detriment of the utility of the institution in its medical character." m. guislain, the eminent belgian physician, in his grand work on insanity, remarks (vol. iii. p. ), "it would be absurd to attempt to bring together in the same place a very large population; it would tend to foster an injurious degree of excitement; would render the management difficult or impossible; would destroy the unity of plan, and neutralize all scientific effort. the maximum ought not to exceed or insane persons. this limit cannot be exceeded without injury to the well-being of the inmates; but unfortunately this has been but too often disregarded, under the plea of certain views of organization or of economy." jacobi placed the maximum of asylum population at (ueber die anlegung und errichtung von irren-heil-anstalten, p. ); roller expressed his opinion (grundsätze für errichtung neuer irren-anstalten, p. ) that one instituted for the treatment of cases (heil-anstalt) should not at the most receive above ; but that an asylum for chronic cases (pflege-anstalt), connected with the other, may admit from to , making a total population, under the same general direction, of or ; and damerow (ueber die relative verbindung der irren-heil-und pflege-anstalten) unites in the same opinion. it would be useless to multiply quotations; for, in short, there is complete unanimity among all those concerned in the direction of asylums, that such institutions, when of large size, are prejudicial to their inmates and withal not economical. there is likewise a very near coincidence of opinion perceptible with reference to the question of the number of patients which ought to be placed in the same building. supposing the asylum to be specially devoted to the reception of recent cases, it is agreed that it ought to accommodate not more than , and that the smaller number of inmates would be preferable. if a receptacle for both acute and chronic mental disease, some would limit the population to , whilst others would extend it to , provided the medical officers were increased in proportion. the example of the german asylums under the direction of damerow and roller is peculiar; for the curable and chronic cases are not mixed, but placed separately in two sections or two institutions under a general medical direction within the same area. this is the system of 'relative connexion' of the "heil-anstalt,"--institution for treatment, or the hospital, and the "pflege-anstalt," the 'nursing' institution, or the asylum; to the former they would allot , and to the latter as a maximum, making a total of inmates under the same physician in chief and the same general administration, but each division separately served by its own staff and specially organized. § _increase of the medical staff of asylums._ in the next place, the medical staff of an asylum should be large enough to secure daily medical observation and attendance for each individual patient, along with a complete supervision of his moral condition, his amusements and employment. we have said that this provision is deficient in many english asylums, a statement amply confirmed by the opinions of others. dr. kirkbride (_op. cit._ p. ) lays it down as a rule, that "where there are patients, especially if there is a large proportion of recent cases, besides the chief physician, two assistant physicians will be required, one of whom should perform the duties of apothecary. in some institutions, one assistant physician and an apothecary will be sufficient. if the full time of two assistant physicians, however, is taken up by their other duties among the patients, an apothecary may still be usefully employed in addition; and to him, other duties among the male patients may with propriety be assigned." french writers coincide in these views. m. parchappe assigns to an asylum containing to patients, a physician with an assistant, besides a dispenser; to one having to inmates, a physician, two assistants and a dispenser, besides a director to superintend the general administration, who in some institutions is also a medical man. in germany, and generally in italy, the medical staff is still larger in proportion to the number of patients. jacobi apportions to an asylum for or lunatics, a chief physician, a second, and an assistant, besides the dispenser. roller coincides with this, and the asylum at illenau under his superintendence, consisting of two divisions, one for recent, the other for chronic cases, and containing in all patients, has three physicians besides two assistants or 'internes.' so at leubus, in silesia, there are three physicians, although the inmates are only in number; and the rule is, in other german asylums, containing inmates, to have two physicians, besides one or two internes and a dispenser (pharmacien). allowing the opinions and practice of the eminent men quoted, and which in truth are shared in by every asylum superintendent, their due weight, it would seem no extravagant arrangement to allot to an asylum accommodating from to patients (recent and chronic cases together), a physician superintendent and an assistant; and a similar medical staff to an institution for or inmates, all in a state of confirmed chronic insanity, imbecility, and dementia. if the population in an asylum for chronic cases is further augmented to or ,--the latter number we hold to represent the maximum which can economically and with a just regard to efficient government and supervision and to the interests of the patients, be brought together in one establishment,--the medical superintendent will require the aid of two assistants and a dispenser. such aggregations as of to insane people are unwieldy and unmanageable with the best appointed medical staff, unless this be so numerous as utterly to invalidate the plea of economy, the only one, fallacious as it is, that can be produced by the advocates for their existence. and not only are they unmanageable, but also hygienically wrong; for it is a well-recognized fact, that the accumulation of large numbers of human beings in one place, tends to engender endemic disease, uniformly deteriorates the health, and favours the onset, progress, and fatality of all disorders. the history of large asylums bears testimony to the truth of this; for cholera has scourged more than one most severely, and dysentery and chronic or obstinate diarrhoea are pretty constant visitants in their wards. the contrast between the opinions and practice of the distinguished men referred to and those of some committees of visitors respecting the value of medical attendance on the insane, the nature of the duties to be performed, and the amount of labour the superintendent of an asylum may accomplish, is most remarkable. what those of the former are, is stated already; what those held by the latter are, we have an illustration in the administration of the colney hatch and of the hanwell asylums. in the latter establishment we find two medical men appointed to superintend insane inmates, besides nearly persons employed about it. true, we are informed by the committee, that the superintendent of the female department, who has the larger number, some , under his charge, is _assisted_ by the _matron_; and we are sure he must be thankful for any assistance rendered him; yet it is the first time that we have been called upon to recognize a matron as an assistant medical officer. however, we must accept it as a fact,--gratefully we cannot,--but with a protest against placing a subordinate officer on such an independent footing, against entrusting her with duties incompatible with her education and position, and with the relations which should subsist between her and the superintendent, and against making her his equal in the remuneration for her services. did occasion offer, we might ponder over this new development of the matronly office; inquire respecting the medical qualifications demanded, and the manner in which the hanwell committee have ascertained them; and meditate at length on the notions which govern the visiting justices in organizing and directing an asylum; but for the present, we will, for further example's sake, note some of their opinions and doings in the management of the sister 'refuge for lunatics' at colney hatch. we shall, for this purpose, appeal to the report for , and to make the quotations used intelligible, will premise, that the steward, at that date, had turned architect, and produced a plan for the extensive enlargement of the asylum as proposed by the magistrates; and that, very naturally, when writing about it, he was intent to prove that his plan was the best, the cheapest and the most convenient even to the medical superintendents who would be called upon to officiate in it when completed. this much being premised, we will quote the steward's own words. "i must also remind the committee," he observes, "that some three years since it was with them a matter of serious deliberation, whether it was advisable that the male and female departments should be placed under the care of one medical superintendent, and, in fact, whether _one medical officer_ should have the _supervision and direction of inmates_, and an extended range of building; or whether the two departments should continue, as they are at present, separate and distinct." what an excellent insight does this revelation of the cogitations of the committee-room of the middlesex magistrates afford us of the sentiments these gentlemen entertain of the requirement and value of medical skill in an asylum; of the capacity, bodily and mental, of a superintendent for work! but, without waiting to fill up a sketch of the wondrous virtues and faculties which the superintendent of the insane patients need to possess in order to know all, supervise them, direct them, and attend to the multitudinous duties of his office as a physician and director, we will by a further extract gather clearer notions of the extent of the work thought to be not too much for him. the gist of the ensuing paragraph is, that the steward strives to prove that by adding a new story here and there, besides spurs from the previous building, he will increase greatly the accommodation without much augmenting the ambulatory labours of the medical officer. and alluding to one, the male division of the establishment, he proceeds to argue, that "if it is considered feasible for one person to superintend patients of both sexes in a _building extending_ from one extreme to the other, _nearly two-thirds of a mile_, would it not be equally feasible to superintend patients in a building one half the extent [here mr. steward forgets to count the number of furlongs added by his proposed new wards], provided they are conveniently and safely located, although these patients are all males?" to this we may be allowed to subjoin some remarks we penned in a critique published in the 'asylum journal' (vol. ii. p. ) for , and in which many of the observations contained in the present work were briefly sketched. "who, we ask, can dispute the feasibility of a medical or of any other man superintending , , or two or three thousand patients, collected in an asylum or in a town, in the capacity of a director or governor, if subordinate agents in sufficient number are allowed him? but we think the question in relation to asylums is not, how we can govern our insane population most easily and at the least possible cost, but by what means can we succeed in curing the largest number of cases of insanity as they arise, and thus permanently keep down expenditure and save the rates. these results are certainly not to be attained by persevering in the old scheme of congregating lunatics by tens of hundreds, but by making suitable provision for the immediate treatment of the pauper insane in asylums properly organized for it, and under the direction of a sufficient medical staff." how totally different, too, are the views of jacobi to those of the middlesex magistrates concerning the office of superintendent, and the extent of work of which he is capable! in his treatise on asylum construction (tuke's translation, p. ), he presents the following sensible remarks:--"it is not that i should consider a more numerous family (than ) incompatible with the right management of the farming and household economy, nor with the domestic care of the patients; both these might perhaps be organized in an establishment containing a number equal to the largest just named (four or six hundred), in such a manner as to leave nothing to be desired; but it is in regard to the higher government of the establishment, and the treatment of the patients as such, in its widest signification, which must rest upon the shoulders of a single individual,--the director of the establishment,--that i am convinced the number of patients should not exceed two hundred. for when it is considered that the duties of the governor embrace the control of all the economical and domestic arrangements, as well as of the whole body of officers and servants; that he must devote a great share of his time to the writing, correspondence, and consultations connected with his office; that as first physician, he is entrusted with the personal charge and medical treatment of every individual committed to his care; that he must daily and hourly determine, not only the general outlines, but the particular details of the best means for promoting the interests of the collective community, as well as of every separate person composing it; and that, besides all this, he is responsible to science for the results of his medical observations in the establishment over which he presides; nor less so for the promotion of his own advancement as a man and a philosopher;--it will be readily granted, that the given maximum of two hundred patients for a single establishment ought never to be exceeded. indeed, a man of even extraordinary abilities would find himself unequal to the task of discharging these duties, in an establishment containing two hundred patients, were he not supported by such assistance as will hereafter be described; and were there not a great number amongst even this multitude of patients requiring not constant, or at least, a less degree of medical attention." many writers on asylum organization, particularly those of the continent, insist very strongly on so far limiting the size of asylums for the insane, that they may be superintended by one chief medical officer, aided indeed by assistants, but without colleagues of coordinate powers. the venerable jacobi took this view, and desired that the director of an asylum should be the prime authority in all its details of management, and insisted that the institution should not by its size overmatch his powers to superintend it and its inmates as individuals. thus, after reviewing the nature of the duties devolving on the chief physician, he observes (p. , tuke's translation), "it follows as a necessary consequence that one man must be placed at the head of the establishment," ... and that "his mind must pervade the whole establishment." likewise m. parchappe joins in the same opinion; and after speaking (des principes, p. ) of the impossibility of proper medical supervision in a very large asylum, observes, "that to divide the medical direction among two or more physicians is extremely detrimental to the superiority which the medical superintendent ought to hold in the general administration of asylums, and to that unity of purpose and opinions required in the interests of the patients." without citing other foreign writers to substantiate the view under consideration, we may call attention to the fact, that the lunacy commissioners, who have always so stoutly advocated the position of the medical officer as the superintendent of an asylum, likewise appear to accept the same principle; for in their eleventh report (p. ), they remark, that besides the direct injury inflicted upon patients when congregated in excessive numbers in the same institution, "experience has of late years shown, that the absence of a single and undivided responsibility is equally injurious to the general management." lastly, the committee of visitors of the surrey county asylum appear,--judging from their recent appointment of a chief physician to their institution, paramount to the medical officers of the divisions, and invested with full powers as director,--to have arrived at the just conviction that there must be unity and uniformity in the management of an institution. however, we regret to say that this conviction is unaccompanied by that other which jacobi and parchappe would associate with it, viz. that the size of the asylum should be no larger than will admit of the chief physician acquainting himself with every case individually, and treating it accordingly. whilst, indeed, by their proceeding, they constitute the chief physician a governor of a large establishment, and the director of the household and of its economy, they at the same time deprive him of his professional character by removing the opportunities of exhibiting it beyond his reach, both by the relations they place him in to the other medical officers, and by the enormous aggregation of patients they surround him with. few objections, we presume, are to be found to the principle of having a chief medical officer paramount to all others engaged in the work of an asylum; and although, considered as a _medical superintendent_, his professional qualities are not in much requisition in so large an institution as the surrey county asylum, yet we regard such an appointment as most desirable, and as preferable to the system of dividing the management between two medical officers, as pursued in the middlesex county asylums. indeed, the value of the principle of concentrating power in the hands of a chief officer, under the name of governor, or of some equivalent term, is recognized by its adoption in large institutions of every sort in the country. such enormous asylums as those referred to, partake rather of the nature of industrial than of medical establishments. their primary object is to utilize the population as far as practicable, and this end can be attained in a large majority of the inmates; consequently an able director is of more consequence than a skilful physician; for the latter is needed by a very small minority, by such a section, in fact, as is represented by the inmates of a workhouse infirmary only compared with its entire population. therefore, since the enormous asylums in existence are not to be got rid of, it is desirable to give them an organization as perfect as practicable; and it is under this aspect that we approve the plan of the surrey magistrates in appointing a director paramount to every other officer. the approval of this proceeding, however, does not minish aught from our objections to such enormous institutions, considered as curative asylums for the insane. as a refuge for chronic lunatics, an asylum so organized and superintended as is the surrey, may subserve a useful purpose; but we hold it to be an unsuitable place for recent cases demanding treatment as individuals suffering from a curable disease, and requiring the exercise of the skill and experience of a _medical_ man _specially_ directed to it. while the system of congregating so many hundreds of lunatics in one establishment, and the magisterial principle of providing for the care and maintenance and of non-intervention in the individual treatment of the insane prevail, no objection can be taken to the practice of committees of visitors in according the first merit when candidates come forward for the office of medical superintendent of an asylum, to qualifications for the routine government of large masses, for the allotment of labour, for the regulation of the domestic economy of a house, for the profitable management of the farm; in short, for qualities desirable in a governor of a reformatory-school or prison. indeed, they are right in so doing, when they wish to have a well-disciplined and profitably worked asylum; and when their institution attains the dignity of a lunatic colony, it is the best course they can adopt, for medical qualifications in such an establishment sink into insignificance amidst the varied details of general administration, which fall to the lot of the superintendent. but the case would be materially changed were the primary object of an asylum the successful treatment of its inmates, and were its dimensions within the limit to afford its superintendent the opportunity to know all, and to treat all its patients as individuals to be benefited by his professional skill. in selecting the physician of such an asylum, the administrative and agricultural qualifications he might possess, though far from being unnecessary or unimportant, should occupy a secondary place in the estimation of committees of visitors; and the primary requirement should be the possession of properly certified medical skill, of experience in the nature and treatment of insanity, in the wants and management of the insane, and of asylums for them; of evident interest and zeal in his work, and of those intellectual and moral endowments adapted to minister to the mind diseased, to rule by kindness and forbearance, and at the same time with the firmness of authority. chap. vii.--on the future provision for the insane. the only apology permissible for detaining lunatics in workhouses, is that there is no asylum accommodation for them to be had; and the only one attempted on behalf of the construction of colossal asylums is, that the demands for admission and the existing numbers are so many, and the majority of cases chronic and incurable, that the most economical means of providing for them must be adopted, which means are (so it is supposed) found in aggregating masses under one direction and one commissariat. now, whilst we have, on the one hand, contended that workhouses should be as soon as possible disused as receptacles for the insane, we have, on the other hand, endeavoured to prove that very large asylums are neither economical nor desirable, especially if the cure of lunatics, and not their custody only, is contemplated by their erection. indeed the attempt to keep pace in providing accommodation for the insane poor with their multiplication by accumulation and positive increase or fresh additions, has failed, according to the mode in which the attempt has hitherto been made. new asylums have been built and old ones enlarged throughout the country, and between and the end of , the accommodation in them had been increased threefold; whilst, at the same time, pauper lunatics had so multiplied, that their number in licensed houses remained almost the same, and the inmates of workhouses and chargeable imbeciles and idiots residing with their friends or with strangers, had very largely increased. the history of pauper lunacy in middlesex furnishes one of the most striking commentaries upon the system pursued to provide for its accumulation, and on its failure. "when (we quote the th report of the commissioners in lunacy, , p. ), in , hanwell was built for patients, it was supposed to be large enough to meet all the wants of the county. but, two years later, it was full; after another two years, it was reported to contain patients more than it had been built for; after another two years, it had to be enlarged for more; and at this time (colney hatch having been meanwhile constructed for the reception of lunatic paupers belonging to the same county) hanwell contains upwards of patients. colney hatch was opened in ; within a period of less than five years, it became necessary to appeal to the rate-payers for further accommodation; and the latest returns show that, at the close of , there were more than pauper lunatics belonging to the county unprovided for in either of its asylums." at this conjuncture the commissioners proposed a third asylum, so that they might, "by a fresh classification and redistribution of the patients, not only deal with existing evils universally admitted, but guard against a recurrence of evils exactly similar, by restoring to both asylums their proper functions of treatment and care." however, instead of adopting this wise policy, the committee of visitors insisted on following out their old scheme of adding to the existing asylums, in the vain hope of meeting the requirements of the county; and have proceeded to increase the accommodation of hanwell to upwards of , and that of colney hatch asylum to nearly beds. yet let them be assured they have taken a very false step, and that though they heap story on story and add wing to wing, they will be unable to keep pace with the demands of the pauper lunatics of the county; nor will they succeed in the attempt, until they make the curative treatment of the insane the first principle in their official attempts to put into execution those lunacy laws confided to their administration by the legislature. perceiving that this scheme of adding to asylums until they grow into small towns defeats the object of such institutions as places of treatment and cure, and that it will continue to fail, as it has hitherto failed, to supply the demands for accommodation, the commissioners remarked in their last ( th) report, that "a scheme of a far more comprehensive nature" is called for to meet increasing events. they have not hinted in that report at any scheme, but we may gather from other similar documents, especially from that of , that one important plan they have in view is to remove a large number of chronic, imbecile and idiotic patients from the existing, expensively built and organized asylums, and to place them in others erected, adapted and organized for their reception at a much less cost. by this means they count both on rendering the asylums generally, now in existence, available as curative institutions for the reception of new cases as they arise, and on arresting the tendency and the need to erect such enormous edifices as do discredit to the good sense of the magistrates of the counties possessing them. we agree with the commissioners in the general features of the plan advanced, and indeed, in our notice of the reports of the middlesex county asylums, in (asylum journal, vol. ii. p. _et seq._), advocated the establishment in that county of a third asylum especially for the treatment of the recent cases as they occurred. now the adoption of any such plan implies the recognition of a principle which has been very much discussed, viz. that of separating one portion of a number of insane people from another, as less curable or incurable. however, the commissioners in lunacy avoid discussion, and treat the matter in its practical bearings; still a brief critical examination of it will not be here misplaced. § _separate asylums for the more recent and for chronic cases._ the proposition of placing recent and chronic cases of lunacy in distinct establishments is often so put as to beg the question. it is asked if any one can undertake to say categorically that any case of insanity is incurable, and thereupon to transfer it to an asylum for incurables? to the question thus put every humane person will reply in the negative; he will start at the idea of consigning an afflicted creature, conscious of his fate, to an abode, which, like dante's inferno, bears over its portal the sentence, "abandon hope all ye who enter here." but a solution thus extorted is in no way a reply to the question of the expediency or inexpediency of making a distinction in place and arrangement for the treatment of recent and of chronic cases of lunacy severally; for this is a matter of classification, and one particularly and necessarily called for, where the insane are aggregated in large numbers, and the conditions of treatment required for the great mass of chronic cases are insufficient for the well-being of the acute. the real practical questions are,-- , cannot the subjects of recent insanity be separated advantageously, and with a view to their more effectual and successful treatment, from a majority of the sufferers from chronic insanity, imbecility and fatuity, and particularly so where the total number of the asylum inmates exceeds the powers of the medical officer to study and treat them as individuals? and, , does not the separation of the very chronic, and according to all probability, the incurable, afford the opportunity to provide suitably for the care of that vast multitude of poor lunatics, at present denied asylum accommodation; and to effect this at such an expenditure, as renders it practicable to do so, and thereby to meet the present and future requirements of the insane? several eminent psychologists have taken up the question of separating recent and probably curable cases from others found in asylums, in an abstract point of view, as if it were equivalent to forming an absolute decision on the grand question of the curability or incurability of the patients dealt with; and, as a matter of course, their adverse view of the subject has found numerous abettors. the subject is, however, well deserving of examination _de novo_, in the present juncture, when some decided scheme must be agreed to for the future provision of the insane, and for repairing the consequences of past errors. in the first place, let us ask, are the harrowing descriptions of the deep depression and despair felt by patients on their removal after one or two or more years' residence in a curative asylum to another occupied by chronic cases, true and sketched from nature? we think not. writers have rather portrayed the sensations they would themselves, in the possession of full consciousness and of high sensibility, experience by a transfer to an institution as hopelessly mad, and have overlooked both the state of mental abasement and blunted sensibility which chronic insanity induces in so many of its victims, and still more the fact that no such absolute and universal separation of acute and chronic, as they picture to their minds, is intended. indeed, we believe that, even among patients who retain the consciousness and the powers of reflection to appreciate the transfer, no such lively despair as authors depict is felt. in the course of our experience at st. luke's hospital, we have seen many patients discharged 'uncured' after the year's treatment in that institution, and transferred to an asylum, without noting the painful and prejudicial effects on their mental condition supposed. disappointment too is felt by patients rather at discovering that on their discharge from one asylum they are to be transferred to another, instead of being set at liberty and returned to their homes; for few of the insane recognize their malady, and they will think much less about the character of the asylum they are in, than their confinement and restricted liberty. again, it is not at all necessary to contrast the two institutions, by calling the one an asylum for curables, and the other an asylum for incurables; indeed, such a class as incurables should never be heard of, for we are not called upon to define it. the two asylums might be spoken of as respectively intended for acute and for chronic cases; or the one as an hospital, the other as an asylum for the insane; or better still, perhaps, the one as the primary (for primary treatment), and the other as the secondary institution. the removal, and the date at which it should take place, should be left to the discrimination of the medical officer. no period need be fixed at which treatment in the primary institution should be given up; the nature, the prospects, and the requirements of a case must determine when treatment therein should be replaced by treatment in the secondary asylum. moreover, no barrier should be opposed to a reversed transfer; a trial in another institution is often beneficial, and it would be an advantage to have the opportunity of making it. in the removal from the hospital to the asylum there would be no declaration that the patient was incurable, but only that his case was such as not longer to require the special appliances of the former, although it still needed the supervision of an asylum, and a perseverance in a course of treatment and nursing fully and particularly supplied by the resources of the latter. the determination of the cases proper for the secondary asylum lodged in the physician's hands would always enable him to retain those in the primary one, whose state, though chronic, would in his opinion be injuriously affected by a transfer, and any such others besides whose presence in the wards he might deem an advantage in the management. we mention the latter, because the opponents to separation insist on the benefits to an asylum accruing from the admixture of recent and chronic cases. and although we are not prepared to deny an opinion held by so many eminent men, yet we are on the other side not at all persuaded that the presence of old inmates is of any such real advantage, as supposed, to newly-introduced ones. we can assert, from experience, that recent cases can be very satisfactorily treated without the company of old ones; and we must, moreover, confess to certain misgivings that the actual presence of a long-standing case, often eloquent on the injustice of his detention, a job's comforter to the new-comer, by his remarks on the severity of his disorder, with the assertion added, that there was nothing the matter with the speaker's self when he came into the house; full of gossip about all the mishaps of the place, and often exercising an annoying superiority and authority assumed on account of his position as one of the oldest inhabitants. to the statement of the value of their service in aiding the attendants and in watching their neighbours, we rejoin, there should be attendants enough to perform the duties of supervision; that many recent are equally serviceable as chronic cases, and stand in need of being encouraged by the attendants in taking part in those many minor details which characterize life in the wards of an asylum. however this question of the utility of mixing chronic and recent patients together may be solved, we do not contemplate the existence of a primary asylum without the presence of more or fewer chronic cases, retained in it for the best medical and moral reasons. likewise, on the other hand, the secondary asylum will not so exclusively be the abode of incurables. the lapse of time in a case of insanity most potently affects its chances of recovery, but it is not an invariable obstacle to it; for experience decidedly demonstrates that recovery may take place years after every hope of it has passed away, and that patients rally from their affliction, not after four or five years only, but even after ten and twenty; consequently, among the large number of chronic patients under treatment, there would doubtless be every year some restored to reason and to liberty; and the dreaded foreboding of perpetual confinement and hopeless incurability could not take possession of the minds even of those whose perceptions rendered them conscious of their condition and position. to arrive at a correct judgment on this matter, let us look into it from another point of view, and compare the condition of a lunatic in the proposed chronic asylum with that of one in a large county asylum, conducted according to the prevailing system. look to the fact, that in some of the existing large curative (?) asylums, not more than from to per cent. of their six or eight hundred, or one thousand inmates, are deemed curable, and say in what respect a patient introduced into an establishment of the sort, surrounded on every side by crowds of chronic lunatics, enjoys any superiority over one transmitted to a secondary asylum of the description we contemplate. call such an institution what we may, announce it as a curative asylum, or as an hospital for curables, it matters not; to a fresh-comer it has all the drawbacks of a chronic asylum; for if he be alive to his condition, and can reflect on the position and circumstances in which he is placed, he may well find grounds for discouragement and despair on looking round the gigantic building, overflowing with the victims of chronic insanity, many of appearance, habits, and manners, repugnant to the higher and better feelings of any thinking, reflecting mortal; who count their residence there by years and even tens of years, with no prospect of release, and who, it may be in his imagination, are not, or have never been, so afflicted as himself. can such a spectacle be otherwise than injurious to a recent case, sufficiently well to perceive it on admission, or coming to appreciate it during convalescence? and must not the recognition of his position by the patient be most painful and discouraging as one of a multitude, eliciting personally, except perhaps for the few first days, no more attention than the most crazy old inmate near him; submitted to the same daily routine, and having no superior with sufficient time on hand to hear at large his tale of woe, to soothe his irritated spirit, or to encourage him in his contest with his delusions and fears? if the case of the new-comer be chronic, the conditions he finds himself placed in are sufficiently distressing and annoying; but if it be recent and curable, they are damaging to his chance of recovery. the comparison just drawn tells in favour of the system of separation. recent cases would not, in the primary institution or hospital, find themselves an insignificant few surrounded by a host of chronic patients, and they would accordingly escape the evils of such a position; on the contrary, they would be placed under the most favourable conditions for recovery, be individually and efficiently attended to, and encouraged by the many convalescents around them to hope and strive after their own restoration to health and liberty. the sketch presented of the evils of the companionship of long-disordered inmates with new-comers, especially when those are melancholic, is not an imaginary one, but drawn from experience. often will a desponding patient observe, 'i shall become like such or such moping, demented lunatic'; and superintendents, if they would, might often record the ill-effects of example of older inmates upon those newly admitted. attempts by means of classification somewhat mitigate, where made, the evils of large asylums for recent cases, by keeping these to a certain measure apart from most of the other lunatics; but nothing can do away with the injurious impression on a mind sufficiently awake to receive it (on such a one, in short, as the question of the place of treatment can alone concern),--of being one member of many hundreds who have for years and years known no other residence than the huge house of detention they are in: and there is no compensation to be had for the loss of those special appliances, and that individual treatment, which only a properly-organized hospital can supply. the last clause suggests another important argument for the treatment of recent cases in a distinct establishment or in separate sections. it is, that they require a peculiar provision made for them, involving greater expense, a more complete medical staff, a physician accustomed to their supervision and management, unfettered by that host of general duties which the presence of a multitude of chronic patients entails, and a staff of attendants disciplined to their care, and possessing many of the qualifications of nurses. moreover, the building itself for this class of patients need be more expensively constructed and fitted than one for chronic inmates. there is yet another reason against largely extending the size of a county asylum, and in favour of building, in the place of so doing, a distinct structure. this reason is to be found in the influence of distance as an obstacle to the transmission of the insane to an asylum for treatment, and to the visits of their friends to them during their confinement. the lunacy commissioners of the state of massachusetts particularly remarked the operation of distance in debarring insane patients from treatment, and illustrated it by a table showing the numbers received from different places within the district it served, and in relation to their population, into the asylum. likewise in this country, where the distance of the asylum is considerable, it is a reason for delay on the part of the parochial officers, who wish to avoid incurring the expense of removing the case, if they can in any way manage it in the workhouse. but the evil of remoteness operates more frequently, and with much cruelty, against the visits of poor persons to see their afflicted relatives in asylums. many can neither undertake the cost, nor spare the time required for the journey, notwithstanding the modern facilities of travelling. the same evil is likewise an impediment to the visits of parochial officers, who rightly possess a sort of legal guardianship over their lunatic poor in asylums. lord shaftesbury, in his evidence before the select committee, , very properly dwelt upon the advantages of visits from their friends to lunatics in asylums, and even proposed to make their visits compulsory by act of parliament. the commissioners in lunacy also, in their twelfth report ( ), gave examples of the distress not unfrequently attending on the separation of the patient in an asylum at a long distance from his friends. such distress operates to the disadvantage of the patient, and increases the sorrow of his relatives. admitting there are advantages attending the multiplication of asylums instead of aggregating lunatics in very large ones, it would appear the correct policy for boroughs to build asylums for the refuge of their own insane; or, where small, to unite with other boroughs in the county for the same purpose, in place of contributing to the county-establishment, and inducing the magistrates to extend its size injuriously. in a case such as that of middlesex, where the county asylums have attained such an unwieldy size as to be past acting as curative institutions, it would seem no improper extension of the law to make it imperative upon the large metropolitan boroughs to build apart for their own pauper lunatics. of this we are persuaded, that it would soon be found to the profit of the boroughs to undertake to provide for their own pauper insane. we regret that, in advocating the separation of chronic from recent cases, we place ourselves in antagonism to many distinguished men who have devoted themselves to the care of the insane, and among others to our former teacher and respected friend dr. conolly, from whose clinical visits and lectures at the hanwell asylum, many years ago, we derived our first lessons, in the management and treatment of the insane. but although regretting some divergence of opinion on this point, we are confident of his readiness to subscribe to that maxim of a liberal philosophy, expressed by the latin poet, "_nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri_." to return from this digression: there are two propositions to be established, viz.-- . that there are many cases of chronic mental disorder to be found in every county asylum, which encumber it, to the prejudice and exclusion of recent cases, and which could, without mental pain or damage, or any tangible disadvantage, be removed from the institution considered as a curative one. . that less elaborate structural adaptations, and a less expensive organization, would suffice for the proper care and treatment of a large number of chronic cases. let it be understood, however, that neither in past nor future remarks is it our intention to argue against the existence of mixed asylums altogether,--for by careful classification in a moderately-sized establishment, a zealous physician, properly assisted, may contrive to do his duty, both towards the comparatively few acute, and the many chronic cases under his charge; but against the pretence of admitting recent patients for curative treatment in monster institutions filled with chronic cases, where individual daily recognition is all but impracticable, efficient medical supervision unattainable, and proper medical and moral treatment impossible. deferring for the present the inquiry, under what conditions of the insane population of a county should distinct asylums be constructed, let us see what are the views of the lunacy board bearing upon the two propositions put forth, and examine further into the means of providing for the future wants of the insane. so long since as , the then metropolitan commissioners in lunacy advised the institution of distinct asylums for the more chronic cases of insanity (report, p. ), and thus expressed themselves:--"it seems absolutely necessary that distinct places of refuge should be provided for lunatic patients who have become incurable. the great expenses of a lunatic hospital are unnecessary for incurable patients: the medical staff, the number of attendants, the minute classification, and the other requisites of a hospital for the cure of disease, are not required to the same extent. an establishment, therefore, upon a much less expensive scale would be sufficient." an exception might be taken to the wording of this paragraph, as assumptive of incurability being an absolute condition, and as countenancing the scheme of a refuge distinctly provided for incurables; both of them ideas repugnant to the humane mind, instructed by experience, that insanity, at almost any lapse of time, and under most forms, is not to be pronounced absolutely incurable, or beyond the hope of cure. the scope of the argument adduced can, however, not be objected to, for it will be generally admitted that less expensive institutions are needed for very chronic cases in general, and that it is an important object to clear the present curative asylums of such cases, so as to facilitate the admission and the early treatment of recent patients. the present lunacy board, in their tenth report, , repeated these views, and pointed out the importance of erecting detached buildings in connexion with the offices used for the different occupations pursued in the establishment, instead of adding new stories, or new wings, to the main building. in the report for the following year ( ), the commissioners returned to the subject, in connexion with the proposed enlargement of the middlesex county asylums; and, having remarked on the rapid accumulation and crowding of those refuges with chronic cases, so soon after that at colney hatch was opened, thus write (p. ):--"manifestly the remedy now was, not to exaggerate the mistake already committed, by additions on the same costly scale for purposes to which they would be as inappropriate; but, by a fresh classification and redistribution of the patients, not only to deal with existing evils, universally admitted, but to guard against a recurrence of evils exactly similar, by restoring to both asylums their proper functions of treatment and care. it had become not more matter of justice to the lunatics themselves, than of consideration for the rate-payers, to urge, that the additional accommodation required being for classes of patients, as to whom, for the most part, small hope of cure remained, might be supplied in an asylum much better suited to them, and of a far less costly character." at a subsequent page (p. ), they recur to the theme. after pointing out that the plan of placing chronic, and presumed harmless patients taken out of asylums, in workhouses and "in their private homes," had signally failed, they observe:--"we are, therefore, brought back to the conclusion already stated ..., to which we find all reasoning upon the subject necessarily converge, and which we desire to impress as strongly as possible upon every one to whom the care of the insane is committed, that a new, and less costly kind of provision is now very generally required for large classes of pauper lunatics, to whom the existing expensive structures are unsuited. "our last report directed attention to the fact, that in providing, not merely for the harmless and demented, but for the more orderly and convalescing, the most suitable was also the least expensive mode; that they might satisfactorily be placed in buildings more simple in character, and far more economically constructed; and that therefore it was advisable, wherever the necessity for enlarging one of the existing asylums presented itself, that the question should be considered in reference to these two kinds of patients. and whether the mode adopted may be, for the convalescing, by simple and cheerful apartments detached from the main building, and with opportunity for association with the officials engaged in industrial pursuits; or, for harmless and chronic cases, by auxiliary rooms near the out-buildings, of plain or ordinary structure, without wide corridors or extensive airing-court walls, and simply warmed and ventilated; it is, we think, become manifest that some such changes of structure must be substituted for the system now pursued, if it be desired to retain the present buildings in their efficiency, and to justify the outlay upon them by their continued employment as really curative establishments. in this way only, as it seems to us, can justice be done to the rate-payer as well as to the pauper." lastly, in their supplementary report on lunatics in workhouses ( ), they repeat their recommendations to erect distinct inexpensive buildings for chronic cases. the paragraph containing their suggestion has already been quoted (p. ), and need not be repeated here. the noble chairman of the lunacy board, according to his valuable evidence given before the special committee of lunatics, just printed, appears to have been an early and constant advocate for constructing distinct receptacles for chronic and acute cases. in reply to query, no. , his lordship has more particularly enlarged upon the utility of the plan, and referred to the distinct proposition of the board in , that it should be carried out by the committees of asylums. the scheme of separately providing for many chronic lunatics has also received the valued support of dr. boyd (seventh report, somerset asylum, p. ), who appears to contemplate the erection of the proposed building contiguous to the existing asylum, so as to make use of the patients' labour "in preparing stone and lime, and in doing all the heavy part of the work," and to unite the two establishments under a common administration and commissariat, as a plan attended with considerable economical advantages. we do not deem it necessary to quote other authorities at large, in support of the system advocated; otherwise we might adduce many continental writers, especially among the germans. it is fair to add, however, that in france generally "mixed asylums" are the rule, and that a few of these contain five or six hundred inmates, but none, we are happy to say, have acquired the prodigious dimensions of several of our english asylums. moreover, the french system is to erect a number of detached buildings, or sections within the general area of the establishment, adapted to the different classes of the insane, according to the character of their disease, or to their condition as pensioners or paupers. we cannot here discuss the advantages or disadvantages of this plan, but it certainly obviates some of the evils of aggregation evidenced in english asylums, consisting of one continuous structure. it has just been said, that in no french asylum are so many lunatics congregated as in some english institutions; yet it is true, that the great parisian hospices contain similar numbers; for instance, la salpêtrière holds as many as ; but in this case the arrangement is such, that each of the five sections it is divided into, constitutes practically a distinct hospital for the insane, structurally separated, or quite detached; with subordinate quarters or sections, to provide for a proper classification of the inmates, and having its own grounds for exercise, &c., and its own medical staff. thus, to the patients there are five physicians, having equal power and privileges, each one the head of his own section. we would not in any way adduce this extensive parisian hospice as an example to follow, either in structure or organization; and have alluded to it in so many words only to show, that though equally large in its population, it is comparable in no other respect to the huge receptacles for the insane to be found in this country. of the prevailing system in germany we shall presently find occasion to speak. lastly, the th & th vict. cap. , gave express powers to provide for the chronic insane in distinct establishments; in order, according to the marginal abstract to sect. xxvii., "to prevent exclusion from asylums of curable lunatics; separate provision to be made for chronic lunatics." the chronic asylums were again referred to in sect. xlii. and in sect. lvi., which conferred the necessary powers on the visitors to remove the patients from one asylum to another. it is not worth while to repeat the clauses referred to, since the act was repealed by the th & th vict. cap. , and no re-enactment of them took place. nevertheless, it is to be observed, that the last quoted act contemplated the provision of asylum accommodation for the whole of the lunatics of each county, and with this object, by sect. xxx., empowered the justices, at any general or quarter sessions, to cause, or to direct the committee of visitors of the county asylum to erect an additional asylum, or to enlarge the existing building, to supply the requisite accommodation; and further, put it into the power of a secretary of state, "upon the report of the commissioners in lunacy," to call upon the magistrates of any county or borough to do the same. this enactment may be enforced by the lunacy board so far as the secretary of state can prevail with a body of magistrates to accede to it, "in such manner as the said secretary of state may see fit, and direct." but this high official has no direct power to compel a committee of visitors under any sort of penalty. "it shall be lawful for such secretary of state," says the clause, "to require" such additional asylum alteration or enlargement; but the history of the contest between that public officer and the middlesex 'committee of visitors' appears to prove that his requisition may be neglected and set aside. "he found" (as lord shaftesbury tells us in his evidence, rep. select comm., query, no. ), "that the passive resistance offered was beyond his power." we coincide with his lordship, that this ought never to have happened, and think, that the secretary of state, acting under the representations and advice of the lunacy commissioners, ought to be armed with full powers to enforce the provision for pauper lunatics in asylums being rendered equal to the demand for it, according to some plan agreed to by them, in every county, in harmony with the true intent and purpose of the act now in force. in order to facilitate the carrying out of this design, and to limit the scope for the passive resistance and attempted delay of some county magistrates, the re-enactment of the sections of the th & th vict. sect. , as quoted, appears desirable, viz. to sanction and promote the erection of distinct retreats for chronic cases. we are, indeed, glad to find, that in this recommendation we are also in accord with the noble lord at the head of the lunacy commission. looking at the matter in a general point of view, therefore, we appear to find, in the plan of separating the more chronic and most unpromising cases of lunacy from the recent and hopeful, so as to leave these in smaller numbers for the purpose of more direct and effectual treatment, one mode of improving and extending the future provision of the insane. however, to elucidate the scheme, we need go into further detail, so as to define more particularly the classes to be separately accommodated, and the extent to which the separation should be carried. the grand distinction, above employed, in discussing the question of separation, has been that of recent and chronic cases, and it has been sought to ignore that of curable and incurable, as not only undesirable, but actually mischievous. by recent cases, we understand all those where the malady is of less than one year's duration, which form a class that demands the more active and constant attention and treatment of the physician, more purely medical care, more consideration and watching from the attendants, ampler measures for moral treatment, and for exercising salutary impressions on the mind; and withal, special arrangements and fittings in the asylum building itself. all these particular conditions for treatment and management are not to be obtained by recent cases of insanity, as we have insisted on throughout this chapter, in asylums which have grown beyond the size which a chief medical officer can personally supervise in all its details, and, so to speak, animate the whole machine. if this be admitted, and if the cure of the insane be treated as the primary and essential object of asylum detention, then surely the necessity of special provision for recent cases will be recognized. in moderately sized asylums acute and chronic cases may be, as said before, received and treated together; for instance, in such as accommodate from to patients, provided that the physician-superintendent is properly assisted, for the proportion returned "as deemed curable" in the english county asylums,--a proportion which represents pretty nearly that of the recent cases, rarely exceeding or per cent.; consequently, the or demanding special supervision and medical care may be undertaken by the superintendent, if he be sufficiently assisted in the management of the chronic cases and in the carrying out of the general details of the establishment. on the other hand, a small, and perfectly distinct asylum for or patients could not be established or conducted so advantageously, and still less so economically; a circumstance, which will always avail to perpetuate the system of mixed asylums for acute and chronic cases together. nevertheless, it must be borne in mind, that the or patients in the population of or , do not constitute the whole number of recently attacked cases which may be admitted for treatment, but, so to say, the residue at a particular date; for instance, the first day of the year. moreover, if the improvements in the law, and in its administration, suggested, are carried out, and the admission of patients immediately on the occurrence of their malady be facilitated, then, as a matter of course, the proportion of those "deemed curable" would be immensely increased; so much so, that it would be a very moderate estimate to reckon on recent, to every chronic cases; or, what is equivalent to this statement, the plan of placing patients under immediate treatment would cause the progressive decrease of chronic cases, and raise the standard of the asylum as a curative institution; a happy result, which, whilst it would necessitate a more complete medical staff, would at the same time well repay its cost. passing now to asylums which exceed the limits assigned as falling within the compass of the abilities of any physician to superintend effectually for the greatest benefit to its inmates, we hold the opinion, that where these amount to or , the most just and humane, and in the end the most economical policy, is, to divide the establishment. yet even here, according to the present system regulating admissions, and the natural consequence of this, the small per-centage of acute cases under care at any one time, viz. from about to per cent. in the whole population, would perhaps be held to furnish too small a number to justify the cost of erection and maintenance of a wholly distinct hospital for their treatment. still we are confident that, if in any county where the pauper lunatics in asylums attained the number mentioned, a distinct institution for the reception of recently afflicted persons were erected, and the admission of such patients were promoted, if that institution were free as a public one for the insane other than paupers, such as those from among the middle classes, unable to meet the costs of a proper private asylum--it would secure to itself the number of patients needed to warrant its establishment as a distinct institution, succeed even as an economical arrangement, and confer an immense boon both on pauper lunatics and their more unfortunate fellows in affliction, who are too rich for the "pauper," and too poor for the "private" asylum. lastly, we come to the consideration of those overgrown establishments where from to lunatics are congregated under one roof. such monstrosities ought never to have been constructed; they are nevertheless looked upon by their promoters with admiration, and spoken of with pride, though there is nothing in them to admire besides their magnitude and pseudo-military discipline, and no more in them to be proud of as county institutions than in enormous prisons; for as the latter indicate the neglected morality of the county, so do the vauntedly large asylums prove the neglected treatment of insanity. however, as the erection of these unmanageable structures is an accomplished fact, nothing is left than to deplore the fatal mistake; to take care that it is not repeated in other instances, and to insist on the construction of distinct hospitals for recent cases. the very existence of such an hospital would invite resort to it, and bring within its agency many cases which do not find their way into the existing institutions until, most probably, all hope of cure is well nigh gone. moreover, just as mentioned above in reference to a proposed county hospital for lunatics, the law should intervene to secure the early transmission of all cases for treatment, and admission be granted to others besides paupers, under certain stipulations, by the payment of more or less of their cost. in counties with a population of lunatics of the extent named, the difficulty of placing the chronic and recent cases of insanity in separate asylums vanishes; for the latter will always be forthcoming in sufficient number to justify a distinct institution for their treatment both on medical and economical grounds; and the former, we apprehend, will always be found numerous enough to occupy the accommodation provided. as refuges for old cases, the evils of the existing gigantic establishments would happily be mitigated, although not removed, by appropriating them solely to the use of long-standing cases of lunacy. where the construction of a distinct hospital for recent cases of lunacy is decided on as necessary, it should certainly accommodate not more than . all patients should be admitted whose disease is of less than one year's duration; but this limitation should not be so absolute as to prevent the physician to admit, after the lapse of a longer period, any cases which might appear to him amenable to successful treatment;--a point in prognosis, taught, and only taught, by experience in dealing with recent insanity. although the great majority of the insane who recover, do so within the first year of their attack, yet statistics show that about per cent. are restored in the course of the second year of treatment; it would therefore seem that two years would constitute a fair and sufficient period for the duration of residence in the primary asylum. here again the knowledge and experience of the physicians must be allowed scope, both to discharge certain cases within the period named, and to retain others beyond it. we should not consider it expedient to reject all cases of epilepsy and general paralysis forthwith upon their application, although insanity so complicated is generally very hopeless; for an asylum with special appliances for treatment would at least be desirable to the victims of those sad maladies in their early stages. it is unnecessary to define the classes of lunatics who would occupy the secondary asylums. as said before, we do not contemplate these institutions as mere places of refuge; we do not consider the attempt and the hope of cure relinquished in their wards, but that the means of treatment are diligently persevered with. we would have them to be neither hopeless retreats for patients, nor institutions calculated to encourage supineness or apathy on the part of their medical officers. indeed a slender objection we have met with against the separation of the recent from chronic patients, involves a slur upon the medical profession in supposing a lack of interest and energy as incumbent upon the superintendent of an asylum for chronic lunatics;--a supposition, which reflects unfairly upon, and is untrue with respect to many superintendents of asylums actually in existence. are not interest and zeal, we may ask, exercised for the benefit of those deemed incurable; are they not exercised on account of idiots even, for whom their absence might be esteemed not surprising? if cure is not attainable, the physician to the insane, unless unfit for his calling, seeks and finds his reward in ameliorating their condition; in elevating their mental and moral, and in improving their physical being. in those counties in which the number of the insane and the prevalence of insanity are not sufficiently extended as to justify the institution of a distinct curative asylum, the plan of the union of counties, as followed for the provision of the ordinary asylums, suggests itself to the mind. practically, however, we believe, it is a plan which would not answer, since it would render arrangements between counties in possession of asylums difficult, and their accounts complicated. the only way in which it could be made feasible would be by the levying of a general rate throughout the country for the maintenance of lunatics, and by dividing the country into districts, as is the practice in scotland and ireland, apportioned in size to the population, to each of which an asylum for chronic, and one for recent cases of insanity, might be assigned. such a scheme of a general rate, however, we do not expect to see realized, although many arguments are adducible in support of it. sir charles wood, when chancellor of the exchequer, made the proposition to contribute on behalf of the maintenance of asylums a portion of the proceeds of the general taxation of the country; but the scheme met with little favour, and was dropped. the principal objections advanced against it were, that it was wrong in principle, a novel and uncalled for attempt to interfere with local government, and no more to be justified than would be a contribution from the revenue of the country towards providing for the relief of any other form of disease. respecting the last objection, it is worth noting, that district dispensaries throughout ireland are partially supported by parliamentary grants; surely, therefore, if the principle of subsidizing hospitals or dispensaries is admitted in one part of the united kingdom, there can be nothing unreasonable in a proposition to extend it to another. where to provide for the lunatic population of a county considerably exceeds the legitimate dimensions of a single asylum, and yet the proportion of recent cases is too small to warrant the construction of a distinct institution for them, we have proposed the establishment of two asylums, each of a mixed character. under such circumstances, and likewise where a single asylum threatens to outgrow a manageable size, there are certain very advantageous arrangements to be made, adapted to secure much more efficient treatment, particularly of recent cases, than is usually provided under the present system of aggregating all under one roof to be subjected to one course of routine and discipline. these arrangements are effected by the § _construction of distinct sections to asylums._ the french system of asylum construction, as before noticed, is to divide the building into several, more or less, sometimes quite distinct sections, having a general administration and offices in common. the number of sections and the character of their residents is a matter of medical classification, and in each one there is a mixture of acute and chronic cases, just as in our asylum wards; the combination being regulated by the similarity in the phases of their malady, as, for instance, if refractory; if epileptic; if clean and orderly; or demented, paralytic and dirty. in germany, on the contrary, although this same medical classification is carried out, there is a primary separation of the insane of the province or state into acute and chronic. but in the mode of providing for the treatment of the two classes apart, two plans are pursued, one termed that of "absolute separation," and the other of "relative connexion" (relativ verbindung); the former consists in placing recent and chronic cases in buildings completely detached; each one having its own staff, organization and management; the latter, whilst keeping the chronic and recent cases apart, possesses a common medical and general administration in a building composed of two principal sections, either forming parts of the same structure (as at illenau, in baden), or detached, but within the same area (as at halle, in saxon prussia). damerow is the most able advocate of the system of relative connexion, on which he has largely written, and it is one which appears to be gaining ground in germany. now, except in the case of the overgrown middlesex asylums, where the lunacy commissioners distinctly recommended a third asylum to be erected, the plans propounded by that board for affording additional accommodation in institutions already large enough, are in principle much that of the "relative connexion" system as proposed by the germans. the reports above quoted, in connexion with the question of separating recent from chronic cases, show generally what the plans of the commissioners are. they would erect "detached day-rooms and associated dormitories near the wash-houses on the women's side, and the workshops and farm-buildings on the men's side." ( th report, , p. .) to prove the advantages of the plan, they go on to say, "in making our visitations to the larger county asylums, we have repeatedly observed that a considerable portion of time is occupied by the servants, who have charge of the wash-house and workshop department, in merely collecting the patients in the wards, and in conducting them to and from their respective places of employment. in one asylum, we ascertained by minute inquiries that not less than one hour and a half was thus every day wasted by the servants, and was passed unprofitably and unpleasantly by the patients themselves. "in addition to the saving of cost and time obtained by adopting the plan we now recommend, we have the best reason for believing that the patients derived a direct benefit, in many ways, from residing in cheerful airy apartments detached from the main building, and associated with officials engaged in conducting industrial pursuits. a consciousness that he is useful, and thought worthy of confidence, is necessarily induced in the mind of every patient, by removal from the ordinary wards, where certain restrictions are enforced, into a department where he enjoys a comparative degree of freedom; and this necessarily promotes self-respect and self-control, and proves highly salutary in forwarding the patient's restoration. as a means of treatment, we consider this species of separate residence of the utmost importance, constituting in fact a probationary system for patients who are convalescing; giving them greater liberty of action, extended exercise, with facilities for occupation; and thus generating self-confidence, and becoming not only excellent tests of the sanity of the patient, but operating powerfully to promote a satisfactory cure. "the want of such an intermediate place of residence is always much felt; and it often happens, that a patient just recovered from an attack of insanity, and sent into the world direct from a large asylum, is found so unprepared to meet the trials he has to undergo, by any previous use of his mental faculties, that he soon relapses, and is under the necessity of being again returned within its walls." (p. , rep. .) the proposition of the commissioners has been carried out to a certain extent in several large asylums; for instance, at the leicester, the wakefield, and the devon. at the last it has been most fully developed in the construction of a detached building for patients; respecting the excellence and cheapness of which, we have spoken in a previous page (p. ). the views of the commissioners will meet with general approval. the prevalent system in france of breaking up an asylum into sections, more or less detached, we hold as preferable to the close aggregation of wards under one roof, with continuous corridors, seen in the majority of english asylums. the correct principle to be pursued in an asylum is, to assimilate its character and arrangements as far as possible to those of the homes of the classes of persons detained in them. can this be effected in a large building constructed as much unlike ordinary houses as it well can be; recalling in its general character that of an extensive factory, workhouse, or barrack, of somewhat more ornate architecture indeed, and with better "belongings" within and without, where the patients live by day in long corridors, and sleep by night in boxes opening out of the same, and where perhaps they are mustered and marched in great force into a great hall to eat their meals? certainly all this is not home-like, however excellent to the lovers of routine or the admirers of military discipline. but the separation into sections greatly lessens this objectionable state of things; the population becomes thereby divided, so to speak, into families, overlooked and controllable as such. the advantage of transferring an improving patient from one ward to another is considerable; but it would be much more so, if the transfer were from one section to another; for the construction of separate sections admits of the architectural arrangements, the fittings, &c., being varied to a much greater extent than they can be in the case of wards, forming mere apartments of one large building, constructed, as it must be, on a nearly uniform plan. from the same grounds likewise follow the economical advantages of distinct sections; for the more expensive building arrangements required for acute cases need not be repeated in the section for quiet, orderly, chronic, or for convalescent patients, where accommodation may be beneficially made to accord as nearly as possible with that of their cottage homes. if detached sections were adopted, the elaborate, complicated and costly systems of warming and ventilation would not be needed; there would be less to cherish the feeling of imprisonment; and, lastly, to recal the valuable observation of the commissioners before quoted (p. ), this species of separate residence would be a means of treatment "of the utmost importance, constituting in fact a probationary system," and a most excellent addition to the means of 'moral treatment' now in operation. there is one subsidiary recommendation made by the lunacy commissioners, which we cannot so freely subscribe to, that, viz. of classifying the patients in sections according to their occupations. those of the same trade or employment must, as a matter of course, be associated together, during the hours of labour; but at the expiration of those hours we would wish to see that association broken up. the congregation of the same mentally disordered persons always together is not desirable; the insane are selfish enough--absorbed in self, from the effects of their malady; and it should always be a point in treatment, to disturb this condition, to arouse the attention to others, and to other things; an effort which would be the more difficult in a small knot of people always accustomed to meet together, knowing each other's ways and whims, and each thinking the other mad, though not himself. again, if the workers are entirely separated from the drones in the hive, the latter are likely to remain drones still: they lose the benefit of example, which operates, as among children, so strongly with the insane. to apply these observations to one class of workers, for example, to the laundresses: it seems to us scarcely merciful to keep these poor patients to the wash-tub all day; at the close of their labour to turn them into an adjoining room, and at night consign them to sleep over it. instead of being thus scarcely allowed to escape the sphere and atmosphere of their toil, they should have their condition varied as far as possible, be brought into new scenes, mixed with others who have been otherwise engaged, and made to feel themselves patients in an asylum, and not washer-women. is it, in short, not a radical error in the direction of an asylum, to place the inmates in such a position and under such circumstances, as to make them feel themselves workmen under compulsion, regularly employed, dealt with only as labourers and artisans, by being kept all day in their workshops, and in the evening and night brought together, because they are workers, and unlike the other residents of the asylum, who will in their opinion come to be regarded, as unlike themselves,--as the fitting occupants, and the only patients? treated apart in the manner under notice, there would be nothing in the position or circumstances around the industrious inmate to suggest to him that he was a patient, except in name, as called so by the officials. we are, therefore, opposed to this _industrial system_ of classification, and regard medical classification as the only proper one. the division into quarters or sections is a plan more applicable to an asylum for chronic than to one for acute cases. in the latter, patients are to be treated specially and individually; and as sufferers from acute disease must be classified medically rather than with reference to any matters of management, occupation, and discipline, and are on the whole less conformable to general orders and plans: yet certain principal sections are wanted in them; as, for example, for the refractory and violent, for the quiet and orderly, and the convalescent. to some of the last named, a separate section, of a home-like character, regulated less as an asylum than as a family residence, and where the highest amount of liberty compatible with safety and order is the rule, would afford a most valuable means of treatment. § _distribution of the chronic insane in cottage homes._ the subdivision of an asylum for chronic cases could be carried very far. not only might sections be appropriated specially to idiots, to epileptics, to imbeciles, and to the very aged and infirm in an infirmary, but also to several classes of the chronic insane not falling under either of those categories, distinguishable by the greater or less amount of trust to be reposed in them, by their dispositions and tendencies, and by their industrious and moral habits. however, there must be at some point a limit to the utility of subdividing an establishment necessitated by the requirements of its administration and of an effective and easy supervision; and as yet, in this country, the system of aggregation prevails most largely over that of segregation. english asylums have, some of them, detached wards and a few farm-buildings, affording lodging to patients engaged in industrial pursuits; but the plan of segregating their residents has not been pushed farther, except to a small extent by dr. bucknill, who has placed some selected pauper lunatics in the homes of cottagers living in the vicinity of the county asylum; for we cannot call the boarding out of the imbecile poor--scattered, as it were, broad-cast over the country, disposed of in cottages, according to the notions of the inferior parochial officers, and watched over only nominally,--a system of providing for them. if system at all, it is merely one for putting them out of the way, of escaping responsibility, and of hiding them from observation. the colony of insane at gheel, in belgium, is the only one where the segregation of the insane has been systematically carried out. it presents most of the elements of success in its constitution and government. it has an organized medical staff; it is a naturally secluded locality; its sane inhabitants have been for ages accustomed to act as the guardians and nurses of the insane, and to receive them as boarders into their families. yet, notwithstanding the eulogiums of many visitors to this village, others who have more minutely examined into it have detected many irregularities, and pointed out weighty objections against its management. the questions may be fairly put,--are the irregularities inevitable? are the objections inseparable from the system? to discuss these points in detail would carry us far beyond the limits we must observe; but we may express our belief in the value of the system, considered as such, although we do not see how or where it can be applied to a similar extent as found at gheel. the irregularities which have been remarked are remediable, and the objections generally removeable. it is a defect at gheel, that there is no central establishment of the character of an asylum and infirmary, and it is a mistake to undertake the charge of recent and violent cases, and of epileptics for the most part, and likewise of paralytics, in cottages under cottagers' supervision only. other classes of patients might be pointed out as unfit residents in peasants' families. the system, in short, is pushed to an extreme in this place; but this error does not invalidate it as a system. objectionable cases for the cottage home could be collected in a central establishment, and there would be plenty left to partake of the "air libre et la vie de famille," which a recent physician of the colony of gheel, m. parigot, commended in his _brochure_ addressed to the consideration of the friends of the insane. many who have become acquainted with the system pursued at gheel have been enraptured by its many apparent advantages, the liberty it affords, and the great cheapness of its management, and have wished to import it as a whole into this country. such a scheme we regard as both impracticable and undesirable; yet we at the same time believe something may be attempted in the same direction most beneficially (see p. ). the attempt should first be made in connexion with some of our county asylums of a moderate size. a similar secluded district as that of the commune of gheel is, thanks to providence, not to be found perhaps in england; but this is of no such primary importance: a moderate distance from considerable towns, or from large villages, is all that is strictly requisite, and several asylums are so situated. the difficulty of place being encountered, a more serious one appears, viz. that of finding suitable cottagers to undertake the charge of patients. at first, a suitable class could not be reckoned on; but, according to the laws of supply and demand, it would only require time to form such a class. sufficient inducements only are wanting, and probably those supplied would be found so. it is an advantage to a cottager to have a constant lodger, to receive a certain weekly payment; and it would constitute a greater one to have as an inmate one who could assist in certain labours of the house and garden. we might hope to see old attendants of the asylum settled around, after retirement from their employment, with a pension; and to the care of such two or three, or even more, selected patients might be entrusted. if the land belonging to the asylum were of sufficient extent, the patients boarding around might still be employed upon it; or, if they were artisans, they might daily resort to its workshops, its bakehouse or brewhouse, just as the ordinary peasant labourer goes to and fro to his place of employment. the asylum would thus still reap the benefit of the patients' labour, and this arrangement, we believe, would work better than one providing for their employment with strangers at a distance from the institution. by limiting the area inhabited by patients in lodgings to that immediately surrounding the asylum, a satisfactory supervision could be exercised by the authorities; and on the occurrence of illness, or a change in the mental condition, a transfer to the asylum could be speedily accomplished. again, by keeping the insane within a moderate range of the asylum, and by retaining them as labourers on its grounds, the advantages of a central general administration would be found in the provision and distribution of food and clothing. in previous pages we have advocated, under certain conditions, the erection of distinct asylums for chronic cases of insanity; to this plan the system just developed, of boarding out a certain number in cottages, must be held as supplementary. a chronic, or a moderate, manageable-sized, mixed asylum must form the nucleus of the 'cottage system' of providing for the insane. the cases must be selected from the asylum-residents, and the selection be left with the medical superintendent. the persons receiving patients must be held responsible to the superintendent, and to the members of the lunacy board, for their proper care and management, and they must enter into some sort of covenant with the visitors of the asylum. to carry out the scheme under notice, many matters of detail are required, but these it would be out of place here to enter upon. there is this evident general and economical advantage about this 'cottage system,' that it would obviate the necessity of constructing large asylums for chronic lunatics at an inevitably heavy outlay, and also of instituting so large a staff of officers and servants as is called for to govern and conduct an expensive special establishment. in country districts, agricultural labourers and other small householders might be found willing to board, lodge, and look after patients for or shillings per week each; or, according to the plan we prefer, the asylum would provide board, and receive the benefit of the patients' labour, and only some small sum would be payable for his lodging and care. having only in view at the time the amelioration of the present condition of the insane boarded out with friends or strangers, we have proposed in a preceding page (p. ), their frequent supervision, and the arrangements necessary to their welfare, being entrusted to a distinct medical officer under the central control of the lunacy board. this plan would still hold good with reference to all those lunatics not living within the fixed radius around the asylum; within which the superintendent would be the directing authority, the supervisor and protector. moreover, as we have remarked (p. ), residence with their immediate relatives would be frequently preferable to their severance from them in order to be brought within the sphere of the asylum; and such patients would derive benefit from the inspection proposed. § _separate provision for epileptics and idiots._ the extent to which the separation of epileptics and idiots, but more particularly of the former, from other classes of mentally disordered persons should be carried, is a matter much discussed. the rule is to have epileptic wards in large asylums, although there are some epileptics in whom violence and dementia are such prominent features, as to justify their position severally with the refractory or with the demented. however, the painful features of their malady, the special provisions needed in the apartments occupied by epileptics, and the precautionary measures to be observed in their clothing and food, the ill effects of the sight of their paroxysms upon others, and other reasons well known to medical men, constitute sufficient grounds for the ordinary practice pursued of keeping epileptic lunatics generally in particular wards. this plan answers well in moderately-sized asylums; where their number is considerable, as in large establishments, we should prefer their location in a distinct section; and if the county possessed one asylum for recent, and another for chronic cases, the majority of the epileptics should be residents in a section of the latter. of the great value of separate provision for idiots we think there can be no doubt. indeed, the association of idiots with lunatics is an accident of legal origin rather than a proceeding dictated by science and medicine. the law places together idiots and lunatics under similar protection, and treats them as nearly in the same position socially. hence it has come to pass that their legal claim to care and protection has brought them within the walls of the county asylums. their presence there, however, we regard as a mistake prejudicial to their own welfare and an onus upon the asylum authorities. of old, all that was considered necessary for idiots, was to provide food and lodging for them, and to keep them out of harm's way. but, thanks to modern philanthropy, the prospects of the idiot are much improved; the amelioration of his condition is attempted; his moral, mental and physical powers are found to be improveable, and it is sought to elevate his status as a social being, and to foster his capacity for amusement and for useful employment. contrasted with previous neglect, the care and management afforded in an asylum render the poor idiots an infinite service; yet withal a lunatic asylum is not the proper abode for them. within its walls they are unfit associates for the rest of the inmates, and it is therefore felt to be necessary to place them in a special ward. too frequently this ward is in the worst placed and most forgotten section of the building, sometimes with little open space about it, and devoid of those conditions calculated to evolve the little cerebral power possessed. whatever their claims upon the attention of the medical superintendent, and however zealous he may be to discharge all his duties, yet amidst the multifarious occupations pressing upon him, and specially occupied as he is in treating insanity, that officer finds himself unable to do more than watch over the health of the idiotic inmates, and attend to the improvement of their habits: he is not in a position, and has not the opportunities to superintend the education of idiots; and we are certain that every asylum-physician would rejoice, both for his own sake and for the interests of the idiots themselves, to see them removed to a special institution, or to a section of the asylum specially organized for their care. not only are idiots in the way in a lunatic asylum, and their ward an excrescence upon it, but the organization and arrangements are not adapted for them. idiots require a schoolmaster as much as a doctor; the latter can see that all those means are provided for them to improve their habits and their physical condition; but it must devolve on a patient instructor to operate more immediately upon the relic of mental power which is accorded to them. the sooner they are brought under the teacher's care the better: experience shows that much more may be effected with idiots during their childhood than when they have arrived at a more mature age, and the developmental changes in the brain have so far ceased, that an increased production of nervous power can be scarcely looked for. this is a theme we cannot further enter upon; and to conclude this section, we may remark, that the number of idiots is so large as to justify the erection of several distinct institutions for their care and improvement. several counties might unite in the establishment of an idiot asylum, the parishes being charged for the number belonging to them in it; an arrangement, which would no more complicate parochial accounts, than where one charge has to be met (as often is the case at present) for the maintenance of a certain number of lunatics in the county asylum; a second for that of another portion in a licensed house; and a third for some others in the workhouse wards. there is another matter worth noting. the county asylums for the most part being filled to the exclusion of recent cases of insanity, and the condition of idiots being held in still less importance than that of the insane by workhouse authorities, it is not to be wondered at that, on the one hand, the admission of idiots into asylums is not promoted, and that, on the other, so many idiotic paupers are found in workhouses. to provide, therefore, cheaply for idiots in distinct institutions, and to facilitate and enforce their transfer to them, will be a means of ridding union-houses of a portion of their inmates, for which they are so entirely unfitted. to the genuine philanthropist and the truly humane, no hesitation would arise as to securing every necessary provision, and the best means for ameliorating the fate of any sufferers, and particularly that of the poor helpless idiots. but to the majority of mankind the question of cost is preliminary to the exercise of philanthropy; and some perhaps think it enough to feed and clothe, to watch and keep clean the miserable drivelling idiot, since all the money that could be spent upon one would only produce after all a poor, weak-minded creature, of little or no service in the world. this argument cannot be gain-said, though it must be condemned by every christian animated by the leading principle of his religion, that of "love." to the sticklers for economy, the proposition may be propounded for consideration, whether, on the adoption of the plan of erecting distinct asylums for the chronic insane, the idiots could be less expensively provided for in a section or "quarter" of such an asylum, properly furnished with the means of improving their condition, than in an establishment reared specially for the purpose? we content ourselves with putting the question. chap. viii.--registration of lunatics. we are fain to look upon a complete registration as a remedy to many admitted evils affecting the welfare of lunatics, and we may add, of idiots also. lunacy may be regarded as a form of "civil death;" it deprives its sufferer of his rights as a citizen; subjects him to the loss or restriction of liberty; disqualifies him from many civil privileges, and invalidates his powers of dealing with property and of executing legal documents. yet not unfrequently are lunatics, particularly among the more wealthy classes, placed under the penalties of their condition without the knowledge and authority of the officers of the state, by whom alone can such penalties be legally enforced. an individual, we say, is often deprived of his liberty and of the control over his affairs, at the hands of relatives or friends, and often indeed transferred to the house of a stranger, and there subjected to surveillance and repression; and all this done against his will, and, what is more, against the principles of english law and english freedom. elaborate provision is made and still further attempted to prevent the unnecessary detention of persons in asylums, whose cases have been regularly reported to the public authorities; but no steps have as yet been taken to discover unreported cases of alleged lunacy or private cases treated singly; no enactment contrived to bring within the knowledge of any government-board the number of persons, year by year attacked with insanity, and thereby, for a longer or shorter period, disqualified from the exercise of their civil rights. to our mind, this state of things proves a grievous defect in the law of lunacy. every person has an inherent right to the protection of the law; yet practically, if insane, he does not at all, as a matter of course, obtain it: his malady and position may very probably be unknown, and he may be helpless, or otherwise debarred from making it known. were a machinery contrived to report it to legally constituted authorities, the sufferer would have the satisfaction of feeling that he was dealt with according to law in the process of the treatment he was subjected to. were each case of lunacy systematically registered, it would, we believe, frequently save legal contests. documents dealing with property are often matters of litigation, on the plea of the insanity of the person executing them, and enormous costs are incurred on the one side to substantiate, and on the other to overthrow the plea. evidence collateral and direct is hunted up, probably years after the date of the alleged state of insanity; and often enough it comes out, or is decided by the jury, that the individual was once insane, or was so at the date of executing the document in dispute. now, in such a case, had the insanity which has been so laboriously, tediously and expensively established as having occurred, been registered in a public office at the time of its occurrence, how great would have been the gain to the feelings, the interests, and the convenience of every person concerned in the suit! if the document had been executed during the period the individual was registered as of unsound mind, the production of the register alone would have availed in proof of its invalidity. the whole litigation, indeed, might have been prevented by a search of the register before the action was begun. in the introductory chapters on the statistics of insanity, we have remarked on the very incomplete records of the prevalence of the disease, and on the consequent impossibility of discovering the actual number of the insane, and of determining the question of their increase in the community. yet it will be granted that such statistics are of great importance in a civilized country, and have bearings upon several questions in social economy. the earl of shaftesbury, in his valuable evidence before the 'select committee on lunatics' ( ), observes, in answer to query , "i think it would be very desirable if we could have proper statistics upon insanity drawn up and put upon a good footing. it would require great trouble and expense; but i think it would be worth the trouble and expense, if it could be put in the hands of some competent persons; and i have no doubt that some remarkable results would be brought out." every one, who knows how defective are the existing statistics of the disease, will cheerfully second his lordship's wish. this, however, does not go so far as our own; for lord shaftesbury appears, as far as we can judge from his words, solicitous only to take a sort of census of the insane and to deduce from it certain facts; whereas we desire not only an accurate census at present, but also a well-arranged scheme for keeping up the correctness of the statistics of the insane for the future, by making every instance of insanity returnable to the lunacy board. our desire, in short, is to bring every lunatic in the kingdom within the cognizance of the commissioners in lunacy, either directly or by some recognized agent acting in their place, so that protection and proper care may be assured to every such afflicted individual. a necessary supplementary provision to placing a name on the register would be required for removing it on certified recovery; the return of which should be made through the same channels as the report of the attack. should the registration proposed be enforced by law,--as it must be to render it at all perfect, under a penalty,--it would afford a remedy against the wide-spread plan of placing lunatics where they are unheard of, and unknown to all except those concerned in their detention. it would make the commissioners acquainted with all those very numerous patients who often drag on a painful and neglected existence in lodgings, under the control of persons of all sorts, with many of whom, it is to be apprehended, the gain to be got by their detention is the ruling motive in their actions. another advantage obtainable by a system of registration, so conducted as to ensure the reporting of cases immediately, or almost so, on their occurrence, is, that it would prepare the way for early treatment, more particularly so perhaps in the case of pauper lunatics. in the instance of the last-named class of insane, the law might render their removal to an asylum imperative, on the report of the onset of their disorder, by refusing their friends the attendance of the parochial medical officer on the patient at home as well as parochial relief, and by holding them responsible on the ground of culpable neglect for anything untoward that may happen to the patient or others. we anticipate that such an arbitrary interference of the law would be but very seldom required, for the poor mostly would be only too happy to rid themselves of a troublesome and useless member of the family. moreover, in the case of those raised above poverty and competent to provide for their insane relatives, it would be no undue stretch of legal authority to require them to satisfy some duly appointed and experienced officer, that the provisions contemplated or furnished by them for the patient were of a satisfactory character and calculated to favour recovery. the existing law, indeed, goes so far as to interfere with the friends of a lunatic and to deprive them of his care, if there be evidence to show that he is cruelly treated or neglected. it moreover imposes upon the friends all costs incurred on behalf of the patient. the section cited is _sect._ lxviii. and vict. cap. , and the suggestion we offer is but an amendment of this, so far as to require the friends of every insane person not placed in a licensed house or asylum, to show that such lunatic is properly treated and taken care of. the registration must be accompanied by visitation. the appointed medical registrar must be a witness to the fact he is called upon to register; and a case once registered should be visited at least once in three months, until recovery or death takes place, when in either case the return of the patient as a lunatic would be cancelled under a certificate to the fact supplied by the registrar. these remarks apply specially where patients are placed out singly. this plan of registration, coupled with that of visitation, would not only give security that the patient was properly treated, but would also prevent secret removals to lodgings or other uncertified receptacles for lunatics, or to a foreign country. with reference to the last-named proceeding, there ought assuredly to be some stringent legal provisions, if not to prevent it entirely, at least to place it under great restrictions. the lunacy law in its intent and administration is both stringent and minute where it deals with asylum provision for the insane in this country; but it is impotent if the friends of a lunatic choose to send him out of the country. the act cuts him off from all protection of the laws he was born under and has never forfeited. certainly it must be granted, that in every civilized country of the world lunacy laws are enacted for the protection of the insane; yet even where those laws are good, we know of no realm, and we believe there is none, where the interests of the insane are so well watched over and so adequately provided for, as in our own. this opinion we assert as the result of personal observation in most of the countries of europe, and the perusal of the reports on the state of the insane in those countries. where english lunatics are transferred to foreign public asylums--and there are many sent to such, particularly to those in france--there is often very excellent treatment and moderate state supervision; but it must be borne in mind, that the poor patients are thrust among strangers by nation, by habits, and by laws; there is no security against their being placed among the lowest classes of pensioners, who are less tenderly dealt with than our asylum paupers; and they are besides entirely at the mercy of their relatives or friends, who may as far as possible ignore their existence, prey upon their substance at home, and allow only some pittance for their maintenance in the foreign land. we are persuaded that the allusion to this defect in the laws of lunacy is sufficient to extort attention to it, and obtain its redress. the project of the law of lunacy for sardinia, which we translated for the pages of the 'journal of psychological medicine' (vol. x. p. ), contained the two following clauses:--"art. . it shall be incumbent on all individuals who shall place an insane person in a foreign asylum, to present, every thirty days, to the minister of the interior a precise report of the physical and mental condition of the patient, prepared by the physician of the asylum. art. . it shall be in the power of the minister of the interior, by previous concert with his colleague for foreign affairs, to cause any patient confined in a foreign asylum to be brought back to his own country, provided that this can be done without injury to the patient, and that he can be readily provided for in his own family, and is in possession of sufficient pecuniary means for his maintenance." some such clauses need be added to any new act of parliament for the care and treatment of lunatics in this kingdom. the commissioners in lunacy would be the right persons to move first in the matter by calling upon friends for information respecting their lunatic relatives abroad; and the foreign minister, acting upon their recommendation, would, we presume, be the proper official to arrange with the authorities abroad for the transfer of the patient to his own country. it may not be possible so to limit individual liberty as to interdict the removal of lunatics from their native country; but it is undoubtedly consonant with english law, and a matter of justice to the poor lunatic, when so dealt with by his friends as a commodity to barter about, that the legal protection due to him in his own land should be so far extended to him in a foreign state, that some public authority should be satisfied that he is duly cared for, and treated in the asylum he occupies, and has that allowance set aside for his maintenance, which his pecuniary means will justify. likewise, it would be no illegal stretch of power to call upon the friends of a lunatic, whose condition abroad was unsatisfactory, to bring him back to his native country; or, in case of their refusing to do so, to have the order carried out by others, and its costs levied upon the recusant friends. after all, however, before any such law could be effectual, the opportunities of ascertaining the existence of lunatics must be gained by the adoption of the system of registration; for, otherwise, the commissioners could derive no knowledge of the cases sent abroad, even of such as might have at one time been under their jurisdiction in licensed asylums. this remark leads us to notice another default in the lunacy code, viz. that of not enforcing a return in the case of all patients removed from asylums uncured, of the place to which they are removed. at present it is possible for the friends of a lunatic in an asylum or licensed house, to order his discharge, and to remove him where they please, to some spot unknown, if they so choose, to any but themselves. the superintendents of the asylums make a return to the lunacy commissioners that such a patient has been discharged by order of the relative or friend who authorized his admission, and that he has gone out uncured or relieved, but no information is required of the place and manner in which the lunatic is to be disposed of for the future. this circumstance is true of all cases of lunacy not found so by inquisition; that is, all except those put under the jurisdiction of the lord chancellor, or of his representatives in lunacy affairs, the masters in lunacy. for these so-called 'chancery lunatics' the sanction of the masters is required, both to the removal, to the locality, and to the persons proposed for the patient's reception. similar protection should be extended to all insane persons. the power of removal cannot be taken out of the hands of a lunatic's immediate relatives, but it may be hedged about by the restriction, that the removal of an uncured patient shall be reported to the commissioners in lunacy, who shall, after acquainting themselves with the place, the persons, and the provisions intended for the welfare of the patient, have the power to permit or to refuse it. the registration of all lunatics, particularly on the accession of their malady, is exposed to certain objections, none of which, however, are, in our opinion, of sufficient weight to militate against the plan. one great impediment to its adoption, among most persons above the condition of paupers, and in some degree among the poor also, is the desire of secrecy on the part of friends, who endeavour in every way to restrict the knowledge of their relative's mental disorder to the circle of his own family, and, if possible, to ignore its being actual insanity. on the one hand, the insanity is treated as if it brought discredit on all related to the afflicted person; and on the other, relations dread its recognition by any public authority, and set themselves in array against any inquiry which seems to trench on their private affairs. the self-same feelings and prejudices, as before shown (p. ), operate against the early and successful treatment of private patients; and as obstacles to registration they are equally to be regretted. the attempt to keep secret an attack of insanity is virtually impracticable; and though it is, in truth, a dire misfortune to both patient and family, yet is an attack of mental disorder a less discredit than one of gout, which our forefathers, in their folly, courted as a pledge of good manners and good breeding. the mischief of these notions, however, is, that they operate inimically to the interests of the patient: they stand in the way of early and appropriate treatment, and thereby tend to prolong the malady, or to render it inveterate. could the friends bring themselves boldly to face the whole truth, and admit the fact that their relative was insane, and were they encouraged by their medical man to take this true view of the matter, and to act upon it, by submitting the patient to the necessary treatment, they would very often escape the evil of exposure they dread, and soon have their relative restored to them again, instead of having, by various subterfuges, to hide his condition, and to account for his long disappearance from society and from home. besides, the hollowness of the pretences or excuses for absence must some day be found out, when the impression upon acquaintances will be the more profound, and the self-respect of the relatives suffer the wound inflicted by the exposure of the vain deception they have essayed to practise. again, the recording of the occurrence of insanity in a member of a family, which we hold to be as important to the patient and his friends as to the state, need not be regarded as an inquisitorial proceeding. it can be effected with every attention to secrecy;--the registrar would be sworn to secrecy, and the register in the central office would be a sealed book, except under certain conditions authorized by the courts of law. there is no public declaration of the fact of the insanity involved by its being recorded in the books of an office under the security of its functionaries. allowing that family prejudices and pride were of more moment than we are willing to admit, yet they should not suspend the enforcement of registration; for it must be remembered that the insane stand in a different class to patients suffering from any bodily infirmity. they forfeit by their malady the power to act in their own affairs; or their actions, if their mental disorder has been as far as possible concealed, are at any time during their life or after their death, liable to be called in question on the plea of insanity. it is undoubtedly, then, the province of the law to interpose on their behalf for the interests both of themselves and of others. the law is remiss if it permit a mentally unsound person to act on his own behalf, or others to act for him, without its sanction; and is it, we ask, consonant with english jurisprudence to detain a man against his will, in other words, to imprison him, even in his own house, and under the authority of his own immediate relatives? as soon as insanity has declared itself, so soon, we maintain, should both the person and the property of the sufferer come under the protection of the law; and this protection ought to be promptly and cheaply afforded. interference with a mentally disordered individual had better be premature than be delayed until by some actions his interests, his property, or his condition suffer. it is better for him to be found a lunatic, or, to avoid a painful and objectionable term, be adjudged to be unable properly to take care of himself and his affairs, and to be deprived for a time of liberty of action,--than that he should be treated as a sound man, and be suffered to damage his own prospects and property, and to expose himself or family to future litigation on account of his actions. when a violent or sudden death, or a suicide occurs, be it in whatever class of society it may, there is no escaping the requirement of the law, however painful be the circumstances the inquiry evokes; the coroner must hold an inquest, and the whole matter be publicly investigated before a jury. family pride and prejudice, however much they may be offended, are not allowed to stay the inquiry. why should they then be suffered to stand in the way of a simple recognition, made not through the intervention of a public court, but as secretly as possible, of a disorder, which places the sufferer in a state of social and civil death, and perhaps more seriously deranges his pecuniary affairs than even natural death itself? to repeat, the law is bound to watch over the interests of the insane, by seeing that they are properly provided for, whether in their own houses or elsewhere. no difference of opinion will occur to the proposition where the insane are placed with those who are directly or indirectly advantaged by their detention. to meet the case of such, indeed, an attempt to secure a legal recognition and protection has been made by and vict. cap. . but the same unanimity will be wanting when it is proposed to demand a return, and to sanction the supervision by public functionaries, of patients residing in their own homes: and although we have endeavoured to show good reasons why such a requirement should be made,--and the arguments could be enforced by illustrations proving that, both among rich and poor, insane persons are not satisfactorily, nay more, not even kindly treated by their own relatives,--yet lord shaftesbury stated it to be his persuasion (evid. of com. p. ) that public opinion is not ripe to introduce a new power to enter domestic establishments. nevertheless, if public opinion be not ripe for such an innovation, "it would seem (to employ sir erskine perry's query, no. , as an affirmation) that whenever a person is put under surveillance, it is not too much for the legislature to require information of that fact;" that is to say, if "domestic rights" must yet for a time be allowed to hide domestic wrongs to the helpless victims of mental disease, by denying them the protection of the law they live under, they should not avail against their being reported or registered. however, in the case of those who are obliged to seek for parochial aid, the domestic impediments to the institution of a public officer to inspect the condition of their lunatic relatives, could not be suffered to operate. now the principle of requiring a compulsory return and visitation of all insane persons confined in their own homes or in lodgings, is not new. the belgian lunacy commissioners recommended in their report on the amelioration of the lunacy laws, in , that no person should be confined in his own home, excepting after an examination by two physicians, and a certificate from them of the necessity of the restraint upon his liberty. the certificate was to be handed to the "juge de paix," who might order other visits; and if dissatisfied with the arrangements for the care and treatment of the patient, might require others to be entered into. the family medical man was likewise charged, under a penalty for non-performance, to send in a quarterly report of the state and condition of the patient. with the same object in view of obviating abuses in the domiciliary treatment of the insane, m. bonacossa, the chief physician of the turin asylum, proposed the following clause to the sardinian lunacy code:--"that, as patients are often kept in confinement in their own homes or in the houses of private persons to their detriment, it shall be made imperative on all individuals retaining an insane person in their house, to report the fact to the syndic of the commune, or to the intendant of the province." the british legislature has taken some steps in the same direction, but the fear of encroachment upon individual liberty has conspired to render its comparatively feeble attempts to provide for the due protection of single patients nugatory. by the act of , every medical man who had been in charge of a private patient for eleven months was required to send the name of the patient, under a sealed cover, to the lunacy commission; but this document could only be opened upon application to the lord chancellor. moreover, the fixing of the period of eleven months led to the transfer of the poor lunatics from one person to another within that period, so as to render the requirement of notice of his existence and detention null and void. by the and vict. cap. , this enactment was repealed, and by _sect._ xc. it was ordered that no person, except one who derived "no profit from the charge, or a committee appointed by the lord chancellor," should receive a lunatic into his house, to board or lodge, without the legal order and medical certificates, as required for admission into a registered house or asylum; and that within seven days after the reception of a lunatic, the person receiving him should transmit to the commissioners copies of the order and medical certificates, together with a notice of the situation of the house, and the name both of the occupier and of the person taking charge of the patient. it further ordered that every such patient should be visited at least once in every two weeks, by a duly qualified medical man, who should also enter a statement after each visit of the state of the patient's health, both bodily and mental, and of the condition of the house. with a view to secrecy, the same act ordained (_sect._ lxxxix.) the institution of a private committee of three of the lunacy commissioners,--to whom alone the register (_sect._ xci.) of such patients was to be submitted for inspection,--who should visit those registered single lunatics, report upon them in a private book (_sect._ xcii.), and, if desirable, send this report to the lord chancellor, who could order the removal of the patient elsewhere (_sect._ xciii.), if his state was proved to be unsatisfactory. this legal apparatus completely failed to attain the desired object: it was left open for the person receiving the patient to consider him a lunatic or not, and to report him or not at discretion; for no penalty hung over his head for disobedience to the act. so, again, the three members of the "private committee" could neither derive official knowledge of the single patients they ought to visit, nor find time or opportunity to carry out the visitation of those reported to them, living as they did scattered throughout the country. the last-named act, having thus failed in its objects, was much varied by that of ( and vict. cap. ), the last enacted, which was less ambitious in its endeavours to deal with the single private lunatics. by this act the private committee was abolished, and any member of the lunacy commission was empowered to visit those single cases reported to the board; at least one visit a year being required. but the provisions under this act are very ineffectual, both for the discovery and for the protection of the patients. the commissioners are directed to visit those only who are placed under certificate and known to them; and although every person taking charge of a lunatic or an alleged lunatic is required (by _sect._ viii.), before receiving the patient, to be furnished with the usual order and medical certificates, and (by _sect._ xvi.) to make an annual report of his mental and bodily condition to the commissioners during his residence in his house, yet there are, in the first place, no means provided for discovering the existence of the lunatic unless the person receiving him choose to report it; and again, the requirement as to the certificates and order may be complied with, but no copy be sent to the commissioners; and lastly, it is left to the will and pleasure, or to the honesty of the individual receiving the case, whether it is to be considered as one of lunacy or not. it is needless to attempt to prove that a law so loosely framed must be inoperative. no person who has given a thought to the subject but knows that there are many hundred, nay, in all probability some two thousand--as we have surmised in our estimate (p. ), single private (not pauper) patients in england: yet, as lord shaftesbury acquaints us in his evidence (committee on lunatics, p. ), only such patients are known to the lunacy board. some few of the many others may be under certificates, though unreported; still the great majority are, there is no doubt, detained without attention to any legal formalities or legal sanction, and for the most part treated as "nervous patients," and as therefore not amenable to the commissioners in lunacy. the existence of the lunacy is thus disguised under the term of 'nervousness,' and the patients robbed of the protection which the law has rightly intended, and yet signally failed to afford. the noble chairman of the lunacy commission, in the course of his able evidence before the "committee on lunatics" ( ), has given some admirable suggestions for the amendment of the law in order to bring the so-called "nervous patients" under the cognizance of the commission, and to obtain a more complete knowledge of the number and position of the many lunatics detained in private houses. according to the existing law (evid. comm. p. ), it is only, says lord shaftesbury, "where a patient is put out to board with some person who is benefited by the circumstance that the commissioners can, upon application to the chancellor, obtain access to a house where they have reasonable ground to believe there is a patient restrained, and who ought to be under certificate. but not only, in the first place, is it difficult to ascertain where such patients are, but it is also difficult afterwards, as we must have good testimony to induce the chancellor to give us a right to enter a private house, and make an examination accordingly." in reply to queries , , , , and , his lordship insists on the necessity of the law interposing to compel persons who receive any patients whatever for profit, whether styled nervous or epileptic patients, to give notice of their reception to the commissioners in lunacy, who should have the power to visit and ascertain their state of mind, and determine whether they should or should not be put under certificate as lunatic. if they were found to be only 'nervous' persons, the commissioners would have nothing to do with them. to give these suggestions a legal force, his lordship produced the following clauses as additions to the lunacy act (evid. comm. query , p. ):-- "whereas many persons suffer from nervous disorders and other mental affections of a nature and to an extent to incapacitate them from the due management of themselves and their affairs, but not to render them proper persons to be taken charge of, and detained under care and treatment as insane; and whereas such persons are frequently conscious of their mental infirmity, and desirous of submitting themselves to medical care and supervision, and it is expedient to legalize and facilitate voluntary arrangements for that object, so far as may be compatible with the free agency of the persons so affected, be it enacted, as follows:-- "subject to the provisions hereinafter contained, it shall be lawful for any duly-qualified medical practitioner or other person, by his direction, to receive and entertain as a boarder or patient any person suffering from a nervous disorder, or other mental affection requiring medical care and supervision, but not such as to justify his being taken charge of and detained as a person of unsound mind. no person shall be received without the written request in the form, schedule --., to this act, of a relative or friend who derives no profit from the arrangement, and his own consent, in writing, in the form in the same schedule, the signatures to which request and consent respectively shall be witnessed by some inhabitant householder. "the person receiving such patient shall, within two days after his reception, give notice thereof to the commissioners in lunacy, and shall at the same time transmit to the commissioners a copy of the request and consent aforesaid. it shall be lawful for one or more commissioners, at any time after the receipt of such notice aforesaid, and from time to time, to visit and examine such patient, with a view to ascertain his mental state and freedom of action; and the visiting commissioner or commissioners shall report to the board the result of their examination and inquiries. no such patient shall be received into a licensed house." lord shaftesbury proceeds to say that by this plan "every person, professional or not, who receives a patient into his house, or attends a patient in such circumstances, should notify it to the commissioners; but we should not require them to notify it until after three months should have elapsed, because a patient might be suffering from brain fever, or a temporary disorder; but i would say that any person accepting or attending a patient in these circumstances should notify it to the commissioners, after three months shall have elapsed from the beginning of the treatment." in the after part of his evidence (query , p. ), his lordship desired to supply an omission in the preceding clause, viz. to make it compulsory on a medical man attending a nervous patient, and not only the person receiving one, to communicate the fact to the commissioners, so that they might go and see him, and form their own judgment whether he should or should not be placed under certificate. there is much that is excellent in the clauses suggested, yet some improvement is needed in their wording. thus it is provided that a medical practitioner, or a person under his direction, may receive a 'nervous' patient, and the subsequent provisions are made in accordance with this principle, as though only medical men could receive such patients, or that they alone were amenable to the laws regulating their detention. sir erskine perry detected this oversight (query ), and lord shaftesbury admitted the want of sufficient technicality in the drawing up of the clause. again, we do not conceive there is adequate reason for postponing the report of a case until three months after the commencement of the treatment; a delay, not imposed, indeed, under the clause as propounded, but implied in his lordship's subsequent remarks. to refer to the class of patients mentioned as properly exempt from a return to the lunacy commission until after three months have elapsed:--a case of so-called 'brain fever' is not likely to be sent from home to board with a medical man or other person during the existence of the acute malady commonly known under that term. on the other hand, genuine cases of acute mania get called by the same name, and such certainly ought to be reported to the commissioners before the expiration of three months. besides, the delay to notify 'temporary disorder' for so long a time is likely to be injurious and to defeat the object of the clause. delirium or mental aberration lasting for three months is something more than a symptom of any one commonly recognized bodily disease, and rightly deserves the designation of madness; and, if this be the case, it also claims the supervision of the commissioners or other duly appointed officers over its management, particularly when this is undertaken, with the object of profit to the person treating it. moreover, the delay proposed involves an idea not flattering to the discernment and the powers of diagnosis of the members of the medical profession; for its intent, we take it, is solely to prevent giving unnecessary trouble and distress to all concerned, in having to send a notification of the disorder, while yet unconfirmed, to the commissioners: an annoyance which ought never to happen; for every medical man should be able to distinguish the delirium of fever, of drinking, or of other corporeal conditions it is sometimes linked with, from insanity; and it would be very discreditable to the medical skill of any one not to find out the true nature of the case long before the expiration of three months. further, for the sake of promoting early and efficient treatment, the notification of disorder, whether called 'nervous' or mental, should be given before the end of three months. the change from home to board with a medical man may be all that is desired for a 'nervous' patient; but if it be a case of recent insanity, something more than solitary treatment at home or in a private lodging is essential. the evils of the last-named plan are largely illustrated in the evidence of lord shaftesbury himself, and of other witnesses before the select committee. it is consequently desirable to have cases, under what designation soever they are received, reported before the close of three months, so that the commissioners may see them and determine whether or not the conditions under which they are placed are conducive to their well-being and recovery, and may give their recommendations accordingly. the proposition appended by the noble earl, to the effect that every medical man attending a 'nervous' patient should communicate the fact to the lunacy commissioners, is most important, and in its scope approaches that of enforcing a registration, as advocated by ourselves: for we presume that his lordship would desire the paragraph to be so worded, that the notice should be demanded from the medical attendant, as well in the case of a lunatic or alleged lunatic as in that of a so-called 'nervous' patient. a similar defect attaches to the clauses proposed as to those actually in force under existing acts; that is to say, the want of means of enforcing them. by the act th and th vict. cap. , _sect._ xlv., it is made a misdemeanour to receive or detain a person in a house without a legal order and medical certificates; and by _sect._ xliv. it is declared a misdemeanour to receive two or more lunatics into any unlicensed house. these clauses are, however, valueless in preventing the abuses they aim at checking; for, as so often said before, alleged and undoubted lunatics are perpetually received by persons into their private houses as 'nervous' patients, mostly without certificates, or, if under certificates, unreported to the commissioners. no solid argument is conceivable, why a person having two lunatics under charge should be liable to punishment for a misdemeanour, whilst another may detain one with impunity. the penalty should be similar in each case. the same legal infliction, too, should, we think, be visited alike upon the friends putting away a relative under private care and upon the individual receiving him. it might also be rendered competent for any relative or friend to call upon those concerned in secluding, or in removing the patient from home under restraint, to show cause for so doing; and the production of the medical certificates and of a copy of the notification sent to the commissioners, with or without a certificate from such an officer as we propose as a district medical inspector, should serve to stay proceedings. the detention or the seclusion of a person, whether at home or elsewhere, contrary to his will, and at the sacrifice of his individual liberties and civil rights, appears to us tantamount to false imprisonment, and an act opposed to the principles of english liberty, whether it be perpetrated by relatives or strangers, if done without the knowledge and sanction of the law and of its administrators. but whatever amendments be introduced, we hold them to be secondary to a complete system of registration of lunatics and 'nervous' patients rendered compulsory upon the medical men attending them, or taking them under their charge, and likewise upon the relatives, or, in the case of paupers, upon the relieving officers or overseers of their parish. the family medical attendant appears the most fitting person to make a return of the sort: his professional knowledge must be called in to testify to, or to decide on, the nature of the disease, and the fact can be best communicated by him in his medical capacity. the lunacy commissioners of massachusetts had recourse to the physicians living in every town and village of the state; and it was only by so doing that they were enabled to arrive at an accurate knowledge of the number of the insane, and to correct the statistics gathered through other channels, which might, at first sight, have appeared ample to their discovery. further, as already noted, we advocate another step in conjunction with registration; for we would convey the notification of the existence of the alleged insane or nervous patient primarily to the district medical officer, and then call upon this gentleman to visit the patient, with every deference to family sensitiveness and necessary privacy, in order that he may make a report on the nature and character of the malady, and the conditions surrounding the patient, to the commissioners in lunacy. the immediate visitation of a reported case by such a skilled officer would be of advantage to the patient, to his friends, and to the commissioners. without overruling or controlling the medical attendant or others, his advice on the wants of the case would be useful, and he could fulfil one purpose proposed to be effected by a visit from the commissioners, viz. that of signifying whether the patient should be placed under certificates or not; his opinion being subject to revision by the visiting commissioners, should the nature of his report appear to them to call for their personal examination of the case. if, again, medical certificates were required, these might be countersigned by the district officer in question, after a separate examination, and an additional protection be thus applied against illegality in the legal documents required to sanction the patient's restriction or detention. this plan would likewise afford a check to the transmission to the lunacy board of those insufficient certificates which at the present time involve such frequent trouble. but, although the district officer's signature or certificate might by its presence be held to increase the validity of the evidence for a patient's insanity, yet its absence, where his opinion differed from that of the medical men called in to sign the legal certificates, should not operate as a bar to dealing with the alleged lunatic as such, until an examination by one of the board of commissioners could be had; and therefore the registrar should be bound to transmit the order and certificates, when properly filled up, accompanied by his own report of the case. supposing these provisions just sketched to be carried out, and that an individual is found lunatic by his immediate medical attendants, by the official registrar, a perfectly disinterested person, and, sooner or later by the commissioners, there certainly appears no reason why the lunatic himself, or any officious friend or sharp lawyer in search of business, should be able to challenge by legal proceedings a decision so cautiously arrived at by so many competent persons. the determination of a trial by jury we hold to be less satisfactory, and less likely to be in accordance with fact; so easy is it in some instances for a clever counsel to frighten witnesses, to get fallacious evidence, and to represent his client's cause, and appeal to the passions of the jurors of very miscellaneous mental calibre, often with more feeling than judgment, and generally to use all those arts which are thought legitimate by the practitioners of the law to win a verdict. there is one subject well deserving notice; one which acts as a stumbling-block to the treatment of mentally disordered persons, and will also do so, more or less, to registration; viz. the present legal necessity of placing all in the category of lunatics. the practical questions are, whether this proceeding is necessary, and if not, whether the present form of the order and medical certificates cannot be so modified, as to lessen the objections of friends to place their suffering relatives under the protection of the law and its officers; we should add, to remove the objections of patients themselves; for it is irritating to the minds of certain classes of the insane to know that they are accounted lunatics by law equally with the most degraded victims of mental disorder with whom they may find themselves associated; and it offers an impediment at times, as those conversant with the management of asylums know, to patients voluntarily submitting themselves to treatment. the adoption of two forms of certificate, one for persons found to be of unsound mind, and the other for the class of 'nervous' patients, would undoubtedly involve some disadvantages. it would be the aim of all those in a position to influence opinion, to obtain the registration of their insane friends under the ambiguous appellation of 'nervous' patients; and this could be met only by placing it in the power of an officer attached to the lunacy commission to make the decision, after an examination of the patient, respecting the nature of the certificate required. perhaps the examination to be made by a commissioner, according to the scheme propounded by lord shaftesbury (p. ), is intended, though not said to be so, to serve the purpose referred to; otherwise it would be a defect in his lordship's plan, that no person is empowered to discriminate the individuals he would legislate for as 'nervous' patients not properly the subjects for asylum treatment, from those mentally disordered persons who are so. although the introduction of a modified or mitigated form of certificate of mental unsoundness, besides the one now in use, may be open to the objection mentioned, and to others conceivable, yet it would, on the other hand, possess certain advantages, and would, among others, be certainly an improvement upon the present state of things, by promoting the registration of numerous cases now unknown to the administrators of the lunacy laws. it would be impossible to draw the line rigidly between really insane persons and those suffering from temporary delirium, or 'nervousness.' no ready cut and dried definitions of insanity would serve the purpose, and the discrimination of cases in order to their return as 'lunatic,' or as 'nervous,' must within certain limits rest upon definitions imposed by law, and beyond these to common sense and professional experience. with such criteria to guide, no sufferers from the delirium of fever, of alcoholism, or other kindred morbid state, and no eccentric personages whose peculiarities are not necessarily injurious to themselves, to others, or to their property, should be brought within the operation of the laws contrived to protect positive mental disorder. they would not occupy the same legal position as those classes proposed to be under one or other form of certificate; for, in our humble opinion, all those under certificate, whether as insane or as 'nervous' patients, should be under like legal disabilities in the management of themselves and their affairs, and partake of equal legal protection. in the preamble to the clauses suggested by lord shaftesbury, the nervous disorder or other mental affection is very properly supposed to be of a nature and extent to incapacitate the sufferers from the due management of themselves and their affairs; that is, that they are to be rightly placed under similar civil disabilities with the insane;--a position, which could, moreover, not be relaxed even in favour of those voluntarily placing themselves under treatment, without giving rise to much legal perplexity and quibbling. but this last-named result we have some apprehension might ensue, if the next sentence of the clause to those quoted were retained: forasmuch as, farther to define the class of persons to be legislated for, this sentence requires that their disorder shall not render them proper persons to be taken charge of and detained under care and treatment as insane; a condition, which seems to exclude them from the catalogue of insane persons in the eye of the law, and therefore to relieve them from the legal disabilities attaching to lunatics; but, perhaps, it is from ignorance of law that we cannot conceive how it is proposed to provide for the care and official supervision of persons alleged to be incapacitated from the management of themselves and their affairs, and at the same time to pronounce them unfit to be dealt with as insane. the scotch asylums act ( ) contains a clause ( st) to authorize the detention of persons labouring under mental aberration, in its earlier stages, in private houses, under a form of certificate set forth in schedule g, wherein the medical man certifies that the individual in question is suffering from some form of mental disorder, not as yet confirmed, and that it is expedient to remove him from his home for temporary residence in a private house (not an asylum), with a view to his recovery. this plan of disposing of a patient is permitted to continue for six months only. by some such scheme as this, it seems possible to bring the sufferers from disordered mental power within the cognizance of the public authorities appointed to watch over their interests, and at the same time to rescue them from being classed with the inmates of lunatic asylums, and from the frequently painful impression, in their own minds, that they are publicly considered to be lunatics. to avoid disputes and litigation, however, such patients should, even when under that amount of surveillance intimated, be debarred from executing any acts in reference to property, which might be subsequently called into question on the plea of their insanity. according to the present state of the law, there is no intermediate position for a person suffering from any form of cerebral agitation or of mental disturbance; he must be declared by certificate a lunatic, or his insanity must be called 'nervousness.' under the latter designation of his malady, he cannot receive treatment in an asylum or licensed house; and yet, all his acts in behalf of his own affairs, that is, where his friends do not arbitrarily assume the power to act for him, may at any future time be disputed as those of a lunatic. yet, as noticed more than once before, all the probable disadvantages of this anomalous position are risked in very many cases, and the best chances of recovery thrown away, because the friends (and the patient too very often) are unwilling to have him certified as a lunatic. an alteration, therefore, of the law seems much required in this matter. the earl of shaftesbury has met this want partially by the clause he has proposed in favour of 'nervous' patients, and his lordship, in a preceding portion of his evidence (queries - ), expressed himself in favour of mitigating the wording of the medical certificates required. we have also heard dr. forbes winslow express sentiments to a similar effect, that the law ought to recognise the legality of placing certain patients suffering from some varieties of mental disturbance under treatment in licensed houses, and especially those who will voluntarily submit themselves to it, without insisting on their being certified as lunatics. this is not an improper place in our remarks to direct attention to the proposition to legalize the establishment of intermediate institutions, of a character standing midway, so to speak, between the self-control and liberty of home and the discipline of the licensed asylum or house, to afford accommodation and treatment for those who would be claimants for them under the mitigated certificates above considered. such institutions would be very valuable to the so-called 'nervous patients,' and to the wretched victims of 'dipsomania'--the furor for intoxicating drinks; for there are many advantages attending the treatment of these, as of insane patients, in well-ordered and specially arranged establishments, over those which can be afforded in private houses. it may likewise be added, that the facilities of supervision by the appointed public functionaries are augmented, and greater security given to the patients when so associated in suitable establishments. we add this because, although the certificates are mitigated in their case, and they are not accounted lunatics, yet we regard that degree of visitation by the commissioners, indicated by lord shaftesbury, to be in every way desirable. it is not within the compass of this work to enter into the details for establishing and organizing these retreats: they have been discussed by several physicians, and more particularly in scotland, where, it would seem, examples of drunken mania are more common than in england. chap. ix.--appointment of district medical officers. throughout the preceding portion of this book we have pointed out numerous instances wherein the legal provision for the insane fails in its object from the want of duly-appointed agents, possessing both special experience and an independence of local and parochial authorities; and we have many times referred to a district medical officer, inspector or examiner, as a public functionary much needed in any systematic scheme to secure the necessary supervision and protection of the insane, particularly of such as are paupers. we will now endeavour to specify somewhat more precisely the position and duties of that proposed officer; but, before doing so, we may state that the appointment of district medical officers is not without a parallel in most of the continental states. in italy there are provincial physicians, and in germany kreis-artzte, or district-physicians, who exercise supervision over the insane within their circle, besides acting in all public medico-legal and sanitary questions. in our humble opinion, the institution of a similar class of officers would be an immense improvement in our public medical and social system. the want of public medical officers to watch over the health and the general sanitary conditions of our large towns has been recognised and provided for; although the machinery for supplying it is much less perfect than could be wished: for to entrust the sanitary oversight and regulation of populous districts to medical men engaged in large general practice, often holding union medical appointments, and rarely independent of parish authorities, is not a plan the best calculated to secure the effectual performance of the duties imposed; for, as a natural result, those duties must rank next after the private practice of the medical officer, and constitute an extraneous employment. in the establishment of a class of district medical officers,--chiefly for the examination, supervision and registration of all lunatics or alleged lunatics and 'nervous' patients not in asylums, but placed, or proposed to be placed, under surveillance, accompanied with deprivation of their ordinary civil and social rights,--we would protest against the commission of such an error in selecting them, as has, in our opinion, occurred in the appointment of sanitary medical officers generally: for the performance of the duties which would devolve on the district medical officer, it would indeed be essential that he should be perfectly independent of local authorities, that he should not hold his appointment subject to them, and that his position among his professional brethren should be such as to disarm all sentiments of rivalry or jealousy among those with whom his official duties would bring him in contact. what should be his position and character will, however, be better estimated after the objects of his appointment are known. the extent of the district assigned to this official would necessarily vary according to the density of population; so that some counties would constitute a single district, and others be divided into several. in the instance of a county so small as rutland, the services of a separate district medical officer would hardly be required, and the county might be advantageously connected with an adjoining one. one principal purpose of his office would be to receive notice of every case of insanity, of idiocy, or of 'nervousness' (as provided for by lord shaftesbury's proposal), and to register it; the notice to be sent to him by the medical attendant upon the patient. upon receiving such notice, he should forthwith, except under certain contingences hereafter indicated, visit the case, and determine whether it should be rightly placed under certificates as one of lunacy, or as one of 'nervous' disorder, amenable to treatment without the seclusion of an asylum; and should transmit the result of his examination and the report of the case to the lunacy board. it might supply an additional protection to the lunatic, and be satisfactory otherwise, if the signature of this officer were required to the original certificates (see p. ) before their transmission to the central office in london. the return made by the district medical officer to the commissioners in lunacy would be of much service to them in determining their future course with reference to the visitation of the patient (in carrying out lord shaftesbury's proposal, p. ), supposing him to be detained at home, or in lodgings with strangers, instead of being transferred to an asylum or licensed house. so again, if the patient were removed to an asylum, he would furnish a report of his history and condition to the physician or proprietor, and thereby render a valuable service, particularly in the case of paupers, of whom next to nothing can frequently be learnt from the relieving officers who superintend their removal to the county asylum. the want of a medical report of cases on admission is, in fact, much felt and deplored by medical superintendents; and, since it is proposed that the district officer should visit the patient at his own home, or, in exceptional cases, elsewhere, and inquire into his mental and bodily state, and into the history of his disorder, before his removal to the asylum, and as soon as possible after the onset of the attack, he would be well-qualified to render a full account of his case. we have spoken of a notice of idiots within his district being sent to the district inspector, and of his duty to register them. this matter we regard as certainly calling for attention, for, as remarked in a previous page (p. ), idiots need be submitted to appropriate educational and medical means at an early age to derive the full benefits of those measures; and among the poor, they certainly should not be left uncared for and unnurtured in the indifferent and needy homes of their friends, until, probably, their condition is almost past amelioration. again, with reference to the transmission of pauper lunatics to county asylums, we are disposed to recommend that the order for it be signed by the district medical officer, without recourse to a justice, in those cases where he can visit them, and in comparison of which indeed others ought to be exceptional. where, for instance, by reason of the remoteness of the patient's home, or of the workhouse or other building wherein he is temporarily detained, the district medical officer's visit could not be specially made except at great cost, the removal of the patient to the asylum might be carried out under the order of a magistrate, and the examination made by the district officer, as soon after his reception as possible; or better, at his own residence, which ought to be in a town not far from the county asylum. we advocate the delegation of the authority to the district officer to make an order in lieu of a justice, on the production of the legal medical certificate required, because we consider him much better qualified to administer that portion of the lunacy law, particularly as that law at present stands, which puts it in the power of a justice to impede the transmission of a lunatic for treatment, if, in his opinion, the patient's malady do not require asylum care: and it is a fact, that the clause permitting a justice this influence over a patient's future condition is often exercised; at times, contrary to the decided advice of medical men, and to the detriment of the poor patient. lord shaftesbury refers to such an occurrence in his evidence (_op. cit._, query ). having in view private patients especially, his lordship remarks that nothing could be worse than to take them before a magistrate: "there would be a degree of publicity about it that would be most painful ..., and to have the matter determined by him whether the patient should or should not be put under medical treatment. in ninety-nine cases out of one hundred, the magistrate knows little or nothing about the matter. a case occurred the other day of a poor man who was taken before a magistrate, and he refused to certify, because the man was not in an infuriated state. 'a quiet person like him,' he said, 'ought not to be put into an asylum; take him back.' he was in a low, desponding state, and if he had been sent to a curative asylum, he might have been cured and restored to society." mr. gaskell also adds his evidence to that of the noble chairman of the board, in reply to query (_op. cit._ p. ) put by sir george grey:--"is the magistrate to be quite satisfied on the evidence that the pauper is a proper person to be taken charge of in the county asylum?" mr. gaskell replies, "yes, as i said, on the medical gentleman giving a certificate. then it is his duty to make an order, and if he is not satisfied by his own examination, or the medical evidence is not sufficient to justify the order, he declines. i am sorry to say that they frequently do." it is also to be remembered that the existing law allows the justice's order to be dispensed with, if it cannot be readily obtained, or if the patient cannot be conveniently taken before him, and admits as a substitute an order signed by an officiating clergyman and an overseer or a relieving officer, upon the production of a medical certificate. moreover, by the interpretation clause, the chaplain of a workhouse is to be deemed an officiating clergyman within the meaning of the act. now, these conditions seem to us to frustrate the undoubted intent of the law in requiring a magistrate's order, viz. to guard against the unnecessary detention of an alleged lunatic; for they place the liberty of the pauper entirely in the hands of parish officers and paid servants, who will naturally act in concert; and it is conceivable that workhouse authorities might be anxious to get rid of a refractory pauper, and could together with the relieving officer influence in a certain degree the opinions and sentiments of the salaried chaplain and medical officer, in order to sanction his removal to the county asylum. we have, indeed, in previous pages (p. , _et seq._), shown that unfit and occasionally non-lunatic patients are sent to asylums; but, even did such an event never happen, we should still hold that the protection to the alleged lunatic intended by the requirement of an order signed by the officials designated, is very little worth, and would be advantageously replaced by the order of a district medical officer appointed and authorized by the scheme we propose. it is also worthy of note, that patients sent to asylums under the order of the chaplain and relieving officer feel themselves sometimes much aggrieved that no magistrate or other independent authority has had a voice in the matter. they regard the relieving officer or the overseer, as the case may be, to be directly interested in their committal to the asylum, and only look upon the chaplain of the union as a paid officer, almost bound to append his signature to any document matured at the board of guardians, when called upon to do so. moreover, they can recognise in him, in his professional capacity as a clergyman, no especial qualifications for deciding on the question whether they are proper persons to be confined on the ground of their insanity. this remark, too, extends to every other clergyman called upon to act in the matter. nay, more, there is another more potent objection at times to a clergyman signing the order; viz. when the patient is of a different faith, or when perhaps animated by strong prejudices against the clergy of the english church, and when, consequently, it is possible for him to imagine himself the victim of religious persecution or of intolerance. even lord shaftesbury, who is so identified with the interests of religion and of its ministers, manifests no disposition to entrust to the clergy the interests of the insane. in reply to the query (no. , evid. com.), whether he would desire ministers of religion to pronounce on the fitness or unfitness of persons for confinement as of unsound mind, he replies, "i should have more distrust of the religious gentleman than i should have of the medical man; and i say that with the deepest respect for the ministers of religion. the difficulty of it would be incalculable, if you were to throw the duty on the parochial clergy in the neighbourhood, who are already overburdened." in truth, there is no more reason for assigning to the clergy the determination of the question of sanity or insanity of an alleged lunatic, than for entrusting it to any other respectable and educated class of society. we have seen that magistrates sometimes exercise their privilege of deciding the question in an arbitrary and injudicious manner, and it is permissible to suppose the clergy not to be always in the right in exercising the same function. indeed, we have at least one instance on record that they are not, in the supplement to the twelfth report of the commissioners in lunacy; viz. in the case of an epileptic woman, subject to paroxysms of dangerous violence and destructiveness,--such as are common to the epileptic insane in asylums, and reported by the master of the workhouse "as unsafe to be associated with the other inmates. for these offences she had been subjected to low diet, restraint, and seclusion, and on three occasions had been sent to prison. the medical officer of the workhouse considered her of unsound mind, not fit to be retained in the workhouse, and improperly treated by being sent to prison. in march , and february , he had given certificates to this effect, and steps were taken to remove her to the asylum. when taken on those occasions, however, before the vicar of the parish, he refused to sign the order, and she was consequently treated as refractory, and sent to prison." taking the foregoing remarks into consideration, the only circumstances under which we would call upon an officiating clergyman, not being the chaplain of the union, to make the order, would be where no magistrate resided in the neighbourhood, and where, from the remoteness of the locality, the district medical examiner could scarcely be expected to visit the individual case,--an event that would be of rare occurrence in this country. there are indeed cases, such as of acute mania, where the justification of the confinement of a lunatic, by the order of a magistrate or clergyman, is a mere formality, and might be altogether dispensed with, and all legal protection guaranteed by the medical certificate, and an order signed by a parish officer to authorize the asylum authorities to receive the patient at the charge of the parish sending him. but if this were objected to, then assuredly the examination of the lunatic immediately upon or just before his admission into the asylum by the district medical officer, would supply every desideratum in the interests of the patient, and such an examination would, according to our scheme, be always made at this stage of the patient's history. lastly, let it be remembered that a magistrate's order is not required for the admission of a private patient into an asylum or licensed house. a relative or friend may sign the order and statement, and the alleged lunatic is thought to be sufficiently protected by the two medical certificates. now, were a magistrate's or a clergyman's order any real security against the commission of a wrong to an individual, it would be much more necessary in the instance of private patients possessing property, and whose confinement might serve the interests of others, than in the case of paupers, for whose confinement in an asylum no inducement, but rather the contrary feeling, exists. in fact, the confirmation given to the propriety of placing a pauper lunatic in an asylum by the district medical officer, as proposed, might be considered supererogatory, considering that a certificate is required from the superintendent of the asylum shortly after admission, had it no other purpose in view. according to the proposition advanced by us, an experienced opinion by an independent authority would be obtained in lieu of one formed by an inexperienced magistrate (who would generally prefer escaping an interview with a madman, mostly act upon the medical opinion set forth, or if not, be very likely to make a blunder in the case), or of one certified by two inexperienced, paid, and therefore not sufficiently independent, workhouse functionaries. the clause proposed by the commissioners (supp. rep. , p. ), "that the medical officer of the workhouse shall specify, in the list of lunatic inmates kept by him, the forms of mental disorder, and indicate the patients whom he may deem curable, or otherwise likely to benefit by, or be in other respects proper for, removal to an asylum," is virtually unobjectionable; but, with due submission, we would advocate that, whether with or without this list and those expressions of opinion, the district medical officer's report should be considered the more important document whereon to act. the evidence given before the late committee of the house of commons ( ) shows that we must not expect much book-keeping or reporting from the parochial medical officers, and that many misconceptions and erroneous views prevail, and will damage results collected from them. the union medical officer will necessarily have his own opinions respecting the nature and prospects of the lunatics under his observation, and no great objection can be taken to his recording them, if thought worth while: yet they would be sure to be given, even without any legal requisition; and might often help, when privately expressed, the district examiner in his inquiries; and it would, besides, be better to avoid the chances of collision between the written opinions of two officers who should work together harmoniously. also, in the instance of private patients to be placed in an asylum, licensed house, or elsewhere with strangers, we look upon the visitation and examination of such a medical officer as we suggest as a valuable additional protection and security to them. he would constitute an authority in no way interested in the detention, and, by the nature of his office, bring to bear upon any doubtful cases an unusual amount of special knowledge and experience. we cannot help thinking that such a functionary would be much more efficient and useful than a magistrate (to whom some have proposed an appeal), as a referee to determine on the expediency of placing a person under certificate as of unsound mind. another class of duties to devolve on a district medical officer comprises those required to watch over the interests and welfare of pauper lunatics sent to, or resident in, workhouses. at p. , we have advanced the proposition, that, in future, no alleged lunatics should be removed to a workhouse, except as a temporary expedient under particular conditions, such as of long distance from the asylum or unmanageable violence at home; and that in all cases a certificate to authorize any length of detention in a workhouse should emanate from the district medical officer. the object of this proposal is to prevent the introduction of new, and particularly of acute cases of insanity, into workhouses; for, as we have shown in the section 'on the detention of patients in workhouses' (p. , _et seq._), the tendency is, when they are once received, to keep them there. according to our scheme, the district officer would receive notice of all fresh cases from the medical practitioner in attendance upon them, and, in general, visit them at their homes before removal to the workhouse or elsewhere. with respect to the actual inmates of the workhouse, it would be equally his duty to ascertain their mental and bodily state, to suggest measures to ameliorate their condition, and to report on those whom he might consider fit for removal either to the county asylum or to lodgings out of the union-house. he would make his report both to the committee of visitors of the workhouse, hereafter spoken of, and to the lunacy commissioners. it should devolve primarily upon the committee to act upon the reports, or, on their omission so to do, the commissioners in lunacy, either with or without a special examination made by one or more of their number, should be empowered to enforce those changes which might in their opinion be absolutely necessary. again, by suggestion (p. ), we provide that no person shall be detained as a lunatic or idiot, or as a person of unsound or weak mind, except under an order and a medical certificate to the existence of mental derangement, just such as is needed to legalize confinement in an asylum. the order would best come from the district medical examiner, whilst the certificate would, as usual, be signed by the union medical officer. now, by one of the propositions contained in the supplementary report of the commissioners in lunacy ( , p. ), it is sought to render a similar protection by another expedient; viz. that the alleged lunatic "shall be taken before a justice or officiating clergyman, and adjudged by him as not proper to be sent to an asylum." by the next paragraph, it is further proposed that, "in any case wherein an order for a lunatic's reception into an asylum shall be made by a justice or officiating clergyman, it shall be competent for him, if, for special reasons, to be set forth in his order, he shall deem it expedient, to direct that such lunatic be taken, _pro tempore_, to the workhouse, and there detained for such limited period, not exceeding two clear days, as may be necessary, pending arrangements for his removal to the asylum." now, with all becoming deference to the position and experience of the commissioners, we must confess to a predilection for our own plan, which, indeed, was drawn out before the appearance of the supplemental report. this preference we entertain for the reasons shown when speaking of the relative qualifications of magistrates and clergymen to make the order for admission into asylums; viz. that on the one hand there are no à priori grounds for supposing their discrimination of insanity, and of its wants and requisite treatment, to be better than that of other people; that some direct objections attach to clergymen, and that experience proves that neither justices nor clergymen have hitherto so performed the duty as to afford any inducement to increase its extent; and, on the other, that in the district medical officer we have an independent and skilled person to accomplish the work. nevertheless the suggestion offered by the commissioners is a great improvement upon the practice in vogue, which leaves the determination of the place and means of treatment, and of the capability of a patient to be discharged or removed, to the parish authorities. on this matter we have commented in previous pages, and illustrated at large in the history of the condition of the insane in workhouses, or boarded with their friends outside. by suggestion (p. ), we propose that no lunatic or other person of unsound mind in a workhouse should be allowed to be discharged or removed without the sanction of the district medical officer. this proposition we regard as of great importance; for we have seen (p. , _et seq._) with what recklessness, contempt of common sense, and cruelty, poor lunatics are removed from workhouses to asylums under the operation of existing arrangements. again, some directing, experienced and independent authority is needed (p. ) to overrule the removal of imbecile and other inmates to the houses of their relatives or of strangers; to indicate the cases to be sent, and to examine the accommodation, and ascertain the character and fitness of the persons offering to receive them. these functions also we would delegate to the district medical officer. once more, imbecile, partially idiotic, and occasionally patients more rightly called lunatic, are sent away, or allowed to discharge themselves from, the workhouse, with the sanction of the authorities of the house and of the guardians. the terrible evils of this proceeding are alluded to at p. , and more fully entered into in the commissioners' supplementary report ( ), and in the evidence before the committee on lunatics ( , queries - ). the district medical officer would here again come into requisition, and, under a distinct enactment of the law, resist the discharge, unless satisfied that the relatives of the disordered or imbecile paupers, particularly when females, could afford proper supervision and accommodation, and exercise due control over them. the sixth suggestion we have made (p. ) contemplates the visitation of lunatics in workhouses, not only by the lunacy commissioners, as heretofore, but also by a committee of magistrates, and the district medical officer. the powers committed to the lunacy commissioners by existing acts to inspect workhouses are very inadequate and unsatisfactory; for, as the commissioners observe, they can make recommendations, but have no authority to enforce attention to them, and the only course open to them is, to get their views represented through the medium of the poor law board; and, although this board co-operates most readily in their recommendations, yet it has no positive power to enforce them. the result is, the commissioners find that the circuitous and troublesome proceeding to which they are restricted renders their endeavours in behalf of workhouse lunatics almost nugatory. to rectify this objectionable state of things, the first principle to be recognised is, that the lunacy board shall be charged with the custody of all lunatics, whose interests it shall watch over and have the necessary power to promote, however and wherever they may be found. it should not have to exercise its authority, to enforce its orders and regulations, through the medium or by the agency of any other board. no competing authority should exist. all lunatics should be reported to the commissioners; all should be subject to their visitation, or to that of any assistants appointed under them; and the power of release should be lodged in their hands in respect of all classes of patients when they see reason to exercise it. in the instance of pauper lunatics in workhouses, they should be able to interpose in their behalf, to require every necessary precaution to be taken for their security, and due accommodation and treatment provided. the district medical officer would be their local representative; would make frequent inspections, and report to them and act under their direction. he would indeed be responsible to them in all duties connected with the interests of the insane. we have (p. ) proposed a committee of visitors of workhouses, for each county or for each division of the county, selected from the magistrates and from the respectable classes of ratepayers, not being guardians or overseers, although chosen with a view to represent parochial interests. this committee should visit, at least once a quarter, every workhouse containing a person of unsound mind or an idiot, in the district under its jurisdiction; and it would be desirable that the district medical inspector should visit in company with the committee, besides making other visits by himself at other times. we are happy to find that this suggestion tallies in general with one made by the commissioners in lunacy in their recent supplementary report, as well as with the views of dr. bucknill. but we conceive it rather a defect in the commissioners' scheme that they propose that "the visiting commissioner and the poor law inspector be empowered to order and direct the relieving officer to take any insane inmate before a justice, under the provision of the th section of the lunatic asylums act, ." for, according to the principle enunciated in the last page, the lunacy commissioners, as the special guardians of the insane, should alone be concerned in the direct administration of the laws of lunacy, and on this ground we object to the power proposed to be conferred on the poor law inspectors; and we take a further objection to their being called upon to form an opinion respecting the lunatics who require asylum treatment, and those who do not. there is truly no impediment, in the abstract, to their forming an opinion; yet, on the other hand, we would not have them to act upon it, but desire them to report the circumstances falling under their notice to the lunacy commissioners, who would thereupon examine into them, and decide on the steps to be taken. by the plan, however, which we have drawn out, and by the functions proposed to be entrusted to the district medical officer, the whole clause last discussed would be rendered superfluous. the seventh suggestion (p. ) submitted to consideration is, that every workhouse containing lunatics should, under certain necessary regulations, be licensed as a place of detention for them, by the committees of visitors of workhouses when situated in the provinces, and by the lunacy commissioners when in the metropolitan district, and that the licence should be revoked by the committees, after reference to the lunacy board, in the case of workhouses licensed by them, and by the commissioners solely in the instance of any workhouse whatever. this plan confers the requisite power on the commissioners to control the accommodation and management of workhouse wards for lunatics, and resembles the one pursued at present with regard to asylums. it would likewise permit them to order the closure of lunatic wards, and the removal of all lunatics from a workhouse, when they were persuaded that proper asylum or other accommodation was available for the insane inmates. whatever course they adopted, or whatever decision they arrived at on such matters, they would be chiefly guided by the results of the inspection and the reports thereon made by the district medical officer, and further established by their own visitation. the present number of commissioners is far too small for them to visit each workhouse even once a year; and, if our views respecting the necessity of a complete examination of every one of such institutions, at least four times a year, be correct, it would still be impossible to get this work done by them, even though their number was trebled; therefore, as just said, the inspection made by the district medical officer would afford the chief materials for their guidance in dealing with workhouse lunatics, and save them an immense amount of labour. our eighth suggestion (p. ) is to the effect that all lunatics in workhouses should be reported to the lunacy commissioners, and that this should be done by the district medical officer (p. ). the number, age, sex, form and duration of malady, previous condition in life and occupation, and all particulars touching the mental and bodily condition of the patients, would be thus duly registered. the advantages of such a system of reporting are obvious, and, as this branch of the district officer's work has partially come under notice before, it need not be enlarged upon here. the law provides for the occasional visitation of pauper lunatics in asylums chargeable to parishes, by a certain number of the officers, and among them the medical officer of the parish to which, as paupers, they are chargeable; and something, by way of remuneration for their trouble, is allowed out of the funds of the union or parish. this arrangement keeps up a connexion between a parish and the lunatics chargeable to it in the county asylum, which in various respects is desirable, and probably satisfactory to the ratepayers. but the lunatic inmates of an asylum chargeable to the county do not receive the benefit of any such wise provision: when once in the asylum, they find none interested in their condition save the staff of the asylum, its visitors, and the commissioners. the last-named, in their annual visit, can have no time to consider them apart,--not even to discover and distinguish them from the rest. very many of them are foreigners, and their condition is consequently more deserving commiseration, as being, most likely, without friends, to interest themselves in their behalf. if the inquiry were made of the superintendents of county asylums, we believe it would be found that the omission of the law in providing for the more immediate watching of these poor lunatics is attended with disadvantages and injuries to them. to supply this want, we are disposed to recommend the district medical inspector as their special visitor; for he would be identified, on the one hand, with the county in which his duties lie, and, on the other, with the lunacy board, in such a manner as to be able to lay before it, in the readiest and best manner, any circumstances respecting these county pauper lunatics which it might seem desirable to report, and, when they were foreigners, to bring about a communication with the foreign office, and secure their removal to their own country. the visitation of these lunatics would rightly entitle the district officer to remuneration, which might be the same as that now paid per head for the visitation of out-door pauper lunatics, viz. half-a-crown per quarter. this amount would be payable by the county to which the patients were chargeable, and would add to the fund applicable for the general purposes of the lunacy board. the supplementary report of the lunacy commissioners ( , p. - ) contains some observations relative to the decision, in the instance of workhouse inmates, of the question who among them are to be reckoned as "lunatics, insane persons, and idiots" on the parish books? it is at present a task left to the guardians, the master, or to the parish medical officer; but the commissioners rightly recommend that it should be entrusted to the last-named officer. however, we should prefer to see the duty delegated to the district medical inspector, as better qualified, in general, by experience, and, what would be of more importance, as being independent of parochial functionaries: for the duty is a delicate and responsible one; and, the disposition of guardians being economical where money is to be expended on the poor, they always desire to escape the heavier charge entailed by lunatics, and, where they can manage it, are pleased to witness the discharge of imbecile paupers, and of others more correctly called insane, whom they may choose for the time to consider as sane enough to be at large. the difficulties besetting this question of determining what paupers are to be considered insane, and what not, is remarked upon by the scotch lunacy commissioners in their recently-published first report ( ), and was referred to in the english commissioners' report for (p. & p. ). the enormous evils attending the present loose mode of deciding the question are sketched in the supplementary report quoted, and in previous pages of this book. we now come to the duties of the district medical officer in reference to the pauper insane not in workhouses or asylums, but boarded with relatives or strangers: as, however, we have, treated of them at some length in the section on the condition of those lunatics (p. , _et seq._), we will refer the reader back to that portion of the book. suffice it here to say, that the district medical officer is very much needed as an independent and competent functionary to supervise and regulate the state and circumstances of this class of poor patients. he should visit every poor person wholly or partially chargeable, or proposed to be made chargeable, to the parish, as being of unsound mind (p. ), and make a quarterly return to the parochial authorities and to the lunacy board (p. ). he should also take in hand the selection of the residence and the examination into the circumstances surrounding the patient (p. ). if the scheme of boarding the pauper insane in the vicinity of the county asylums, in cottage-homes (see p. , and p. ), were carried out, the extent of the duties of the district inspector would be much curtailed, inasmuch as a majority of such lunatics would fall within the sphere of the asylum superintendents in all matters of supervision. the subsequent publication of the "evidence before the select committee on lunatics," , enables us to refer the reader to other illustrations of much weight, to show the pressing demand for an efficient inspection of single cases, and for securing satisfactory returns of their condition, particularly when paupers. the necessity for inspection is proved by lord shaftesbury's exposure of the wretched state of single patients (at p. , _et seq._), and the want of returns by the evidence of mr. gaskell (p. , _et seq._). the passages bearing on these points are too long for quotation at this part of our work, and are very accessible (blue book above-mentioned) to every reader desirous of seeing other evidence than that adduced in preceding pages. the appointment of the district medical officer would have this further benefit with reference to out-door pauper lunatics, that it would set aside discussions respecting the persons who should receive relief as such; a circumstance, upon which turns, as noticed before (p. ), the question of the quarterly payment of two shillings and sixpence for each lunatic visited. the district officer would possess an entire independence of parish officials, and could not be suspected of any interested motive in making his decision. in undertaking the inspection of this class of pauper lunatics, he would certainly displace the parish medical officers, and the small fee payable to these last would fall into the treasury of the lunacy board; yet the loss to an individual union medical officer would be scarcely appreciable; for the number of lunatics boarded out in any one parish or portion of a parish coming under his care, would, in every case, be very small; whilst, on the other hand, the sum in the aggregate paid into the hands of the commissioners, on account of all such patients in the kingdom, would,--supposing, for example, our estimate of to be tolerably correct,--form a not inconsiderable sum; taking the number mentioned, it would amount to £ per annum,--a useful contribution to the fund for meeting the expenses of district medical inspectors, and sufficient to pay the salary of eight such officers. but the fee might be doubled without being burdensome to any parish. although the commissioners in lunacy might occasionally visit private lunatics in their own homes, and more especially those boarded with strangers, yet it would be impossible for them, even if their number were doubled, to exercise that degree of supervision which is called for. this would particularly be the case, were the system of registration, or of reporting all persons under restraint on account of mental disorder or mental weakness, carried out; and the only plan that appears for securing the desired inspection of their condition, and of the circumstances and propriety of their detention, is that of imposing the duty upon the district medical officer. we have already suggested that this officer should see all such cases when first registered; by so doing, he would be brought into contact with the patients and their families, and would, as a county physician, also constitute a less objectionable inspector than even the commissioners themselves in their character as strangers and as members of a public board. the medical inspector's visit should be made at least four times a year, and a moderate fee be paid on account of it to the general fund of the lunacy board. if it were only half-a-guinea per quarter for each patient, it would produce a considerable sum available for the purposes of the commission. there is yet one other duty we would delegate to the district medical officer, viz. that of visiting the private asylums not in the metropolitan district, in company with the committee of visiting justices, who, according to the requirement of the present law, must join with themselves a physician, in making their statutory visits. we conceive that the assistance of such a physician as we would wish appointed in the capacity of district medical officer, would render the magisterial visits more satisfactory, and establish a desirable connexion between the visiting justices and the lunacy board. we do hear, at times, of a species of rivalry or of opposition between the visitors of private asylums and the commissioners, to the detriment of proprietors. if such an evil prevails, one means of checking it would, we believe, be found in the position and authority of the district medical officer when called on, as suggested, to act as the visiting physician with the magistracy as well as the local representative of the commissioners in lunacy. on reviewing the duties to be undertaken by a district medical officer, the propriety of the remarks with which we began this chapter will appear:--viz. that he should occupy as independent a position as possible; that, as a medical man, he should be free from all sentiments of rivalry, and therefore not be engaged in practice,--or at least not in general practice. it would be much better that he should not practise at all on his own account, but should be so remunerated that he might devote all his time and attention to the duties of his office. he should receive a fixed annual stipend, and not be dependent on fees. by this course, he could not be accused of having any interest in the seclusion of the insane under his supervision. so, again, in order to confer on him the necessary independence in the discharge of his duties, his appointment should be made by the lunacy board with the concurrence of the home secretary or of the lord chancellor,--not by the magistrates, nor by any parochial authorities. it should also be a permanent appointment, held during good behaviour, and revocable by the commissioners only, after an investigation of any charges of misconduct, and upon conviction. the acquisition of the services of suitable and competent medical men might be started as a difficulty in carrying out our scheme; yet it is really of so little moment that it scarcely needs discussion. the development of the country perpetually opens up new offices and creates a demand for fitting men to fill them; but, by the law of political economy, that where there is a demand there will be a supply, individuals rapidly come forward who are adapted, or soon become adapted, to the new class of duties. and so it would be on instituting the post of district medical officer in each county or division of a county; for it is to be remembered that the rapid extension of asylums has raised up a class of medical practitioners specially conversant with the insane; so that, when a vacancy occurs in any one such institution, qualified candidates spring up by the dozen, and the difficulty is, not to find a suitable man, but to decide which of many very suitable applicants is the most so. moreover, the anxiety, the mental wear and tear, and the greater or less seclusion of an asylum superintendent's life, are such, that his retirement after some fifteen or twenty years' service is most desirable, although his age itself may not be so far advanced but that many years of active usefulness are before him: to many such a retired superintendent, the post of district medical inspector, even at a very moderate salary, would be acceptable, whilst its duties would be most competently performed by him. our business has been to point out wherein a necessity appears for the appointment of a district medical officer in the interests of the insane, and to indicate, in general, the duties which would devolve upon him in regard to them; but we may be allowed to hint at another set of duties which, we are of opinion, might most advantageously be allotted to him, and afford an additional argument in favour of creating him a public servant, so paid as legitimately to demand his withdrawal from private medical practice. the duties we mean are in connexion with medico-legal investigations in cases of sudden and of violent death, of criminal injuries, and of alleged lunacy; duties, by the way, which are exercised by the district or provincial physicians in continental states. we should, by such an arrangement, obtain the services of a medical man expert in all those inquiries and trials which come before the coroner's court and the higher courts of law; we should obtain a skilled and experienced physician, occupying a position perfectly independent of either side, in any trial or investigation where a medical opinion or the result of medical observation was called for. medical witnesses, in a legal inquiry, are not unfrequently blamed, and still oftener criticized, and perhaps unfairly so, by their professional brethren, respecting the manner in which they may have made an autopsy, or conducted the examination in other ways, touching the cause of death, or an act of criminal violence; and they are always exposed to the rivalry of their neighbours; and wishes that some skilled individual had been sent for in their stead to conduct the investigation, find their way into the public papers. again, it should be remembered that a medico-legal inquiry is an exceptional event in the practice of most medical men: they bring to it no particular experience, and generally they would much prefer to escape such investigations altogether, as they seriously interfere with their ordinary avocations, and obtain for them no adequate remuneration. yet withal, the plan proposed would far from entirely prevent their being engaged in the subjects comprehended in the term 'medical jurisprudence,' or deprive them of fees. as the actual practitioners of the country and always near at hand, they would be the first sent for in any case, the history or termination of which might involve a judicial inquiry; whilst, on the other hand, the district medical officer would have to be summoned and would act in the case only as the representative of the public interests and of the public security. lastly, the district medical officer in the discharge of his duties would not render the services of special medical jurists unnecessary; the chemist, for instance, would be as important in his special calling as he is at the present time, wherever death by poisoning was suspected. it would be beside our purpose in this treatise to enlarge upon the medico-legal duties which would devolve on the district medical officer in the position in which we would place him, or on the benefits that would accrue from his labour to public justice, and to the interests of the state. reflection upon the plan will, we believe, convince any reader, who knows how matters now are, that it would lead to an immense improvement. it appears to be a feature of our countrymen, both in public and private affairs, that they will avoid, as long as possible, recourse to a system or to a plan of organization; they seem to prefer letting matters go on as long as they will in their own way, and only awake to a consciousness that something is wanting when errors and grievances have reached their culminating point, and a continuation in the old course becomes practically impossible. then, when the evil has attained gigantic dimensions, when much injury has been inflicted, and an enormous waste in time and money has occurred, committees of inquiry and special commissioners are hastily appointed, a sort of revelry indulged in the revelations of past misadventures and past folly and neglect; and some scheme is seen to be imperatively necessary, the costliness of which must be endured; and, perhaps, the conviction all at once arises, that the cost of the needed plan of organization, which can be estimated, is in fact much less than what has been submitted to, without attempting an estimate, for a long time before. we lag behind most countries on the continent in our state medical organization; our individual instruments are better, yet they are not co-ordinated in any general system. we trust that this has been in some measure shown in the preceding pages, and that it has been made out, that if the insane, and more particularly those in private houses and those who are paupers, are to be efficiently looked after, and their protection from injuries and their proper care and treatment secured, some such scheme as we have indicated is now called for. surely evils have sufficiently culminated, when at least one-half of the insane inhabitants of this country have either no direct legal protection, are unknown to the publicly-appointed authorities under whose care they ought to be, or are so situated that their protection and their interests are most inadequately provided for. did not a necessity for an improved and extended organization on behalf of the interests of the insane exist, the plea of its cost would probably defeat an attempt to establish it, notwithstanding the plainest proofs of its contingent advantages, and of the fact that sooner or later its adoption would be imperative. but, looking at the question merely with reference to the cost entailed, we believe, that this would not be considerable, and that, as a new burden, it would indeed be very small: for, as we have pointed out, there are certain moneys now paid under acts of parliament, which would, by the organization advocated, become available towards defraying its expenses. for instance, the fee of ten shillings per annum, payable for the quarterly visits to every pauper lunatic not in asylums, would revert to the district officers; as likewise would the fee payable to the physician called upon by the visitors to the licensed houses in every county. we have also proposed a fee to be paid for a quarterly visit to all county patients in lunatic asylums, and to all private patients provided for singly, and are of opinion that a payment should be made for each lunatic or 'nervous' patient, when registered as such, whether pauper or not; the sum, in the case of a pauper, however, of a smaller amount than that for a private lunatic. considering the character and extent of the supervision and attention proposed to be rendered, and the numerous advantages, direct and indirect, which would necessarily accrue from the establishment of the organization suggested, there are certainly good grounds for enforcing payment for services rendered, so as to make the whole scheme nearly, or quite, self-supporting. to repeat one observation before concluding this chapter,--it should be so ordered, that all moneys levied on account of the visits of district medical officers, and of registration, should be paid to the credit of the lunacy board, through the medium of which those officers would receive their salaries. chap. x.--on the lunacy commission. we put forward our remarks upon this subject with all becoming deference; yet it was impossible to take a review of the state of lunacy and of the legal provision for the insane without referring to it. indeed, in previous pages several observations have fallen respecting the duties and position of the commission of lunacy, and the operation and powers of this board have also formed the topic of many remarks and discussions in other books, as well as in journals, and elsewhere. there appears to be in the english character such an aversion to centralization as to constitute a real impediment to systematic government. various questions in social science are allowed, as it were, to work out their own solution, and are not aided and guided towards a correct one by an attempt at system or organization. confusion, errors, and miseries must prevail for a time, until by general consent an endeavour to allay them is agreed upon, and a long-procrastinated scheme of direction and control is submitted to, and slowly recognized as a long-deferred good. such is the history of the care and treatment of the insane. after ages of neglect, evils had so accumulated and so loudly cried for redress, that some plan of conveying relief became imperative; and it is only within our own era, that the first systematic attempt at legislation for the insane was inaugurated. from time to time experience has shown the existence of defects, and almost every parliament has been called upon to amend or to repeal old measures, and to enact new ones, to improve and extend the legal organization for the care and treatment of lunatics and of their property. one most important part of this organization was the establishment of the lunacy commission, which has given cohesion and efficacy to the whole. to the energy and activity of this board are mainly due the immense improvements in the treatment of the insane which characterize the present time, and contrast so forcibly with the state of things that prevailed before this central authority was called into power. the official visitation by its members of all the asylums of the country has imparted a beneficial impulse to every superintendent; the commissioners have gone from place to place, uprooting local prejudices, overturning false impressions, and transplanting the results of their wide experience and observation on the construction and organization of asylums, and on the treatment of the insane, by means of their written and unwritten recommendations, and by their official reports, which form the depositories of each year's experience. an attempt to show the manifold advantages of this central board would be here out of place; but we may, for example's sake, adduce the recent investigation into the condition of lunatics in workhouses, as one of many excellent illustrations of the benefits derived from an independent central authority. but, whilst illustrating how much and how long the supervision of independent visitors has been, and, in fact, still is needed over lunatics in those receptacles, it also proves that the existing staff is inadequate to fulfil the task. we have, indeed, suggested the appointment of a class of district medical officers who would relieve the commissioners from the greatest part of the labour of inspecting workhouse lunatic wards, but we would not thereby entirely absolve them from this duty. an annual visit from one commissioner to each union-house containing more than a given number of lunatics would not be too much; and, to make this visit effectual, the commissioner should be armed with such plenary powers as to make his recommendations all but equivalent to commands, though subject to appeal. at present the lunacy commissioners are practically powerless; the law orders their visits to be made, and sanctions their recommendations, but gives neither to them nor to the officers of the poor law board the power to insist on their advice being attended to if no reasonable grounds to the contrary can be shown. in this matter, therefore, a reform of the law is called for. the court of appeal from the views of the commissioners might be formed of a certain number of the members of the poor law board and of the lunacy commission, combined for the purpose when occasion required. the proposition has been made (p. ) to institute a committee of visitors of workhouses, chiefly selected from the county magistracy; and it is one that will no doubt be generally approved. but to the further proposition, that the supervision of workhouse lunatics should be entirely entrusted to these committees, and that the commissioners in lunacy should not be at all concerned in it, we do not agree; for, in the first place, we wish to see the lunacy commissioners directly interested in every lunatic in the kingdom, and acquainted with each one by their own inspection or by that of special officers acting immediately under their authority; and, in the second place, we desire to retain the visitation of the members of the commission in the capacity of independent and experienced inspectors. the advantages of an independent body of visitors, as stated in the commissioners' 'further report,' (p. ), chiefly with reference to asylums (see p. ), have much the same force when applied to the visitors of workhouses,--that is, if the insane in these latter receptacles are to be placed on an equality, as far as regards public protection and supervision, with their more fortunate brethren in affliction detained in asylums. but, besides the arguments based on the advantages accruing from an independent and experienced body of visitors, there is yet another to be gathered from the past history of workhouses and their official managers: for among the members of boards of guardians, to whom the interests of the poor in workhouses are confided, are to be found, in a large number of parishes, magistrates holding the position of ordinary or of honorary guardians; and, notwithstanding this infusion of the magisterial element, we find that almost incredible catalogue of miseries revealed to us by the lunacy commissioners to be endured by the greater number of lunatics in workhouses. in fact, to assign the entire supervision of workhouse lunatic inmates to a committee of visiting justices is merely to transfer the task to another body of visitors, who have little further recommendations for the office than the boards of guardians as at present constituted. from these and other considerations, we advocate not only the visitation of lunatics in workhouses by the district medical officers proposed, but also, at longer intervals, by one or more of the commissioners or of their assistants; and, if this idea is to be realized, an increase of the commission will be necessary, at least until union-houses are evacuated of their insane inmates. the beneficial results flowing from the visitation of asylums by the lunacy commissioners is a matter of general assent; and the opinion is probably as widely shared, that this visitation should be rendered more frequent. a greater frequency of visits would allay many public suspicions and prejudices regarding private asylums, and would, we believe, be cheerfully acquiesced in by asylum proprietors, who usually desire to meet with the countenance and encouragement of the commissioners in those arrangements which they contrive for the benefit of their patients. the proceeding in question would, likewise, furnish the commissioners with opportunities for that more thorough and repeated examination of cases, particularly of those which are not unlikely to become the subject of judicial inquiries. the ability to do this might, indeed, often save painful and troublesome law processes; for, surely, the careful and repeated examinations of the commissioners, skilled in such inquiries, when terminating in the conclusion that the patient is of unsound mind, and rightly secluded, should be accounted a sufficient justification of the confinement, and save both the sufferer and his friends from a public investigation of the case. the decision of the lunacy commissioners, we are of opinion, should be held equivalent to that of a public court, and should not be set aside except upon appeal to a higher court, and on evidence being shown that there are good reasons for supposing the original decision to be in some measure faulty. is not, it may be asked, the verdict of a competent, unprejudiced body of gentlemen, skilled in investigating lunacy cases, of more value than that of a number of perhaps indifferently-instructed men, of no experience in such matters, under the influence of powerful appeals to their feelings by ingenious counsel, and confounded by the multiplicity and diversity of evidence of numerous witnesses, scared or ensnared by cross-examination in its enunciation? again, the more frequent visitation of the insane by the commissioners would be productive of the further benefit of obviating the imputation that patients are improperly detained after recovery; and it would also, in some cases, be salutary to the minds of patients, fretting under the impression of their unnecessary seclusion; for the inmates of asylums naturally look to the commissioners for release, anticipate their visits with hope, and regret the long interval of two, three, or more months, before they can obtain a chance of making their wants known, particularly since they are conscious how many affairs are to be transacted during the visit, and that only one or two of their number can expect to obtain special consideration. there is, moreover, a new set of duties the commissioners propose to charge themselves with, involved in the clause of the bill introduced in the last session of parliament (clause ), requiring information to be given them of the payment made for patients in asylums, in order to their being able to satisfy themselves that the accommodation provided is equivalent to the charges paid. this task will necessarily entail increased labour on the commission, and lead, not only to inquiries touching the provision made for the care and comfort of the patients within the asylum, but also to others concerning the means in the possession of their friends, and the fair proportion which ought to be alloted for their use. in short, we cannot help thinking that the duties proposed will frequently lead the commissioners to take the initiative in a course of inquiries respecting the property of lunatics available for their maintenance. according to present arrangements, although every asylum in the country is under the jurisdiction of the commissioners in lunacy, yet, beyond the metropolitan district, their jurisdiction is divided, and the county magistrates share in it. indeed, provincial asylums are placed especially under the jurisdiction of the magistrates, by whom the plans of licensed houses are approved, licences granted or revoked, and four visitations made in the course of each year; whilst the commissioners, although they can, by appeal to the chancellor, revoke licences in the provinces, are not concerned in granting them, and make only two visits yearly to each licensed house beyond the metropolitan district. this variety in the extent of the jurisdiction of the lunacy board in town and country, is, to our mind, anomalous, and without any practical advantage. if the magisterial authority is valuable in the regulation of asylums at one portion of the country, it must be equally so at another; the 'non-professional element' (evid. com., query ), if of importance in the country, must be equally so in the neighbourhood of the metropolis. we do not argue against the introduction of magisterial visitation of asylums, but against the anomaly of requiring it in the country and not in town, and against treating provincial asylums as not equally in need of the supervision of the central board with the metropolitan. we perceive a distinction made, but cannot recognize a difference. there is a single jurisdiction in the instance of one set of asylums, and a divided one in that of another; and yet the circumstances are alike in the two. the real explanation of this anomaly in the public supervision and control of asylums, is, we believe, to be found in the fact of the inadequacy of the lunacy commission to undertake the entire work. the superiority of the commissioners, as more efficient, experienced, and independent visitors, will be generally admitted; but they are too few in number to carry out the same inspection of all the private asylums in the country, as they do of those in the metropolitan district. the commissioners are free from local prejudices, unmixed in county politics, and constitute a permanent, unfluctuating board of inspection and reference; whereas county and borough magistrates owe their appointment usually to political considerations and influence: politics are a subject of bitter warfare among them in most counties; local and personal prejudices and dislikes are more prone to affect them as local men; and, withal, the committees of visiting justices are liable to perpetual change, and, out of the entire number elected on a committee, the actual work is undertaken only by a few, who therefore wield all the legal powers entrusted to the whole body. a passage from the 'further report' of the lunacy commissioners ( ) recently referred to (p. ) may be serviceably quoted in this place. speaking of the extracts selected by them for publication in the report, "to show that occasions are continually arising, where the intervention of authority is beneficial," the commissioners proceed to remark that "the defects adverted to in the extracts may sometimes appear to be not very important; but they are considerable in point of number, and, taken altogether, the aggregate amount of benefit derived by the patients from their amendment, and from the amendment of many other defects only verbally noticed by the commissioners, has been very great. it is most desirable that no defect, however small, which can interfere with the comfort of the patient, should at any time escape remark. a careful and frequent scrutiny has been found to contribute more than anything else to ensure cleanliness and comfort in lunatic establishments, and good treatment to the insane. these facts will tend to show how advantageous, and indeed how necessary, is the frequent visitation of all asylums. it is indispensable that powers of supervision should exist in every case; that they should be vested in persons totally unconnected with the establishment; and that the visitations should not be limited in point of number, and should be uncertain in point of time: for it is most important to the patients that every proprietor and superintendent should always be kept in expectation of a visit, and should thus be compelled to maintain his establishment and its inmates in such a state of cleanliness and comfort as to exempt him from the probability of censure. we are satisfied, from our experience, that, if the power of visitation were withdrawn, all or most of the abuses that the parliamentary investigations of , , and brought to light, would speedily revive, and that the condition of the lunatic would be again rendered as miserable as heretofore." we have in past pages referred to magisterial authority in relation with the pauper insane, as frequently exercised prejudicially, and with reference to asylum construction and organization, as sometimes placed in antagonism to acknowledged principles and universal practice, much to the injury of the afflicted inmates. its operation is not more satisfactory when extended to the duties of inspection. we have heard complaints made that magistrates sometimes act very arbitrarily in their capacity of visitors to asylums, and that it is not uncommon for them, instead of acting in concert with the commissioners in lunacy, to place themselves in opposition to their views. in fact, the annual reports of the commissioners testify to the not unfrequent want of harmony between the visiting magistrates and the commissioners in lunacy; and the very facts, that the latter have to make special yearly reports to the lord chancellor on the neglect or unfitness of certain private houses, and that they have sometimes to apply to him to revoke licences, demonstrate that the magisterial authorities are at times backward and negligent in their duties. indeed, the impression to be gathered from the annual reports of the commission is, that almost the only efficient supervision and control of provincial asylums are exercised by the lunacy commissioners. the publication of the evidence before the select committee ( ) adds fresh proofs that magistrates make but indifferent visitors of asylums, and but imperfectly protect the interests of the insane; and that an extension of the jurisdiction and of the inspection by the lunacy commissioners is much needed. we would refer for particulars to queries and answers numbered from to , and from to . we have commented in previous pages on the manner in which the visiting justices of public asylums perform their duties, and need not repeat the statements already made; yet we may here remark that the visitation of the wards of county asylums is often so very carelessly made, that it has little or no value, and that it is frequently difficult to get the quorum of two justices to make it, the majority objecting on personal and other grounds. from the foregoing considerations we would advocate the extension of the commissioners' jurisdiction, and its assimilation to that in force within the metropolitan district. to extend it merely to thirty miles around the metropolis, as some have proposed, would be only to increase the anomaly complained of. the lunatics, and those in whose charge they live, in every district in england, should be under one uniform jurisdiction, with the authority and protection of one set of public officers and one code of rules. if magisterial supervision have a real value, let it be superadded to a complete scheme of inspection and control exercised by the lunacy commissioners; and if it exist anywhere, let no district be exempt from it; for the existence of any such exemption furnishes a standing argument against the value attributed to its presence. for instance, it may be fairly asked,--are the metropolitan licensed houses any the worse for the absence of magisterial authority, or, otherwise, are the provincial any better for its presence? according to lord shaftesbury's evidence,--and his lordship is favourable to the authority of the justices being perpetuated,--the system of licensing provincial houses is sometimes loosely conducted; the house is only known to the licensing magistrates by the plan presented, and its internal arrangements must be virtually unknown, inasmuch as no inspection is made of the premises. this furnishes an argument for handing over the licensing power to the commissioners in lunacy, who exercise this portion of their duties with the greatest care and after the most minute examination. but, besides this, the position of a magistrate does not afford in itself any guarantee of capacity for estimating what the requirements of the insane ought to be, or of judging of the fitness of a house for their reception. the act of licensing should certainly be conducted upon one uniform system and set of regulations; and the revocation of licences should likewise be in the hands of one body. no division of opinion should arise between a public board and a committee of justices respecting the circumstances which should regulate the granting or the refusing, the continuation or the revocation of a licence. a divided, and therefore jarring jurisdiction, cannot be beneficial; and the arguments for the introduction of the magisterial element depend on the popular plea for the liberty of local government,--a liberty, which too often tends to the annihilation of all effectual administration. if our views are correct, and if the jurisdiction of the commissioners in lunacy ought to be increased, then, as a result, the number of commissioners must also be augmented. in the need of this increase, very many, indeed the large majority of persons acquainted with the legal provisions made for the care and treatment of lunatics, concur; and reasons for it will still further appear upon a review of the other functions assigned to the commissioners, and of those with which we would charge them. by existing arrangements there are two state authorities concerned with lunatics, one particularly charged with their persons, whether rich or poor,--the lunacy commission;--the other with their estates, and therefore, with those only who have more or less property,--the office of the masters in lunacy. here, then, is another instance of divided jurisdiction, although it is one wherein there are no cross-purposes, the distinction of powers and duties being accurately defined in most respects. perhaps the separation of the two authorities is too distinct and too wide, and a united jurisdiction might work better; but on this point we forbear to speak, not having the knowledge of the laws of property and of their administration necessary to guide us to a correct conclusion. yet we may thus far express an opinion, that the visitation of lunatics, whether found so by inquisition or not, should devolve on the members of the lunacy commission. we can perceive no reason for having distinct medical visitors to chancery lunatics; as it is, a large number of such lunatics is found in asylums and licensed houses, and comes therefore under the inspection of the commissioners. thus, according to the returns moved for by mr. tite ( ), it appears there are lunatics, in respect of whom a commission of lunacy is in force, and of these, are inmates of asylums; therefore one-half of the entire number of such lunatics is regularly inspected by the lunacy commissioners, and the visits of the "medical visitors of lunatics" are nothing else than formal; we would therefore suggest that two assistant commissioners should be added to the lunacy board, who should receive the salaries now payable to the chancery lunatics' medical visitors, be disallowed practice, and be entirely engaged as medical inspectors under the direction of the board; or that, in other words, the moneys derived from the lunacy masters' office should be paid over to the commission for its general purposes, upon its undertaking to provide for the efficient protection and visitation of all lunatics, so found on inquisition. the plan of bringing all lunatics and all so-called 'nervous' patients, whether placed out singly or detained in asylums of any sort under the cognizance and care of the commission, as enlarged upon in previous pages, would materially augment the labours of the central office; and, in our humble opinion, a greater division of labour than has hitherto marked the proceedings of the commission would greatly facilitate the work to be done. at present, the members of the commission perform a threefold function; viz. of inspectors, reporters, and judges. the task of inspecting asylums and their insane inmates, of ascertaining the treatment pursued and examining the hygienic measures provided, is peculiarly one falling within the province of medical men, and should be chiefly performed by medical commissioners. on the other hand, the business of the board, in its corporate capacity, is only indirectly and partially medical. lord shaftesbury, indeed, goes so far as to say (query , evid. com.) "that the business transacted at the board is entirely civil in ninety-nine cases out of one hundred. a purely medical case does not come before us once in twenty boards." these considerations certainly appear to indicate a natural and necessary division of the board into a deliberative central body, sitting _en permanence_, once, twice, or oftener in the week, if necessary, and a corps of visitors and reporters to examine the state of asylums and the insane throughout the country. this division of the commission would obviate the chief objection to an increase of the number of members; viz. that a larger number of commissioners than at present would render the board unwieldy, and rather impede than facilitate its business as a deliberative assembly. we entertain, moreover, the opinion that it would be more satisfactory to those who sought instructions, or whose affairs or conduct were in any way the subject of investigation, to have to deal with such a permanent deliberative or judicial body as proposed, than with one combining, like the members of the present board, the various functions of inspectors, reporters, and judges; a condition, whereby any question agitated must, to a certain extent, be prejudged by the official reports of the very same persons called upon to examine it. again, if this proposed division of the lunacy board took place, it would furnish a better justification for increasing certain of its powers, as these would be wielded by a permanent deliberative body, instead of, as at present, by a commission exercising mingled functions. the value of the board would be increased as a court of reference in all matters, such as the construction and the size of asylums, where the authority of the state, by duly ordered channels, is called for to overrule the decisions of local administrative bodies. lastly, this arrangement would facilitate the amalgamation, proposed by some persons, of the office of the masters with the commission in lunacy; or it would, at least, render the co-operation and combined action of the two offices more simple and easy. there are other reasons for an increase of the staff of the lunacy commission, following from the amount of work which, by any revision of existing statutes, must fall within the compass of its operations. for instance, we regard the suggestion that we have made, that no uncured lunatic or 'nervous' patient should be removed from an asylum or other establishment, without the sanction of the commissioners and their approval of the place and conditions to which the removal is intended,--as very important for the protection of the insane. to carry out this duty will involve a certain amount of labour, particularly as it would often require some member of the commission to examine the patient and the locality in which it is proposed to place him, and to report on the expediency of his removal. often, perhaps, this business might be entrusted to the district medical officer, particularly in the country. on the other hand, in the metropolitan district, the work of district medical officers might be advantageously performed,--at least in all that concerns the insane,--by a couple of the assistant commissioners hereafter spoken of, in addition to their other duties elsewhere. another piece of evidence, to our apprehension, that the present commission is inadequate to the multifarious duties imposed upon it, is, that the commissioners have never hitherto effectually inspected gaols, nor succeeded in getting imbecile and lunatic criminals reported to them with the least approach to accuracy. the inspection of workhouses proved that it did not suffice to receive the reports of workhouse officials respecting the existence and number of insane inmates, but that, to ascertain these facts, personal examination by the commissioners was necessary; and there is no satisfactory reason for supposing the discrimination of insane prisoners to be much better effected than that of workhouse lunatics, in the many prisons distributed over the country. it comes out, in the course of the evidence before the select committee, , that the commissioners know little about the insane inmates of gaols, and that reports of the presence of such inmates are but rarely supplied them. the law requires the commissioners to visit gaols where any lunatics are reported to them to exist; but the duty of reporting is made the business of no particular individual, and therefore, as a natural consequence, no one attends to it. in the evidence referred to, the case of ten alleged lunatics, committed to york castle and imprisoned there for a series of years, as criminals acquitted on the ground of insanity, elicited much attention, and lord shaftesbury alluded to the interference of the lunacy commission on behalf of several lunatics in different prisons. the fact we have brought to light from one government report, as stated at p. of this treatise, is of much moment in discussing the present subject; viz. that there were as many as persons of unsound mind in the ten convict prisons under the immediate control of the government, in the course of one year, and that of these the dartmoor prison wards contained as many as such inmates. there is no allusion, in the commissioners' reports or in the printed evidence of the select committee, to show that these insane prisoners were visited by, or known to, any members of the lunacy board. but, besides these insane inmates thus distinctly made known to us to exist in so few prisons, there must be many more detained in the numerous houses of detention throughout the kingdom. these facts render it an obvious duty on the part of the commission of lunacy to ascertaining the number and condition of this unhappy class of lunatics, and to order suitable provision to be made for them. there is a disposition on the part of some visitors of gaols to erect, or set apart, special wards for lunatic prisoners; a system to be much more deprecated than even the establishment of lunatic wards in connexion with workhouses, and one which will require the active interposition of the lunacy board to discourage and arrest. it were easy to take up the duties of the commissioners in lunacy in detail, and to show that they cannot be efficiently performed by the existing staff; but the fact will be patent to any attentive reader of this chapter and of the foregoing dissertations on the provisions necessary for the care and supervision of lunatics in general. the scheme which we have, with all due deference to established authorities, sketched in outline, to increase the jurisdiction and usefulness of the lunacy commission, provides for a division of its staff; in the first place, by altering to a greater or less extent the character and position of the present board, so as to constitute it a fixed central commission or council, chiefly charged with adjudging and determining questions put before it; with superintending the public arrangements for the interests of the insane generally, and with providing for the good and regular management, organization, and construction of lunatic asylums; and in the next place, by instituting, in connexion with this head deliberative body (which need not, by the way, consist of so many members as the present commission), a corps of assistant commissioners, specially charged with the duties of visitation, inspection, and reporting, and with the carrying out of the resolutions determined on by the deliberative council. at the same time, the power of visiting and reporting might still be left with some commissioners under certain circumstances, as well as in making special investigations, and in examining matters of dispute raised upon the reports of the assistants. though differing from so high an authority as the noble chairman of the lunacy board, we must say that we cannot conceive of it as at all a necessary consequence, that, if the work of visitation to asylums and lunatics is performed by a class of inspectors or assistant commissioners, and not by the present members of the commission, it must be indifferently done, and prove a source of dissatisfaction:--that is, we have no such apprehensions, provided always that proper men are appointed, and that their official status is made what it ought to be, both in remuneration and in independence of position. nor can we agree to the giving up of the proposed plan on the score of its expense. if the whole of the lunatic and 'nervous' people suffering confinement in this country are to be brought within the knowledge and under the supervision of the lunacy commissioners, if the enlarged provisions of the law necessary for their proper care and treatment,--and even those only among them proposed by the commissioners themselves are to be carried into effect,--the commission must be increased. and, instead of adding new commissioners on the same footing and salary as the existing ones, we believe the public would be better served by the appointment of assistant commissioners with the duties we have proposed,--two of whom could be remunerated at the same outlay as one full commissioner. moreover, we have proposed that the sum payable out of the masters' office to medical visitors be devoted to the purposes of the commission; and, if our notion of a central deliberative body were accepted, one legal and one medical member of the present commission could well be spared to undertake more especially the duties of visiting commissioners. lastly, if the jurisdiction and powers of the commission were extended to all lunatics living singly and to so-called 'nervous patients,' a considerable addition to the treasury would be obtained, even by a small tax, or per-centage on income. probably six assistant commissioners, constantly employed in the work of inspection, with the aid of two visiting chief commissioners from the present board, would suffice for the discharge of the duties to be entrusted to them. if so, the cost of six such additional officers would be very trifling, covered as it would be by increased funds passing into the hands of the central office in the administration of the improved legislation. if precedent be a recommendation to a plan, it can be found in favour of appointing assistant commissioners in the example of the scotch lunacy commission, and in the constitution of the poor law board, which has a distinct class of officers known as inspectors. in fact, every other government board or commission, except that of lunacy, has a staff of assistants or of inspectors. chap. xi.--on some principles in the construction of public lunatic asylums. in the preceding pages of this book we have had occasion to discuss many important points respecting the organization of public asylums; and, as we entertain some views at variance with the prevalent system of asylum construction, a supplementary chapter to elucidate them cannot be misplaced. the substance of the following remarks formed the subject of a chapter on asylum construction published by us in the 'asylum journal' (vol. iv. , p. ) above a year since, and, as we then remarked, the principles put forward had been adopted by us some five or six years previously, and were strengthened and confirmed by the extended observations we had personally made more recently on the plans and organization of most of the principal asylums of france, germany, and italy. all the public asylums of this country are, with slight variations, constructed after one model, in which a corridor, having sleeping-rooms along one side, and one or more day-rooms at one end,--or a recess (a sort of dilatation or offset of the corridor at one spot), in lieu of a room, constituting a section or apartment fitted for constant occupation, day and night, forms--to use the term in vogue--a 'ward.' an asylum consists of a larger or smaller number of these wards, united together on the same level, and also superposed in one, two, three, and occasionally four stories. there are, indeed, variations observed in different asylums, consisting chiefly in the manner in which the wards are juxtaposed and disposed in reference to the block and ground plans, or in the introduction of accessory rooms, sometimes on the opposite side of the corridor to the general row of small chambers, to be used as dormitories or otherwise; but these variations do not involve a departure from the principle of construction adopted. those who have perambulated the corridors of monastic establishments will recognize in the 'ward-system' a repetition of the same general arrangements,--a similarity doubtless due in part to the fact of ancient monasteries having been often appropriated to the residence of the insane, and in part to the old notions of treatment required by the insane, as ferocious individuals, to be shut apart from their fellow-men. whilst the ideas of treatment just alluded to prevailed, there was good reason for building corridors and rows of single rooms or cells; but, since they have been exploded, and a humane system of treating the insane established in their place, the perpetuation of the 'ward-system' has been an anomaly and a disastrous mistake. the explanation of the error is to be found in the facts,--that medical men in england, engaged in the care of the insane, have contented themselves with suggesting modifications of the prevailing system,--than which indeed they found no other models in their own country; and that the usual course has been, to seek plans from architects, who, having no personal acquaintance with the requirements of the insane, and the necessary arrangements of asylums, have been compelled to become copyists of the generally-approved principle of construction, which they have only ventured to depart from in non-essential details, and in matters of style and ornamentation. the literature of asylum architecture in this country evidences the little attention which has been paid to the subject. the only indigenous work on asylum-building--for the few pages on construction in tuke's introduction to his translation of jacobi's book, and the still fewer pages in dr. brown's book on asylums, published above twenty years ago, do not assume the character of treatises--is the small one by dr. conolly, and even this is actually more occupied by a description of internal arrangements in connexion with the management of lunatics, than by an examination of the principles and plans of construction. this bald state of english literature on the subject of construction contrasts strongly with the numerous publications produced on the continent, and chiefly by asylum physicians, the best-qualified judges of what an asylum ought to be in structure and arrangements. however, to resume the consideration of the 'ward-system' as it exists, let us briefly examine it in its relations to the wants and the treatment of the insane. every day adds conviction to the impression, that the less the insane are treated as exceptional beings, the better is it both for their interests and for those who superintend them. in other words, the grand object to be kept in view when providing for the accommodation of the insane, is to assimilate their condition and the circumstances surrounding them as closely as possible to those of ordinary life. now, though it is clearly impracticable to repeat all the conditions of existence prevailing in the homes of the poorer middle and pauper classes of society who constitute the inmates of our public asylums, when these persons are brought together to form a large community for their better treatment and management, yet we may say of the 'ward-system,' that it is about as wide a departure from those conditions as can well be conceived. it is an inversion of those social and domestic arrangements under which english people habitually live. the new-comer into the asylum is ushered into a long passage or corridor, with a series of small doors on one side, and a row of peculiarly-constructed windows on the other; he finds himself mingled with a number of eccentric beings, pacing singly up and down the corridor, or perhaps collected in unsocial groups in a room opening out of it, or in a nondescript sort of space formed by a bulging-out of its wall at one spot, duly lighted, and furnished with tables, benches, and chairs, but withal not a room within the meaning of the term, and in the patient's apprehension. presently, he will be introduced through one of the many little doors around him into his single sleeping-room, or will find himself lodged in a dormitory with several others, and by degrees will learn that another little door admits him to a lavatory, another to a bath, another to a scullery or store-closet, another to a water-closet (with which probably he has never been before in such close relation), another to a _sanctum sanctorum_--the attendant's room, within which he must not enter. within this curiously constructed and arranged place he will discover his lot to be cast for all the purposes of life, excepting when out-door exercise or employment in a workroom calls him away: within it he will have to take his meals, to find his private occupation or amusement, or join in intercourse with his fellow-inmates, to take indoor exercise, and seek repose in sleep; he will breathe the same air, occupy the same space, and be surrounded by the same objects, night and day. this sketch may suffice to illustrate the relations of a ward as a place of abode for patients, and to exhibit how widely different are all the arrangements from those they have been accustomed to. let us now notice briefly the relations of the ward-system to the treatment required for insane inmates. the monotonous existence is unfavourable: the same apartment and objects night and day, and the same arrangements and routine, necessitated by living in a ward, are not conducive to the relief of the disordered mind. where access to the sleeping-rooms is permitted by day, the torpid and indolent, the melancholic, the morose and the mischievous, will find occasion and inducement to indulge in their several humours; opportunity is afforded them to elude the eye of the attendants, to indulge in reverie, and to cherish their morbid sentiments. when the rules of the institution forbid resort to their rooms by day, the idea of being hardly dealt with by the refusal will probably arise in their minds, since the inducement to use them is suggested by their contiguity; the doors, close at hand, will ever create the desire to indulge in the withheld gratification of entering them. how many insane are animated with a desire to lounge, to mope unseen, and to lie in bed, needs not to be told to those conversant with their peculiarities; and, surely, the removal of the temptation to indulge would be a boon both to physician and patients. again, the corridor and its suite of rooms present obstacles to ventilation and warming, and, as the former in general serves, besides the purpose of a covered promenade, that of a passage of communication between adjoining wards, it is less fitted for the general purposes of daily life, and the passage to and fro of persons through it is a source of disturbance to its occupants, and often objectionable to the passer-by. as a place of indoor exercise, the corridor has little real value, especially when considered in relation to the other objects it has to serve. those who desire to sit still, to read, to amuse or to employ themselves, feel it an annoyance to have one or more individuals walking up and down, and often disposed to vagaries of various sorts; few of the whole number care for perambulating it if they can get out of doors for exercise (and there are not many days when they cannot), and, as far as concerns the health of those few who use the corridor for exercise, it would be better to encourage them to walk in the grounds, than, by having such a space within doors, to induce their remaining there. when casual sickness or temporary indisposition overtakes a patient, and a removal to the infirmary ward is not needed, though repose is required, it is a great disadvantage to have an exercising corridor in such immediate contiguity with the bedroom, and to have the room open into the corridor; for it is an arrangement more or less destructive of quiet, and exposes the poor sufferer to the intrusion of the other inmates of the ward, unless the room-door be locked,--a proceeding rarely advisable under the circumstances supposed. the introduction of the plan of building an open recess in a corridor as a sitting apartment instead of an ordinary room was a consequence of the difficulties experienced in exercising an efficient supervision of the inmates when dispersed, some in the corridor, and others in the day or dining rooms. yet, although the plan in question partially removes these difficulties, no one could wish to exchange the advantages in comfort and appearance of a sitting-room with the greater approximation it affords to the ordinary structure of a house, for a recess in a corridor, if effectual supervision could in any other way be attained. but the plan of a corridor with an offset in lieu of a room does not secure a completely effective oversight, control, and regulation of the occupants, since it presents many opportunities, in its large space, and by the disposition of its parts, for those to mope who may be so disposed, and for the disorderly to annoy their neighbours, without arresting the attention of the one or two attendants. in the construction and arrangements of a ward, it is necessary to provide for all the wants of the inmates both by day and night, to supply the fittings and furniture needed by the little community inhabiting it; and all such arrangements and conveniences have consequently to be repeated in every one of the many wards found in the asylum, at a very large cost. again, by the ward-system, the patients are lodged on each floor of the building, and therefore the service of the asylum becomes more difficult, just in proportion to the number of stories above the ground-floor, or the basement, where the kitchen and other general offices are situated. it is chiefly to obviate this difficulty that the elevation of our public asylums has been limited to two stories, and a greater expenditure thereby incurred for their extension over a larger area. (see p. .) from whatever point of view the ward-system may be regarded, there is in it, to our view, an absence of all those domestic and social arrangements and provisions which give a charm to the homes of english people. the peculiar combination of day and night accommodation is without analogy in any house; whilst the sitting, working, or reading, and, occasionally, the taking of meals, in a corridor, a place used also for exercise, and for the passage of persons from one part of the asylum to another, represent conditions of life without parallel among the domestic arrangements of any classes of the community. the principle of construction we contend for is, the separation, as far as practicable, of the day from the night accommodation. instead of building wards fitted for the constant habitation of their inmates, we propose to construct a series of sitting or day rooms on the ground-floor, and to devote the stories above entirely to bedroom accommodation. not that we would have none to sleep on the ground-floor, for we recognise the utility of supplying accommodation there, both by night and day, for certain classes of patients, such, for instance, as the aged and infirm, who can with difficulty mount or descend stairs; the paralytics; some epileptics, and others of dirty habits, and the most refractory and noisy patients. the last-named are, in our opinion, best lodged in a detached wing, particularly during their paroxysms of noise and fury, according to the plan adopted in several french asylums. and we may, by the way, remark, that if such patients were so disposed of, one reason assigned for internal corridors as places requisite for indoor exercise, would be set aside, inasmuch as these are supposed practically to be most useful to that class of asylum inmates. in our paper on construction in the 'asylum journal,' before referred to, we illustrated (_op. cit._ p. ) our views by reference to a rough outline of a part of a plan for a public asylum we had some years before designed; but it seems unnecessary to reproduce that special plan here, since, if the principle advocated be accepted, it becomes a mere matter of detail to arrange the disposition, the relative dimensions, and such like particulars, whether of the day-rooms below or of the chambers above. there is this much, however, worth noting, that, by the construction of adjoining capacious sitting-rooms, it is easy so to order it, that any two, or even three, may, by means of folding-doors, be thrown into one, and a suite of rooms obtained suited for public occasions, for dancing, for lectures, or theatricals. so again, even in the case of those who may be placed together in the same section of the establishment, and who join at meals, the construction of two or more contiguous sitting-rooms affords an opportunity for a more careful classification, in consideration of their different tastes, and of their capability for association, for employment, or for amusement. however, without delaying to point out the advantages accruing in minor details of internal arrangements when the principle is carried out, let us briefly examine its merits abstractedly, and in relation to the system in vogue. . it assimilates the condition of the patients to that of ordinary life, as far as can be done in a public institution. they are brought together by day into a series of sitting-rooms adapted to the particular class inhabiting them, and varied in fittings and furniture according to the particular use to which they are applied,--as, for instance, for taking meals, or for the lighter sorts of work, indoor amusements, and reading. for the sections, indeed, inhabited by the more refractory and the epileptic, a single day-room would suffice. when thus brought together in rooms, instead of being distributed along a corridor and its divergent apartments, association between the several patients can be more readily promoted; and this is a matter worth promoting, for the insane are morbidly selfish and exclusive. likewise, it becomes more easy for the attendants to direct and watch them in their amusements or occupations, and to give special attention or encouragement to some one or more of their number without overlooking the rest. besides this, rooms admit of being arranged and furnished as such apartments should be; whilst, whatever money may be laid out in furnishing and ornamenting corridors, they can never be rendered like any sort of apartment to be met with in the homes of english people. the separation of the sleeping-rooms from the day accommodation also has the similar advantage of meeting the wishes and habits of our countrymen, who always strive to secure themselves a sitting and a bed room apart: and, altogether, it may be said, that in a suite of day-rooms disposed after the plan advocated, and in the perfectly separated bedroom accommodation, there is, to use a peculiarly english word, a _comfort_ completely unattainable by the ward-system, however thoroughly developed. . greater salubrity and greater facilities for warming and ventilation are secured. it will be universally conceded that sleeping-rooms are more healthy when placed above the ground-floor, so as to escape the constant humidity and exhalations from the earth, particularly at night. the system suggested secures this greater salubrity for the majority of the population, who occupy the upper floors during the night; those only being excepted, whom, for some sufficient reason, it is desirable not to move up and down stairs, or not to lodge at night in the immediate vicinity of the rest of the patients. again, the separation of the apartments for use by day from those occupied at night favours the health of the establishment by rendering ventilation more easy and complete. in a ward occupied all day and all night, the air is subject to perpetual vitiation, and, whilst patients are present, it is, especially in bad weather, difficult or quite unadvisable to attempt thorough ventilation by the natural means of opening windows and doors,--a means which we believe to be preferable to all the schemes of artificial ventilation of all the ingenious engineers who have attempted to make the currents of air and the law of diffusion of gases obedient to their behests. but "the wind bloweth where it listeth," and all the traps set to catch the foul exhalations, and all the jets of prepared fresh air sent in from other quarters, will not serve their bidding: the airy currents will disport themselves pretty much as they please, and intermingle in spite of the solicitations of opposing flues to draw them different ways. but if, on our plan, the apartments for day use are kept completely distinct from those used by night, each set being emptied alternately, a most thorough renewal of air may be obtained by every aperture communicating with the external atmosphere. the actual construction of a ward creates an impediment to the perfect ventilation of all its apartments. there is a wide corridor, and along one side a series of small chambers, the windows of which are necessarily small, and sometimes high up; the windows, too, both in rooms and corridor, must be peculiarly constructed, and the openings in them for ventilation small. although it is easy in this arrangement to get a free circulation of air along the corridor, it is not so to obtain it for each room opening out of it. by the scheme of construction we propose, these difficulties are mostly removed. the day-rooms on the ground-floor need no corridor alongside, and, as a single series or line of apartments, are permeated by a current of air traversing them from side to side. but if, for the convenience of the service of the house, some passage were thought necessary, it would be external to the rooms, and in designing the asylum it should be an object to prevent such corridors of communication interfering with the introduction of windows on the opposite sides of each sitting-room. on the bedroom-floor above, a corridor, where necessary, would not be a wide space for exercise, such as is required for a ward, but merely a passage, giving access from one part of the building to another. so, with respect to the windows, except those in the single bedrooms, it would be perfectly compatible with security to construct them much after the usual style adopted in ordinary houses, and thereby allow large openings for the free circulation of air. further, when the patients inhabit ordinarily-constructed sitting-rooms, the warming of these may be effected by the common open fires, which are dear to the sight and feelings of every englishman, and impart a cheerful and home-like character. likewise, there would be no need of keeping the whole building constantly heated at an enormous expense; for only one half of it would be occupied at a time, nor would those most costly and complicated systems of heating be at all required. the saving in large public asylums would be something very large in this one item,--that of fuel to burn, without counting the expenditure which is generally incurred for the heating apparatus, flues, furnaces, and shafts. as with the warming, so with the lighting of an institution constructed on our model,--only one-half would require illumination at the same time, and much gas-fitting would be saved by the diminution of the number of small apartments, repeated, after the prevailing model, in every ward, and requiring to be lighted. . access to the airing courts, offices, workshops, &c., becomes easier to all the inmates. according to the established system of construction, the half, or upwards, of the patients have to descend from the wards on the upper floors for exercise or for work, and to ascend again to them for their meals, or to retire to rest. this ascent and descent of stairs may have to be repeated several times daily; and it must be remembered that it cannot take place without the risk of various inconveniences and dangers necessarily dependent on stairs, and that it must frequently entail trouble and anxiety upon the attendants, particularly in mischievous and in feeble cases. the plan advocated obviates all these evils, so far as practicable. the patients would have to go up and down stairs only once a-day, and the attendants, therefore, escape much of the constantly occurring trouble of helping the feeble, or of inducing the unwilling to undertake the repeated ascent and descent,--a task ever likely to be neglected, and to lead to patients being deprived, to a greater or less extent, of out-door exercise and amusement. . it facilitates supervision. supervision, both by the medical officers and by the attendants, becomes much more easy and effectual when the patients are collected in rooms, affording them no corners or hiding-places for moping and indulging in their mental vagaries, their selfishness and moroseness. when the medical officer enters the day-room, all the inmates come at once under his observation, and this affords him the best opportunity of noting their cases, and of discovering their condition and progress. by the attendants similar advantages are to be gained; the patients will be more immediately and constantly under their eye than when distributed in a corridor and connected rooms; their requirements will be sooner perceived, and more readily supplied; their peculiarities better detected and provided against; their insane tendencies more easily controlled and directed; whilst, at the same time, the degree and mode of association will call forth feelings of interest and attachment between the two. just as supervision becomes more easy by day, so does watching by night; for almost the whole staff of attendants would sleep on the same floor with the patients, and thereby a more immediate communication between them be established, and a salutary check on the conduct of the latter, from the knowledge of the attendants being close at hand, more fully attained. perhaps these advantages will appear more clear when it is understood that the subdivision of the bed-room floor into several distinct wards, cut off from each other by doors, stair-landings, &c., would not be at all necessary on the principle of construction recommended. the comparatively few noisy patients in a well-regulated asylum would occupy the sleeping-rooms of the ground-floor wings, if not placed in a distinct section; and therefore, the inhabitants of the floor above being all quiet patients, no partitions need separate their section of the building into distinct portions or wards, and act as impediments to the freedom of communication and ventilation. this matter of the partitions needed is, however, a point of detail, which would have to be determined pretty much by the general design adopted. . classification is more perfect. owing to the sleeping apartments being quite distinct from those occupied by day, the rule usually observed in a ward, as a matter of necessary convenience, of keeping the same group of occupants in it both night and day, need not at all be followed. on retiring from their sitting-rooms, where they have been placed according to the principles of classification pursued, the day association would be broken up, and their distribution in the sleeping-rooms might be regulated according to their peculiar requirements at night. this valuable idea, of arranging patients differently by day and by night, was put forward by dr. sankey, of hanwell ('asylum journal,' vol. ii. , p. ), in the following paragraph:--"whatever the basis of the classification, it will not hold good throughout the twenty-four hours: why, therefore, should it be attempted to make it do so? at night the classification should be based on the requirement of the patient during the night; and during the day, the patient should be placed where he can be best attended during the day." let us add, that the more perfectly dr. sankey's principle could be carried out, the more easy would supervision be rendered. since mechanical restraint has been set aside, seclusion in a specially-constructed chamber, or in the patient's own room, has in some measure taken its place, and been frequently abused; for it is more difficult to control the employment of seclusion than of instrumental restraint, and in a ward there is almost a temptation to employ it where a patient is inconveniently troublesome to the attendant; the single room is close at hand, and it is a simple matter to thrust the patient into it, and an easy one to release him if the footstep of the superintendent is heard approaching. the plan of construction we would substitute for the ward-system would almost of itself cure the evil alluded to. furthermore, since sitting-rooms and other apartments to meet the exigencies of daily use are excluded from the upper floors, it would become easier for the architect to dispose the single rooms and dormitories, and more especially the attendants' rooms, with a view to the most effectual supervision. we may, in fine, state under the two last heads, generally, that access to the patients, their quiet and comfort, their watching and tending and their classification will be more readily and also more efficiently secured by the arrangement pointed out, than by the system of construction hitherto pursued in this country. . domestic arrangements will be facilitated in various ways.--the patients, in the first place, will be less disturbed by the necessary operations of cleaning, which every superintendent knows are apt to be a source of irritation and annoyance, both to patients and attendants. the ground-floor may be prepared for the day's use before the patients leave their bedrooms; and in the same way the latter may be cleaned during the occupation of the ground-floor. by the present constitution of a ward for use both night and day, considerable inconvenience, and many irregularities in management constantly result. the cleaning has to be hurried over, or to be done at awkward hours, to avoid alike the interruption of patients, or the being interrupted by them; and, at the best, it will from time to time happen that patients are excluded from their day or their bedrooms, or from the corridors, during the operation. another advantage will accrue from the system proposed. the amount of cleaning will be much diminished, for the two floors will be used only alternately, and not only the wear and tear of the entire building, but also the exposure to dirt will be greatly lessened; above all, the small extent of corridor will make an immense difference in the labour of the attendants in cleaning, compared with that which now falls to their lot. again, the drying of floors after they have been washed is always a difficulty, particularly in winter, and is the more felt in the case of the bedrooms, which have, when single-bedded or small, but a slight current of air through them, and consequently dry slowly. this difficulty is augmented, when, as it often happens, it is necessary for them to be kept locked, to prevent the intrusion of their occupants or of others. the ill effects of frequently wetted floors in apartments constantly occupied, and therefore dried during occupation, have been fully recognized and admitted by hospital surgeons, and have impressed some so strongly, that, to escape them, they have substituted dry rubbing and polished floors to avoid the pail and scrubbing-brush. by the arrangements submitted, however, this difficulty in washing the floors is removed, since there is no constant occupancy of the rooms, and therefore ample time for drying permitted. further, by the plan in question, the distribution of food, of medicine, and of stores, becomes more easy and rapid; the collection, and the serving of the patients at meals, are greatly simplified and expedited. a regularity of management in many minor details will likewise be promoted. as the majority of the patients are quite removed from proximity to their sleeping-rooms, the temptation and inducement to indulge in bed by day, or before the appointed hour at night, will be removed, as will also the irregularity frequently seen in wards some time before the hour of bed, of patients prematurely stowed away in their beds, and of others disrobing, whilst the remainder of the population is indulging in its amusements, its gossips, or in the 'quiet pipe,' before turning in. . management facilitated.--our own experience convinces us that there is no plan so effectual for keeping otherwise restless and refractory patients in order as that of bringing them together into a room, under the immediate influence and control of an attendant, who will do his best to divert or employ them. we are, let it be understood, only now speaking of their management when necessarily in-doors; for, where there is no impediment to it, there is nothing so salutary to such patients as out-door exercise, amusement, and employment. on the contrary, to turn refractory patients loose into a large corridor, we hold to be generally objectionable. its dimensions suggest movement; the patient will walk fast, run, jump, or dance about, and will, under the spur of his activity, meddle with others, or with furniture, and the like; and if an attendant follow or interfere, irritation will often ensue. but in a room with an attendant at hand, there are neither the same inducements nor similar opportunities for such irregularities. some would say, such a patient is well placed in a corridor, for he there works off his superabundant activity. but we cannot subscribe to this doctrine; for we believe the undue activity may be first called forth by his being placed in a corridor; and that it is besides rare that a patient, particularly if his attack be recent, has any actual strength to waste in such constant abnormal activity as the existence of a space to exercise it in encourages. and, lastly, it is better to restrict the exhibition of such perverted movement to the exercising grounds, or better still to divert it to some useful purpose by occupation; for in a ward such exhibitions are contagious. these remarks bear upon the question of the purpose and utility of corridors as places for exercise, concerning which we have previously expressed ourselves as having a poor opinion, and have throughout treated corridors mainly as passages or means of communication. . a less staff of attendants required.--if the foregoing propositions, relative to the advantages of the system propounded, be admitted, the corollary, that a less staff of attendants will suffice, must likewise be granted, and needs not a separate demonstration. there is this much, however, to be said, that the proposition made in a former page to distinguish attendants upon the insane from the cleaners or those more immediately concerned in the domestic work of the house, would be an easier matter when the construction followed the principles recommended. the attendants upon the occupants of the sitting-rooms need be but few, for their attention would not be distracted from their patients by domestic details; for the cleaners would prepare the apartments ready for occupation, would be engaged in fetching and carrying meals, fuel, and other things necessary for use, and the attendants would thereby be deprived of numerous excuses for absence from their rooms, and for irregularities occurring during their occupation with household duties. . the actual cost of construction of an asylum on the plan set forth would be greatly diminished.--it has just been shown that the proposed plan will ensure a more ready and economical management; and if structural details could be here entered upon, in connexion with an estimate of costs for work and materials, it could without difficulty be proved, that the cost of accommodation per head, for the patients, would fall much under that entailed by the plan of building generally followed. the professional architect who assisted us made a most careful estimate of the cost of carrying out the particular plan we prepared (designed to accommodate patients), and calculated that every expense of construction, including drainage of the site, gas apparatus, farm-buildings, &c., would be covered by £ , , _i. e._ at the rate of less than £ (£ ) per head. that a considerable saving must attend the system propounded will be evident from the fact, that, instead of a corridor, on the first floor, at least twelve feet wide, as constructed on the prevailing plan, one of six feet, or less, simply as a passage for communication, is all that is required, and thus a saving of about that number of feet in the thickness or depth of the building, in each story above the ground-floor, is at once gained. a similar, though smaller, economical advantage is likewise obtained on the ground-floor, for the corridor there need be nothing more than an external appendage, and of little cost to construct. a further saving would attend the construction of an asylum on the plan set forth, both from the concentration of the several parts for night and day use respectively, and generally from the rejection of the ward-system. the construction of almost all the sleeping accommodation on one floor would render many provisions for safety and convenience unnecessary,--for instance, in the construction of the windows. so the substitution of what may be termed divisions, or quarters in lieu of wards, would do away with the necessity of many arrangements requisite for apartments, when intended for use, both by night and day. as constructed commonly, each ward is a complete residence in itself, replete with all the requisites for every-day life, except indeed in the cooking department; and the consequence is, there is a great repetition throughout the institution of similar conveniences and appurtenances. indeed, in the plan we designed, the influence of example or general usage led us to introduce many repetitions of several accessory apartments, which were, in fact, uncalled for, and added much to the estimate. for instance, we assigned a bath-room to each division, although we consider that a room, well-placed, to contain several baths (_i. e._ in french phrase, a 'salle des bains'), would more conveniently serve the purpose of the whole ground-floor inmates, and be much cheaper to construct and to supply. yet, if this notion of a 'bath-house' be unacceptable to english asylum superintendents, a smaller number of bath-rooms than was either provided in the particular plan alluded to, or is usually apportioned to asylums, would assuredly suffice. the same may be said of the lavatories, sculleries, and store-rooms. . the plan removes most of the objections to the erection of a second-floor or third-story. these objections generally owe their force to the difficulty of assuring the inmates of a third-story their due amount of attention, and their fair share of out-door exercise, and of much indoor amusement, without entailing such trouble upon all parties concerned, that a frequent dereliction or negligence of duty is almost a necessary consequence. dr. bucknill ('asylum journal,' vol. iii., , p. , _et seq._) has well argued against the erection of a third-story, on economical grounds; and remarks that "practically, in asylums built with a multiplicity of stories, the patients who live aloft, are, to a considerable extent, removed from the enjoyment of air and exercise, and the care and sympathy of their fellow-men. they are less visited by the asylum officers, and they less frequently and fully enjoy the blessings of out-door recreation and exercise. those below will have many a half-hour's run from which they are debarred; the half-hours of sunshine on rainy days, the half-hours following meals, and many of the scraps of time, which are idly, but not uselessly spent, in breathing the fresh air." the foregoing considerations are certainly sufficient to condemn the appropriation of a third story for the day and night uses of patients, according to the 'ward-system' in operation; but they have no weight when the floor is occupied only for sleeping. we must confess we cannot appreciate the chief objection of dr. bucknill (_op. cit._ pp. , ,) to the use of a third floor for sleeping-rooms only, for we do not see the reason why "the use of a whole story for sleeping-rooms renders the single-room arrangement exceedingly inconvenient;" for surely, on the common plan of construction, a row of single rooms might extend the whole length of a third floor on one side of a corridor, equally well as on the floors beneath. without desiring to enter on the question of the relative merits of single-room and of dormitory accommodation, to examine which is the special object of the paper quoted, we may remark, that the addition of a third story, when the plan we have advocated is carried out, obviates the generally admitted objections to such a proceeding. the same arrangement of apartments may obtain in it as on the bedroom-floor below, and the proportion of single rooms to dormitories, viz. one-third of the whole sleeping accommodation to the former, insisted upon by dr. bucknill, can be readily supplied. attention would only be required to allow in the plan sufficient day-room space on the ground-floor,--a requirement to be met without difficulty. the existence of a third story is no necessary feature to an asylum constructed on the principle discussed, and we have adverted to it for the sole purpose of showing that the ordinary objections to it are invalid, when the arrangement and purposes of its accommodation are rendered conformable to the general principles of construction advocated in this chapter. a hint from dr. bucknill's excellent remarks on the advantage of being able to utilize spare half-hours must not be lost. two flights of stairs, he well states, constitute a great obstacle to a frequent and ready access to the open air, and we are sure he would allow even one to be a considerable impediment to it; and, consequently, that an asylum with no stairs interposing between the patients and their pleasure-grounds would possess the advantage of facilitating their enjoyment of them. these remarks on the advantages of the principle of construction we advise for adoption would admit of extension, but sufficient has been advanced, we trust, to make good our views. we have taken in hand to write a chapter on some principles in the construction of public asylums, but we must stop at the point we have now reached; for it would grow into a treatise, did we attempt to examine the many principles propounded, and entirely surpass the end and aim of this present work. the end. printed by taylor and francis, red lion court, fleet street. colony treatment of the insane and other defectives --by-- dr. p. l. murphy morganton, n. c. read before the meeting of the n. c. medical association june, , charlotte, n. c. (reprint from carolina medical journal.) colony treatment of the insane and other defectives the subject of this paper might be called "employment as a means of treating and caring for the insane and other defectives" the colony being the means of finding agreeable and profitable work for the inmates. to many of you a description of what is meant by the "colony treatment" is needed to fully understand the subject. as the expression is used in this paper, and as it is generally understood, it means the erection of buildings some distance from the central hospital plant and placing farm working patients there, to be under the control and management of the hospital officers. [illustration: first building at the colony] without discussing the origin of the idea, and with no reference to gheel, it is sufficient to say it was begun in germany in the sixties, and that it has slowly found its way into other countries. [illustration: the colony buildings] such a colony was established in connection with the morganton hospital three years ago, or rather it was ready for occupancy about that time. it took several years of talk to get the idea adopted, and as many more to get the colony built. the plan of conducting it by the hospital authorities was largely experimental, and was made to suit the people of western north carolina, but it is, after all, a modification of the original german conception. the first building was for men with rooms for a man and his family, the man to have general supervision of the place and the wife to cook and do the household work. afterwards a small cottage was built for the manager and his family, and his rooms were used for patients and later still another building was erected so that now patients can be accommodated. it would have been much better to have limited the rooms to as first intended. no single colony plant for the insane should much exceed that number. as many colonies as are needed may be had if land is sufficient, the number depending on the size of the hospital, as only a certain proportion of patients, about per cent., can thus be cared for, or at the outside per cent. [illustration: patients working raspberries] the colony buildings, outhouses and surroundings at the morganton colony were made as near as possible like the farm houses in this section of the state. this was done to give it a home-like appearance, and the management has been such as to make each patient feel at home; they are free to sit on the porches and the lawn in the summer, in the sitting room before open fires in the winter. they smoke, have games, read or do what pleases them during these hours of recreation. they have their own garden, orchard, vineyard, berry patches, poultry, pigs and cows, which they attend to. every effort is to make each one feel that these things are his own, he can gather berries, pull the fruit when he wants it or as he pleases. every one is expected to do something if no more than pick up chips for the cook. [illustration: general view of colony] early experiments. the first party of patients sent to the colony, about , were quiet, industrious men who were expected to be the nucleus of the organization. after these became accustomed to their new surroundings, others who were quiet and who had some remnant of mind left, but who did little or no work were tried. these readily dropped into the ways of those who preceded them and who set the pace. further experiment was made by sending those who seemed incurably demented, incapable by reason of their weakened minds of doing any kind of work. most of the last mentioned had been residents of the hospital for years and years in whom the last vestige of hope for any improvement had long vanished. strange as it may seem to you, as it did to us, acquainted with these men and their disease, they immediately went to work and are to-day profitably employed. they have gained in health and self-confidence, they are happier because they feel there is yet something in life for them. [illustration: snap shot--colony patients cultivating strawberries] it may occur to some to ask why these men had not been sent out to work before and given an opportunity. it has been the invariable custom since the hospital opened to try to induce every one to engage in some kind of employment and it had been tried repeatedly with these very men with complete failure. to conjecture why they were willing to work in one place and not in another might be profitless, it is sufficient to know it is true. [illustration: resting after the day's work] after the work was well under way, it was strange to see the development of the different fancies of the different men. each one was allowed, so far as possible, to follow his own inclination and to select his own work. one fancied painting and whitewashing and building fires under the heating apparatus. he studied economy in the use of fuel as much as the average head of a family, and is as intelligent in his work as could be expected of any ordinary man. another patient has become greatly interested in poultry and shows more than ordinary intelligence in following his bent. he reads journals on poultry, and not only builds coops, box nests, etc., but has actually invented several useful contrivances. another hauls wood to the kitchen in a little wagon he made himself, and so on almost indefinitely. [illustration: patient tending bronze turkeys] a brief report of two cases will partly illustrate what has been done. the following is quoted from a report to the board last december: "a boy, j. b., years old, came to the hospital in june, . he had a form of insanity (dementia praecox) which rarely improves; indeed, its tendency is generally to deterioration. this boy was no exception to the rule and he grew worse and worse until hope for any improvement had been given up. three months ago he was sent to the colony, but it was considered a desperate chance. to the astonishment of everyone he immediately began to improve, and this has steadily gone on until to-day he is a strong, vigorous young fellow of , full of hope and energy, whereas when he went there he was dull, indifferent and listless; he never inquired of his home or home people and seemed to care for nothing. recently he has written home telling of his marvelous improvement and of his joy in life. 'he testified as one risen from the dead,' after ten years of mental darkness. it is not certain that the improvement will continue; in fact, it is not expected, but even if he improves no more, great good has been accomplished in relieving this young fellow of such suffering as we shudder to think of." six months after this report was written this young man has gained but little and it is probable he is as well as he will ever be. he enjoys life as much as the average man, taking part and interest in baseball and other amusements we are able to furnish our people. the second case is of a man who was committed to the hospital in november, , this being his second admission. he complained of great discomfort in his head which he described as being unbearable, so much so, that he begged to be killed. his appetite was poor, he was anaemic and greatly run down in health and evidently was a great sufferer. every effort to relieve him failed. we were sure if he could be induced to exercise he would improve, but nothing we could do would cause him to take the slightest interest in anything. he was finally forced to go out with the working party, but he would lie on the ground complaining of his head. he was a few months ago sent to the colony along with nine other men almost as bad as he. to the amazement of us all, the man went to work, his health improved, the pain and discomfort disappeared and his face is ruddy and he gives every evidence of health and vigor. he works cheerfully, seems perfectly satisfied, never complaining of any bad feeling and is as comfortable as he can be. these two cases are only two of many as unpromising, who have been greatly relieved and some few cured by the colony treatment. [illustration: patients interested in grape growing] [illustration: barnyard and poultry houses at colony] [illustration: chicken runs] all this seems so simple and is so obviously the right course that we wonder why it had not long ago been tried. two ideas are prominent in this system, the first to find agreeable, healthful employment for the patients and to give them a home. show appreciation. this working class, while too defective to take up the burden of life, are yet appreciative of their surroundings and of most things that make life happy to the people in the outside world. they require the minimum amount of care and discipline and with this given they conduct themselves as well, indeed, better, than the same number of sane men. some under this treatment recover that otherwise would not, but the majority must remain under hospital care, this being their refuge and their home. how much need therefore that every effort should be put forth to make it pleasant to these afflicted men. in general hospitals, in institutions for children, and in reformatories we have a different class to deal with. a large number under one roof is not so objectionable, but these cases of chronic insanity are not children in whom the desire for a home is small, nor are they malefactors in prison for punishment. you will pardon a little digression, which, after all, leads to this subject from another and a practical standpoint. [illustration: two colony buildings] in north carolina there are not less than , white insane; of this number , are in two hospitals, leaving , uncared for by the state. to properly house all these people means the expenditure of a million dollars, and the annual cost of maintaining them will be $ , . it is well then to consider carefully how this burden on the taxpayers may be lightened. without discussing the question of the increase of insanity, there can be no doubt that there is an increased demand to have these persons cared for and properly so. all insane persons are dangerous in some degree to their neighbors, more so to themselves. insanity is the cause of many suicides, while sexual crimes, arson, assault, impostures, are often committed by those mentally deranged. [illustration: peach orchard and garden, seen from a colony porch] too often families are ruined by some insane member, the bread winner having to devote his whole time to the control of wife or child, or a crime is committed and every energy and the savings of a lifetime must be devoted to the cost of courts. whole communities are frequently terrorized by an insane person and the lives of the women and children made miserable. only a few recover at once or die, they live on for years not only imbecile and helpless themselves, but a burden on the family and community, a severe drain which must tend to weaken the general welfare of the state. there are sufficient reasons for you as physicians, men of standing in your respective communities, not only to make yourselves familiar with the disease in order that you may prescribe intelligently for those suffering from it, but to use your influence, which is great, to see that proper provision is made for them by the public. [illustration: patients playing baseball] much insanity is caused by alcohol and drugs. this touches you more closely, for you are largely responsible for these habits. you may do something by preventing unwise marriages of those whose heredity is not good. it should be your special province to recognize dangerous symptoms in time and by prompt action prevent suicides and accidents and to send to the hospitals at once these patients who have infinitely more chances to recover when placed under the care of competent alienists. [illustration: making first base] , white insane uncared for. the conclusions we reach are that , white insane people in north carolina are uncared for, that a great outlay of money will be required to build for this number and after that the never ending expense of maintaining them begins. if it can be demonstrated that the colony system is the best and the cheapest, it should by all means be adopted. there is an end to the willingness and even ability of the taxpayers to provide for the defectives in expensive hospitals and asylums, and it is clearly the duty of those who have these matters in hand to use proper economy. what is done by the legislature will depend on the demand of the people and the wisdom of the legislators. it will require great deliberation and the wisest action to solve this question. in north carolina no more hospitals ought to be built at present, those now in existence should be enlarged if possible. unfortunately at morganton no more land can be purchased and that institution cannot with advantage be greatly increased in size. the last opportunity to buy land there has been allowed to pass. this is to be deplored for the plan there has been so successful that much was hoped for in the judicious extension of these colonies. much more might be said on the general subject of caring for the insane, but time forbids. perhaps on some future occasion this will be taken up and discussed. hospitals for the insane cannot properly care for epileptics or idiots. i use the term idiot in the sense in which it is defined by the north carolina statutes "a person born deficient or who became deficient before the completion of the twelfth year of age." many of these defectives are capable of doing common labor and can be made very nearly self-sustaining if properly managed in such a colony for the insane as has been described. in many of the states where this is tried, it has been successful. in north carolina, where we have such good climate and where land can be purchased cheaply, more can be done than in other less fortunate communities. i believe in the cotton and truck section of the state such a colony could be nearly self-sustaining, but leaving that out of the question, there can be no doubt it is the best for these people to live outdoor lives with proper employment. i would like also to enlarge on this feature of my paper, but time will not permit. i trust, gentlemen, that you will become enough interested in these subjects to give them your hearty support. if you do, then the labors of those of us who are immediately responsible, will be greatly lightened and these afflicted fellow citizens will be happier and your state will be a better state. since this paper was written my attention was drawn to a statement in a medical journal of the number of insane sent to the hospitals in massachusetts during the year . it bears so closely on what has been said i repeat it and compare it with our state and hospitals. during that year , insane persons were admitted into the hospitals of massachusetts, none of whom had ever before been inmates of any hospital for insane. adding to these the number of re-admissions, which could not have been less than , we see , persons sent yearly to the hospitals of that state. between , and , patients are cared for by the public hospitals. as compared with north carolina the population of massachusetts is twice that of the white people of our state. we should have , white patients sent to our hospitals every year and we ought to have accommodation for , . as it is, less than are admitted and only , can be cared for in our hospitals. there is some differences, i believe, in the proportion of insane to the population in the two states, but not that much. massachusetts gives her insane citizens proper care. north carolina does not. [illustration] transcriber's notes: inconsistencies in spelling and punctuation have been standardized. some illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks and may or may not be on their original page. proofreading team. a mind that found itself _an autobiography_ by clifford whittingham beers _first edition, march, second edition, with additions, june, reprinted, november, third edition revised, march, reprinted, september, reprinted, july, fourth edition revised, march, reprinted, february, fifth edition revised, october, _ dedicated to the memory of my uncle samuel edwin merwin whose timely generosity i believe saved my life and whose death has forever robbed me of a satisfying opportunity to prove my gratitude a mind that found itself i this story is derived from as human a document as ever existed; and, because of its uncommon nature, perhaps no one thing contributes so much to its value as its authenticity. it is an autobiography, and more: in part it is a biography; for, in telling the story of my life, i must relate the history of another self--a self which was dominant from my twenty-fourth to my twenty-sixth year. during that period i was unlike what i had been, or what i have been since. the biographical part of my autobiography might be called the history of a mental civil war, which i fought single-handed on a battlefield that lay within the compass of my skull. an army of unreason, composed of the cunning and treacherous thoughts of an unfair foe, attacked my bewildered consciousness with cruel persistency, and would have destroyed me, had not a triumphant reason finally interposed a superior strategy that saved me from my unnatural self. i am not telling the story of my life just to write a book. i tell it because it seems my plain duty to do so. a narrow escape from death and a seemingly miraculous return to health after an apparently fatal illness are enough to make a man ask himself: for what purpose was my life spared? that question i have asked myself, and this book is, in part, an answer. i was born shortly after sunset about thirty years ago. my ancestors, natives of england, settled in this country not long after the _mayflower_ first sailed into plymouth harbor. and the blood of these ancestors, by time and the happy union of a northern man and a southern woman--my parents--has perforce been blended into blood truly american. the first years of my life were, in most ways, not unlike those of other american boys, except as a tendency to worry made them so. though the fact is now difficult for me to believe, i was painfully shy. when first i put on short trousers, i felt that the eyes of the world were on me; and to escape them i hid behind convenient pieces of furniture while in the house and, so i am told, even sidled close to fences when i walked along the street. with my shyness there was a degree of self-consciousness which put me at a disadvantage in any family or social gathering. i talked little and was ill at ease when others spoke to me. like many other sensitive and somewhat introspective children, i passed through a brief period of morbid righteousness. in a game of "one-old-cat," the side on which i played was defeated. on a piece of scantling which lay in the lot where the contest took place, i scratched the score. afterwards it occurred to me that my inscription was perhaps misleading and would make my side appear to be the winner. i went back and corrected the ambiguity. on finding in an old tool chest at home a coin or medal, on which there appeared the text, "put away the works of darkness and put on the armour of light," my sense of religious propriety was offended. it seemed a sacrilege to use in this way such a high sentiment, so i destroyed the coin. i early took upon myself, mentally at least, many of the cares and worries of those about me. whether in this i was different from other youngsters who develop a ludicrous, though pathetic, sense of responsibility for the universe, i do not know. but in my case the most extreme instance occurred during a business depression, when the family resources were endangered. i began to fear that my father (than whom a more hopeful man never lived) might commit suicide. after all, i am not sure that the other side of my nature--the natural, healthy, boyish side--did not develop equally with these timid and morbid tendencies, which are not so very uncommon in childhood. certainly the natural, boyish side was more in evidence on the surface. i was as good a sport as any of my playfellows in such games as appealed to me, and i went a-fishing when the chance offered. none of my associates thought of me as being shy or morose. but this was because i masked my troubles, though quite unconsciously, under a camouflage of sarcasm and sallies of wit, or, at least, what seemed to pass for wit among my immature acquaintances. with grown-ups, i was at times inclined to be pert, my degree of impudence depending no doubt upon how ill at ease i was and how perfectly at ease i wished to appear. because of the constant need for appearing happier than i really was, i developed a knack for saying things in an amusing, sometimes an epigrammatic, way. i recall one remark made long before i could possibly have heard of malthus or have understood his theory regarding birth rate and food supply. ours being a large family of limited means and, among the five boys of the family, unlimited appetites, we often used the cheaper, though equally nutritious, cuts of meat. on one occasion when the steak was tougher than usual, i epitomized the malthusian theory by remarking: "i believe in fewer children and better beefsteak!" one more incident of my boyhood days may assist the reader to make my acquaintance. in my early teens i was, for one year, a member of a boy choir. barring my voice, i was a good chorister, and, like all good choir-boys, i was distinguished by that seraphic passiveness from which a reaction of some kind is to be expected immediately after a service or rehearsal. on one occasion this reaction in me manifested itself in a fist fight with a fellow choir-boy. though i cannot recall the time when i have not relished verbal encounters, physical encounters had never been to my taste, and i did not seek this fight. my assailant really goaded me into it. if the honors were not mine, at least i must have acquitted myself creditably, for an interested passer-by made a remark which i have never forgotten. "that boy is all right after he gets started," he said. about twelve years later i did get started, and could that passer-by have seen me on any one of several occasions, he would have had the satisfaction of knowing that his was a prophetic eye. at the usual age, i entered a public grammar school in new haven, connecticut, where i graduated in . in the fall of that year i entered the high school of the same city. my school courses were completed with as little trouble as scholastic distinction. i always managed to gain promotion, however, when it was due; and, though few of my teachers credited me with real ability, they were always able to detect a certain latent capacity, which they evidently believed would one day develop sufficiently to prevent me from disgracing them. upon entering the high school i had such ambitions as any schoolboy is apt to have. i wished to secure an election to a given secret society; that gained, i wished to become business manager of a monthly magazine published by that society. in these ambitions i succeeded. for one of my age i had more than an average love of business. indeed, i deliberately set about learning to play the guitar well enough to become eligible for membership in the banjo club--and this for no more aesthetic purpose than to place myself in line for the position of manager, to which i was later elected. in athletics there was but one game, tennis, in which i was actively interested. its quick give-and-take suited my temperament, and so fond was i of it that during one summer i played not fewer than four thousand games. as i had an aptitude for tennis and devoted more time to it than did any of my schoolmates, it was not surprising that i acquired skill enough to win the school championship during my senior year. but that success was not due entirely to my superiority as a player. it was due in part to what i considered unfair treatment; and the fact well illustrates a certain trait of character which has often stood me in good stead. among the spectators at the final match of the tournament were several girls. these schoolmates, who lived in my neighborhood, had mistaken for snobbishness a certain boyish diffidence for which few people gave me credit. when we passed each other, almost daily, this group of girls and i, our mutual sign of recognition was a look in an opposite direction. now my opponent was well liked by these same girls and was entitled to their support. accordingly they applauded his good plays, which was fair. they did not applaud my good plays, which was also fair. but what was not fair was that they should applaud my bad plays. their doing so roiled my blood, and thanks to those who would have had me lose, i won. in june, , i received a high school diploma. shortly afterwards i took my examinations for yale, and the following september entered the sheffield scientific school, in a non-technical course. the last week of june, , was an important one in my life. an event then occurred which undoubtedly changed my career completely. it was the direct cause of my mental collapse six years later, and of the distressing and, in some instances, strange and delightful experiences on which this book is based. the event was the illness of an older brother, who, late in june, , was stricken with what was thought to be epilepsy. few diseases can so disorganize a household and distress its members. my brother had enjoyed perfect health up to the time he was stricken; and, as there had never been a suggestion of epilepsy, or any like disease, in either branch of the family, the affliction came as a bolt from a clear sky. everything possible was done to effect a cure, but without avail. on july th, , he died, after a six years' illness, two years of which were spent at home, one year in a trip around the world in a sailing vessel, and most of the remainder on a farm near hartford. the doctors finally decided that a tumor at the base of the brain had caused his malady and his death. as i was in college when my brother was first stricken, i had more time at my disposal than the other members of the family, and for that reason spent much of it with him. though his attacks during the first year occurred only at night, the fear that they might occur during the day, in public, affected my nerves from the beginning. now, if a brother who had enjoyed perfect health all his life could be stricken with epilepsy, what was to prevent my being similarly afflicted? this was the thought that soon got possession of my mind. the more i considered it and him, the more nervous i became; and the more nervous, the more convinced that my own breakdown was only a matter of time. doomed to what i then considered a living death, i thought of epilepsy, i dreamed epilepsy, until thousands of times during the six years that this disquieting idea persisted, my over-wrought imagination seemed to drag me to the very verge of an attack. yet at no time during my life have these early fears been realized. for the fourteen months succeeding the time my brother was first stricken, i was greatly harassed with fear; but not until later did my nerves really conquer me. i remember distinctly when the break came. it happened in november, , during a recitation in german. that hour in the class room was one of the most disagreeable i ever experienced. it seemed as if my nerves had snapped, like so many minute bands of rubber stretched beyond their elastic limit. had i had the courage to leave the room, i should have done so; but i sat as if paralyzed until the class was dismissed. that term i did not again attend recitations. continuing my studies at home, i passed satisfactory examinations, which enabled me to resume my place in the class room the following january. during the remainder of my college years i seldom entered a recitation room with any other feeling than that of dread, though the absolute assurance that i should not be called upon to recite did somewhat relieve my anxiety in some classes. the professors, whom i had told about my state of health and the cause of it, invariably treated me with consideration; but, though i believe they never doubted the genuineness of my excuse, it was easy matter to keep them convinced for almost two-thirds of my college course. my inability to recite was not due usually to any lack of preparation. however well prepared i might be, the moment i was called upon, a mingling of a thousand disconcerting sensations, and the distinct thought that at last the dread attack was at hand, would suddenly intervene and deprive me of all but the power to say, "not prepared." weeks would pass without any other record being placed opposite my name than a zero, or a blank indicating that i had not been called upon at all. occasionally, however, a professor, in justice to himself and to the other students, would insist that i recite, and at such times i managed to make enough of a recitation to hold my place in the class. when i entered yale, i had four definite ambitions: first, to secure an election to a coveted secret society; second, to become one of the editors of the _yale record_, an illustrated humorous bi-weekly; third (granting that i should succeed in this latter ambition), to convince my associates that i should have the position of business manager--an office which i sought, not for the honor, but because i believed it would enable me to earn an amount of money at least equal to the cost of tuition for my years at yale; fourth (and this was my chief ambition), to win my diploma within the prescribed time. these four ambitions i fortunately achieved. a man's college days, collectively, are usually his happiest. most of mine were not happy. yet i look back upon them with great satisfaction, for i feel that i was fortunate enough to absorb some of that intangible, but very real, element known as the "yale spirit." this has helped to keep hope alive within me during my most discouraged moments, and has ever since made the accomplishment of my purposes seem easy and sure. ii on the thirtieth day of june, , i graduated at yale. had i then realized that i was a sick man, i could and would have taken a rest. but, in a way, i had become accustomed to the ups and downs of a nervous existence, and, as i could not really afford a rest, six days after my graduation i entered upon the duties of a clerk in the office of the collector of taxes in the city of new haven. i was fortunate in securing such a position at that time, for the hours were comparatively short and the work as congenial as any could have been under the circumstances. i entered the tax office with the intention of staying only until such time as i might secure a position in new york. about a year later i secured the desired position. after remaining in it for eight months i left it, in order to take a position which seemed to offer a field of endeavor more to my taste. from may, , till the middle of june, , i was a clerk in one of the smaller life-insurance companies, whose home office was within a stone's throw of what some men consider the center of the universe. to be in the very heart of the financial district of new york appealed strongly to my imagination. as a result of the contagious ideals of wall street, the making of money was then a passion with me. i wished to taste the bitter-sweet of power based on wealth. for the first eighteen months of my life in new york my health seemed no worse than it had been during the preceding three years. but the old dread still possessed me. i continued to have my more and less nervous days, weeks, and months. in march, , however, there came a change for the worse. at that time i had a severe attack of grippe which incapacitated me for two weeks. as was to be expected in my case, this illness seriously depleted my vitality, and left me in a frightfully depressed condition--a depression which continued to grow upon me until the final crash came, on june rd, . the events of that day, seemingly disastrous as then viewed, but evidently all for the best as the issue proved, forced me along paths traveled by thousands, but comprehended by few. i had continued to perform my clerical duties until june th. on that day i was compelled to stop, and that at once. i had reached a point where my will had to capitulate to unreason--that unscrupulous usurper. my previous five years as a neurasthenic had led me to believe that i had experienced all the disagreeable sensations an overworked and unstrung nervous system could suffer. but on this day several new and terrifying sensations seized me and rendered me all but helpless. my condition, however, was not apparent even to those who worked with me at the same desk. i remember trying to speak and at times finding myself unable to give utterance to my thoughts. though i was able to answer questions, that fact hardly diminished my feeling of apprehension, for a single failure in an attempt to speak will stagger any man, no matter what his state of health. i tried to copy certain records in the day's work, but my hand was too unsteady, and i found it difficult to read the words and figures presented to my tired vision in blurred confusion. that afternoon, conscious that some terrible calamity was impending, but not knowing what would be its nature, i performed a very curious act. certain early literary efforts which had failed of publication in the college paper, but which i had jealously cherished for several years, i utterly destroyed. then, after a hurried arrangement of my affairs, i took an early afternoon train, and was soon in new haven. home life did not make me better, and, except for three or four short walks, i did not go out of the house at all until june d, when i went in a most unusual way. to relatives i said little about my state of health, beyond the general statement that i had never felt worse--a statement which, when made by a neurasthenic, means much, but proves little. for five years i had had my ups and downs, and both my relatives and myself had begun to look upon these as things which would probably be corrected in and by time. the day after my home-coming i made up my mind, or that part of it which was still within my control, that the time had come to quit business entirely and take a rest of months. i even arranged with a younger brother to set out at once for some quiet place in the white mountains, where i hoped to steady my shattered nerves. at this time i felt as though in a tremor from head to foot, and the thought that i was about to have an epileptic attack constantly recurred. on more than one occasion i said to friends that i would rather die than live an epileptic; yet, if i rightly remember, i never declared the actual fear that i was doomed to bear such an affliction. though i held the mad belief that i should suffer epilepsy, i held the sane hope, amounting to belief, that i should escape it. this fact may account, in a measure, for my six years of endurance. on the th of june i felt so much worse that i went to my bed and stayed there until the d. during the night of the th my persistent dread became a false belief--a delusion. what i had long expected i now became convinced had at last occurred. i believed myself to be a confirmed epileptic, and that conviction was stronger than any ever held by a sound intellect. the half-resolve, made before my mind was actually impaired, namely, that i would kill myself rather than live the life i dreaded, now divided my attention with the belief that the stroke had fallen. from that time my one thought was to hasten the end, for i felt that i should lose the chance to die should relatives find me in an attack of epilepsy. considering the state of my mind and my inability at that time to appreciate the enormity of such an end as i half contemplated, my suicidal purpose was not entirely selfish. that i had never seriously contemplated suicide is proved by the fact that i had not provided myself with the means of accomplishing it, despite my habit, has long been remarked by my friends, of preparing even for unlikely contingencies. so far as i had the control of my faculties, it must be admitted that i deliberated; but, strictly speaking, the rash act which followed cannot correctly be called an attempt at suicide--for how can a man who is not himself kill himself? soon my disordered brain was busy with schemes for death. i distinctly remember one which included a row on lake whitney, near new haven. this i intended to take in the most unstable boat obtainable. such a craft could be easily upset, and i should so bequeath to relatives and friends a sufficient number of reasonable doubts to rob my death of the usual stigma. i also remember searching for some deadly drug which i hoped to find about the house. but the quantity and quality of what i found were not such as i dared to trust. i then thought of severing my jugular vein, even going so far as to test against my throat the edge of a razor which, after the deadly impulse first asserted itself, i had secreted in a convenient place. i really wished to die, but so uncertain and ghastly a method did not appeal to me. nevertheless, had i felt sure that in my tremulous frenzy i could accomplish the act with skilful dispatch, i should at once have ended my troubles. my imaginary attacks were now recurring with distracting frequency, and i was in constant fear of discovery. during these three or four days i slept scarcely at all--even the medicine given to induce sleep having little effect. though inwardly frenzied, i gave no outward sign of my condition. most of the time i remained quietly in bed. i spoke but seldom. i had practically, though not entirely, lost the power of speech; but my almost unbroken silence aroused no suspicions as to the seriousness of my condition. by a process of elimination, all suicidal methods but one had at last been put aside. on that one my mind now centred. my room was on the fourth floor of the house--one of a block of five--in which my parents lived. the house stood several feet back from the street. the sills of my windows were a little more than thirty feet above the ground. under one was a flag pavement, extending from the house to the front gate. under the other was a rectangular coal-hole covered with an iron grating. this was surrounded by flagging over a foot in width; and connecting it and the pavement proper was another flag. so that all along the front of the house, stone or iron filled a space at no point less than two feet in width. it required little calculation to determine how slight the chance of surviving a fall from either of those windows. about dawn i arose. stealthily i approached a window, pushed open the blinds, and looked out--and down. then i closed the blinds as noiselessly as possible and crept back to bed: i had not yet become so irresponsible that i dared to take the leap. scarcely had i pulled up the covering when a watchful relative entered my room, drawn thither perhaps by that protecting prescience which love inspires. i thought her words revealed a suspicion that she had heard me at the window, but speechless as i was i had enough speech to deceive her. for of what account are truth and love when life itself has ceased to seem desirable? the dawn soon hid itself in the brilliancy of a perfect june day. never had i seen a brighter--to look at; never a darker--to live through--or a better to die upon. its very perfection and the songs of the robins, which at that season were plentiful in the neighborhood, served but to increase my despair and make me the more willing to die. as the day wore on, my anguish became more intense, but i managed to mislead those about me by uttering a word now and then, and feigning to read a newspaper, which to me, however, appeared an unintelligible jumble of type. my brain was in a ferment. it felt as if pricked by a million needles at white heat. my whole body felt as though it would be torn apart by the terrific nervous strain under which i labored. shortly after noon, dinner having been served, my mother entered the room and asked me if she should bring me some dessert. i assented. it was not that i cared for the dessert; i had no appetite. i wished to get her out of the room, for i believed myself to be on the verge of another attack. she left at once. i knew that in two or three minutes she would return. the crisis seemed at hand. it was now or never for liberation. she had probably descended one of three flights of stairs when, with the mad desire to dash my brains out on the pavement below, i rushed to that window which was directly over the flag walk. providence must have guided my movements, for in some otherwise unaccountable way, on the very point of hurling myself out bodily, i chose to drop feet foremost instead. with my fingers i clung for a moment to the sill. then i let go. in falling my body turned so as to bring my right side toward the building. i struck the ground a little more than two feet from the foundation of the house, and at least three to the left of the point from which i started. missing the stone pavement by not more than three or four inches, i struck on comparatively soft earth. my position must have been almost upright, for both heels struck the ground squarely. the concussion slightly crushed one heel bone and broke most of the small bones in the arch of each foot, but there was no mutilation of the flesh. as my feet struck the ground my right hand struck hard against the front of the house, and it is probable that these three points of contact, dividing the force of the shock, prevented my back from being broken. as it was, it narrowly escaped a fracture and, for several weeks afterward, it felt as if powdered glass had been substituted for cartilage between the vertebrae. i did not lose consciousness even for a second, and the demoniacal dread, which had possessed me from june, , until this fall to earth just six years later, was dispelled the instant i struck the ground. at no time since have i experienced one of my imaginary attacks; nor has my mind even for a moment entertained such an idea. the little demon which had tortured me relentlessly for so many years evidently lacked the stamina which i must have had to survive the shock of my suddenly arrested flight through space. that the very delusion which drove me to a death-loving desperation should so suddenly vanish would seem to indicate that many a suicide might be averted if the person contemplating it could find the proper assistance when such a crisis impends. iii it was squarely in front of the dining-room window that i fell, and those at dinner were, of course, startled. it took them a second or two to realize what had happened. then my younger brother rushed out, and with others carried me into the house. naturally that dinner was permanently interrupted. a mattress was placed on the floor of the dining room and i on that, suffering intensely. i said little, but what i said was significant. "i thought i had epilepsy!" was my first remark; and several times i said, "i wish it was over!" for i believed that my death was only a question of hours. to the doctors, who soon arrived, i said, "my back is broken!"--raising myself slightly, however, as i said so. an ambulance was summoned and i was placed in it. because of the nature of my injuries it had to proceed slowly. the trip of a mile and a half seemed interminable, but finally i arrived at grace hospital and was placed in a room which soon became a chamber of torture. it was on the second floor; and the first object to engage my attention and stir my imagination was a man who appeared outside my window and placed in position several heavy iron bars. these were, it seems, thought necessary for my protection, but at that time no such idea occurred to me. my mind was in a delusional state, ready and eager to seize upon any external stimulus as a pretext for its wild inventions, and that barred window started a terrible train of delusions which persisted for seven hundred and ninety-eight days. during that period my mind imprisoned both mind and body in a dungeon than which none was ever more secure. knowing that those who attempt suicide are usually placed under arrest, i believed myself under legal restraint. i imagined that at any moment i might be taken to court to face some charge lodged against me by the local police. every act of those about me seemed to be a part of what, in police parlance, is commonly called the "third degree." the hot poultices placed upon my feet and ankles threw me into a profuse perspiration, and my very active association of mad ideas convinced me that i was being "sweated"--another police term which i had often seen in the newspapers. i inferred that this third-degree sweating process was being inflicted in order to extort some kind of a confession, though what my captors wished me to confess i could not for my life imagine. as i was really in a state of delirium, with high fever, i had an insatiable thirst. the only liquids given me were hot saline solutions. though there was good reason for administering these, i believed they were designed for no other purpose than to increase my sufferings, as part of the same inquisitorial process. but had a confession been due, i could hardly have made it, for that part of my brain which controls the power of speech was seriously affected, and was soon to be further disabled by my ungovernable thoughts. only an occasional word did i utter. certain hallucinations of hearing, or "false voices," added to my torture. within my range of hearing, but beyond the reach of my understanding, there was a hellish vocal hum. now and then i would recognize the subdued voice of a friend; now and then i would hear the voices of some i believed were not friends. all these referred to me and uttered what i could not clearly distinguish, but knew must be imprecations. ghostly rappings on the walls and ceiling of my room punctuated unintelligible mumblings of invisible persecutors. i remember distinctly my delusion of the following day--sunday. i seemed to be no longer in the hospital. in some mysterious way i had been spirited aboard a huge ocean liner. i first discovered this when the ship was in mid-ocean. the day was clear, the sea apparently calm, but for all that the ship was slowly sinking. and it was i, of course, who had created the situation which must turn out fatally for all, unless the coast of europe could be reached before the water in the hold should extinguish the fires. how had this peril overtaken us? simply enough: during the night i had in some way--a way still unknown to me--opened a porthole below the water-line; and those in charge of the vessel seemed powerless to close it. every now and then i could hear parts of the ship give way under the strain. i could hear the air hiss and whistle spitefully under the resistless impact of the invading waters; i could hear the crashing of timbers as partitions were wrecked; and as the water rushed in at one place i could see, at another, scores of helpless passengers swept overboard into the sea--my unintended victims. i believed that i, too, might at any moment be swept away. that i was not thrown into the sea by vengeful fellow-passengers was, i thought, due to their desire to keep me alive until, if possible, land should be reached, when a more painful death could be inflicted upon me. while aboard my phantom ship i managed in some way to establish an electric railway system; and the trolley cars which passed the hospital were soon running along the deck of my ocean liner, carrying passengers from the places of peril to what seemed places of comparative safety at the bow. every time i heard a car pass the hospital, one of mine went clanging along the ship's deck. my feverish imaginings were no less remarkable than the external stimuli which excited them. as i have since ascertained, there were just outside my room an elevator and near it a speaking-tube. whenever the speaking-tube was used from another part of the building, the summoning whistle conveyed to my mind the idea of the exhaustion of air in a ship-compartment, and the opening and shutting of the elevator door completed the illusion of a ship fast going to pieces. but the ship my mind was on never reached any shore, nor did she sink. like a mirage she vanished, and again i found myself safe in my bed at the hospital. "safe," did i say? scarcely that--for deliverance from one impending disaster simply meant immediate precipitation into another. my delirium gradually subsided, and four or five days after the d the doctors were able to set my broken bones. the operation suggested new delusions. shortly before the adjustment of the plaster casts, my legs, for obvious reasons, were shaved from shin to calf. this unusual tonsorial operation i read for a sign of degradation--associating it with what i had heard of the treatment of murderers and with similar customs in barbarous countries. it was about this time also that strips of court-plaster, in the form of a cross, were placed on my forehead, which had been slightly scratched in my fall, and this, of course, i interpreted as a brand of infamy. had my health been good, i should at this time have been participating in the triennial of my class at yale. indeed, i was a member of the triennial committee and though, when i left new york on june th, i had been feeling terribly ill, i had then hoped to take part in the celebration. the class reunions were held on tuesday, june th--three days after my collapse. those familiar with yale customs know that the harvard baseball game is one of the chief events of the commencement season. headed by brass bands, all the classes whose reunions fall in the same year march to the yale athletic field to see the game and renew their youth--using up as much vigor in one delirious day as would insure a ripe old age if less prodigally expended. these classes, with their bands and cheering, accompanied by thousands of other vociferating enthusiasts, march through west chapel street--the most direct route from the campus to the field. it is upon this line of march that grace hospital is situated, and i knew that on the day of the game the yale thousands would pass the scene of my incarceration. i have endured so many days of the most exquisite torture that i hesitate to distinguish among them by degrees; each deserves its own unique place, even as a saint's day in the calendar of an olden spanish inquisitor. but, if the palm is to be awarded to any, june th, , perhaps has the first claim. my state of mind at that time might be pictured thus: the criminal charge of attempted suicide stood against me on june rd. by the th many other and worse charges had accumulated. the public believed me the most despicable member of my race. the papers were filled with accounts of my misdeeds. the thousands of collegians gathered in the city, many of whom i knew personally, loathed the very thought that a yale man should so disgrace his alma mater. and when they approached the hospital on their way to the athletic field, i concluded that it was their intention to take me from my bed, drag me to the lawn, and there tear me limb from limb. few incidents during my unhappiest years are more vividly or circumstantially impressed upon my memory. the fear, to be sure, was absurd, but in the lurid lexicon of unreason there is no such word as "absurd." believing, as i did, that i had dishonored yale and forfeited the privilege of being numbered among her sons, it was not surprising that the college cheers which filled the air that afternoon, and in which only a few days earlier i had hoped to join, struck terror to my heart. iv naturally i was suspicious of all about me, and became more so each day. but not until about a month later did i refuse to recognize my relatives. while i was at grace hospital, my father and eldest brother called almost every day to see me, and, though i said little, i still accepted them in their proper characters. i remember well a conversation one morning with my father. the words i uttered were few, but full of meaning. shortly before this time my death had been momentarily expected. i still believed that i was surely about to die as a result of my injuries, and i wished in some way to let my father know that, despite my apparently ignominious end, i appreciated all that he had done for me during my life. few men, i believe, ever had a more painful time in expressing their feelings than i had on that occasion. i had but little control over my mind, and my power of speech was impaired. my father sat beside my bed. looking up at him, i said, "you have been a good father to me." "i have always tried to be," was his characteristic reply. after the broken bones had been set, and the full effects of the severe shock i had sustained had worn off, i began to gain strength. about the third week i was able to sit up and was occasionally taken out of doors but each day, and especially during the hours of the night, my delusions increased in force and variety. the world was fast becoming to me a stage on which every human being within the range of my senses seemed to be playing a part, and that a part which would lead not only to my destruction (for which i cared little), but also to the ruin of all with whom i had ever come in contact. in the month of july several thunder-storms occurred. to me the thunder was "stage" thunder, the lightning man-made, and the accompanying rain due to some clever contrivance of my persecutors. there was a chapel connected with the hospital--or at least a room where religious services were held every sunday. to me the hymns were funeral dirges; and the mumbled prayers, faintly audible, were in behalf of every sufferer in the world but one. it was my eldest brother who looked after my care and interests during my entire illness. toward the end of july, he informed me that i was to be taken home again. i must have given him an incredulous look, for he said, "don't you think we can take you home? well, we can and will." believing myself in the hands of the police, i did not see how that was possible. nor did i have any desire to return. that a man who had disgraced his family should again enter his old home and expect his relatives to treat him as though nothing were changed, was a thought against which my soul rebelled; and, when the day came for my return, i fought my brother and the doctor feebly as they lifted me from the bed. but i soon submitted, was placed in a carriage, and driven to the house i had left a month earlier. for a few hours my mind was calmer than it had been. but my new-found ease was soon dispelled by the appearance of a nurse--one of several who had attended me at the hospital. though at home and surrounded by relatives, i jumped to the conclusion that i was still under police surveillance. at my request my brother had promised not to engage any nurse who had been in attendance at the hospital. the difficulty of procuring any other led him to disregard my request, which at the time he held simply as a whim. but he did not disregard it entirely, for the nurse selected had merely acted as a substitute on one occasion, and then only for about an hour. that was long enough, though, for my memory to record her image. finding myself still under surveillance, i soon jumped to a second conclusion, namely, that this was no brother of mine at all. he instantly appeared in the light of a sinister double, acting as a detective. after that i refused absolutely to speak to him again, and this repudiation i extended to all other relatives, friends and acquaintances. if the man i had accepted as my brother was spurious, so was everybody--that was my deduction. for more than two years i was without relatives or friends, in fact, without a world, except that one created by my own mind from the chaos that reigned within it. while i was at grace hospital, it was my sense of hearing which was the most disturbed. but soon after i was placed in my room at home, _all_ of my senses became perverted. i still heard the "false voices"--which were doubly false, for truth no longer existed. the tricks played upon me by my senses of taste, touch, smell, and sight were the source of great mental anguish. none of my food had its usual flavor. this soon led to that common delusion that some of it contained poison--not deadly poison, for i knew that my enemies hated me too much to allow me the boon of death, but poison sufficient to aggravate my discomfort. at breakfast i had cantaloupe, liberally sprinkled with salt. the salt seemed to pucker my mouth, and i believed it to be powdered alum. usually, with my supper, sliced peaches were served. though there was sugar on the peaches, salt would have done as well. salt, sugar, and powdered alum had become the same to me. familiar materials had acquired a different "feel." in the dark, the bed sheets at times seemed like silk. as i had not been born with a golden spoon in my mouth, or other accessories of a useless luxury, i believed the detectives had provided these silken sheets for some hostile purpose of their own. what that purpose was i could not divine, and my very inability to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion stimulated my brain to the assembling of disturbing thoughts in an almost endless train. imaginary breezes struck my face, gentle, but not welcome, most of them from parts of the room where currents of air could not possibly originate. they seemed to come from cracks in the walls and ceiling and annoyed me exceedingly. i thought them in some way related to that ancient method of torture by which water is allowed to strike the victim's forehead, a drop at a time, until death releases him. for a while my sense of smell added to my troubles. the odor of burning human flesh and other pestilential fumes seemed to assail me. my sense of sight was subjected to many weird and uncanny effects. phantasmagoric visions made their visitations throughout the night, for a time with such regularity that i used to await their coming with a certain restrained curiosity. i was not entirely unaware that something was ailing with my mind. yet these illusions of sight i took for the work of detectives, who sat up nights racking their brains in order to rack and utterly wreck my own with a cruel and unfair third degree. handwriting on the wall has ever struck terror to the hearts of even sane men. i remember as one of my most unpleasant experiences that i began to see handwriting on the sheets of my bed staring me in the face, and not me alone, but also the spurious relatives who often stood or sat near me. on each fresh sheet placed over me i would soon begin to see words, sentences, and signatures, all in my own handwriting. yet i could not decipher any of the words, and this fact dismayed me, for i firmly believed that those who stood about could read them all and found them to be incriminating evidence. i imagined that these visionlike effects, with few exceptions, were produced by a magic lantern controlled by some of my myriad persecutors. the lantern was rather a cinematographic contrivance. moving pictures, often brilliantly colored, were thrown on the ceiling of my room and sometimes on the sheets of my bed. human bodies, dismembered and gory, were one of the most common of these. all this may have been due to the fact that, as a boy, i had fed my imagination on the sensational news of the day as presented in the public press. despite the heavy penalty which i now paid for thus loading my mind, i believe this unwise indulgence gave a breadth and variety to my peculiar psychological experience which it otherwise would have lacked. for with an insane ingenuity i managed to connect myself with almost every crime of importance of which i had ever read. dismembered human bodies were not alone my bedfellows at this time. i remember one vision of vivid beauty. swarms of butterflies and large and gorgeous moths appeared on the sheets. i wished that the usually unkind operator would continue to show these pretty creatures. another pleasing vision appeared about twilight several days in succession. i can trace it directly to impressions gained in early childhood. the quaint pictures by kate greenaway--little children in attractive dress, playing in old-fashioned gardens--would float through space just outside my windows. the pictures were always accompanied by the gleeful shouts of real children in the neighborhood, who, before being sent to bed by watchful parents, devoted the last hour of the day to play. it doubtless was their shouts that stirred my memories of childhood and brought forth these pictures. in my chamber of intermittent horrors and momentary delights, uncanny occurrences were frequent. i believed there was some one who at fall of night secreted himself under my bed. that in itself was not peculiar, as sane persons at one time or another are troubled by that same notion. but _my_ bed-fellow--under the bed--was a detective; and he spent most of his time during the night pressing pieces of ice against my injured heels, to precipitate, as i thought, my overdue confession. the piece of ice in the pitcher of water which usually stood on the table sometimes clinked against the pitcher's side as its center of gravity shifted through melting. it was many days before i reasoned out the cause of this sound; and until i did i supposed it was produced by some mechanical device resorted to by the detectives for a purpose. thus the most trifling occurrence assumed for me vast significance. v after remaining at home for about a month, during which time i showed no improvement mentally, though i did gain physically, i was taken to a private sanatorium. my destination was frankly disclosed to me. but my habit of disbelief had now become fixed, and i thought myself on the way to a trial in new york city, for some one of the many crimes with which i stood charged. my emotions on leaving new haven were, i imagine, much the same as those of a condemned but penitent criminal who looks upon the world for the last time. the day was hot, and, as we drove to the railway station, the blinds on most of the houses in the streets through which we passed were seen to be closed. the reason for this was not then apparent to me. i thought i saw an unbroken line of deserted houses, and i imagined that their desertion had been deliberately planned as a sign of displeasure on the part of their former occupants. as citizens of new haven, i supposed them bitterly ashamed of such a despicable townsman as myself. because of the early hour, the streets were practically deserted. this fact, too, i interpreted to my own disadvantage. as the carriage crossed the main business thoroughfare, i took what i believed to be my last look at that part of my native city. from the carriage i was carried to the train and placed in the smoking car in the last seat on the right-hand side. the back of the seat next in front was reversed so that my legs might be placed in a comfortable position, and one of the boards used by card-playing travelers was placed beneath them as a support. with a consistent degree of suspicion i paid particular attention to a blue mark on the face of the railroad ticket held by my custodian. i took it to be a means of identification for use in court. that one's memory may perform its function in the grip of unreason itself is proved by the fact that my memory retains an impression, and an accurate one, of virtually everything that befell me, except when under the influence of an anaesthetic or in the unconscious hours of undisturbed sleep. important events, trifling conversations, and more trifling thoughts of my own are now recalled with ease and accuracy; whereas, prior to my illness and until a strange experience to be recorded later, mine was an ordinary memory when it was not noticeably poor. at school and in college i stood lowest in those studies in which success depended largely upon this faculty. psychiatrists inform me that it is not unusual for those suffering as i did to retain accurate impressions of their experiences while ill. to laymen this may seem almost miraculous, yet it is not so; nor is it even remarkable. assuming that an insane person's memory is capable of recording impressions at all, remembrance for one in the torturing grip of delusions of persecution should be doubly easy. this deduction is in accord with the accepted psychological law that the retention of an impression in the memory depends largely upon the intensity of the impression itself, and the frequency of its repetition. fear to speak, lest i should incriminate myself and others, gave to my impressions the requisite intensity, and the daily recurrence of the same general line of thought served to fix all impressions in my then supersensitive memory. shortly before seven in the morning, on the way to the sanatorium, the train passed through a manufacturing center. many workmen were lounging in front of a factory, most of them reading newspapers. i believed these papers contained an account of me and my crimes, and i thought everyone along the route knew who i was and what i was, and that i was on that train. few seemed to pay any attention to me, yet this very fact looked to be a part of some well-laid plan of the detectives. the sanatorium to which i was going was in the country. when a certain station was reached, i was carried from the train to a carriage. at that moment i caught sight of a former college acquaintance, whose appearance i thought was designed to let me know that yale, which i believed i had disgraced, was one of the powers behind my throne of torture. soon after i reached my room in the sanatorium, the supervisor entered. drawing a table close to the bed, he placed upon it a slip of paper which he asked me to sign. i looked upon this as a trick of the detectives to get a specimen of my handwriting. i now know that the signing of the slip is a legal requirement, with which every patient is supposed to comply upon entering such an institution--private in character--unless he has been committed by some court. the exact wording of this "voluntary commitment" i do not now recall; but, it was, in substance, an agreement to abide by the rules of the institution--whatever _they_ were--and to submit to such restraint as might be deemed necessary. had i not felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, i believe my sense of humor would have caused me to laugh outright; for the signing of such an agreement by one so situated was, even to my mind, a farce. after much coaxing i was induced to go so far as to take the pen in my hand. there i again hesitated. the supervisor apparently thought i might write with more ease if the paper were placed on a book. and so i might, had he selected a book of a different title. one more likely to arouse suspicions in my mind could not have been found in a search of the congressional library. i had left new york on june th, and it was in the direction of that city that my present trip had taken me. i considered this but the first step of my return under the auspices of its police department. "called back" was the title of the book that stared me in the face. after refusing for a long time i finally weakened and signed the slip; but i did not place it on the book. to have done that would, in my mind, have been tantamount to giving consent to extradition; and i was in no mood to assist the detectives in their mean work. at what cost had i signed that commitment slip? to me it was the act of signing my own death-warrant. vi during the entire time that my delusions of persecution, as they are called, persisted, i could not but respect the mind that had laid out so comprehensive and devilishly ingenious and, at times, artistic a third degree as i was called upon to bear. and an innate modesty (more or less fugitive since these peculiar experiences) does not forbid my mentioning the fact that i still respect that mind. suffering such as i endured during the month of august in my own home continued with gradually diminishing force during the eight months i remained in this sanatorium. nevertheless my sufferings during the first four of these eight months was intense. all my senses were still perverted. my sense of sight was the first to right itself--nearly enough, at least, to rob the detectives of their moving pictures. but before the last fitful film had run through my mind, i beheld one which i shall now describe. i can trace it directly to an impression made on my memory about two years earlier, before my breakdown. shortly after going to new york to live, i had explored the eden musée. one of the most gruesome of the spectacles which i had seen in its famed chamber of horrors was a representation of a gorilla, holding in its arms the gory body of a woman. it was that impression which now revived in my mind. but by a process strictly in accordance with darwin's theory, the eden musée gorilla had become a man--in appearance not unlike the beast that had inspired my distorted thought. this man held a bloody dagger which he repeatedly plunged into the woman's breast. the apparition did not terrify me at all. in fact i found it interesting, for i looked upon it as a contrivance of the detectives. its purpose i could not divine, but this fact did not trouble me, as i reasoned that no additional criminal charges could make my situation worse than it already was. for a month or two, "false voices" continued to annoy me. and if there is a hell conducted on the principles of my temporary hell, gossippers will one day wish they had attended strictly to their own business. this is not a confession. i am no gossipper, though i cannot deny that i have occasionally gossipped--a little. and this was my punishment: persons in an adjoining room seemed to be repeating the very same things which i had said of others on these communicative occasions. i supposed that those whom i had talked about had in some way found me out, and intended now to take their revenge. my sense of smell, too, became normal; but my sense of taste was slow in recovering. at each meal, poison was still the _pièce de résistance_, and it was not surprising that i sometimes dallied one, two, or three hours over a meal, and often ended by not eating it at all. there was, however, another reason for my frequent refusal to take food, in my belief that the detectives had resorted to a more subtle method of detection. they now intended by each article of food to suggest a certain idea, and i was expected to recognize the idea thus suggested. conviction or acquittal depended upon my correct interpretation of their symbols, and my interpretation was to be signified by my eating, or not eating, the several kinds of food placed before me. to have eaten a burnt crust of bread would have been a confession of arson. why? simply because the charred crust suggested fire; and, as bread is the staff of life, would it not be an inevitable deduction that life had been destroyed--destroyed by fire--and that i was the destroyer? on one day to eat a given article of food meant confession. the next day, or the next meal, a refusal to eat it meant confession. this complication of logic made it doubly difficult for me to keep from incriminating myself and others. it can easily be seen that i was between several devils and the deep sea. to eat or not to eat perplexed me more than the problem conveyed by a few shorter words perplexed a certain prince, who, had he lived a few centuries later (out of a book), might have been forced to enter a kingdom where kings and princes are made and unmade on short notice. indeed, he might have lost his principality entirely--or, at least, his subjects; for, as i later had occasion to observe, the frequency with which a dethroned reason mounts a throne and rules a world is such that self-crowned royalty receives but scant homage from the less elated members of the court. for several weeks i ate but little. though the desire for food was not wanting, my mind (that dog-in-the-manger) refused to let me satisfy my hunger. coaxing by the attendants was of little avail; force was usually of less. but the threat that liquid nourishment would be administered through my nostrils sometimes prevailed for the attribute of shrewdness was not so utterly lost that i could not choose the less of two evils. what i looked upon as a gastronomic ruse of the detectives sometimes overcame my fear of eating. every sunday ice cream was served with dinner. at the beginning of the meal a large pyramid of it would be placed before me in a saucer several sizes too small. i believed that it was never to be mine unless i first partook of the more substantial fare. as i dallied over the meal, that delicious pyramid would gradually melt, slowly filling the small saucer, which i knew could not long continue to hold all of its original contents. as the melting of the ice cream progressed, i became more indifferent to my eventual fate; and, invariably, before a drop of that precious reward had dripped from the saucer, i had eaten enough of the dinner to prove my title to the seductive dessert. moreover, during its enjoyment, i no longer cared a whit for charges or convictions of all the crimes in the calendar. this fact is less trifling than it seems; for it proves the value of strategy as opposed to brute and sometimes brutal force, of which i shall presently give some illuminating examples. vii choice of a sanatorium by people of limited means is, unfortunately, very restricted. though my relatives believed the one in which i was placed was at least fairly well conducted, events proved otherwise. from a modest beginning made not many years previously, it had enjoyed a mushroom growth. about two hundred and fifty patients were harbored in a dozen or more small frame buildings, suggestive of a mill settlement. outside the limits of a city and in a state where there was lax official supervision, owing in part to faulty laws, the owner of this little settlement of woe had erected a nest of veritable fire-traps in which helpless sick people were forced to risk their lives. this was a necessary procedure if the owner was to grind out an exorbitant income on his investment. the same spirit of economy and commercialism pervaded the entire institution. its worst manifestation was in the employment of the meanest type of attendant--men willing to work for the paltry wage of eighteen dollars a month. very seldom did competent attendants consent to work there, and then usually because of a scarcity of profitable employment elsewhere. providentially for me, such an attendant came upon the scene. this young man, so long as he remained in the good graces of the owner-superintendent, was admittedly one of the best attendants he had ever had. yet aside from a five-dollar bill which a relative had sent me at christmas and which i had refused to accept because of my belief that it, like my relatives, was counterfeit--aside from that bill, which was turned over to the attendant by my brother, he received no additional pecuniary rewards. his chief reward lay in his consciousness of the fact that he was protecting me against injustices which surely would have been visited upon me had he quitted his position and left me to the mercies of the owner and his ignorant assistants. to-day, with deep appreciation, i contrast the treatment i received at his hands with that which i suffered during the three weeks preceding his appearance on the scene. during that period, no fewer than seven attendants contributed to my misery. though some of them were perhaps decent enough fellows outside a sickroom, not one had the right to minister to a patient in my condition. the two who were first put in charge of me did not strike me with their fists or even threaten to do so; but their unconscious lack of consideration for my comfort and peace of mind was torture. they were typical eighteen-dollar-a-month attendants. another of the same sort, on one occasion, cursed me with a degree of brutality which i prefer not to recall, much less record. and a few days later the climax was appropriately capped when still another attendant perpetrated an outrage which a sane man would have resented to the point of homicide. he was a man of the coarsest type. his hands would have done credit to a longshoreman--fingers knotted and nearly twice the normal size. because i refused to obey a peremptory command, and this at a time when i habitually refused even on pain of imagined torture to obey or to speak, this brute not only cursed me with abandon, he deliberately spat upon me. i was a mental incompetent, but like many others in a similar position i was both by antecedents and by training a gentleman. vitriol could not have seared my flesh more deeply than the venom of this human viper stung my soul! yet, as i was rendered speechless by delusions, i could offer not so much as a word of protest. i trust that it is not now too late, however, to protest in behalf of the thousands of outraged patients in private and state hospitals whose mute submission to such indignities has never been recorded. of the readiness of an unscrupulous owner to employ inferior attendants, i shall offer a striking illustration. the capable attendant who acted as my protector at this sanatorium has given me an affidavit embodying certain facts which, of course, i could not have known at the time of their occurrence. the gist of this sworn statement is as follows: one day a man--seemingly a tramp--approached the main building of the sanatorium and inquired for the owner. he soon found him, talked with him a few minutes, and an hour or so later he was sitting at the bedside of an old and infirm man. this aged patient had recently been committed to the institution by relatives who had labored under the common delusion that the payment of a considerable sum of money each week would insure kindly treatment. when this tramp-attendant first appeared, all his visible worldly possessions were contained in a small bundle which he carried under his arm. so filthy were his person and his clothes that he received a compulsory bath and another suit before being assigned to duty. he then began to earn his four dollars and fifty cents a week by sitting several hours a day in the room with the aged man, sick unto death. my informant soon engaged him in conversation. what did he learn? first, that the uncouth stranger had never before so much as crossed the threshold of a hospital. his last job had been as a member of a section-gang on a railroad. from the roadbed of a railway to the bedside of a man about to die was indeed a change which might have taxed the adaptability of a more versatile being. but coarse as he was, this unkempt novice did not abuse his charge--except in so far as his inability to interpret or anticipate wants contributed to the sick man's distress. my own attendant, realizing that the patient was suffering for the want of skilled attention, spent a part of his time in this unhappy room, which was but across the hall from my own. the end soon came. my attendant, who had had training as a nurse, detected the unmistakable signs of impending death. he forthwith informed the owner of the sanatorium that the patient was in a dying condition, and urged him (a doctor) to go at once to the bedside. the doctor refused to comply with the request on the plea that he was at the time "too busy." when at last he did visit the room, the patient was dead. then came the supervisor, who took charge of the body. as it was being carried from the room the supervisor, the "handy man" of the owner, said: "there goes the best paying patient the institution had; the doctor" (meaning the owner) "was getting eighty-five dollars a week out of him." of this sum not more than twenty dollars at most, at the time this happened, could be considered as "cost of maintenance." the remaining sixty-five dollars went into the pocket of the owner. had the man lived for one year, the owner might have pocketed (so far as this one case was concerned) the neat but wicked profit of thirty-three hundred and eighty dollars. and what would the patient have received? the same privilege of living in neglect and dying neglected. viii for the first few weeks after my arrival at the sanatorium, i was cared for by two attendants, one by day and one by night. i was still helpless, being unable to put my feet out of bed, much less upon the floor, and it was necessary that i be continually watched lest an impulse to walk should seize me. after a month or six weeks, however, i grew stronger, and from that time only one person was assigned to care for me. he was with me all day, and slept at night in the same room. the earliest possible dismissal of one of my two attendants was expedient for the family purse; but such are the deficiencies in the prevailing treatment of the insane that relief in one direction often occasions evil in another. no sooner was the expense thus reduced than i was subjected to a detestable form of restraint which amounted to torture. to guard me at night while the remaining attendant slept, my hands were imprisoned in what is known as a "muff." a muff, innocent enough to the eyes of those who have never worn one, is in reality a relic of the inquisition. it is an instrument of restraint which has been in use for centuries and even in many of our public and private institutions is still in use. the muff i wore was made of canvas, and differed in construction from a muff designed for the hands of fashion only in the inner partition, also of canvas, which separated my hands, but allowed them to overlap. at either end was a strap which buckled tightly around the wrist and was locked. the assistant physician, when he announced to me that i was to be subjected at night to this restraint, broke the news gently--so gently that i did not then know, nor did i guess for several months, why this thing was done to me. and thus it was that i drew deductions of my own which added not a little to my torture. the gas jet in my room was situated at a distance, and stronger light was needed to find the keyholes and lock the muff when adjusted. hence, an attendant was standing by with a lighted candle. seating himself on the side of the bed, the physician said: "you won't try again to do what you did in new haven, will you?" now one may have done many things in a city where he has lived for a score of years, and it is not surprising that i failed to catch the meaning of the doctor's question. it was only after months of secret puzzling that i at last did discover his reference to my attempted suicide. but now the burning candle in the hands of the attendant, and a certain similarity between the doctor's name and the name of a man whose trial for arson i once attended out of idle curiosity, led me to imagine that in some way i had been connected with that crime. for months i firmly believed i stood charged as an accomplice. the putting on of the muff was the most humiliating incident of my life. the shaving of my legs and the wearing of the court-plaster brand of infamy had been humiliating, but those experiences had not overwhelmed my very heart as did this bitter ordeal. i resisted weakly, and, after the muff was adjusted and locked, for the first time since my mental collapse i wept. and i remember distinctly why i wept. the key that locked the muff unlocked in imagination the door of the home in new haven which i believed i had disgraced--and seemed for a time to unlock my heart. anguish beat my mind into a momentary sanity, and with a wholly sane emotion i keenly felt my imagined disgrace. my thoughts centred on my mother. her (and other members of the family) i could plainly see at home in a state of dejection and despair over her imprisoned and heartless son. i wore the muff each night for several weeks, and for the first few nights the unhappy glimpses of a ruined home recurred and increased my sufferings. it was not always as an instrument of restraint that the muff was employed. frequently it was used as a means of discipline on account of supposed stubborn disobedience. many times was i roughly overpowered by two attendants who locked my hands and coerced me to do whatever i had refused to do. my arms and hands were my only weapons of defence. my feet were still in plaster casts, and my back had been so severely injured as to necessitate my lying flat upon it most of the time. it was thus that these unequal fights were fought. and i had not even the satisfaction of tongue-lashing my oppressors, for i was practically speechless. my attendants, like most others in such institutions, were incapable of understanding the operations of my mind, and what they could not understand they would seldom tolerate. yet they were not entirely to blame. they were simply carrying out to the letter orders received from the doctors. to ask a patient in my condition to take a little medicated sugar seemed reasonable. but from my point of view my refusal was justifiable. that innocuous sugar disc to me seemed saturated with the blood of loved ones; and so much as to touch it was to shed their blood--perhaps on the very scaffold on which i was destined to die. for myself i cared little. i was anxious to die, and eagerly would i have taken the sugar disc had i had any reason to believe that it was deadly poison. the sooner i could die and be forgotten, the better for all with whom i had ever come in contact. to continue to live was simply to be the treacherous tool of unscrupulous detectives, eager to exterminate my innocent relatives and friends, if so their fame could be made secure in the annals of their craft. but the thoughts associated with the taking of the medicine were seldom twice alike. if before taking it something happened to remind me of mother, father, some other relative, or a friend, i imagined that compliance would compromise, if not eventually destroy, that particular person. who would not resist when meek acceptance would be a confession which would doom his own mother or father to prison, or ignominy, or death? it was for this that i was reviled, for this, subjected to cruel restraint. they thought i was stubborn. in the strict sense of the word there is no such thing as a stubborn insane person. the truly stubborn men and women in the world are sane; and the fortunate prevalence of sanity may be approximately estimated by the preponderance of stubbornness in society at large. when one possessed of the power of recognizing his own errors continues to hold an unreasonable belief--that is stubbornness. but for a man bereft of reason to adhere to an idea which to him seems absolutely correct and true because he has been deprived of the means of detecting his error--that is not stubbornness. it is a symptom of his disease, and merits the indulgence of forbearance, if not genuine sympathy. certainly the afflicted one deserves no punishment. as well punish with a blow the cheek that is disfigured by the mumps. the attendant who was with me most of the time while i remained at the sanatorium was the kindly one already mentioned. him i regarded, however, as a detective, or, rather, as two detectives, one of whom watched me by day, and the other--a perfect double--by night. he was an enemy, and his professed sympathy--which i now know was genuine--only made me hate him the more. as he was ignorant of the methods of treatment in vogue in hospitals for the insane, it was several weeks before he dared put in jeopardy his position by presuming to shield me against unwise orders of the doctors. but when at last he awoke to the situation, he repeatedly intervened in my behalf. more than once the doctor who was both owner and superintendent threatened to discharge him for alleged officiousness. but better judgment usually held the doctor's wrath in check, for he realized that not one attendant in a hundred was so competent. not only did the friendly attendant frequently exhibit more wisdom than the superintendent, but he also obeyed the dictates of a better conscience than that of his nominal superior, the assistant physician. on three occasions this man treated me with a signal lack of consideration, and in at least one instance he was vicious. when this latter incident occurred, i was both physically and mentally helpless. my feet were swollen and still in plaster bandages. i was all but mute, uttering only an occasional expletive when forced to perform acts against my will. one morning doctor no-name (he represents a type) entered my room. "good morning! how are you feeling?" he asked. no answer. "aren't you feeling well?" no answer. "why don't you talk?" he asked with irritation. still no answer, except perhaps a contemptuous look such as is so often the essence of eloquence. suddenly, and without the slightest warning, as a petulant child locked in a room for disobedience might treat a pillow, he seized me by an arm and jerked me from the bed. it was fortunate that the bones of my ankles and feet, not yet thoroughly knitted, were not again injured. and this was the performance of the very man who had locked my hands in the muff, that i might not injure myself! "why don't you talk?" he again asked. though rather slow in replying, i will take pleasure in doing so by sending that doctor a copy of this book--my answer--if he will but send me his address. it is not a pleasant duty to brand any physician for cruelty and incompetence, for the worst that ever lived has undoubtedly done many good deeds. but here is the type of man that has wrought havoc among the helpless insane. and the owner represented a type that has too long profited through the misfortunes of others. "pay the price or put your relative in a public institution!" is the burden of his discordant song before commitment. "pay or get out!" is his jarring refrain when satisfied that the family's resources are exhausted. i later learned that this grasping owner had bragged of making a profit of $ , in a single year. about twenty years later he left an estate of approximately $ , , . some of the money, however, wrung from patients and their relatives in the past may yet benefit similar sufferers in the future, for, under the will of the owner, several hundred thousand dollars will eventually be available as an endowment for the institution. ix it was at the sanatorium that my ankles were finally restored to a semblance of their former utility. they were there subjected to a course of heroic treatment; but as to-day they permit me to walk, run, dance, and play tennis and golf, as do those who have never been crippled, my hours of torture endured under my first attempts to walk are almost pleasant to recall. about five months from the date of my injury i was allowed, or rather compelled, to place my feet on the floor and attempt to walk. my ankles were still swollen, absolutely without action, and acutely sensitive to the slightest pressure. from the time they were hurt until i again began to talk--two years later--i asked not one question as to the probability of my ever regaining the use of them. the fact was, i never expected to walk naturally again. the desire of the doctors to have me walk i believed to be inspired by the detectives, of whom, indeed, i supposed the doctor himself to be one. had there been any confession to make, i am sure it would have been yielded under the stress of this ultimate torture. the million needle points which, just prior to my mental collapse, seemed to goad my brain, now centred their unwelcome attention on the soles of my feet. had the floor been studded with minute stilettos my sufferings could hardly have been more intense. for several weeks assistance was necessary with each attempt to walk, and each attempt was an ordeal. sweat stood in beads on either foot, wrung from my blood by agony. believing that it would be only a question of time when i should be tried, condemned, and executed for some one of my countless felonies, i thought that the attempt to prevent my continuing a cripple for the brief remainder of my days was prompted by anything but benevolence. the superintendent would have proved himself more humane had he not peremptorily ordered my attendant to discontinue the use of a support which, until the plaster bandages were removed, had enabled me to keep my legs in a horizontal position when i sat up. his order was that i should put my legs down and keep them down, whether it hurt or not. the pain was of course intense when the blood again began to circulate freely through tissues long unused to its full pressure, and so evident was my distress that the attendant ignored the doctor's command and secretly favored me. he would remove the forbidden support for only a few minutes at a time, gradually lengthening the intervals until at last i was able to do without the support entirely. before long and each day for several weeks i was forced at first to stagger and finally to walk across the room and back to the bed. the distance was increased as the pain diminished, until i was able to walk without more discomfort than a comparatively pleasant sensation of lameness. for at least two months after my feet first touched the floor i had to be carried up and downstairs, and for several months longer i went flat-footed. delusions of persecution--which include "delusions of self-reference"--though a source of annoyance while i was in an inactive state, annoyed and distressed me even more when i began to move about and was obliged to associate with other patients. to my mind, not only were the doctors and attendants detectives; each patient was a detective and the whole institution was a part of the third degree. scarcely any remark was made in my presence that i could not twist into a cleverly veiled reference to myself. in each person i could see a resemblance to persons i had known, or to the principals or victims of the crimes with which i imagined myself charged. i refused to read; for to read veiled charges and fail to assert my innocence was to incriminate both myself and others. but i looked with longing glances upon all printed matter and, as my curiosity was continually piqued, this enforced abstinence grew to be well-nigh intolerable. it became again necessary to the family purse that every possible saving be made. accordingly, i was transferred from the main building, where i had a private room and a special attendant, to a ward where i was to mingle, under an aggregate sort of supervision, with fifteen or twenty other patients. here i had no special attendant by day, though one slept in my room at night. of this ward i had heard alarming reports--and these from the lips of several attendants. i was, therefore, greatly disturbed at the proposed change. but, the transfer once accomplished, after a few days i really liked my new quarters better than the old. during the entire time i remained at the sanatorium i was more alert mentally than i gave evidence of being. but not until after my removal to this ward, where i was left alone for hours every day, did i dare to show my alertness. here i even went so far on one occasion as to joke with the attendant in charge. he had been trying to persuade me to take a bath. i refused, mainly because i did not like the looks of the bath room, which, with its cement floor and central drain, resembled the room in which vehicles are washed in a modern stable. after all else had failed, the attendant tried the rôle of sympathizer. "now i know just how you feel," he said, "i can put myself in your place." "well, if you can, do it and take the bath yourself," was my retort. the remark is brilliant by contrast with the dismal source from which it escaped. "escaped" is the word; for the fear that i should hasten my trial by exhibiting too great a gain in health, mental or physical, was already upon me; and it controlled much of my conduct during the succeeding months of depression. having now no special attendant, i spent many hours in my room, alone, but not absolutely alone, for somewhere the eye of a detective was evermore upon me. comparative solitude, however, gave me courage; and soon i began to read, regardless of consequences. during the entire period of my depression, every publication seemed to have been written and printed for me, and me alone. books, magazines, and newspapers seemed to be special editions. the fact that i well knew how inordinate would be the cost of such a procedure in no way shook my belief in it. indeed, that i was costing my persecutors fabulous amounts of money was a source of secret satisfaction. my belief in special editions of newspapers was strengthened by items which seemed too trivial to warrant publication in any except editions issued for a special purpose. i recall a seemingly absurd advertisement, in which the phrase, "green bluefish," appeared. at the time i did not know that "green" was a term used to denote "fresh" or "unsalted." during the earliest stages of my illness i had lost count of time, and the calendar did not right itself until the day when i largely regained my reason. meanwhile, the date on each newspaper was, according to my reckoning, two weeks out of the way. this confirmed my belief in the special editions as a part of the third degree. most sane people think that no insane person can reason logically. but this is not so. upon unreasonable premises i made most reasonable deductions, and that at the time when my mind was in its most disturbed condition. had the newspapers which i read on the day which i supposed to be february st borne a january date, i might not then, for so long a time, have believed in special editions. probably i should have inferred that the regular editions had been held back. but the newspapers i had were dated about two weeks _ahead_. now if a sane person on february st receives a newspaper dated february th, be will be fully justified in thinking something wrong, either with the publication or with himself. but the shifted calendar which had planted itself in my mind meant as much to me as the true calendar does to any sane business man. during the seven hundred and ninety-eight days of depression i drew countless incorrect deductions. but, such as they were, they were deductions, and essentially the mental process was not other than that which takes place in a well-ordered mind. my gradually increasing vitality, although it increased my fear of trial, impelled me to take new risks. i began to read not only newspapers, but also such books as were placed within my reach. yet had they not been placed there, i should have gone without them, for i would never ask even for what i greatly desired and knew i could have for the asking. whatever love of literature i now have dates from this time, when i was a mental incompetent and confined in an institution. lying on a shelf in my room was a book by george eliot. for several days i cast longing glances at it and finally plucked up the courage to take little nibbles now and then. these were so good that i grew bold and at last began openly to read the book. its contents at the time made but little impression on my mind, but i enjoyed it. i read also some of addison's essays; and had i been fortunate enough to have made myself familiar with these earlier in life, i might have been spared the delusion that i could detect, in many passages, the altering hand of my persecutors. the friendly attendant, from whom i was now separated, tried to send his favors after me into my new quarters. at first he came in person to see me, but the superintendent soon forbade that, and also ordered him not to communicate with me in any way. it was this disagreement, and others naturally arising between such a doctor and such an attendant, that soon brought about the discharge of the latter. but "discharge" is hardly the word, for he had become disgusted with the institution, and had remained so long only because of his interest in me. upon leaving, he informed the owner that he would soon cause my removal from the institution. this he did. i left the sanatorium in march, , and remained for three months in the home of this kindly fellow, who lived with a grandmother and an aunt in wallingford, a town not far from new haven. it is not to be inferred that i entertained any affection for my friendly keeper. i continued to regard him as an enemy; and my life at his home became a monotonous round of displeasure. i took my three meals a day. i would sit listlessly for hours at a time in the house. daily i went out--accompanied, of course--for short walks about the town. these were not enjoyable. i believed everybody was familiar with my black record and expected me to be put to death. indeed, i wondered why passers-by did not revile or even stone me. once i was sure i heard a little girl call me "traitor!" that, i believe, was my last "false voice," but it made such an impression that i can even now recall vividly the appearance of that dreadful child. it was not surprising that a piece of rope, old and frayed, which someone had carelessly thrown on a hedge by a cemetery that i sometimes passed, had for me great significance. during these three months i again refused to read books, though within my reach, but i sometimes read newspapers. still i would not speak, except under some unusual stress of emotion. the only time i took the initiative in this regard while living in the home of my attendant was on a bitterly cold and snowy day when i had the temerity to tell him that the wind had blown the blanket from a horse that had been standing for a long time in front of the house. the owner had come inside to transact some business with my attendant's relatives. in appearance he reminded me of the uncle to whom this book is dedicated. i imagined the mysterious caller was impersonating him and, by one of my curious mental processes, i deduced that it was incumbent on me to do for the dumb beast outside what i knew my uncle would have done had he been aware of its plight. my reputation for decency of feeling i believed to be gone forever; but i could not bear, in this situation, to be unworthy of my uncle, who, among those who knew him, was famous for his kindliness and humanity. my attendant and his relatives were very kind and very patient, for i was still intractable. but their efforts to make me comfortable, so far as they had any effect, made keener my desire to kill myself. i shrank from death; but i preferred to die by my own hand and take the blame for it, rather than to be executed and bring lasting disgrace on my family, friends, and, i may add with truth, on yale. for i reasoned that parents throughout the country would withhold their sons from a university which numbered among its graduates such a despicable being. but from any tragic act i was providentially restrained by the very delusion which gave birth to the desire--in a way which signally appeared on a later and, to me, a memorable day. x i am in a position not unlike that of a man whose obituary notice has appeared prematurely. few have ever had a better opportunity than i to test the affection of their relatives and friends. that mine did their duty and did it willingly is naturally a constant source of satisfaction to me. indeed, i believe that this unbroken record of devotion is one of the factors which eventually made it possible for me to take up again my duties in the social and business world, with a comfortable feeling of continuity. i can, indeed, now view my past in as matter-of-fact a way as do those whose lives have been uniformly uneventful. as i have seen scores of patients neglected by their relatives--a neglect which they resent and often brood upon--my sense of gratitude is the livelier, and especially so because of the difficulty with which friendly intercourse with me was maintained during two of the three years i was ill. relatives and friends frequently called to see me. true, these calls were trying for all concerned. i spoke to none, not even to my mother and father. for, though they all appeared about as they used to do, i was able to detect some slight difference in look or gesture or intonation of voice, and this was enough to confirm my belief that they were impersonators, engaged in a conspiracy, not merely to entrap me, but to incriminate those whom they impersonated. it is not strange, then, that i refused to say anything to them, or to permit them to come near me. to have kissed the woman who was my mother, but whom i believed to be a federal conspirator, would have been an act of betrayal. these interviews were much harder for my relatives and friends than for me. but even for me they were ordeals; and though i suffered less at these moments than my callers, my sum of suffering was greater, for i was constantly anticipating these unwelcome, but eventually beneficial, visitations. suppose my relatives and friends had held aloof during this apparently hopeless period, what to-day would be my feelings toward them? let others answer. for over two years i considered all letters forgeries. yet the day came when i convinced myself of their genuineness and the genuineness of the love of those who sent them. perhaps persons who have relatives among the more than a quarter of a million patients in institutions in this country to-day will find some comfort in this fact. to be on the safe and humane side, let every relative and friend of persons so afflicted remember the golden rule, which has never been suspended with respect to the insane. go to see them, treat them sanely, write to them, keep them informed about the home circle; let not your devotion flag, nor accept any repulse. the consensus now was that my condition was unlikely ever to improve, and the question of my commitment to some institution where incurable cases could be cared for came up for decision. while it was being considered, my attendant kept assuring me that it would be unnecessary to commit me to an institution if i would but show some improvement. so he repeatedly suggested that i go to new haven and spend a day at home. at this time, it will be recalled, i was all but mute, so, being unable to beguile me into speech, the attendant one morning laid out for my use a more fashionable shirt than i usually wore, telling me to put it on if i wished to make the visit. that day it took me an unusually long time to dress, but in the end i put on the designated garment. thus did one part of my brain outwit another. i simply chose the less of two evils. the greater was to find myself again committed to an institution. nothing else would have induced me to go to new haven. i did not wish to go. to my best knowledge and belief, i had no home there, nor did i have any relatives or friends who would greet me upon my return. how could they, if still free, even approach me while i was surrounded by detectives? then, too, i had a lurking suspicion that my attendant's offer was made in the belief that i would not dare accept it. by taking him at his word, i knew that i should at least have an opportunity to test the truth of many of his statements regarding my old home. life had become insupportable; and back of my consent to make this experimental visit was a willingness to beard the detectives in their own den, regardless of consequences. with these and many other reflections i started for the train. the events of the journey which followed are of no moment. we soon reached the new haven station; and, as i had expected, no relative or friend was there to greet us. this apparent indifference seemed to support my suspicion that my attendant had not told me the truth; but i found little satisfaction in uncovering his deceit, for the more of a liar i proved him to be, the worse would be my plight. we walked to the front of the station and stood there for almost half an hour. the unfortunate, but perfectly natural, wording of a question caused the delay. "well, shall we go home?" my attendant said. how could i say, "yes"? i had no home. i feel sure i should finally have said, "no", had he continued to put the question in that form. consciously or unconsciously, however, he altered it. "shall we go to trumbull street?" that was what i had been waiting for. certainly i would go to the house designated by that number. i had come to new haven to see that house; and i had just a faint hope that its appearance and the appearance of its occupants might prove convincing. at home my visit came as a complete surprise. i could not believe that my relatives--if they were relatives--had not been informed of my presence in the city, and their words and actions upon my arrival confirmed my suspicion and extinguished the faint hope i had briefly cherished. my hosts were simply the same old persecutors with whom i had already had too much to do. soon after my arrival, dinner was served. i sat at my old place at the table, and secretly admired the skill with which he who asked the blessing imitated the language and the well-remembered intonation of my father's voice. but alas for the family!--i imagined my relatives banished and languishing in prison, and the old home confiscated by the government! xi though my few hours at home failed to prove that i did not belong in an institution, it served one good purpose. certain relatives who had objected to my commitment now agreed that there was no alternative, and, accordingly, my eldest brother caused himself to be appointed my conservator. he had long favored taking such action, but other relatives had counseled delay. they had been deterred by that inbred dread of seeing a member of the family branded by law as a mental incompetent, and, to a degree, stigmatized by the prevailing unwarranted attitude of the public toward mental illness and the institutions in which mental cases are treated. the very thought was repellent; and a mistaken sense of duty--and perhaps a suggestion of pride--led them to wish me out of such an institution as long as possible. though at the time i dreaded commitment, it was the best possible thing that could befall me. to be, as i was, in the world but not of it, was exasperating. the constant friction that is inevitable under such conditions--conditions such as existed for me in the home of my attendant--can only aggravate the mental disturbance. especially is this true of those laboring under delusions of persecution. such delusions multiply with the complexity of the life led. it is the even-going routine of institutional life which affords the indispensable quieting effect--provided that routine is well ordered, and not defeated by annoyances imposed by ignorant or indifferent doctors and attendants. my commitment occurred on june th, . the institution to which i was committed was a chartered, private institution, but not run for personal profit. it was considered one of the best of its kind in the country and was pleasantly situated. though the view was a restricted one, a vast expanse of lawn, surrounded by groups of trees, like patches of primeval forest, gave the place an atmosphere which was not without its remedial effect. my quarters were comfortable, and after a little time i adjusted myself to my new environment. breakfast was served about half-past seven, though the hour varied somewhat according to the season--earlier in summer and later in winter. in the spring, summer, and autumn, when the weather was favorable, those able to go out of doors were taken after breakfast for walks within the grounds, or were allowed to roam about the lawn and sit under the trees, where they remained for an hour or two at a time. dinner was usually served shortly after noon, and then the active patients were again taken out of doors, where they remained an hour or two doing much as they pleased, but under watchful eyes. about half-past three they returned to their respective wards, there to remain until the next day--except those who cared to attend the religious service which was held almost every afternoon in an endowed chapel. in all institutions those confined in different kinds of wards go to bed at different hours. the patients in the best wards retire at nine or ten o'clock. those in the wards where more troublesome cases are treated go to bed usually at seven or eight o'clock. i, while undergoing treatment, have retired at all hours, so that i am in the better position to describe the mysteries of what is, in a way, one of the greatest secret societies in the world. i soon became accustomed to the rather agreeable routine, and had i not been burdened with the delusions which held me a prisoner of the police, and kept me a stranger to my old world, i should have been able to enjoy a comparatively happy existence in spite of all. this new feeling of comparative contentment had not been brought about by any marked improvement in health. it was due directly and entirely to an environment more nearly in tune with my ill-tuned mind. while surrounded by sane people my mental inferiority had been painfully apparent to me, as well as to others. here a feeling of superiority easily asserted itself, for many of my associates were, to my mind, vastly inferior to myself. but this stimulus did not affect me at once. for several weeks i believed the institution to be peopled by detectives, feigning insanity. the government was still operating the third degree, only on a grander scale. nevertheless, i did soon come to the conclusion that the institution was what it purported to be--still cherishing the idea, however, that certain patients and attachés were detectives. for a while after my arrival i again abandoned my new-found reading habit. but as i became accustomed to my surroundings i grew bolder and resumed the reading of newspapers and such books as were at hand. there was a bookcase in the ward, filled with old numbers of standard english periodicals; among them: _westminster review, edinburgh review, london quarterly_, and _blackwood's_. there were also copies of _harper's_ and _the atlantic monthly_, dated a generation or more before my first reading days. indeed, some of the reviews were over fifty years old. but i had to read their heavy contents or go without reading, for i would not yet ask even for a thing i ardently desired. in the room of one of the patients were thirty or forty books belonging to him. time and again i walked by his door and cast longing glances at those books, which at first i had not the courage to ask for or to take. but during the summer, about the time i was getting desperate, i finally managed to summon enough courage to take them surreptitiously. it was usually while the owner of these books was attending the daily service in the chapel that his library became a circulating one. the contents of the books i read made perhaps a deeper impression on my memory than most books make on the minds of normal readers. to assure myself of the fact, i have since reread "the scarlet letter," and i recognize it as an old friend. the first part of the story, however, wherein hawthorne describes his work as a custom house official and portrays his literary personality, seems to have made scarcely any impression. this i attribute to my utter lack of interest at that time in writers and their methods. i then had no desire to write a book, nor any thought of ever doing so. letters i looked upon with suspicion. i never read them at the time they were received. i would not even open them; but generally, after a week or sometimes a month, i would secretly open and read them--forgeries of the detectives. i still refused to speak, and exhibited physical activity only when the patients were taken out of doors. for hours i would sit reading books or newspapers, or apparently doing nothing. but my mind was in an active state and very sensitive. as the event proved, almost everything done or said within the range of my senses was making indelible impressions, though these at the time were frequently of such a character that i experienced great difficulty in trying to recall incidents which i thought i might find useful at the time of my appearance in court. my ankles had not regained anything like their former strength. it hurt to walk. for months i continued to go flat-footed. i could not sustain my weight with heels lifted from the floor. in going downstairs i had to place my insteps on the edge of each step, or go one step at a time, like a child. believing that the detectives were pampering me into prime condition, as a butcher fattens a beast for slaughter, i deliberately made myself out much weaker than i really was; and not a little of my inactivity was due to a desire to prolong my fairly comfortable existence, by deferring as long as possible the day of trial and conspicuous disgrace. but each day still had its distressing incidents. whenever the attendants were wanted at the office, an electric bell was rung. during the fourteen months that i remained in this hospital in a depressed condition, the bell in my ward rang several hundred times. never did it fail to send through me a mild shock of terror, for i imagined that at last the hour had struck for my transportation to the scene of trial. relatives and friends would be brought to the ward--heralded, of course, by a warning bell--and short interviews would be held in my room, during which the visitors had to do all the talking. my eldest brother, whom i shall refer to hereafter as my conservator, called often. he seldom failed to use one phrase which worried me. "you are looking better and getting stronger," he would say. "we shall straighten you out yet." to be "straightened out" was an ambiguous phrase which might refer to the end of the hangman's rope or to a fatal electric shock. i preferred to be let alone, and the assistant physician in charge of my case, after several ineffectual attempts to engage me in conversation, humored my persistent taciturnity. for more than a year his only remarks to me were occasional conventional salutations. subsequent events have led me to doubt the wisdom of his policy. for one year no further attention was paid to me than to see that i had three meals a day, the requisite number of baths, and a sufficient amount of exercise. i was, however, occasionally urged by an attendant to write a letter to some relative, but that, of course, i refused to do. as i shall have many hard things to say about attendants in general, i take pleasure in testifying that, so long as i remained in a passive condition, those at this institution were kind, and at times even thoughtful. but there came a time when diplomatic relations with doctors and attendants became so strained that war promptly ensued. it was no doubt upon the gradual, but sure improvement in my physical condition that the doctors were relying for my eventual return to normality. they were not without some warrant for this. in a way i had become less suspicious, but my increased confidence was due as much to an increasing indifference to my fate as to an improvement in health. and there were other signs of improved mental vigor. i was still watchful, however, for a chance to end my life, and, but for a series of fortunate circumstances, i do not doubt that my choice of evils would have found tragic expression in an overt act. having convinced myself that most of my associates were really insane, and therefore (as i believed) disqualified as competent witnesses in a court of law, i would occasionally engage in conversation with a few whose evident incompetency seemed to make them safe confidants. one, a man who during his life had more than once been committed to an institution, took a very evident interest in me and persisted in talking to me, often much against my will. his persistent inquisitiveness seemed to support his own statement that he had formerly been a successful life-insurance agent. he finally gained my confidence to such a degree that months before i finally began to talk to others i permitted myself to converse frequently with him--but only when we were so situated as to escape observation. i would talk to him on almost any subject, but would not speak about myself. at length, however, his admirable persistence overcame my reticence. during a conversation held in june, , he abruptly said, "why you are kept here i cannot understand. apparently you are as sane as anyone. you have never made any but sensible remarks to me." now for weeks i had been waiting for a chance to tell this man my very thoughts. i had come to believe him a true friend who would not betray me. "if i should tell you things which you apparently don't know, you would understand why i am held here," i said. "well, tell me," he urged. "will you promise not to repeat my statements to any one else?" "i promise not to say a word." "well," i remarked, "you have seen certain persons who have come here, professing to be relatives of mine." "yes, and they are your relatives, aren't they?" "they look like my relatives, but they're not," was my reply. my inquisitive friend burst into laughter and said, "well, if you mean _that_, i shall have to take back what i just said. you are really the craziest person i have ever met, and i have met several." "you will think differently some day," i replied; for i believed that when my trial should occur, he would appreciate the significance of my remark. i did not tell him that i believed these callers to be detectives; nor did i hint that i thought myself in the hands of the police. meanwhile, during july and august, , i redoubled my activity in devising suicidal schemes; for i now thought my physical condition satisfactory to my enemies, and was sure that my trial could not be postponed beyond the next opening of the courts in september. i even went so far as to talk to one of the attendants, a medical student, who during the summer worked as an attendant at the hospital. i approached him artfully. first i asked him to procure from the library for me "the scarlet letter," "the house of the seven gables," and other books; then i talked medicine and finally asked him to lend me a textbook on anatomy which i knew he had in his possession. this he did, cautioning me not to let anyone know that he had done so. the book once secured, i lost no time in examining that part which described the heart, its functions, and especially its exact position in the body. i had scarcely begun to read when the young man returned and took the book from me, giving as his reason that an attendant had no right to let a patient read a medical work. maybe his change of heart was providential. as is usual in these institutions, all knives, forks, and other articles that might be used by a patient for a dangerous purpose were counted by the attendants after each meal. this i knew, and the knowledge had a deterrent effect. i dared not take one. though i might at any time during the night have hanged myself, that method did not appeal to me, and i kept it in mind only as a last resort. to get possession of some sharp dagger-like instrument which i could plunge into my heart at a moment's notice--this was my consuming desire. with such a weapon i felt that i could, when the crisis came, rob the detectives of their victory. during the summer months an employé spent his entire time mowing the lawn with a large horse-drawn machine. this, when not in use, was often left outdoors. upon it was a square wooden box, containing certain necessary tools, among them a sharp, spike-like instrument, used to clean the oil-holes when they became clogged. this bit of steel was five or six inches long, and was shaped like a pencil. for at least three months, i seldom went out of doors that i did not go with the intention of purloining that steel spike. i intended then to keep it in my room against the day of my anticipated transfer to jail. it was now that my delusions protected me from the very fate they had induced me to court. for had i not believed that the eye of a detective was on me every moment, i could have taken that spike a score of times. often, when it was not in use, i walked to the lawnmower and even laid my hand upon the tool-box. but i dared not open it. my feelings were much like those of pandora about a certain other box. in my case, however, the box upon which i looked with longing had hope without, and not within. instinctively, perhaps, i realized this, for i did not lift the lid. one day, as the patients were returning to their wards, i saw, lying directly in my path (i could even now point out the spot), the coveted weapon. never have i seen anything that i wanted more. to have stooped and picked it up without detection would have been easy; and had i known, as i know now, that it had been carelessly dropped there, nothing could have prevented me from doing so and perhaps using it with fatal effect. but i believed it had been placed there deliberately and as a test, by those who had divined my suicidal purpose. the eye of the imagined detective, which, i am inclined to believe, and like to believe, was the eye of the real god, was upon me; and though i stepped directly over it, i did not pick up that thing of death. xii when i had decided that my chance for securing the little stiletto spike was very uncertain, i at once busied myself with plans which were designed to bring about my death by drowning. there was in the ward a large bath tub. access to it could be had at any time, except from the hour of nine (when the patients were locked in their rooms for the night) until the following morning. how to reach it during the night was the problem which confronted me. the attendant in charge was supposed to see that each patient was in his room before his door was locked. as it rarely happened that the patients were not in their rooms at the appointed time, the attendants naturally grew careless, and often locked a door without looking in. "good night"--a salutation usually devoid of sentiment--might, or might not, elicit a response, and the absence of a response would not tend to arouse suspicion--especially in a case like mine, for i would sometimes say "good night," but more often not. my simple and easy plan was to hide behind a piece of furniture in the corridor and there remain until the attendant had locked the doors of the rooms and gone to bed. i had even advanced so far in my plan as to select a convenient nook within twenty feet of my own room. should the attendant, when about to lock the door, discover my absence, i should, of course, immediately reveal my hiding-place by leaving it; and it would have been an easy matter to convince him that i had done the thing as a test of his own vigilance. on the other hand, if i escaped discovery, i should then have nine hours at my disposal with little fear of interruption. true, the night watch passed through the ward once every hour. but death by drowning requires a time no longer than that necessary to boil an egg. i had even calculated how long it would take to fill the tub with water. to make sure of a fatal result, i had secreted a piece of wire which i intended so to use that my head, once under water, could by no possibility be raised above the surface in the inevitable death struggle. i have said that i did not desire death; nor did i. had the supposed detectives been able to convince me that they would keep their word, i would willingly have signed an agreement stipulating on my side that i must live the rest of my life in confinement, and on theirs that i should never undergo a trial for crime. fortunately, during these dismal preparations, i had not lost interest in other schemes which probably saved my life. in these the fellow-patient who had won my confidence played the role of my own private detective. that he and i could defeat the combined forces arrayed against me hardly seemed probable, but the seeming impossibility of so doing only lent zest to the undertaking. my friend, who, of course, did not realize that he was engaged in combat with the secret service, was allowed to go where he pleased within the limits of the city where the hospital was situated. accordingly i determined to enlist his services. it was during july that, at my suggestion, he tried to procure copies of certain new haven newspapers, of the date of my attempted suicide and the several dates immediately following. my purpose was to learn what motive had been ascribed to my suicidal act. i felt sure that the papers would contain at least hints as to the nature of the criminal charges against me. but my purpose i did not disclose to my friend. in due time he reported that no copies for the given dates were to be had. so _that_ quest proved fruitless, and i attributed the failure to the superior strategy of the enemy. meanwhile, my friend had not stopped trying to convince me that my apparent relatives were not spurious; so one day i said to him: "if my relatives still live in new haven, their addresses must be in the latest new haven directory. here is a list containing the names and former addresses of my father, brother, and uncle. these were their addresses in . to-morrow, when you go out, please see whether they appear in the new haven directory for . these persons who present themselves to me as relatives pretend to live at these addresses. if they speak the truth, the directory will corroborate them. i shall then have hope that a letter sent to any one of these addresses will reach relatives--and surely some attention will be paid to it." the next day, my own good detective went to a local publishing house where directories of important cities throughout the country could be consulted. shortly after he went upon this errand, my conservator appeared. he found me walking about the lawn. at his suggestion we sat down. bold in the assurance that i could kill myself before the crisis came, i talked with him freely, replying to many of his questions and asking several. my conservator, who did not know that i doubted his identity, commented with manifest pleasure on my new-found readiness to talk. he would have been less pleased, however, had he been able to read my mind. shortly after my conservator's departure, my fellow-patient returned and informed me that the latest new haven directory contained the names and addresses i had given him. this information, though it did not prove that my morning caller was no detective, did convince me that my real brother still lived where he did when i left new haven, two years earlier. now that my delusions were growing weaker, my returning reason enabled me to construct the ingenious scheme which, i believe, saved my life; for, had i not largely regained my reason _when i did_, i am inclined to believe that my distraught mind would have destroyed itself and me, before it could have been restored by the slow process of returning health. a few hours after my own private detective had given me the information i so much desired, i wrote the first letter i had written in twenty-six months. as letters go, it is in a class by itself. i dared not ask for ink, so i wrote with a lead pencil. another fellow-patient in whom i had confidence, at my request, addressed the envelope; but he was not in the secret of its contents. this was an added precaution, for i thought the secret service men might have found out that i had a detective of my own and would confiscate any letters addressed by him or me. the next morning, _my_ "detective" mailed the letter. that letter i still have, and i treasure it as any innocent man condemned to death would treasure a pardon. it should convince the reader that sometimes a mentally disordered person, even one suffering from many delusions, can think and write clearly. an exact copy of this--the most important letter i ever expect to be called upon to write--is here presented: august , . dear george: on last wednesday morning a person who claimed to be george m. beers of new haven, ct., clerk in the director's office of the sheffield scientific school and a brother of mine, called to see me. perhaps what he said was true, but after the events of the last two years i find myself inclined to doubt the truth of everything that is told me. he said that he would come and see me again sometime next week, and i am sending you this letter in order that you may bring it with you as a passport, provided you are the one who was here on wednesday. if you did not call as stated please say nothing about this letter to anyone, and when your double arrives, i'll tell him what i think of him. would send other messages, but while things seem as they do at present it is impossible. have had someone else address envelope for fear letter might be held up on the way. yours, clifford w.b. though i felt reasonably confident that this message would reach my brother, i was by no means certain. i was sure, however, that, should he receive it, under no circumstances would he turn it over to anyone hostile to myself. when i wrote the words: "dear george," my feeling was much like that of a child who sends a letter to santa claus after his childish faith has been shaken. like the skeptical child, i felt there was nothing to lose, but everything to gain. "yours" fully expressed such affection for relatives as i was then capable of--for the belief that i had disgraced, perhaps destroyed, my family prompted me to forbear to use the family name in the signature. the thought that i might soon get in touch with my old world did not excite me. i had not much faith anyway that i was to re-establish former relations with it, and what little faith i had was all but destroyed on the morning of august th, , when a short message, written on a slip of paper, reached me by the hand of an attendant. it informed me that my conservator would call that afternoon. i thought it a lie. i felt that any brother of mine would have taken the pains to send a letter in reply to the first i had written him in over two years. the thought that there had not been time for him to do so and that this message must have arrived by telephone did not then occur to me. what i believed was that my own letter had been confiscated. i asked one of the doctors to swear on his honor that it really was my own brother who was coming to see me. this he did. but abnormal suspicion robbed all men in my sight of whatever honor they may have had, and i was not fully reassured. in the afternoon, as usual, the patients were taken out of doors, i among them. i wandered about the lawn and cast frequent and expectant glances toward the gate, through which i believed my anticipated visitor would soon pass. in less than an hour he appeared. i first caught sight of him about three hundred feet away, and, impelled more by curiosity than hope, i advanced to meet him. "i wonder what the lie will be this time," was the gist of my thoughts. the person approaching me was indeed the counterpart of my brother as i remembered him. yet he was no more my brother than he had been at any time during the preceding two years. he was still a detective. such he was when i shook his hand. as soon as that ceremony was over, he drew forth a leather pocketbook. i instantly recognized it as one i myself had carried for several years prior to the time i was taken ill in . it was from this that he took my recent letter. "here's my passport," he said. "it's a good thing you brought it," i replied, as i glanced at it and again shook his hand--this time the hand of my own brother. "don't you want to read it?" he asked. "there is no need of that. i am convinced." after my long journey of exploration in the jungle of a tangled imagination, a journey which finally ended in my finding the person for whom i had long searched, my behavior differed very little from that of a great explorer who, full of doubt after a long and perilous trip through real jungles, found the man he sought and, grasping his hand, greeted him with the simple and historic words, "dr. livingstone, i presume?" the very instant i caught sight of my letter in the hands of my brother, all was changed. the thousands of false impressions recorded during the seven hundred and ninety-eight days of my depression seemed at once to correct themselves. untruth became truth. a large part of what was once my old world was again mine. to me, at last my mind seemed to have found itself, for the gigantic web of false beliefs in which it had been all but hopelessly enmeshed i now immediately recognized as a snare of delusions. that the gordian knot of mental torture should be cut and swept away by the mere glance of a willing eye is like a miracle. not a few patients, however, suffering from certain forms of mental disorder, regain a high degree of insight into their mental condition in what might be termed a flash of divine enlightenment. though insight regained seemingly in an instant is a most encouraging symptom, power to reason normally on all subjects cannot, of course, be so promptly recovered. my new power to reason correctly on some subjects simply marked the transition from depression, one phase of my disorder, to elation, another phase of it. medically speaking, i was as mentally disordered as before--yet i was happy! my memory during depression may be likened to a photographic film, seven hundred and ninety-eight days long. each impression seems to have been made in a negative way and then, in a fraction of a second, miraculously developed and made positive. of hundreds of impressions made during that depressed period i had not before been conscious, but from the moment my mind, if not my full reason, found itself, they stood out vividly. not only so, but other impressions registered during earlier years became clearer. since that august th, which i regard as my second birthday (my first was on the th of another month), my mind has exhibited qualities which, prior to that time, were so latent as to be scarcely distinguishable. as a result, i find myself able to do desirable things i never before dreamed of doing--the writing of this book is one of them. yet had i failed to convince myself on august th, when my brother came to see me, that he was no spy, i am almost sure that i should have compassed my own destruction within the following ten days, for the next month, i believed, was the fatal one of opening courts. you will recall that it was death by drowning that impended. i liken my salvation itself to a prolonged process of drowning. thousands of minutes of the seven hundred and ninety-eight days--and there were over one million of them, during which i had been borne down by intolerably burdensome delusions--were, i imagine, much like the last minutes of consciousness experienced by persons who drown. many who have narrowly escaped that fate can testify to the vividness with which good and bad impressions of their entire life rush through their confused minds, and hold them in a grip of terror until a kind unconsciousness envelops them. such had been many of my moments. but the only unconsciousness which had deadened my sensibilities during these two despondent years was that of sleep itself. though i slept fairly well most of the time, mine was seldom a dreamless sleep. many of my dreams were, if anything, harder to bear than my delusions of the day, for what little reason i had was absolutely suspended in sleep. almost every night my brain was at battledore and shuttlecock with weird thoughts. and if not all my dreams were terrifying, this fact seemed to be only because a perverted and perverse reason, in order that its possessor might not lose the capacity for suffering, knew how to keep hope alive with visions which supplied the contrast necessary for keen appreciation. no man can be born again, but i believe i came as near it as ever a man did. to leave behind what was in reality a hell, and immediately have this good green earth revealed in more glory than most men ever see it, was one of the compensating privileges which make me feel that my suffering was worth while. i have already described the peculiar sensation which assailed me when, in june, , i lost my reason. at that time my brain felt as though pricked by a million needles at white heat. on this august th, , shortly after largely regaining my reason, i had another most distinct sensation in the brain. it started under my brow and gradually spread until the entire surface was affected. the throes of a dying reason had been torture. the sensations felt as my dead reason was reborn were delightful. it seemed as though the refreshing breath of some kind goddess of wisdom were being gently blown against the surface of my brain. it was a sensation not unlike that produced by a menthol pencil rubbed ever so gently over a fevered brow. so delicate, so crisp and exhilarating was it that words fail me in my attempt to describe it. few, if any, experiences can be more delightful. if the exaltation produced by some drugs is anything like it, i can easily understand how and why certain pernicious habits enslave those who contract them. for me, however, this experience was liberation, not enslavement. xiii after two years of silence i found it no easy matter to carry on with my brother a sustained conversation. so weak were my vocal cords from lack of use that every few minutes i must either rest or whisper. and upon pursing my lips i found myself unable to whistle, notwithstanding the popular belief, drawn from vague memories of small-boyhood, that this art is instinctive. those who all their lives have talked at will cannot possibly appreciate the enjoyment i found in using my regained power of speech. reluctantly i returned to the ward; but not until my brother had left for home, laden with so much of my conversation that it took most of his leisure for the next two days to tell the family what i had said in two hours. during the first few hours i seemed virtually normal. i had none of the delusions which had previously oppressed me; nor had i yet developed any of the expansive ideas, or delusions of grandeur, which soon began to crowd in upon me. so normal did i appear while talking to my brother that he thought i should be able to return home in a few weeks; and, needless to say, i agreed with him. but the pendulum, as it were, had swung too far. the human brain is too complex a mechanism to admit of any such complete readjustment in an instant. it is said to be composed of several million cells; and, that fact granted, it seems safe to say that every day, perhaps every hour, hundreds of thousands of the cells of my brain were now being brought into a state of renewed activity. comparatively sane and able to recognize the important truths of life, i was yet insane as to many of its practical details. judgment being king of the realm of thought, it was not surprising that my judgment failed often to decide correctly the many questions presented to it by its abnormally communicative subjects. at first i seemed to live a second childhood. i did with delight many things which i had first learned to do as a child--the more so as it had been necessary for me to learn again to eat and walk, and now to talk. i had much lost time to make up; and for a while my sole ambition seemed to be to utter as many thousand words a day as possible. my fellow-patients who for fourteen months had seen me walk about in silence--a silence so profound and inexorable that i would seldom heed their friendly salutations--were naturally surprised to see me in my new mood of unrestrained loquacity and irrepressible good humor. in short, i had come into that abnormal condition which is known to psychiatrists as elation. for several weeks i believe i did not sleep more than two or three hours a night. such was my state of elation, however, that all signs of fatigue were entirely absent and the sustained and abnormal mental and physical activity in which i then indulged has left on my memory no other than a series of very pleasant impressions. though based on fancy, the delights of some forms of mental disorder are real. few, if any, sane persons would care to test the matter at so great a price; but those familiar with the "letters of charles lamb" must know that lamb, himself, underwent treatment for mental disease. in a letter to coleridge, dated june th, , he says: "at some future time i will amuse you with an account, as full as my memory will permit, of the strange turns my frenzy took. i look back upon it at times with a gloomy kind of envy; for, while it lasted, i had many, many hours of pure happiness. dream not, coleridge, of having tasted all the grandeur and wildness of fancy till you have gone mad! all now seems to me vapid, comparatively so!" as for me, the very first night vast but vague humanitarian projects began joyously to shape themselves in my mind. my garden of thoughts seemed filled with flowers which might properly be likened to the quick-blowing night-blooming cereus--that delusion of grandeur of all flowering plants that thinks itself prodigal enough if it but unmask its beauty to the moon! few of my bold fancies, however, were of so fugitive and chaste a splendor. the religious instinct is found in primitive man. it is not strange, therefore, that at this time the religious side of my nature was the first to display compelling activity. whether or not this was due to my rescue from a living death, and my immediate appreciation of god's goodness, both to me and to those faithful relatives who had done all the praying during the preceding two years--this i cannot say. but the fact stands out, that, whereas i had, while depressed, attached a sinister significance to everything done or said in my presence, i now interpreted the most trifling incidents as messages from god. the day after this transition i attended church. it was the first service in over two years which i had not attended against my will. the reading of a psalm--the th--made a lasting impression upon me, and the interpretation which i placed upon it furnishes the key to my attitude during the first weeks of elation. it seemed to me a direct message from heaven. the minister began: "my heart is inditing a good matter: i speak of the things which i have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer."--whose heart but mine? and the things indited--what were they but the humanitarian projects which had blossomed in my garden of thoughts over night? when, a few days later, i found myself writing very long letters with unwonted facility, i became convinced that my tongue was to prove itself "the pen of a ready writer." indeed, to these prophetic words i trace the inception of an irresistible desire, of which this book is the first fruit. "thou art fairer than the children of men; grace is poured into thy lips:" was the verse next read (by myself and the congregation), to which the minister responded, "therefore god hath blessed thee for ever."--"surely, i have been selected as the instrument wherewith great reforms shall be effected," was my thought. (all is grist that comes to the mill of a mind in elation--then even divine encomiums seem not undeserved.) "gird thy sword upon thy thigh, o most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty"--a command to fight. "and in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth and meekness and righteousness;" replied the minister. "and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things,"--was another response. that i could speak the truth, i knew. "meekness" i could not associate with myself, except that during the preceding two years i had suffered many indignities without open resentment. that my right hand with a pen should teach me terrible things--how to fight for reform--i firmly believed. "thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king's enemies, whereby the people fall under thee," quoth the minister. yes, my tongue could be as sharp as an arrow, and i should be able to stand up against those who should stand in the way of reform. again: "thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness. therefore god, thy god, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows." the first sentence i did not apply to myself; but being then, as i supposed, a man restored to himself, it was easy to feel that i had been anointed with the oil of gladness above my fellows. "oil of gladness" is, in truth, an apt phrase wherewith to describe elation. the last two verses of the psalm corroborated the messages found in the preceding verses: "i will make thy name to be remembered in all generations:"--thus the minister. "therefore shall the people praise thee for ever and ever," was the response i read. that spelled immortal fame for me, but only on condition that i should carry to a successful conclusion the mission of reform--an obligation placed upon me by god when he restored my reason. when i set out upon a career of reform, i was impelled to do so by motives in part like those which seem to have possessed don quixote when he set forth, as cervantes says, with the intention "of righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger, from which in the issue he would obtain eternal renown and fame." in likening myself to cervantes' mad hero my purpose is quite other than to push myself within the charmed circle of the chivalrous. what i wish to do is to make plain that a man abnormally elated may be swayed irresistably by his best instincts, and that while under the spell of an exaltation, idealistic in degree, he may not only be willing, but eager to assume risks and endure hardships which under normal conditions he would assume reluctantly, if at all. in justice to myself, however, i may remark that my plans for reform have never assumed quixotic, and therefore, impracticable proportions. at no time have i gone a-tilting at windmills. a pen rather than a lance has been my weapon of offence and defence; for with its point i have felt sure that i should one day prick the civic conscience into a compassionate activity, and thus bring into a neglected field earnest men and women who should act as champions for those afflicted thousands least able to fight for themselves. xiv after being without relatives and friends for over two years i naturally lost no time in trying again to get in touch with them; though i did heed my conservator's request that i first give him two or three days in which to acquaint intimates with the new turn my affairs had taken. during the latter part of that first week i wrote many letters, so many, indeed, that i soon exhausted a liberal supply of stationery. this had been placed at my disposal at the suggestion of my conservator, who had wisely arranged that i should have whatever i wanted, if expedient. it was now at my own suggestion that the supervisor gave me large sheets of manila wrapping paper. these i proceeded to cut into strips a foot wide. one such strip, four feet long, would suffice for a mere _billet-doux_; but a real letter usually required several such strips pasted together. more than once letters twenty or thirty feet long were written; and on one occasion the accumulation of two or three days of excessive productivity, when spread upon the floor, reached from one end of the corridor to the other--a distance of about one hundred feet. my hourly output was something like twelve feet, with an average of one hundred and fifty words to the foot. under the pressure of elation one takes pride in doing everything in record time. despite my speed my letters were not incoherent. they were simply digressive, which was to be expected, as elation befogs one's "goal idea." though these epistolary monstrosities were launched, few reached those to whom they were addressed; for my conservator had wisely ordered that my literary output be sent in bulk to him. his action was exasperating, but later i realized that he had done me a great favor when he interposed his judgment between my red-hot mentality and the cool minds of the workaday world. yet this interference with what i deemed my rights proved to be the first step in the general overruling of them by tactless attendants and, in particular, by a certain assistant physician. i had always shown a strong inclination to superintend. in consequence, in my elated condition it was but natural that i should have an excess of executive impulses. in order to decrease this executive pressure i proceeded to assume entire charge of that portion of the hospital in which i happened at the moment to be confined. what i eventually issued as imperative orders were often presented at first as polite suggestions. but, if my suggestions were not accorded a respectful hearing, and my demands acted upon at once, i invariably supplemented them with vituperative ultimatums. these were double-edged, and involved me in trouble quite as often as they gained the ends i sought. the assistant physician in charge of my case, realizing that he could not grant all of my requests, unwisely decided to deny most of them. had he been tactful, he could have taken the same stand without arousing my animosity. as it was, he treated me with a contemptuous sort of indifference which finally developed into spite, and led to much trouble for us both. during the two wild months that followed, the superintendent and the steward could induce me to do almost anything by simply requesting it. if two men out of three could control me easily during such a period of mental excitement, is it not reasonable to suppose that the third man, the assistant physician, could likewise have controlled me had he treated me with consideration? it was his undisguised superciliousness that gave birth to my contempt for him. in a letter written during my second week of elation, i expressed the opinion that he and i should get along well together. but that was before i had become troublesome enough to try the man's patience. nevertheless, it indicates that he could have saved himself hours of time and subsequent worry, had he met my friendly advances in the proper spirit, for it is the quality of heart quite as much as the quantity of mind that cures or makes happy the insane. the literary impulse took such a hold on me that, when i first sat down to compose a letter, i bluntly refused to stop writing and go to bed when the attendant ordered me to do so. for over one year this man had seen me mute and meek, and the sudden and startling change from passive obedience to uncompromising independence naturally puzzled him. he threatened to drag me to my room, but strangely enough decided not to do so. after half an hour's futile coaxing, during which time an unwonted supply of blood was drawn to his brain, that surprised organ proved its gratitude by giving birth to a timely and sensible idea. with an unaccustomed resourcefulness, by cutting off the supply of light at the electric switch, he put the entire ward in darkness. secretly i admired the stratagem, but my words on that occasion probably conveyed no idea of the approbation that lurked within me. i then went to bed, but not to sleep. the ecstasy of elation made each conscious hour one of rapturous happiness, and my memory knows no day of brighter sunlight than those nights. the floodgates of thought wide open. so jealous of each other were the thoughts that they seemed to stumble over one another in their mad rush to present themselves to my re-enthroned ego. i naturally craved companionship, but there were not many patients whom i cared to talk with. i did, however, greatly desire to engage the assistant physician in conversation, as he was a man of some education and familiar with the history of my case. but this man, who had tried to induce me to speak when delusions had tied my tongue, now, when i was at last willing talk, would scarcely condescend to listen; and what seemed to me his studied and ill-disguised avoidance only served to whet my desire to detain him whenever possible. it was about the second week that my reformative turn of mind became acute. the ward in which i was confined was well furnished and as homelike as such a place could be, though in justice to my own home i must observe that the resemblance was not great. about the so-called violent ward i had far less favorable ideas. though i had not been subjected to physical abuse during the first fourteen months of my stay here, i had seen unnecessary and often brutal force used by the attendants in managing several so-called violent patients, who, upon their arrival, had been placed in the ward where i was. i had also heard convincing rumors of rough treatment of irresponsible patients in the violent ward. at once i determined to conduct a thorough investigation of the institution. in order that i might have proof that my intended action was deliberate, my first move was to tell one or two fellow-patients that i should soon transgress some rule in such a way as to necessitate my removal to the violent ward. at first i thought of breaking a few panes of glass; but my purpose was accomplished in another way--and, indeed, sooner than i had anticipated. my conservator, in my presence, had told the assistant physician that the doctors could permit me to telephone him whenever they should see fit. it was rather with the wish to test the unfriendly physician than to satisfy any desire to speak with my conservator that one morning i asked permission to call up the latter. that very morning i had received a letter from him. this the doctor knew, for i showed him the letter--but not its contents. it was on the letter that i based my demand, though in it my brother did not even intimate that he wished to speak to me. the doctor, however, had no way of knowing that my statement was not true. to deny my request was simply one of his ill-advised whims, and his refusal was given with customary curtness and contempt. i met his refusal in kind, and presented him with a trenchant critique of his character. he said, "unless you stop talking in that way i shall have you transferred to the fourth ward." (this was the violent ward.) "put me where you please," was my reply. "i'll put you in the gutter before i get through with you." with that the doctor made good his threat, and the attendant escorted me to the violent ward--a willing, in fact, eager prisoner. the ward in which i was now placed (september th, ) was furnished in the plainest manner. the floors were of hard wood and the walls were bare. except when at meals or out of doors taking their accustomed exercise, the patients usually lounged about in one large room, in which heavy benches were used, it being thought that in the hands of violent patients, chairs might become a menace to others. in the dining room, however, there were chairs of a substantial type, for patients seldom run amuck at meal time. nevertheless, one of these dining-room chairs soon acquired a history. as my banishment had come on short notice, i had failed to provide myself with many things i now desired. my first request was that i be supplied with stationery. the attendants, acting no doubt on the doctor's orders, refused to grant my request; nor would they give me a lead pencil--which, luckily, i did not need, for i happened to have one. despite their refusal i managed to get some scraps of paper, on which i was soon busily engaged in writing notes to those in authority. some of these (as i learned later) were delivered, but no attention was paid to them. no doctor came near me until evening, when the one who had banished me made his regular round of inspection. when he appeared, the interrupted conversation of the morning was resumed--that is, by me--and in a similar vein. i again asked leave to telephone my conservator. the doctor again refused, and, of course, again i told him what i thought of him. my imprisonment pleased me. i was where i most wished to be, and i busied myself investigating conditions and making mental notes. as the assistant physician could grant favors to the attendants, and had authority to discharge them, they did his bidding and continued to refuse most of my requests. in spite of their unfriendly attitude, however, i did manage to persuade the supervisor, a kindly man, well along in years, to deliver a note to the steward. in it i asked him to come at once, as i wished to talk with him. the steward, whom i looked upon as a friend, returned no answer and made no visit. i supposed he, too, had purposely ignored me. as i learned afterwards, both he and the superintendent were absent, else perhaps i should have been treated in a less high-handed manner by the assistant physician, who was not absent. the next morning, after a renewal of my request and a repeated refusal, i asked the doctor to send me the "book of psalms" which i had left in my former room. with this request he complied, believing, perhaps, that some religion would at least do me no harm. i probably read my favorite psalm, the th; but most of my time i spent writing, on the flyleaves, psalms of my own. and if the value of a psalm is to be measured by the intensity of feeling portrayed, my compositions of that day rightly belonged beside the writings of david. my psalms were indited to those in authority at the hospital, and later in the day the supervisor--who proved himself a friend on many occasions--took the book to headquarters. the assistant physician, who had mistaken my malevolent tongue for a violent mind, had placed me in an exile which precluded my attending the service which was held in the chapel that sunday afternoon. time which might better have been spent in church i therefore spent in perfecting a somewhat ingenious scheme for getting in touch with the steward. that evening, when the doctor again appeared, i approached him in a friendly way and politely repeated my request. he again refused to grant it. with an air of resignation i said, "well, as it seems useless to argue the point with you and as the notes sent to others have thus far been ignored, i should like, with your kind permission, to kick a hole in your damned old building and to-morrow present myself to the steward in his office." "kick away!" he said with a sneer. he then entered an adjoining ward, where he remained for about ten minutes. if you will draw in your mind, or on paper, a letter "l," and let the vertical part represent a room forty feet in length, and the horizontal part one of twenty, and if you will then picture me as standing in a doorway at the intersection of these two lines--the door to the dining room--and the doctor behind another door at the top of the perpendicular, forty feet away, you will have represented graphically the opposing armies just prior to the first real assault in what proved to be a siege of seven weeks. the moment the doctor re-entered the ward, as he had to do to return to the office, i disappeared through my door--into the dining room. i then walked the length of that room and picked up one of the heavy wooden chairs, selected for my purpose while the doctor and his tame charges were at church. using the chair as a battering-ram, without malice--joy being in my heart--i deliberately thrust two of its legs through an upper and a lower pane of a four-paned plate glass window. the only miscalculation i made was in failing to place myself directly in front of that window, and at a proper distance, so that i might have broken every one of the four panes. this was a source of regret to me, for i was always loath to leave a well-thought-out piece of work unfinished. the crash of shattered and falling glass startled every one but me. especially did it frighten one patient who happened to be in the dining room at the time. he fled. the doctor and the attendant who were in the adjoining room could not see me, or know what the trouble was; but they lost no time in finding out. like the proverbial cold-blooded murderer who stands over his victim, weapon in hand, calmly awaiting arrest, i stood my ground, and, with a fair degree of composure, awaited the onrush of doctor and attendant. they soon had me in hand. each taking an arm, they marched me to my room. this took not more than half a minute, but the time was not so short as to prevent my delivering myself of one more thumb-nail characterization of the doctor. my inability to recall that delineation, verbatim, entails no loss on literature. but one remark made as the doctor seized hold of me was apt, though not impromptu. "well, doctor," i said, "knowing you to be a truthful man, i just took you at your word." senseless as this act appears it was the result of logical thinking. the steward had entire charge of the building and ordered all necessary repairs. it was he whom i desired above all others to see, and i reasoned that the breaking of several dollars' worth of plate glass (for which later, to my surprise, i had to pay) would compel his attention on grounds of economy, if not those of the friendly interest which i now believed he had abandoned. early the next morning, as i had hoped, the steward appeared. he approached me in a friendly way (as had been his wont) and i met him in a like manner. "i wish you would leave a little bit of the building," he said good-naturedly. "i will leave it all, and gladly, if you will pay some attention to my messages," was my rejoinder. "had i not been out of town," he replied, "i would have come to see you sooner." and this honest explanation i accepted. i made known to the steward the assistant physician's behavior in balking my desire to telephone my conservator. he agreed to place the matter before the superintendent, who had that morning returned. as proof of gratitude, i promised to suspend hostilities until i had had a talk with the superintendent. i made it quite plain, however, that should he fail to keep his word, i would further facilitate the ventilation of the violent ward. my faith in mankind was not yet wholly restored. xv a few hours later, without having witnessed anything of particular significance, except as it befell myself, i was transferred to my old ward. the superintendent, who had ordered this rehabilitation, soon appeared, and he and i had a satisfactory talk. he gave me to understand that he himself would in future look after my case, as he realized that his assistant lacked the requisite tact and judgment to cope with one of my temperament--and with that, my desire to telephone my conservator vanished. now no physician would like to have his wings clipped by a patient, even indirectly, and without doubt the man's pride was piqued as his incompetence was thus made plain. thereafter, when he passed through the ward, he and i had frequent tilts. not only did i lose no opportunity to belittle him in the presence of attendants and patients, but i even created such opportunities; so that before long he tried to avoid me whenever possible. but it seldom was possible. one of my chief amusements consisted in what were really one-sided interviews with him. occasionally he was so unwise as to stand his ground for several minutes, and his arguments on such occasions served only to keep my temper at a vituperative heat. if there were any epithets which i failed to apply to him during the succeeding weeks of my association with him, they must have been coined since. the uncanny admixture of sanity displayed by me, despite my insane condition, was something this doctor could not comprehend. remarks of mine, which he should have discounted or ignored, rankled as the insults of a sane and free man would have done. and his blunt and indiscriminate refusal of most of my requests prolonged my period of mental excitement. after my return to my old ward i remained there for a period of three weeks. at that time i was a very self-centred individual. my large and varied assortment of delusions of grandeur made everything seem possible. there were few problems i hesitated to attack. with sufficient provocation i even attacked attendants--problems in themselves; but such fights as i subsequently engaged in were fights either for my own rights or the rights of others. though for a while i got along fairly well with the attendants and as well as could be expected with the assistant physician, it soon became evident that these men felt that to know me more was to love me less. owing to their lack of capacity for the work required of them, i was able to cause them endless annoyance. many times a day i would tell the attendants what to do and what not to do, and tell them what i should do if my requests, suggestions, or orders were not immediately complied with. for over one year they had seen me in a passive, almost speechless condition, and they were, therefore, unable to understand my unwonted aggressions. the threat that i would chastise them for any disobedience of my orders they looked upon as a huge joke. so it was, until one day i incontinently cracked that joke against the head of one of them. it began in this wise: early in october there was placed in the ward a man whose abnormality for the most part consisted of an inordinate thirst for liquor. he was over fifty years of age, well educated, traveled, refined and of an artistic temperament. congenial companions were scarce where i was, and he and i were soon drawn together in friendship. this man had been trapped into the institution by the subterfuge of relatives. as is common in such cases, many "white" lies had been resorted to in order to save trouble for all concerned--that is, all except the patient. to be taken without notice from one's home and by a deceitful, though under the circumstances perhaps justifiable strategy, placed in a ward with fifteen other men, all exhibiting insanity in varying degrees, is as heartbreaking an ordeal as one can well imagine. yet such was this man's experience. a free man one day, he found himself deprived of his liberty the next, and branded with what he considered an unbearable disgrace. mr. blank (as i shall call him) was completely unnerved. as he was a stranger in what i well knew was a strange world, i took him under my protecting and commodious wing. i did all i could to cheer him up, and tried to secure for him that consideration which to me seemed indispensable to his well-being. patients in his condition had never been forced, when taking their exercise, to walk about the grounds with the other patients. at no time during the preceding fourteen months had i seen a newly committed patient forced to exercise against his will. one who objected was invariably left in the ward, or his refusal was reported to the doctor before further action was taken. no sane person need stretch his imagination in order to realize how humiliating it would be for this man to walk with a crowd which greatly resembled a "chain gang." two by two, under guard, these hostages of misfortune get the only long walks their restricted liberty allows them. after the one or two occasions when this man did walk with the gang, i was impressed with the not wholly unreasonable thought that the physical exercise in no way compensated for the mental distress which the sense of humiliation and disgrace caused him to suffer. it was delightfully easy for me to interfere in his behalf; and when he came to my room, wrought up over the prospect of another such humiliation and weeping bitterly, i assured him that he should take his exercise that day when i did. my first move to accomplish the desired result was to approach, in a friendly way, the attendant in charge, and ask him to permit my new friend to walk about the grounds with me when next i went. he said he would do nothing of the kind--that he intended to take this man when he took the others. i said, "for over a year i have been in this ward and so have you, and i have never yet seen a man in mr. blank's condition forced to go out of doors." "it makes no difference whether you have or not," said the attendant, "he's going." "will you ask the doctor whether mr. blank can or cannot walk about the grounds with my special attendant when i go?" "no, i won't. furthermore, it's none of your business." "if you resort to physical force and attempt to take mr. blank with the other patients, you'll wish you hadn't," i said, as i walked away. at this threat the fellow scornfully laughed. to him it meant nothing. he believed i could fight only with my tongue, and i confess that i myself was in doubt as to my power of fighting otherwise. returning to my room, where mr. blank was in waiting, i supported his drooping courage and again assured him that he should be spared the dreaded ordeal. i ordered him to go to a certain room at the farther end of the hall and there await developments--so that, should there be a fight, the line of battle might be a long one. he obeyed. in a minute or two the attendant was headed for that room. i followed closely at his heels, still threatening to attack him if he dared so much as lay a finger on my friend. though i was not then aware of it, i was followed by another patient, a man who, though a mental case, had his lucid intervals and always a loyal heart. he seemed to realize that trouble was brewing and that very likely i should need help. once in the room, the war of words was renewed, my sensitive and unnerved friend standing by and anxiously looking on. "i warn you once more," i said, "if you touch mr. blank, i'll punch you so hard you'll wish you hadn't." the attendant's answer was an immediate attempt to eject mr. blank from the room by force. nothing could be more automatic than my action at that time; indeed, to this day i do not remember performing the act itself. what i remember is the determination to perform it and the subsequent evidence of its having been performed. at all events i had already made up my mind to do a certain thing if the attendant did a certain thing. he did the one and i did the other. almost before he had touched mr. blank's person, my right fist struck him with great force in, on, or about the left eye. it was then that i became the object of the attendant's attention--but not his undivided attention--for as he was choking me, my unsuspected ally stepped up and paid the attendant a sincere compliment by likewise choking him. in the scuffle i was forced to the floor. the attendant had a grip upon my throat. my wardmate had a double grip upon the attendant's throat. thus was formed a chain with a weak, if not a missing, link in the middle. picture, if you will, an insane man being choked by a supposedly sane one, and he in turn being choked by a temporarily sane insane friend of the assaulted one, and you will have nemesis as nearly in a nutshell as any mere rhetorician has yet been able to put her. that i was well choked is proved by the fact that my throat bore the crescent-shaped mark of my assailant's thumb nail. and i am inclined to believe that my rescuer, who was a very powerful man, made a decided impression on my assailant's throat. had not the superintendent opportunely appeared at that moment, the man might soon have lapsed into unconsciousness, for i am sure my ally would never have released him until he had released me. the moment the attendant with his one good eye caught sight of the superintendent the scrimmage ended. this was but natural, for it is against the code of honor generally obtaining among attendants, that one should so far forget himself as to abuse patients in the presence of sane and competent witnesses. the choking which i had just received served only to limber my vocal cords. i told the doctor all about the preliminary verbal skirmish and the needlessness of the fight. the superintendent had graduated at yale over fifty years prior to my own graduation, and because of this common interest and his consummate tact we got along well together. but his friendly interest did not keep him from speaking his mind upon occasion, as his words at this time proved. "you don't know," he said, "how it grieves me to see you--a yale man--act so like a rowdy." "if fighting for the rights of a much older man, unable to protect his own interests, is the act of a rowdy, i'm quite willing to be thought one," was my reply. need i add that the attendant did not take mr. blank for a walk that morning? nor, so far as i know, was the latter ever forced again to take his exercise against his will. xvi the superintendent now realized that i was altogether too energetic a humanitarian to remain in a ward with so many other patients. my actions had a demoralizing effect upon them; so i was forthwith transferred to a private room, one of two situated in a small one-story annex. these new quarters were rather attractive, not unlike a bachelor apartment. as there was no one here with whom i could interfere i got along without making any disturbance--that is, so long as i had a certain special attendant, a man suited to my temperament. he who was now placed over me understood human nature. he never resorted to force if argument failed to move me; and trifling transgressions, which would have led to a fight had he behaved like a typical attendant, he either ignored or privately reported to the doctor. for the whole period of my intense excitement there were certain persons who could control me, and certain others whose presence threw me into a state bordering on rage, and frequently into passions which led to distressing results. unfortunately for me, my good attendant soon left the institution to accept a more attractive business offer. he left without even a good-bye to me. nothing proves more conclusively how important to me would have been his retention than this abrupt leave-taking which the doctor had evidently ordered, thinking perhaps that the prospect of such a change would excite me. however, i caused no trouble when the substitution was made, though i did dislike having placed over me a man with whom i had previously had misunderstandings. he was about my own age and it was by no means so easy to take orders from him as it had been to obey his predecessor, who was considerably older than myself. then, too, this younger attendant disliked me because of the many disagreeable things i had said to him while we were together in a general ward. he weighed about one hundred and ninety pounds to my one hundred and thirty, and had evidently been selected to attend me because of his great strength. a choice based on mental rather than physical considerations would have been wiser. the superintendent, because of his advanced age and ill health, had been obliged again to place my case in the hands of the assistant physician, and the latter gave this new attendant certain orders. what i was to be permitted to do, and what not, was carefully specified. these orders, many of them unreasonable, were carried out to the letter. for this i cannot justly blame the attendant. the doctor had deprived him of the right to exercise what judgment he had. at this period i required but little sleep. i usually spent part of the night drawing; for it was in september, , while i was at the height of my wave of self-centred confidence, that i decided that i was destined to become a writer of books--or at least of one book; and now i thought i might as well be an artist, too, and illustrate my own works. in school i had never cared for drawing; nor at college either. but now my awakened artistic impulse was irresistible. my first self-imposed lesson was a free-hand copy of an illustration on a cover of _life_. considering the circumstances, that first drawing was creditable, though i cannot now prove the assertion; for inconsiderate attendants destroyed it, with many more of my drawings and manuscripts. from the very moment i completed that first drawing, honors were divided between my literary and artistic impulses; and a letter which, in due time, i felt impelled to write to the governor of the state, incorporated art with literature. i wrote and read several hours a day and i spent as many more in drawing. but the assistant physician, instead of making it easy for me to rid myself of an excess of energy along literary and artistic lines, balked me at every turn, and seemed to delight in displaying as little interest as possible in my newly awakened ambitions. when everything should have been done to calm my abnormally active mind, a studied indifference and failure to protect my interests kept me in a state of exasperation. but circumstances now arose which brought about the untimely stifling--i might better say strangulation--of my artistic impulses. the doctors were led--unwisely, i believe--to decide that absolute seclusion was the only thing that would calm my over-active brain. in consequence, all writing and drawing materials and all books were taken from me. and from october th until the first of the following january, except for one fortnight, i was confined in one or another small, barred room, hardly better than a cell in a prison and in some instances far worse. a corn cob was the determining factor at this crisis. seeing in myself an embryonic raphael, i had a habit of preserving all kinds of odds and ends as souvenirs of my development. these, i believed, sanctified by my midas-like touch, would one day be of great value. if the public can tolerate, as it does, thousands of souvenir hunters, surely one with a sick mind should be indulged in the whim for collecting such souvenirs as come within his reach. among the odds and ends that i had gathered were several corn cobs. these i intended to gild and some day make useful by attaching to them small thermometers. but on the morning of october th, the young man in charge of me, finding the corn cobs, forthwith informed me that he would throw them away. i as promptly informed him that any such action on his part would lead to a fight. and so it did. when this fight began, there were two attendants at hand. i fought them both to a standstill, and told them i should continue to fight until the assistant physician came to the ward. thereupon, my special attendant, realizing that i meant what i said, held me while the other went for assistance. he soon returned, not with the assistant physician, but with a third attendant, and the fight was renewed. the one who had acted as messenger, being of finer fibre than the other two, stood at a safe distance. it was, of course, against the rules of the institution for an attendant to strike a patient, and, as i was sane enough to report with a fair chance of belief any forbidden blows, each captor had to content himself with holding me by an arm and attempting to choke me into submission. however, i was able to prevent them from getting a good grip on my throat, and for almost ten minutes i continued to fight, telling them all the time that i would not stop until a doctor should come. an assistant physician, but not the one in charge of my case, finally appeared. he gave orders that i be placed in the violent ward, which adjoined the private apartment i was then occupying, and no time was lost in locking me in a small room in that ward. friends have said to me: "well, what is to be done when a patient runs amuck?" the best answer i can make is: "do nothing to make him run amuck." psychiatrists have since told me that had i had an attendant with the wisdom and ability to humor me and permit me to keep my priceless corn cobs, the fight in question, and the worse events that followed, would probably not have occurred--not that day, nor ever, had i at all times been properly treated by those in charge of me. so again i found myself in the violent ward--but this time not because of any desire to investigate it. art and literature being now more engrossing than my plans for reform, i became, in truth, an unwilling occupant of a room and a ward devoid of even a suggestion of the aesthetic. the room itself was clean, and under other circumstances might have been cheerful. it was twelve feet long, seven feet wide, and twelve high. a cluster of incandescent lights, enclosed in a semi-spherical glass globe, was attached to the ceiling. the walls were bare and plainly wainscotted, and one large window, barred outside, gave light. at one side of the door was an opening a foot square with a door of its own which could be unlocked only from without, and through which food could be passed to a supposedly dangerous patient. aside from a single bed, the legs of which were screwed to the floor, the room had no furniture. the attendant, before locking me in, searched me and took from me several lead pencils; but the stub of one escaped his vigilance. naturally, to be taken from a handsomely furnished apartment and thrust into such a bare and unattractive room as this caused my already heated blood to approach the boiling point. consequently, my first act was to send a note to the physician who regularly had charge of my case, requesting him to visit me as soon as he should arrive, and i have every reason to believe that the note was delivered. whether or not this was so, a report of the morning's fight and my transfer must have reached him by some one of several witnesses. while waiting for an answer, i busied myself writing, and as i had no stationery i wrote on the walls. beginning as high as i could reach, i wrote in columns, each about three feet wide. soon the pencil became dull. but dull pencils are easily sharpened on the whetstone of wit. stifling acquired traits, i permitted myself to revert momentarily to a primitive expedient. i gnawed the wood quite from the pencil, leaving only the graphite core. with a bit of graphite a hand guided by the unerring insolence of elation may artistically damn all men and things. that i am inclined to believe i did; and i question whether raphael or michael angelo--upon whom i then looked as mere predecessors--ever put more feeling per square foot into their mural masterpieces. every little while, as if to punctuate my composition, and in an endeavor to get attention, i viciously kicked the door. this first fight of the day occurred about a.m. for the three hours following i was left to thrash about the room and work myself into a frenzy. i made up my mind to compel attention. a month earlier, shattered glass had enabled me to accomplish a certain sane purpose. again this day it served me. the opalescent half-globe on the ceiling seemed to be the most vulnerable point for attack. how to reach and smash it was the next question--and soon answered. taking off my shoes, i threw one with great force at my glass target and succeeded in striking it a destructive blow. the attendants charged upon my room. their entrance was momentarily delayed by the door which stuck fast. i was standing near it, and when it gave way, its edge struck me on the forehead with force enough to have fractured my skull had it struck a weaker part. once in the room, the two attendants threw me on the bed and one choked me so severely that i could feel my eyes starting from their sockets. the attendants then put the room in order; removed the glass--that is, all except one small and apparently innocent, but as the event proved well-nigh fatal, piece--took my shoes and again locked me in my room--not forgetting, however, to curse me well for making them work for their living. when the assistant physician finally appeared, i met him with a blast of invective which, in view of the events which quickly followed, must have blown out whatever spark of kindly feeling toward me he may ever have had. i demanded that he permit me to send word to my conservator asking him to come at once and look after my interests, for i was being unfairly treated. i also demanded that he request the superintendent to visit me at once, as i intended to have nothing more to do with the assistant physicians or attendants who were neglecting and abusing me. he granted neither demand. the bit of glass which the attendants had overlooked was about the size of my thumb nail. if i remember rightly, it was not a part of the broken globe. it was a piece that had probably been hidden by a former occupant, in a corner of the square opening at the side of the door. at all events, if the pen is the tongue of a ready writer, so may a piece of glass be, under given conditions. as the thought i had in mind seemed an immortal one i decided to etch, rather than write with fugitive graphite. on the topmost panel of the door, which a few minutes before had dealt me so vicious a blow, i scratched a seven-word sentiment--sincere, if not classic: "god bless our home, which is hell." the violent exercise of the morning had given me a good appetite and i ate my dinner with relish, though with some difficulty, for the choking had lamed my throat. on serving this dinner, the attendants again left me to my own devices. the early part of the afternoon i spent in vain endeavors to summon them and induce them to take notes to the superintendent and his assistant. they continued to ignore me. by sundown the furious excitement of the morning had given place to what might be called a deliberative excitement, which, if anything, was more effective. it was but a few days earlier that i had discussed my case with the assistant physician and told him all about the suicidal impulse which had been so strong during my entire period of depression. i now reasoned that a seeming attempt at suicide, a "fake" suicide, would frighten the attendants into calling this doctor whose presence i now desired--and desired the more because of his studied indifference. no man that ever lived, loved life more than i did on that day, and the mock tragedy which i successfully staged about dusk was, i believe, as good a farce as was ever perpetrated. if i had any one ambition it was to live long enough to regain my freedom and put behind prison bars this doctor and his burly henchmen. to compel attention that was my object. at that season the sun set by half-past five and supper was usually served about that time. so dark was my room then that objects in it could scarcely be discerned. about a quarter of an hour before the attendant was due to appear with my evening meal i made my preparations. that the stage setting might be in keeping with the plot, i tore up such papers as i had with me, and also destroyed other articles in the room--as one might in a frenzy; and to complete the illusion of desperation, deliberately broke my watch. i then took off my suspenders, and tying one end to the head of the bedstead, made a noose of the other. this i adjusted comfortably about my throat. at the crucial moment i placed my pillow on the floor beside the head of the bed and sat on it--for this was to be an easy death. i then bore just enough weight on the improvised noose to give all a plausible look. and a last lifelike (or rather deathlike) touch i added by gurgling as in infancy's happy days. no schoolboy ever enjoyed a prank more than i enjoyed this one. soon i heard the step of the attendant, bringing my supper. when he opened the door, he had no idea that anything unusual was happening within. coming as he did from a well-lighted room into one that was dark, it took him several seconds to grasp the situation--and then he failed really to take it in, for he at once supposed me to be in a semi-unconscious condition from strangulation. in a state of great excitement this brute of the morning called to his brute partner and i was soon released from what was nothing more than an amusing position, though they believed it one of torture or death. the vile curses with which they had addressed me in the morning were now silenced. they spoke kindly and expressed regret that i should have seen fit to resort to such an act. their sympathy was as genuine as such men can feel, but a poor kind at best, for it was undoubtedly excited by the thought of what might be the consequences to them of their own neglect. while this unwonted stress of emotion threatened their peace of mind, i continued to play my part, pretending to be all but unconscious. shortly after my rescue from a very living death, the attendants picked me up and carried my limp body and laughing soul to an adjoining room, where i was tenderly placed upon a bed. i seemed gradually to revive. "what did you do it for?" asked one. "what's the use of living in a place like this, to be abused as i've been to-day?" i asked. "you and the doctor ignore me and all my requests. even a cup of water between meals is denied me, and other requests which you have no right to refuse. had i killed myself, both of you would have been discharged. and if my relatives and friends had ever found out how you had abused and neglected me, it is likely you would have been arrested and prosecuted." word had already been sent to the physician. he hurried to the ward, his almost breathless condition showing how my farce had been mistaken for a real tragedy. the moment he entered i abandoned the part i had been playing. "now that i have you three brutes where i want you, i'll tell you a few things you don't know," i said. "you probably think i've just tried to kill myself. it was simply a ruse to make you give me some attention. when i make threats and tell you that my one object in life is to live long enough to regain my freedom and lay bare the abuses which abound in places like this, you simply laugh at me, don't you? but the fact is, that's my ambition, and if you knew anything at all, you'd know that abuse won't drive me to suicide. you can continue to abuse me and deprive me of my rights, and keep me in exile from relatives and friends, but the time will come when i'll make you sweat for all this. i'll put you in prison where you belong. or if i fail to do that, i can at least bring about your discharge from this institution. what's more, i will." the doctor and attendants took my threats with characteristic nonchalance. such threats, often enough heard in such places, make little or no impression, for they are seldom made good. when i made these threats, i really wished to put these men in prison. to-day i have no such desire, for were they not victims of the same vicious system of treatment to which i was subjected? in every institution where the discredited principles of "restraint" are used or tolerated, the very atmosphere is brutalizing. place a bludgeon in the hand of any man, with instructions to use it when necessary, and the gentler and more humane methods of persuasion will naturally be forgotten or deliberately abandoned. throughout my period of elation, especially the first months of it when i was doing the work of several normal men, i required an increased amount of fuel to generate the abnormal energy my activity demanded. i had a voracious appetite, and i insisted that the attendant give me the supper he was about to serve when he discovered me in the simulated throes of death. at first he refused, but finally relented and brought me a cup of tea and some buttered bread. because of the severe choking administered earlier in the day it was with difficulty that i swallowed any food. i _had_ to eat slowly. the attendant, however, ordered me to hurry, and threatened otherwise to take what little supper i had. i told him that i thought he would not--that i was entitled to my supper and intended to eat it with as much comfort as possible. this nettled him, and by a sudden and unexpected move he managed to take from me all but a crust of bread. even that he tried to snatch. i resisted and the third fight of the day was soon on--and that within five minutes of the time the doctor had left the ward. i was seated on the bed. the attendant, true to his vicious instincts, grasped my throat and choked me with the full power of a hand accustomed to that unmanly work. his partner, in the meantime, had rendered me helpless by holding me flat on my back while the attacking party choked me into breathless submission. the first fight of the day was caused by a corn cob; this of the evening by a crust of bread. were i to close the record of events of that october day with an account of the assault just described, few, if any, would imagine that i had failed to mention all the abuse to which i was that day subjected. the fact is that not the half has been told. as the handling of me within the twenty-four hours typifies the worst, but, nevertheless, the not unusual treatment of many patients in a like condition, i feel constrained to describe minutely the torture which was my portion that night. there are several methods of restraint in use to this day in various institutions, chief among them "mechanical restraint" and so-called "chemical restraint." the former consists in the use of instruments of restraint, namely, strait-jackets or camisoles, muffs, straps, mittens, restraint or strong sheets, etc.--all of them, except on the rarest of occasions, instruments of neglect and torture. chemical restraint (sometimes called medical restraint) consists in the use of temporarily paralyzing drugs--hyoscine being the popular "dose." by the use of such drugs a troublesome patient may be rendered unconscious and kept so for hours at a time. indeed, very troublesome patients (especially when attendants are scarce) are not infrequently kept in a stupefied condition for days, or even for weeks--but only in institutions where the welfare of the patients is lightly regarded. after the supper fight i was left alone in my room for about an hour. then the assistant physician entered with three attendants, including the two who had figured in my farce. one carried a canvas contrivance known as a camisole. a camisole is a type of straitjacket; and a very convenient type it is for those who resort to such methods of restraint, for it enables them to deny the use of strait-jackets at all. a strait-jacket, indeed, is not a camisole, just as electrocution is not hanging. a camisole, or, as i prefer to stigmatize it, a straitjacket, is really a tight-fitting coat of heavy canvas, reaching from neck to waist, constructed, however, on no ordinary pattern. there is not a button on it. the sleeves are closed at the ends, and the jacket, having no opening in front, is adjusted and tightly laced behind. to the end of each blind sleeve is attached a strong cord. the cord on the right sleeve is carried to the left of the body, and the cord on the left sleeve is carried to the right of the body. both are then drawn tightly behind, thus bringing the arms of the victim into a folded position across his chest. these cords are then securely tied. when i planned my ruse of the afternoon, i knew perfectly that i should soon find myself in a strait-jacket. the thought rather took my fancy, for i was resolved to know the inner workings of the violent ward. the piece of glass with which i had that morning written the motto already quoted, i had appropriated for a purpose. knowing that i should soon be put in the uncomfortable, but not necessarily intolerable embrace of a strait-jacket, my thought was that i might during the night, in some way or other, use this piece of glass to advantage--perhaps cut my way to a limited freedom. to make sure that i should retain possession of it, i placed it in my mouth and held it snugly against my cheek. its presence there did not interfere with my speech; nor did it invite visual detection. but had i known as much about strait-jackets and their adjustment as i learned later, i should have resorted to no such futile expedient. after many nights of torture, this jacket, at my urgent and repeated request, was finally adjusted in such manner that, had it been so adjusted at first, i need not have suffered any _torture_ at all. this i knew at the time, for i had not failed to discuss the matter with a patient who on several occasions had been restrained in this same jacket. on this occasion the element of personal spite entered into the assistant physician's treatment of me. the man's personality was apparently dual. his "jekyll" personality was the one most in evidence, but it was the "hyde" personality that seemed to control his actions when a crisis arose. it was "doctor jekyll" who approached my room that night, accompanied by the attendants. the moment he entered my room he became "mr. hyde." he was, indeed, no longer a doctor, or the semblance of one. his first move was to take the straitjacket in his own hands and order me to stand. knowing that those in authority really believed i had that day attempted to kill myself, i found no fault with their wish to put me in restraint; but i did object to having this done by jekyll-hyde. though a straitjacket should always be adjusted by the physician in charge, i knew that as a matter of fact the disagreeable duty was invariably assigned to the attendants. consequently jekyll-hyde's eagerness to assume an obligation he usually shirked gave me the feeling that his motives were spiteful. for that reason i preferred to entrust myself to the uncertain mercies of a regular attendant; and i said so, but in vain. "if you will keep your mouth shut, i'll be able to do this job quicker," said jekyll-hyde. "i'll shut my mouth as soon as you get out of this room and not before," i remarked. nor did i. my abusive language was, of course, interlarded with the inevitable epithets. the more i talked, the more vindictive he became. he said nothing, but, unhappily for me, he expressed his pent-up feelings in something more effectual than words. after he had laced the jacket, and drawn my arms across my chest so snugly that i could not move them a fraction of an inch, i asked him to loosen the strait-jacket enough to enable me at least to take a full breath. i also requested him to give me a chance to adjust my fingers, which had been caught in an unnatural and uncomfortable position. "if you will keep still a minute, i will," said jekyll-hyde. i obeyed, and willingly too, for i did not care to suffer more than was necessary. instead of loosening the appliance as agreed, this doctor, now livid with rage, drew the cords in such a way that i found myself more securely and cruelly held than before. this breach of faith threw me into a frenzy. though it was because his continued presence served to increase my excitement that jekyll-hyde at last withdrew, it will be observed that he did not do so until he had satisfied an unmanly desire which an apparently lurking hatred had engendered. the attendants soon withdrew and locked me up for the night. no incidents of my life have ever impressed themselves more indelibly on my memory than those of my first night in a strait-jacket. within one hour of the time i was placed in it i was suffering pain as intense as any i ever endured, and before the night had passed it had become almost unbearable. my right hand was so held that the tip of one of my fingers was all but cut by the nail of another, and soon knifelike pains began to shoot through my right arm as far as the shoulder. after four or five hours the excess of pain rendered me partially insensible to it. but for fifteen consecutive hours i remained in that instrument of torture; and not until the twelfth hour, about breakfast time the next morning, did an attendant so much as loosen a cord. during the first seven or eight hours, excruciating pains racked not only my arms, but half of my body. though i cried and moaned, in fact, screamed so loudly that the attendants must have heard me, little attention was paid to me--possibly because of orders from mr. hyde after he had again assumed the role of doctor jekyll. i even begged the attendants to loosen the jacket enough to ease me a little. this they refused to do, and they even seemed to enjoy being in a position to add their considerable mite to my torture. before midnight i really believed that i should be unable to endure the torture and retain my reason. a peculiar pricking sensation which i now felt in my brain, a sensation exactly like that of june, , led me to believe that i might again be thrown out of touch with the world i had so lately regained. realizing the awfulness of that fate, i redoubled my efforts to effect my rescue. shortly after midnight i did succeed in gaining the attention of the night watch. upon entering my room he found me flat on the floor. i had fallen from the bed and perforce remained absolutely helpless where i lay. i could not so much as lift my head. this, however, was not the fault of the straitjacket. it was because i could not control the muscles of my neck which that day had been so mauled. i could scarcely swallow the water the night watch was good enough to give me. he was not a bad sort; yet even he refused to let out the cords of the strait-jacket. as he seemed sympathetic, i can attribute his refusal to nothing but strict orders issued by the doctor. it will be recalled that i placed a piece of glass in my mouth before the strait-jacket was adjusted. at midnight the glass was still there. after the refusal of the night watch, i said to him: "then i want you to go to doctor jekyll" (i, of course, called him by his right name; but to do so now would be to prove myself as brutal as mr. hyde himself). "tell him to come here at once and loosen this jacket. i can't endure the torture much longer. after fighting two years to regain my reason, i believe i'll lose it again. you have always treated me kindly. for god's sake, get the doctor!" "i can't leave the main building at this time," the night watch said. (jekyll-hyde lived in a house about one-eighth of a mile distant, but within the hospital grounds.) "then will you take a message to the assistant physician who stays here?" (a colleague of jekyll-hyde had apartments in the main building.) "i'll do that," he replied. "tell him how i'm suffering. ask him to please come here at once and ease this strait-jacket. if he doesn't, i'll be as crazy by morning as i ever was. also tell him i'll kill myself unless he comes, and i can do it, too. i have a piece of glass in this room and i know just what i'll do with it." the night watch was as good as his word. he afterwards told me that he had delivered my message. the doctor ignored it. he did not come near me that night, nor the next day, nor did jekyll-hyde appear until his usual round of inspection about eleven o'clock the next morning. "i understand that you have a piece of glass which you threatened to use for a suicidal purpose last night," he said, when he appeared. "yes, i have, and it's not your fault or the other doctor's that i am not dead. had i gone mad, in my frenzy i might have swallowed that glass." "where is it?" asked the doctor, incredulously. as my strait-jacket rendered me armless, i presented the glass to jekyll-hyde on the tip of a tongue he had often heard, but never before seen. xvii after fifteen interminable hours the strait-jacket was removed. whereas just prior to its putting on i had been in a vigorous enough condition to offer stout resistance when wantonly assaulted, now, on coming out of it, i was helpless. when my arms were released from their constricted position, the pain was intense. every joint had been racked. i had no control over the fingers of either hand, and could not have dressed myself had i been promised my freedom for doing so. for more than the following week i suffered as already described, though of course with gradually decreasing intensity as my racked body became accustomed to the unnatural positions it was forced to take. this first experience occurred on the night of october th, . i was subjected to the same unfair, unnecessary, and unscientific ordeal for twenty-one consecutive nights and parts of each of the corresponding twenty-one days. on more than one occasion, indeed, the attendant placed me in the strait-jacket during the day for refusing to obey some trivial command. this, too, without an explicit order from the doctor in charge, though perhaps he acted under a general order. during most of this time i was held also in seclusion in a padded cell. a padded cell is a vile hole. the side walls are padded as high as a man can reach, as is also the inside of the door. one of the worst features of such cells is the lack of ventilation, which deficiency of course aggravates their general unsanitary condition. the cell which i was forced to occupy was practically without heat, and as winter was coming on, i suffered intensely from the cold. frequently it was so cold i could see my breath. though my canvas jacket served to protect part of that body which it was at the same time racking, i was seldom comfortably warm; for, once uncovered, my arms being pinioned, i had no way of rearranging the blankets. what little sleep i managed to get i took lying on a hard mattress placed on the bare floor. the condition of the mattress i found in the cell was such that i objected to its further use, and the fact that another was supplied, at a time when few of my requests were being granted, proves its disgusting condition. for this period of three weeks--from october th until november th, , when i left this institution and was transferred to a state hospital--i was continuously either under lock and key (in the padded cell or some other room) or under the eye of an attendant. over half the time i was in the snug, but cruel embrace of a strait-jacket--about three hundred hours in all. while being subjected to this terrific abuse i was held in exile. i was cut off from all direct and all _honest_ indirect communication with my legally appointed conservator--my own brother--and also with all other relatives and friends. i was even cut off from satisfactory communication with the superintendent. i saw him but twice, and then for so short a time that i was unable to give him any convincing idea of my plight. these interviews occurred on two sundays that fell within my period of exile, for it was on sunday that the superintendent usually made his weekly round of inspection. what chance had i of successfully pleading my case, while my pulpit was a padded cell, and the congregation--with the exception of the superintendent--the very ones who had been abusing me? at such times my pent-up indignation poured itself forth in such a disconnected way that my protests were robbed of their right ring of truth. i was not incoherent in speech. i was simply voluble and digressive--a natural incident of elation. such notes as i managed to write on scraps of paper were presumably confiscated by jekyll-hyde. at all events, it was not until some months later that the superintendent was informed of my treatment, when, at my request (though i was then elsewhere), the governor of the state discussed the subject with him. how i brought about that discussion while still virtually a prisoner in another place will be narrated in due time. and not until several days after i had left this institution and had been placed in another, when for the first time in six weeks i saw my conservator, did _he_ learn of the treatment to which i had been subjected. from his office in new haven he had telephoned several times to the assistant physician and inquired about my condition. though jekyll-hyde did tell him that i was highly excited and difficult to control, he did not even hint that i was being subjected to any unusual restraint. doctor jekyll deceived everyone, and--as things turned out--deceived himself; for had he realized then that i should one day be able to do what i have since done, his brutality would surely have been held in check by his discretion. how helpless, how at the mercy of his keepers, a patient may be is further illustrated by the conduct of this same man. once, during the third week of my nights in a strait-jacket, i refused to take certain medicine which an attendant offered me. for some time i had been regularly taking this innocuous concoction without protest; but i now decided that, as the attendant refused most of my requests, i should no longer comply with all of his. he did not argue the point with me. he simply reported my refusal to doctor jekyll. a few minutes later doctor jekyll--or rather mr. hyde--accompanied by three attendants, entered the padded cell. i was robed for the night--in a strait-jacket. mr. hyde held in his hand a rubber tube. an attendant stood near with the medicine. for over two years, the common threat had been made that the "tube" would be resorted to if i refused medicine or food. i had begun to look upon it as a myth; but its presence in the hands of an oppressor now convinced me of its reality. i saw that the doctor and his bravos meant business; and as i had already endured torture enough, i determined to make every concession this time and escape what seemed to be in store for me. "what are you going to do with that?" i asked, eyeing the tube. "the attendant says you refuse to take your medicine. we are going to make you take it." "i'll take your old medicine," was my reply. "you have had your chance." "all right," i said. "put that medicine into me any way you think best. but the time will come when you'll wish you hadn't. when that time does come it won't be easy to prove that you had the right to force a patient to take medicine he had offered to take. i know something about the ethics of your profession. you have no right to do anything to a patient except what's good for him. you know that. all you are trying to do is to punish me, and i give you fair warning i'm going to camp on your trail till you are not only discharged from this institution, but expelled from the state medical society as well. you are a disgrace to your profession, and that society will attend to your case fast enough when certain members of it, who are friends of mine, hear about this. furthermore, i shall report your conduct to the governor of the state. he can take some action even if this is _not_ a state institution. now, damn you, do your worst!" coming from one in my condition, this was rather straight talk. the doctor was visibly disconcerted. had he not feared to lose caste with the attendants who stood by, i think he would have given me another chance. but he had too much pride and too little manhood to recede from a false position already taken. i no longer resisted, even verbally, for i no longer wanted the doctor to desist. though i did not anticipate the operation with pleasure, i was eager to take the man's measure. he and the attendants knew that i usually kept a trick or two even up the sleeve of a strait-jacket, so they took added precautions. i was flat on my back, with simply a mattress between me and the floor. one attendant held me. another stood by with the medicine and with a funnel through which, as soon as mr. hyde should insert the tube in one of my nostrils, the dose was to be poured. the third attendant stood near as a reserve force. though the insertion of the tube, when skilfully done, need not cause suffering, the operation as conducted by mr. hyde was painful. try as he would, he was unable to insert the tube properly, though in no way did i attempt to balk him. his embarrassment seemed to rob his hand of whatever cunning it may have possessed. after what seemed ten minutes of bungling, though it was probably not half that, he gave up the attempt, but not until my nose had begun to bleed. he was plainly chagrined when he and his bravos retired. intuitively i felt that they would soon return. that they did, armed with a new implement of war. this time the doctor inserted between my teeth a large wooden peg--to keep open a mouth which he usually wanted shut. he then forced down my throat a rubber tube, the attendant adjusted the funnel, and the medicine, or rather liquid--for its medicinal properties were without effect upon me--was poured in. as the scant reports sent to my conservator during these three weeks indicated that i was not improving as he had hoped, he made a special trip to the institution, to investigate in person. on his arrival he was met by none other than doctor jekyll, who told him that i was in a highly excited condition, which, he intimated, would be aggravated by a personal interview. now for a man to see his brother in such a plight as mine would be a distressing ordeal, and, though my conservator came within a few hundred feet of my prison cell, it naturally took but a suggestion to dissuade him from coming nearer. doctor jekyll did tell him that it had been found necessary to place me in "restraint" and "seclusion" (the professional euphemisms for "strait-jacket," "padded cell," etc.), but no hint was given that i had been roughly handled. doctor jekyll's politic dissuasion was no doubt inspired by the knowledge that if ever i got within speaking distance of my conservator, nothing could prevent my giving him a circumstantial account of my sufferings--which account would have been corroborated by the blackened eye i happened to have at the time. indeed, in dealing with my conservator the assistant physician showed a degree of tact which, had it been directed toward myself, would have sufficed to keep me tolerably comfortable. my conservator, though temporarily stayed, was not convinced. he felt that i was not improving where i was, and he wisely decided that the best course would be to have me transferred to a public institution--the state hospital. a few days later the judge who had originally committed me ordered my transfer. nothing was said to me about the proposed change until the moment of departure, and then i could scarcely believe my ears. in fact i did not believe my informant; for three weeks of abuse, together with my continued inability to get in touch with my conservator, had so shaken my reason that there was a partial recurrence of old delusions. i imagined myself on the way to the state prison, a few miles distant; and not until the train had passed the prison station did i believe that i was really on my way to the state hospital. xviii the state hospital in which i now found myself, the third institution to which i had been committed, though in many respects above the average of such institutions, was typical. it commanded a wide view of a beautiful river and valley. this view i was permitted to enjoy--at first. those in charge of the institution which i had just left did not give my new custodians any detailed account of my case. their reticence was, i believe, occasioned by chagrin rather than charity. tamers of wild men have as much pride as tamers of wild animals (but unfortunately less skill) and to admit defeat is a thing not to be thought of. though private institutions are prone to shift their troublesome cases to state institutions, there is too often a deplorable lack of sympathy and co-operation between them, which, in this instance, however, proved fortunate for me. from october th until the early afternoon of november th, at the private institution, i had been classed as a raving maniac. the _name_ i had brought upon myself by experimental conduct; the _condition_ had been aggravated and perpetuated by the stupidity of those in authority over me. and it was the same experimental conduct on my part, and stupidity on the part of my new custodians, which gave rise, two weeks later, to a similar situation. on friday, november th, i was in a strait-jacket. on november th and th i was apparently as tractable as any of the twenty-three hundred patients in the state hospital--conventionally clothed, mild mannered, and, seemingly, right minded. on the th, the day after my arrival, i attended a church service held at the hospital. my behavior was not other than that of the most pious worshipper in the land. the next evening, with most exemplary deportment, i attended one of the dances which are held every fortnight during the winter. had i been a raving maniac, such activities would have led to a disturbance; for maniacs, of necessity, disregard the conventions of both pious and polite society. yet, on either of these days, had i been in the private institution which i had recently left, i should have occupied a cell and worn a strait-jacket. the assistant superintendent, who received me upon my arrival, judged me by my behavior. he assigned me to one of two connecting wards--the best in the hospital--where about seventy patients led a fairly agreeable life. though no official account of my case had accompanied my transfer, the attendant who had acted as escort and guard had already given an attendant at the state hospital a brief account of my recent experiences. yet when this report finally reached the ears of those in authority, they wisely decided not to transfer me to another ward so long as i caused no trouble where i was. finding myself at last among friends, i lost no time in asking for writing and drawing materials, which had so rudely been taken from me three weeks earlier. my request was promptly granted. the doctors and attendants treated me kindly and i again began to enjoy life. my desire to write and draw had not abated. however, i did not devote my entire time to those pursuits, for there were plenty of congenial companions about. i found pleasure in talking--more pleasure by far than others did in listening. in fact i talked incessantly, and soon made known, in a general way, my scheme for reforming institutions, not only in my native state, but, of course, throughout the world, for my grandiose perspective made the earth look small. the attendants had to bear the brunt of my loquacity, and they soon grew weary. one of them, wishing to induce silence, ventured to remark that i was so "crazy" i could not possibly keep my mouth shut for even one minute. it was a challenge which aroused my fighting spirit. "i'll show you that i can stop talking for a whole day," i said. he laughed, knowing that of all difficult tasks this which i had imposed upon myself was, for one in my condition, least likely of accomplishment. but i was as good as my boast. until the same hour the next day i refused to speak to anyone. i did not even reply to civil questions; and, though my silence was deliberate and good-natured, the assistant physician seemed to consider it of a contumacious variety, for he threatened to transfer me to a less desirable ward unless i should again begin to talk. that day of self-imposed silence was about the longest i have ever lived, for i was under a word pressure sufficient to have filled a book. any psychiatrist will admit that my performance was remarkable, and he will further agree that it was, at least, an indication of a high degree of self-control. though i have no desire to prove that at this period i was not in an abnormal condition, i do wish to show that i had a degree of self-control that probably would have enabled me to remain in the best ward at this institution had i not been intent --abnormally intent, of course, and yet with a high degree of deliberation--upon a reformative investigation. the crest of my wave of elation had been reached early in october. it was now (november) that the curve representing my return to normality should have been continuous and diminishing. instead, it was kept violently fluctuating--or at least its fluctuations were aggravated--by the impositions of those in charge of me, induced sometimes, i freely admit, by deliberate and purposeful transgressions of my own. my condition during my three weeks of exile just ended, had been, if anything, one of milder excitement than that which had obtained previously during the first seven weeks of my period of elation. and my condition during the two weeks i now remained in the best ward in the state hospital was not different from my condition during the preceding three weeks of torture, or the succeeding three weeks of abuse and privation, except in so far as a difference was occasioned by the torture and privation themselves. though i had long intended to effect reforms in existing methods of treatment, my reckless desire to investigate violent wards did not possess me until i myself had experienced the torture of continued confinement in one such ward before coming to this state institution. it was simple to deduce that if one could suffer such abuses as i had while a patient in a private institution--nay, in two private institutions--brutality must exist in a state hospital also. thus it was that i entered the state hospital with a firm resolve to inspect personally every type of ward, good and bad. but i was in no hurry to begin. my recent experience had exhausted me, and i wished to regain strength before subjecting myself to another such ordeal. this desire to recuperate controlled my conduct for a while, but its influence gradually diminished as life became more and more monotonous. i soon found the good ward entirely too polite. i craved excitement--action. and i determined to get it regardless of consequences; though i am free to confess i should not have had the courage to proceed with my plan had i known what was in store for me. about this time my conservator called to see me. of course, i told him all about my cruel experiences at the private institution. my account surprised and distressed him. i also told him that i knew for a fact that similar conditions existed at the state hospital, as i had heard convincing rumors to that effect. he urged me to behave myself and remain in the ward where i was, which ward, as i admitted, was all that one could desire--provided one had schooled himself to desire that sort of thing. the fact that i was under lock and key and behind what were virtually prison bars in no way gave me a sense of helplessness. i firmly believed that i should find it easy to effect my escape and reach home for the thanksgiving day celebration. and, furthermore, i knew that, should i reach home, i should not be denied my portion of the good things to eat before being returned to the hospital. being under the spell of an intense desire to investigate the violent ward, i concluded that the time for action had come. i reasoned, too, that it would be easier and safer to escape from that ward--which was on a level with the ground--than from a ward three stories above it. the next thing i did was to inform the attendants (not to mention several of the patients) that within a day or two i should do something to cause my removal to it. they of course did not believe that i had any idea of deliberately inviting such a transfer. my very frankness disarmed them. on the evening of november st, i went from room to room collecting all sorts of odds and ends belonging to other patients. these i secreted in my room. i also collected a small library of books, magazines and newspapers. after securing all the booty i dared, i mingled with the other patients until the time came for going to bed. the attendants soon locked me in my junk shop and i spent the rest of the night setting it in disorder. my original plan had been to barricade the door during the night, and thus hold the doctors and attendants at bay until those in authority had accepted my ultimatum, which was to include a thanksgiving visit at home. but before morning i had slightly altered my plan. my sleepless night of activity had made me ravenously hungry, and i decided that it would be wiser not only to fill my stomach, but to lay by other supplies of food before submitting to a siege. accordingly i set things to rights and went about my business the next morning as usual. at breakfast i ate enough for two men, and put in my pockets bread enough to last for twenty-four hours at least. then i returned to my room and at once barricaded the door. my barricade consisted of a wardrobe, several drawers which i had removed from the bureau, and a number of books--among them "paradise lost" and the bible. these, with conscious satisfaction, i placed in position as a keystone. thus the floor space between the door and the opposite wall of the room was completely filled. my roommate, a young fellow in the speechless condition in which i had been during my period of depression, was in the room with me. this was accidental. it was no part of my plan to hold him as a hostage, though i might finally have used him as a pawn in the negotiations, had my barricade resisted the impending attack longer than it did. it was not long before the attendants realized that something was wrong. they came to my door and asked me to open it. i refused, and told them that to argue the point would be a waste of time. they tried to force an entrance. failing in that, they reported to the assistant physician, who soon appeared. at first he parleyed with me. i good-naturedly, but emphatically, told him that i could not be talked out of the position i had taken; nor could i be taken out of it until i was ready to surrender, for my barricade was one that would surely hold. i also announced that i had carefully planned my line of action and knew what i was about. i complimented him on his hitherto tactful treatment of me, and grandiloquently--yet sincerely--thanked him for his many courtesies. i also expressed entire satisfaction with the past conduct of the attendants. in fact, on part of the institution i put the stamp of my approval. "but," i said, "i know there are wards in this hospital where helpless patients are brutally treated; and i intend to put a stop to these abuses at once. not until the governor of the state, the judge who committed me, and my conservator come to this door will i open it. when they arrive, we'll see whether or not patients are to be robbed of their rights and abused." my speech was made through a screen transom over the door. for a few minutes the doctor continued his persuasive methods, but that he should even imagine that i would basely recede from my high and mighty position only irritated me the more. "you can stand outside that door all day if you choose," i said. "i won't open it until the three men i have named appear. i have prepared for a siege; and i have enough food in this room to keep me going for a day anyway." realizing at last that no argument would move me, he set about forcing an entrance. first he tried to remove the transom by striking it with a stout stick. i gave blow for blow and the transom remained in place. a carpenter was then sent for, but before he could go about his work one of the attendants managed to open the door enough to thrust in his arm and shove aside my barricade. i did not realize what was being done until it was too late to interfere. the door once open, in rushed the doctor and four attendants. without ceremony i was thrown upon the bed, with two or three of the attacking force on top of me. again i was choked, this time by the doctor. the operation was a matter of only a moment. but before it was over i had the good fortune to deal the doctor a stinging blow on the jaw, for which (as he was about my own age and the odds were five to one) i have never felt called upon to apologize. once i was subdued, each of the four attendants attached himself to a leg or an arm and, under the direction and leadership of the doctor, i was carried bodily through two corridors, down two flights of stairs, and to the violent ward. my dramatic exit startled my fellow-patients, for so much action in so short a time is seldom seen in a quiet ward. and few patients placed in the violent ward are introduced with so impressive an array of camp-followers as i had that day. all this to me was a huge joke, with a good purpose behind it. though excited i was good-natured and, on the way to my new quarters, i said to the doctor: "whether you believe it or not, it's a fact that i'm going to reform these institutions before i'm done. i raised this rumpus to make you transfer me to the violent ward. what i want you to do now is to show me the worst you've got." "you needn't worry," the doctor said. "you'll get it." he spoke the truth. xix even for a violent ward my entrance was spectacular--if not dramatic. the three attendants regularly in charge naturally jumped to the conclusion that, in me, a troublesome patient had been foisted upon them. they noted my arrival with an unpleasant curiosity, which in turn aroused _my_ curiosity, for it took but a glance to convince me that my burly keepers were typical attendants of the brute-force type. acting on the order of the doctor in charge, one of them stripped me of my outer garments; and, clad in nothing but underclothes, i was thrust into a cell. few, if any, prisons in this country contain worse holes than this cell proved to be. it was one of five, situated in a short corridor adjoining the main ward. it was about six feet wide by ten long and of a good height. a heavily screened and barred window admitted light and a negligible quantity of air, for the ventilation scarcely deserved the name. the walls and floor were bare, and there was no furniture. a patient confined here must lie on the floor with no substitute for a bed but one or two felt druggets. sleeping under such conditions becomes tolerable after a time, but not until one has become accustomed to lying on a surface nearly as hard as a stone. here (as well, indeed, as in other parts of the ward) for a period of three weeks i was again forced to breathe and rebreathe air so vitiated that even when i occupied a larger room in the same ward, doctors and attendants seldom entered without remarking its quality. my first meal increased my distaste for my semi-sociological experiment. for over a month i was kept in a half-starved condition. at each meal, to be sure, i was given as much food as was served to other patients, but an average portion was not adequate to the needs of a patient as active as i was at this time. worst of all, winter was approaching and these, my first quarters, were without heat. as my olfactory nerves soon became uncommunicative, the breathing of foul air was not a hardship. on the other hand, to be famished the greater part of the time was a very conscious hardship. but to be half-frozen, day in and day out for a long period, was exquisite torture. of all the suffering i endured, that occasioned by confinement in cold cells seems to have made the most lasting impression. hunger is a local disturbance, but when one is cold, every nerve in the body registers its call for help. long before reading a certain passage of de quincey's i had decided that cold could cause greater suffering than hunger; consequently, it was with great satisfaction that i read the following sentences from his "confessions": "o ancient women, daughters of toil and suffering, among all the hardships and bitter inheritances of flesh that ye are called upon to face, not one--not even hunger--seems in my eyes comparable to that of nightly cold.... a more killing curse there does not exist for man or woman than the bitter combat between the weariness that prompts sleep and the keen, searching cold that forces you from that first access of sleep to start up horror-stricken, and to seek warmth vainly in renewed exercise, though long since fainting under fatigue." the hardness of the bed and the coldness of the room were not all that interfered with sleep. the short corridor in which i was placed was known as the "bull pen"--a phrase eschewed by the doctors. it was usually in an uproar, especially during the dark hours of the early morning. patients in a state of excitement may sleep during the first hours of the night, but seldom all night; and even should one have the capacity to do so, his companions in durance would wake him with a shout or a song or a curse or the kicking of a door. a noisy and chaotic medley frequently continued without interruption for hours at a time. noise, unearthly noise, was the poetic license allowed the occupants of these cells. i spent several days and nights in one or another of them, and i question whether i averaged more than two or three hours' sleep a night during that time. seldom did the regular attendants pay any attention to the noise, though even they must at times have been disturbed by it. in fact the only person likely to attempt to stop it was the night watch, who, when he did enter a cell for that purpose, almost invariably kicked or choked the noisy patient into a state of temporary quiet. i noted this and scented trouble. drawing and writing materials having been again taken from me, i cast about for some new occupation. i found one in the problem of warmth. though i gave repeated expression to the benumbed messages of my tortured nerves, the doctor refused to return my clothes. for a semblance of warmth i was forced to depend upon ordinary undergarments and an extraordinary imagination. the heavy felt druggets were about as plastic as blotting paper and i derived little comfort from them until i hit upon the idea of rending them into strips. these strips i would weave into a crude rip van winkle kind of suit; and so intricate was the warp and woof that on several occasions an attendant had to cut me out of these sartorial improvisations. at first, until i acquired the destructive knack, the tearing of one drugget into strips was a task of four or five hours. but in time i became so proficient that i could completely destroy more than one of these six-by-eight-foot druggets in a single night. during the following weeks of my close confinement i destroyed at least twenty of them, each worth, as i found out later, about four dollars; and i confess i found a peculiar satisfaction in the destruction of property belonging to a state which had deprived me of all my effects except underclothes. but my destructiveness was due to a variety of causes. it was occasioned primarily by a "pressure of activity," for which the tearing of druggets served as a vent. i was in a state of mind aptly described in a letter written during my first month of elation, in which i said, "i'm as busy as a nest of ants." though the habit of tearing druggets was the outgrowth of an abnormal impulse, the habit itself lasted longer than it could have done had i not, for so long a time, been deprived of suitable clothes and been held a prisoner in cold cells. but another motive soon asserted itself. being deprived of all the luxuries of life and most of the necessities, my mother wit, always conspiring with a wild imagination for something to occupy my tune, led me at last to invade the field of invention. with appropriate contrariety, an unfamiliar and hitherto almost detested line of investigation now attracted me. abstruse mathematical problems which had defied solution for centuries began to appear easy. to defy the state and its puny representatives had become mere child's play. so i forthwith decided to overcome no less a force than gravity itself. my conquering imagination soon tricked me into believing that i could lift myself by my boot-straps--or rather that i could do so when my laboratory should contain footgear that lent itself to the experiment. but what of the strips of felt torn from the druggets? why, these i used as the straps of my missing boots; and having no boots to stand in, i used my bed as boots. i reasoned that for my scientific purpose a man in bed was as favorably situated as a man in boots. therefore, attaching a sufficient number of my felt strips to the head and foot of the bed (which happened not to be screwed to the floor), and, in turn, attaching the free ends to the transom and the window guard, i found the problem very simple. for i next joined these cloth cables in such manner that by pulling downward i effected a readjustment of stress and strain, and my bed, _with me in it_, was soon dangling in space. my sensations at this momentous instant must have been much like those which thrilled newton when he solved one of the riddles of the universe. indeed, they must have been more intense, for newton, knowing, had his doubts; i, not knowing, had no doubts at all. so epoch-making did this discovery appear to me that i noted the exact position of the bed so that a wondering posterity might ever afterward view and revere the exact spot on the earth's surface whence one of man's greatest thoughts had winged its way to immortality. for weeks i believed i had uncovered a mechanical principle which would enable man to defy gravity. and i talked freely and confidently about it. that is, i proclaimed the impending results. the intermediate steps in the solution of my problem i ignored, for good reasons. a blind man may harness a horse. so long as the horse is harnessed, one need not know the office of each strap and buckle. gravity was harnessed--that was all. meanwhile i felt sure that another sublime moment of inspiration would intervene and clear the atmosphere, thus rendering flight of the body as easy as a flight of imagination. xx while my inventive operations were in progress, i was chafing under the unjust and certainly unscientific treatment to which i was being subjected. in spite of my close confinement in vile cells, for a period of over three weeks i was denied a bath. i do not regret this deprivation, for the attendants, who at the beginning were unfriendly, might have forced me to bathe in water which had first served for several other patients. though such an unsanitary and disgusting practice was contrary to rules, it was often indulged in by the lazy brutes who controlled the ward. i continued to object to the inadequate portions of food served me. on thanksgiving day (for i had not succeeded in escaping and joining in the celebration at home) an attendant, in the unaccustomed rôle of a ministering angel, brought me the usual turkey and cranberry dinner which, on two days a year, is provided by an intermittently generous state. turkey being the _rara avis_ the imprisoned, it was but natural that i should desire to gratify a palate long insulted. i wished not only to satisfy my appetite, but to impress indelibly a memory which for months had not responded to so agreeable a stimulus. while lingering over the delights of this experience i forgot all about the ministering angel. but not for long. he soon returned. observing that i had scarcely touched my feast, he said, "if you don't eat that dinner in a hurry, i'll take it from you." "i don't see what difference it makes to you whether i eat it in a hurry or take my time about it," i said. "it's the best i've had in many a day, and i have a right to get as much pleasure out of it as i can." "we'll see about that," he replied, and, snatching it away, he stalked out of the room, leaving me to satisfy my hunger on the memory of vanished luxuries. thus did a feast become a fast. under this treatment i soon learned to be more noisy than my neighbors. i was never without a certain humor in contemplating not only my surroundings, but myself; and the demonstrations in which i began to indulge were partly in fun and partly by way of protest. in these outbursts i was assisted, and at times inspired, by a young man in the room next mine. he was about my own age and was enjoying the same phase of exuberance as myself. we talked and sang at all hours of the night. at the time we believed that the other patients enjoyed the spice which we added to the restricted variety of their lives, but later i learned that a majority of them looked upon us as the worst of nuisances. we gave the doctors and attendants no rest--at least not intentionally. whenever the assistant physician appeared, we upbraided him for the neglect which was then our portion. at one time or another we were banished to the bull pen for these indiscretions. and had there been a viler place of confinement still, our performances in the bull pen undoubtedly would have brought us to it. at last the doctor hit upon the expedient of transferring me to a room more remote from my inspiring, and, i may say, conspiring, companion. talking to each other ceased to be the easy pastime it had been; so we gradually lapsed into a comparative silence which must have proved a boon to our ward-mates. the megaphonic bull pen, however, continued with irregularity, but annoying certainty to furnish its quota of noise. on several occasions i concocted plans to escape, and not only that, but also to liberate others. that i did not make the attempt was the fault--or merit, perhaps--of a certain night watch, whose timidity, rather than sagacity, impelled him to refuse to unlock my door early one morning, although i gave him a plausible reason for the request. this night watch, i learned later, admitted that he feared to encounter me single-handed. and on this particular occasion well might he, for, during the night, i had woven a spider-web net in which i intended to enmesh him. had i succeeded, there would have been a lively hour for him in the violent ward--had i failed, there would have been a lively hour for me. there were several comparatively sane patients (especially my elated neighbor) whose willing assistance i could have secured. then the regular attendants could have been held prisoners in their own room, if, indeed, we had not in turn overpowered them and transferred them to the bull pen, where the several victims of their abuse might have given them a deserved dose of their own medicine. this scheme of mine was a prank rather than a plot. i had an inordinate desire to prove that one _could_ escape if he had a mind to do so. later i boasted to the assistant physician of my unsuccessful attempt. this boast he evidently tucked away in his memory. my punishment for harmless antics of this sort was prompt in coming. the attendants seemed to think their whole duty to their closely confined charges consisted in delivering three meals a day. between meals he was a rash patient who interfered with their leisure. now one of my greatest crosses was their continued refusal to give me a drink when i asked for it. except at meal time, or on those rare occasions when i was permitted to go to the wash room, i had to get along as best i might with no water to drink, and that too at a time when i was in a fever of excitement. my polite requests were ignored; impolite demands were answered with threats and curses. and this war of requests, demands, threats, and curses continued until the night of the fourth day of my banishment. then the attendants made good their threats of assault. that they had been trying to goad me into a fighting mood i well knew, and often accused them of their mean purpose. they brazenly admitted that they were simply waiting for a chance to "slug" me, and promised to punish me well as soon as i should give them a slight excuse for doing so. on the night of november th, , the head attendant and one of his assistants passed my door. they were returning from one of the dances which, at intervals during the winter, the management provides for the nurses and attendants. while they were within hearing, i asked for a drink of water. it was a carefully worded request. but they were in a hurry to get to bed, and refused me with curses. then i replied in kind. "if i come there i'll kill you," one of them said. "well, you won't get in if i can help it," i replied, as i braced my iron bedstead against the door. my defiance and defences gave the attendants the excuse for which they had said they were waiting; and my success in keeping them out for two or three minutes only served to enrage them. by the time they had gained entrance they had become furies. one was a young man of twenty-seven. physically he was a fine specimen of manhood; morally he was deficient--thanks to the dehumanizing effect of several years in the employ of different institutions whose officials countenanced improper methods of care and treatment. it was he who now attacked me in the dark of my prison room. the head attendant stood by, holding a lantern which shed a dim light. the door once open, i offered no further resistance. first i was knocked down. then for several minutes i was kicked about the room--struck, kneed and choked. my assailant even attempted to grind his heel into my cheek. in this he failed, for i was there protected by a heavy beard which i wore at that time. but my shins, elbows, and back were cut by his heavy shoes; and had i not instinctively drawn up my knees to my elbows for the protection of my body, i might have been seriously, perhaps fatally, injured. as it was, i was severely cut and bruised. when my strength was nearly gone, i feigned unconsciousness. this ruse alone saved me from further punishment, for usually a premeditated assault is not ended until the patient is mute and helpless. when they had accomplished their purpose, they left me huddled in a corner to wear out the night as best i might--to live or die for all they cared. strange as it may seem, i slept well. but not at once. within five minutes i was busily engaged writing an account of the assault. a trained war correspondent could not have pulled himself together in less time. as usual i had recourse to my bit of contraband lead pencil, this time a pencil which had been smuggled to me the very first day of my confinement in the bull pen by a sympathetic fellow-patient. when he had pushed under my cell door that little implement of war, it had loomed as large in my mind as a battering-ram. paper i had none; but i had previously found walls to be a fair substitute. i therefore now selected and wrote upon a rectangular spot--about three feet by two--which marked the reflection of a light in the corridor just outside my transom. the next morning, when the assistant physician appeared, he was accompanied as usual by the guilty head attendant who, on the previous night, had held the lantern. "doctor," i said, "i have something to tell you,"--and i glanced significantly at the attendant. "last night i had a most unusual experience. i have had many imaginary experiences during the past two years and a half, and it may be that last night's was not real. perhaps the whole thing was phantasmagoric--like what i used to see during the first months of my illness. whether it was so or not i shall leave you to judge. it just happens to be my impression that i was brutally assaulted last night. if it was a dream, it is the first thing of the kind that ever left visible evidence on my body." with that i uncovered to the doctor a score of bruises and lacerations. i knew these would be more impressive than any words of mine. the doctor put on a knowing look, but said nothing and soon left the room. his guilty subordinate tried to appear unconcerned, and i really believe he thought me not absolutely sure of the events of the previous night, or at least unaware of his share in them. xxi neither of the attendants involved in the assault upon me was discharged. this fact made me more eager to gain wider knowledge of conditions. the self-control which had enabled me to suspend speech for a whole day now stood me in good stead. it enabled me to avert much suffering that would have been my portion had i been like the majority of my ward-mates. time and again i surrendered when an attendant was about to chastise me. but at least a score of patients in the ward were not so well equipped mentally, and these were viciously assaulted again and again by the very men who had so thoroughly initiated me into the mysteries of their black art. i soon observed that the only patients who were not likely to be subjected to abuse were the very ones least in need of care and treatment. the violent, noisy, and troublesome patient was abused because he was violent, noisy, and troublesome. the patient too weak, physically or mentally, to attend to his own wants was frequently abused because of that very helplessness which made it necessary for the attendants to wait upon him. usually a restless or troublesome patient placed in the violent ward was assaulted the very first day. this procedure seemed to be a part of the established code of dishonor. the attendants imagined that the best way to gain control of a patient was to cow him from the first. in fact, these fellows--nearly all of them ignorant and untrained--seemed to believe that "violent cases" could not be handled in any other way. one attendant, on the very day he had been discharged for choking a patient into an insensibility so profound that it had been necessary to call a physician to restore him, said to me, "they are getting pretty damned strict these days, discharging a man simply for _choking_ a patient." this illustrates the attitude of many attendants. on the other hand, that the discharged employé soon secured a position in a similar institution not twenty miles distant illustrates the attitude of some hospital managements. i recall the advent of a new attendant--a young man studying to become a physician. at first he seemed inclined to treat patients kindly, but he soon fell into brutal ways. his change of heart was due partly to the brutalizing environment, but more directly to the attitude of the three hardened attendants who mistook his consideration for cowardice and taunted him for it. just to prove his mettle he began to assault patients, and one day knocked me down simply for refusing to stop my prattle at his command. that the environment in some institutions is brutalizing, was strikingly shown in the testimony of an attendant at a public investigation in kentucky, who said, "when i came here, if anyone had told me i would be guilty of striking patients i would have called him crazy himself, but now i take delight in punching hell out of them." i found also that an unnecessary and continued lack of out-door exercise tended to multiply deeds of violence. patients were supposed to be taken for a walk at least once a day, and twice, when the weather permitted. yet those in the violent ward (and it is they who most need the exercise) usually got out of doors only when the attendants saw fit to take them. for weeks a ward-mate--a man sane enough to enjoy freedom, had he had a home to go to--kept a record of the number of our walks. it showed that we averaged not more than one or two a week for a period of two months. this, too, in the face of many pleasant days, which made the close confinement doubly irksome. the lazy fellows on whose leisure we waited preferred to remain in the ward, playing cards, smoking, and telling their kind of stories. the attendants needed regular exercise quite as much as the patients and when they failed to employ their energy in this healthful way, they were likely to use it at the expense of the bodily comfort of their helpless charges. if lack of exercise produced a need of discipline, each disciplinary move, on the other hand, served only to inflame us the more. some wild animals can be clubbed into a semblance of obedience, yet it is a treacherous obedience at best, and justly so. and that is the only kind of obedience into which a _man_ can be clubbed. to imagine otherwise of a human being, sane or insane, is the very essence of insanity itself. a temporary leisure may be won for the aggressor, but in the long run he will be put to greater inconvenience than he would be by a more humane method. it was repression and wilful frustration of reasonable desires which kept me a seeming maniac and made seeming maniacs of others. whenever i was released from lock and key and permitted to mingle with the so-called violent patients, i was surprised to find that comparatively few were by nature troublesome or noisy. a patient, calm in mind and passive in behavior three hundred and sixty days in the year, may, on one of the remaining days, commit some slight transgression, or, more likely, be goaded into one by an attendant or needlessly led into one by a tactless physician. his indiscretion may consist merely in an unmannerly announcement to the doctor of how lightly the latter is regarded by the patient. at once he is banished to the violent ward, there to remain for weeks, perhaps indefinitely. xxii like fires and railroad disasters, assaults seemed to come in groups. days would pass without a single outbreak. then would come a veritable carnival of abuse--due almost invariably to the attendants' state of mind, not to an unwonted aggressiveness on the part of the patients. i can recall as especially noteworthy several instances of atrocious abuse. five patients were chronic victims. three of them, peculiarly irresponsible, suffered with especial regularity, scarcely a day passing without bringing to them its quota of punishment. one of these, almost an idiot, and quite too inarticulate to tell a convincing story even under the most favorable conditions, became so cowed that, whenever an attendant passed, he would circle his oppressor as a whipped cur circles a cruel master. if this avoidance became too marked, the attendant would then and there chastise him for the implied, but unconscious insult. there was a young man, occupying a cell next to mine in the bull pen, who was so far out of his mind as to be absolutely irresponsible. his offence was that he could not comprehend and obey. day after day i could hear the blows and kicks as they fell upon his body, and his incoherent cries for mercy were as painful to hear as they are impossible to forget. that he survived is surprising. what wonder that this man, who was "violent," or who was made violent, would not permit the attendants to dress him! but he had a half-witted friend, a ward-mate, who could coax him into his clothes when his oppressors found him most intractable. of all the patients known to me, the one who was assaulted with the greatest frequency was an incoherent and irresponsible man of sixty years. this patient was restless and forever talking or shouting, as any man might if oppressed by such delusions as his. he was profoundly convinced that one of the patients had stolen his stomach--an idea inspired perhaps by the remarkable corpulency of the person he accused. his loss he would woefully voice even while eating. of course, argument to the contrary had no effect; and his monotonous recital of his imaginary troubles made him unpopular with those whose business it was to care for him. they showed him no mercy. each day--including the hours of the night, when the night watch took a hand--he was belabored with fists, broom handles, and frequently with the heavy bunch of keys which attendants usually carry on a long chain. he was also kicked and choked, and his suffering was aggravated by his almost continuous confinement in the bull pen. an exception to the general rule (for such continued abuse often causes death), this man lived a long time--five years, as i learned later. another victim, forty-five years of age, was one who had formerly been a successful man of affairs. his was a forceful personality, and the traits of his sane days influenced his conduct when he broke down mentally. he was in the expansive phase of paresis, a phase distinguished by an exaggerated sense of well-being, and by delusions of grandeur which are symptoms of this form as well as of several other forms of mental disease. paresis, as everyone knows, is considered incurable and victims of it seldom live more than three or four years. in this instance, instead of trying to make the patient's last days comfortable, the attendants subjected him to a course of treatment severe enough to have sent even a sound man to an early grave. i endured privations and severe abuse for one month at the state hospital. this man suffered in all ways worse treatment for many months. i became well acquainted with two jovial and witty irishmen. they were common laborers. one was a hodcarrier, and a strapping fellow. when he arrived at the institution, he was at once placed in the violent ward, though his "violence" consisted of nothing more than an annoying sort of irresponsibility. he irritated the attendants by persistently doing certain trivial things after they had been forbidden. the attendants made no allowance for his condition of mind. his repetition of a forbidden act was interpreted as deliberate disobedience. he was physically powerful, and they determined to cow him. of the master assault by which they attempted to do this i was not an eyewitness. but i was an ear witness. it was committed behind a closed door; and i heard the dull thuds of the blows, and i heard the cries for mercy until there was no breath left in the man with which he could beg even for his life. for days, that wrecked hercules dragged himself about the ward moaning pitifully. he complained of pain in his side and had difficulty in breathing, which would seem to indicate that some of his ribs had been fractured. this man was often punished, frequently for complaining of the torture already inflicted. but later, when he began to return to the normal, his good-humor and native wit won for him an increasing degree of good treatment. the other patient's arch offence--a symptom of his disease--was that he gabbled incessantly. he could no more stop talking than he could right his reason on command. yet his failure to become silent at a word was the signal for punishment. on one occasion an attendant ordered him to stop talking and take a seat at the further end of the corridor, about forty feet distant. he was doing his best to obey, even running to keep ahead of the attendant at his heels. as they passed the spot where i was sitting, the attendant felled him with a blow behind the ear; and, in falling, the patient's head barely missed the wall. addressing me, the attendant said, "did you see that?" "yes," i replied, "and i'll not forget it." "be sure to report it to the doctor," he said, which remark showed his contempt, not only for me, but for those in authority. the man who had so terribly beaten me was particularly flagrant in ignoring the claims of age. on more than one occasion he viciously attacked a man of over fifty, who, however, seemed much older. he was a yankee sailing-master, who in his prime could have thrashed his tormentor with ease. but now he was helpless and could only submit. however, he was not utterly abandoned by his old world. his wife called often to see him; and, because of his condition, she was permitted to visit him in his room. once she arrived a few hours after he had been cruelly beaten. naturally she asked the attendants how he had come by the hurts--the blackened eye and bruised head. true to the code, they lied. the good wife, perhaps herself a yankee, was not thus to be fooled; and her growing belief that her husband had been assaulted was confirmed by a sight she saw before her visit was ended. another patient, a foreigner who was a target for abuse, was knocked flat two or three times as he was roughly forced along the corridor. i saw this little affair and i saw that the good wife saw it. the next day she called again and took her husband home. the result was that after a few (probably sleepless) nights, she had to return him to the hospital and trust to god rather than the state to protect him. another victim was a man sixty years of age. he was quite inoffensive, and no patient in the ward seemed to attend more strictly to his own business. shortly after my transfer from the violent ward this man was so viciously attacked that his arm was broken. the attendant (the man who had so viciously assaulted me) was summarily discharged. unfortunately, however, the relief afforded the insane was slight and brief, for this same brute, like another whom i have mentioned, soon secured a position in another institution--this one, however, a thousand miles distant. death by violence in a violent ward is after all not an unnatural death--for a violent ward. the patient of whom i am about to speak was also an old man--over sixty. both physically and mentally he was a wreck. on being brought to the institution he was at once placed in a cell in the bull pen, probably because of his previous history for violence while at his own home. but his violence (if it ever existed) had already spent itself, and had come to be nothing more than an utter incapacity to obey. his offence was that he was too weak to attend to his common wants. the day after his arrival, shortly before noon, he lay stark naked and helpless upon the bed in his cell. this i know, for i went to investigate immediately after a ward-mate had informed me of the vicious way in which the head attendant had assaulted the sick man. my informant was a man whose word regarding an incident of this character i would take as readily as that of any man i know. he came to me, knowing that i had taken upon myself the duty of reporting such abominations. my informant feared to take the initiative, for, like many other patients who believe themselves doomed to continued confinement, he feared to invite abuse at the hands of vengeful attendants. i therefore promised him that i would report the case as soon as i had an opportunity. all day long this victim of an attendant's unmanly passion lay in his cell in what seemed to be a semi-conscious condition. i took particular pains to observe his condition, for i felt that the assault of the morning might result in death. that night, after the doctor's regular tour of inspection, the patient in question was transferred to a room next my own. the mode of transfer impressed itself upon my memory. two attendants--one of them being he who had so brutally beaten the patient--placed the man in a sheet and, each taking an end, carried the hammocklike contrivance, with its inert contents, to what proved to be its last resting-place above ground. the bearers seemed as much concerned about their burden as one might be about a dead dog, weighted and ready for the river. that night the patient died. whether he was murdered none can ever know. but it is my honest opinion that he was. though he might never have recovered, it is plain that he would have lived days, perhaps months. and had he been humanely, nay, scientifically, treated, who can say that he might not have been restored to health and home? the young man who had been my companion in mischief in the violent ward was also terribly abused. i am sure i do not exaggerate when i say that on ten occasions, within a period of two months, this man was cruelly assaulted, and i do not know how many times he suffered assaults of less severity. after one of these chastisements, i asked him why he persisted in his petty transgressions when he knew that he thereby invited such body-racking abuse. "oh," he said, laconically, "i need the exercise." to my mind, the man who, with such gracious humor, could refer to what was in reality torture deserved to live a century. but an unkind fate decreed that he should die young. ten months after his commitment to the state hospital he was discharged as improved--but not cured. this was not an unusual procedure; nor was it in his case apparently an unwise one, for he seemed fit for freedom. during the first month of regained liberty, he hanged himself. he left no message of excuse. in my opinion, none was necessary. for aught any man knows, the memories of the abuse, torture, and injustice which were so long his portion may have proved to be the last straw which overbalanced the desire to live. patients with less stamina than mine often submitted with meekness; and none so aroused my sympathy as those whose submission was due to the consciousness that they had no relatives or friends to support them in a fight for their rights. on behalf of these, with my usual piece of smuggled lead pencil, i soon began to indite and submit to the officers of the institution, letters in which i described the cruel practices which came under my notice. my reports were perfunctorily accepted and at once forgotten or ignored. yet these letters, so far as they related to overt acts witnessed, were lucid and should have been convincing. furthermore, my allegations were frequently corroborated by bruises on the bodies of the patients. my usual custom was to write an account of each assault and hand it to the doctor in authority. frequently i would submit these reports to the attendants with instructions first to read and then deliver them to the superintendent or the assistant physician. the men whose cruelty i thus laid bare read with evident but perverted pleasure my accounts of assaults, and laughed and joked about my ineffectual attempts to bring them to book. xxxiii i refused to be a martyr. rebellion was my watchword. the only difference between the doctor's opinion of me and mine of him was that he could refuse utterance to his thoughts. yes--there was another difference. mine could be expressed only in words--his in grim acts. i repeatedly made demands for those privileges to which i knew i was entitled. when he saw fit to grant them, i gave him perfunctory thanks. when he refused--as he usually did--i at once poured upon his head the vials of my wrath. one day i would be on the friendliest terms with the doctor, the next i would upbraid him for some denial of my rights--or, as frequently happened, for not intervening in behalf of the rights of others. it was after one of these wrangles that i was placed in a cold cell in the bull pen at eleven o'clock one morning. still without shoes and with no more covering than underclothes, i was forced to stand, sit, or lie upon a bare floor as hard and cold as the pavement outside. not until sundown was i provided even with a drugget, and this did little good, for already i had become thoroughly chilled. in consequence i contracted a severe cold which added greatly to my discomfort and might have led to serious results had i been of less sturdy fibre. this day was the thirteenth of december and the twenty-second of my exile in the violent ward. i remember it distinctly for it was the seventy-seventh birthday of my father, to whom i wished to write a congratulatory letter. this had been my custom for years when absent from home on that anniversary. and well do i remember when, and under what conditions, i asked the doctor for permission. it was night. i was flat on my drugget-bed. my cell was lighted only by the feeble rays of a lantern held by an attendant to the doctor on this his regular visit. at first i couched my request in polite language. the doctor merely refused to grant it. i then put forth my plea in a way calculated to arouse sympathy. he remained unmoved. i then pointed out that he was defying the law of the state which provided that a patient should have stationery--a statute, the spirit of which at least meant that he should be permitted to communicate with his conservator. it was now three weeks since i had been permitted to write or send a letter to anyone. contrary to my custom, therefore, i made my final demand in the form of a concession. i promised that i would write only a conventional note of congratulation, making no mention whatever of my plight. it was a fair offer; but to accept it would have been an implied admission that there was something to conceal, and for this, if for no other reason, it was refused. thus, day after day, i was repressed in a manner which probably would have driven many a sane man to violence. yet the doctor would frequently exhort me to play the gentleman. were good manners and sweet submission ever the product of such treatment? deprived of my clothes, of sufficient food, of warmth, of all sane companionship and of my liberty, i told those in authority that so long as they should continue to treat me as the vilest of criminals, i should do my best to complete the illusion. the burden of proving my sanity was placed upon me. i was told that so soon as i became polite and meek and lowly i should find myself in possession of my clothes and of certain privileges. in every instance i must earn my reward before being entrusted with it. if the doctor, instead of demanding of me all the negative virtues in the catalogue of spineless saints, had given me my clothes on the condition that they would be taken from me again if i so much as removed a button, his course would doubtless have been productive of good results. thus i might have had my clothes three weeks earlier than i did, and so been spared much suffering from the cold. i clamored daily for a lead pencil. this little luxury represents the margin of happiness for hundreds of the patients, just as a plug or package of tobacco represents the margin of happiness for thousands of others; but for seven weeks no doctor or attendant gave me one. to be sure, by reason of my somewhat exceptional persistence and ingenuity, i managed to be always in possession of some substitute for a pencil, surreptitiously obtained, a fact which no doubt had something to do with the doctor's indifference to my request. but my inability to secure a pencil in a legitimate way was a needless source of annoyance to me, and many of my verbal indiscretions were directly inspired by the doctor's continued refusal. it was an assistant physician, other than the one regularly in charge of my case, who at last relented and presented me with a good, whole lead pencil. by so doing he placed himself high on my list of benefactors; for that little shaftlike implement, magnified by my lively appreciation, became as the very axis of the earth. xxiv a few days before christmas my most galling deprivation was at last removed. that is, my clothes were restored. these i treated with great respect. not so much as a thread did i destroy. clothes, as is known, have a sobering and civilizing effect, and from the very moment i was again provided with presentable outer garments my conduct rapidly improved. the assistant physician with whom i had been on such variable terms of friendship and enmity even took me for a sleigh-ride. with this improvement came other privileges or, rather, the granting of my rights. late in december i was permitted to send letters to my conservator. though some of my blood-curdling letters were confiscated, a few detailing my experiences were forwarded. the account of my sufferings naturally distressed my conservator, but, as he said when he next visited me: "what could i have done to help you? if the men in this state whose business it is to run these institutions cannot manage you, i am at a loss to know what to do." true, he could have done little or nothing, for he did not then know the ins and outs of the baffling situation into which the ties of blood had drawn him. about the middle of january the doctor in charge of my case went for a two weeks' vacation. during his absence an older member of the staff took charge of the violent ward. a man of wider experience and more liberal ideas than his predecessor, he at once granted me several real privileges. one day he permitted me to pay a brief visit to the best ward--the one from which i had been transferred two months earlier. i thus was able again to mingle with many seemingly normal men, and though i enjoyed this privilege upon but one occasion, and then only for a few hours, it gave me intense satisfaction. altogether the last six weeks of the fourteen during which i was confined in the violent ward were comfortable and relatively happy. i was no longer subjected to physical abuse, though this exemption was largely due to my own skill in avoiding trouble. i was no longer cold and hungry. i was allowed a fair amount of outdoor exercise which, after my close confinement, proved to be a delightful shock. but, above all, i was again given an adequate supply of stationery and drawing materials, which became as tinder under the focussed rays of my artistic eagerness. my mechanical investigations were gradually set aside. art and literature again held sway. except when out of doors taking my allotted exercise, i remained in my room reading, writing, or drawing. this room of mine soon became a mecca for the most irrepressible and loquacious characters in the ward. but i soon schooled myself to shut my ears to the incoherent prattle of my unwelcome visitors. occasionally, some of them would become obstreperous--perhaps because of my lordly order to leave the room. often did they threaten to throttle me; but i ignored the threats, and they were never carried out. nor was i afraid that they would be. invariably i induced them to obey. the drawings i produced at this time were crude. for the most part they consisted of copies of illustrations which i had cut from magazines that had miraculously found their way into the violent ward. the heads of men and women interested me most, for i had decided to take up portraiture. at first i was content to draw in black and white, but i soon procured some colors and from that time on devoted my attention to mastering pastel. in the world of letters i had made little progress. my compositions were for the most part epistles addressed to relatives and friends and to those in authority at the hospital. frequently the letters addressed to the doctors were sent in sets of three--this to save time, for i was very busy. the first letter of such a series would contain my request, couched in friendly and polite terms. to this i would add a postscript, worded about as follows: "if, after reading this letter, you feel inclined to refuse my request, please read letter number two." letter number two would be severely formal--a business-like repetition of the request made in letter number one. again a postscript would advise the reader to consult letter number three, if the reading of number two had failed to move him. letter number three was invariably a brief philippic in which i would consign the unaccommodating doctor to oblivion. in this way i expended part of my prodigious supply of feeling and energy. but i had also another way of reducing my creative pressure. occasionally, from sheer excess of emotion, i would burst into verse, of a quality not to be doubted. of that quality the reader shall judge, for i am going to quote a "creation" written under circumstances which, to say the least, were adverse. before writing these lines i had never attempted verse in my life--barring intentionally inane doggerel. and, as i now judge these lines, it is probably true that even yet i have never written a poem. nevertheless, my involuntary, almost automatic outburst is at least suggestive of the fervor that was in me. these fourteen lines were written within thirty minutes of the time i first conceived the idea; and i present them substantially as they first took form. from a psychological standpoint at least, i am told, they are not without interest. light man's darkest hour is the hour before he's born, another is the hour just before the dawn; from darkness unto life and light he leaps, to life but once,--to light as oft as god wills he should. 'tis god's own secret, why some live long, and others early die; for life depends on light, and light on god, who hath given to man the perfect knowledge that grim despair and sorrow end in light and life everlasting, in realms where darkest darkness becomes light; but not the light man knows, which only is light because god told man so. these verses, which breathe religion, were written in an environment which was anything but religious. with curses of ward-mates ringing in my ears, some subconscious part of me seemed to force me to write at its dictation. i was far from being in a pious frame of mind myself, and the quality of my thought surprised me then--as it does now. xxv though i continued to respect my clothes, i did not at once cease to tear such material as would serve me in my scientific investigations. gravity being conquered, it was inevitable that i should devote some of my time to the invention of a flying-machine. this was soon perfected--in my mind; and all i needed, that i might test the device, was my liberty. as usual i was unable to explain how i should produce the result which i so confidently foretold. but i believed and proclaimed that i should, erelong, fly to st. louis and claim and receive the one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward offered by the commission of the louisiana purchase exposition for the most efficient airship to be exhibited. the moment the thought winged its way through my mind, i had not only a flying-machine, but a fortune in the bank. being where i could not dissipate my riches, i became a lavish verbal spender. i was in a mood to buy anything, and i whiled away many an hour planning what i should do with my fortune. the st. louis prize was a paltry trifle. i reasoned that the man who could harness gravity had at his beck and call the world and all that therein is. this sudden accession of wealth made my vast humanitarian projects seem only the more feasible. what could be more delightful, i thought, than the furnishing and financing of ideas of a magnitude to stagger humanity. my condition was one of ecstatic suspense. give me my liberty and i would show a sleepy old world what could be done to improve conditions, not only among the insane, but along every line of beneficent endeavor. the city of my birth was to be made a garden-spot. all defiling, smoke-begriming factories were to be banished to an innocuous distance. churches were to give way to cathedrals; the city itself was to become a paradise of mansions. yale university was to be transformed into the most magnificent--yet efficient--seat of learning in the world. for once, college professors were to be paid adequate salaries, and alluring provision for their declining years was to be made. new haven should become a very hotbed of culture. art galleries, libraries, museums and theatres of a dreamlike splendor were to rise whenever and wherever i should will. why absurd? was it not i who would defray the cost? the famous buildings of the old world were to be reproduced, if, indeed, the originals could not be purchased, brought to this country and reassembled. not far from new haven there is a sandy plain, once the bed of the connecticut river, but now a kind of miniature desert. i often smile as i pass it on the train; for it was here, for the edification of those who might never be able to visit the valley of the nile, that i planned to erect a pyramid that should out-cheops the original. my harnessed gravity, i believed, would not only enable me to overcome existing mechanical difficulties, but it would make the quarrying of immense monoliths as easy as the slicing of bread, and the placing of them in position as easy as the laying of bricks. after all, delusions of grandeur are the most entertaining of toys. the assortment which my imagination provided was a comprehensive one. i had tossed aside the blocks of childhood days. instead of laboriously piling small squares of wood one upon another in an endeavor to build the tiny semblance of a house, i now, in this second childhood of mine, projected against thin air phantom edifices planned and completed in the twinkling of an eye. to be sure, such houses of cards almost immediately superseded one another, but the vanishing of one could not disturb a mind that had ever another interesting bauble to take its place. and therein lies part of the secret of the happiness peculiar to that stage of elation which is distinguished by delusions of grandeur--always provided that he who is possessed by them be not subjected to privation and abuse. the sane man who can prove that he is rich in material wealth is not nearly so happy as the mentally disordered man whose delusions trick him into believing himself a modern croesus. a wealth of midaslike delusions is no burden. such a fortune, though a misfortune in itself, bathes the world in a golden glow. no clouds obscure the vision. optimism reigns supreme. "failure" and "impossible" are as words from an unknown tongue. and the unique satisfaction about a fortune of this fugitive type is that its loss occasions no regret. one by one the phantom ships of treasure sail away for parts unknown; until, when the last ship has become but a speck on the mental horizon, the observer makes the happy discovery that his pirate fleet has left behind it a priceless wake of reason! xxvi early in march, , having lived in a violent ward for nearly four months, i was transferred to another--a ward quite as orderly as the best in the institution, though less attractively furnished than the one in which i had first been placed. here also i had a room to myself; in this instance, however, the room had not only a bed, but a chair and a wardrobe. with this elaborate equipment i was soon able to convert my room into a veritable studio. whereas in the violent ward it had been necessary for me to hide my writing and drawing materials to keep other patients from taking them, in my new abode i was able to conduct my literary and artistic pursuits without the annoyances which had been inevitable during the preceding months. soon after my transfer to this ward i was permitted to go out of doors and walk to the business section of the city, two miles distant. but on these walks i was always accompanied. to one who has never surrendered any part of his liberty such surveillance would no doubt seem irksome; yet, to me, after being so closely confined, the ever-present attendant seemed a companion rather than a guard. these excursions into the sane and free world were not only a great pleasure, they were almost a tonic. to rub elbows with normal people tended to restore my mental poise. that the casual passer-by had no way of knowing that i was a patient, out for a walk about the city, helped me gain that self-confidence so essential to the success of one about to re-enter a world from which he had long been cut off. my first trips to the city were made primarily for the purpose of supplying myself with writing and drawing materials. while enjoying these welcome tastes of liberty, on more than one occasion i surreptitiously mailed certain letters which i did not dare entrust to the doctor. under ordinary circumstances such an act on the part of one enjoying a special privilege would be dishonorable. but the circumstances that then obtained were not ordinary. i was simply protecting myself against what i believed to be unjust and illegal confiscation of letters. i have already described how an assistant physician arbitrarily denied my request that i be permitted to send a birthday letter to my father, thereby not merely exceeding his authority and ignoring decency, but, consciously or unconsciously, stifling a sane impulse. that this should occur while i was confined in the bull pen was, perhaps, not so surprising. but about four months later, while i was in one of the best wards, a similar, though less open, interference occurred. at this time i was so nearly normal that my discharge was a question of but a very few months. anticipating my return to my old world, i decided to renew former relationships. accordingly, my brother, at my suggestion, informed certain friends that i should be pleased to receive letters from them. they soon wrote. in the meantime the doctor had been instructed to deliver to me any and all letters that might arrive. he did so for a time, and that without censoring. as was to be expected, after nearly three almost letterless years, i found rare delight in replying to my reawakened correspondents. yet some of these letters, written for the deliberate purpose of re-establishing myself in the sane world, were destroyed by the doctor in authority. at the time, not one word did he say to me about the matter. i had handed him for mailing certain letters, unsealed. he did not mail them, nor did he forward them to my conservator as he should have done, and had earlier agreed to do with all letters which he could not see his way clear to approve. it was fully a month before i learned that my friends had not received my replies to their letters. then i accused the doctor of destroying them, and he, with belated frankness, admitted that he had done so. he offered no better excuse than the mere statement that he did not approve of the sentiments i had expressed. another flagrant instance was that of a letter addressed to me in reply to one of those which i had posted surreptitiously. the person to whom i wrote, a friend of years' standing, later informed me that he had sent the reply. i never received it. neither did my conservator. were it not that i feel absolutely sure that the letter in question was received at the hospital and destroyed, i should not now raise this point. but such a point, if raised at all, must of course be made without that direct proof which can come only from the man guilty of an act which in the sane world is regarded as odious and criminal. i therefore need not dilate on the reasons which made it necessary for me to smuggle, as it were, to the governor of the state, a letter of complaint and instruction. this letter was written shortly after my transfer from the violent ward. the abuses of that ward were still fresh in my mind, and the memory of distressing scenes was kept vivid by reports reaching me from friends who were still confined there. these private sleuths of mine i talked with at the evening entertainments or at other gatherings. from them i learned that brutality had become more rife, if anything, since i had left the ward. realizing that my crusade against the physical abuse of patients thus far had proved of no avail, i determined to go over the heads of the doctors and appeal to the ex-officio head of the institution, the governor of the state. on march th, , i wrote a letter which so disturbed the governor that he immediately set about an informal investigation of some of my charges. despite its prolixity, its unconventional form and what, under other circumstances, would be characterized as almost diabolic impudence and familiarity, my letter, as he said months later when i talked with him, "rang true." the writing of it was an easy matter; in fact, so easy, because of the pressure of truth under which i was laboring at the time, that it embodied a compelling spontaneity. the mailing of it was not so easy. i knew that the only sure way of getting my thoughts before the governor was to do my own mailing. naturally no doctor could be trusted to send an indictment against himself and his colleagues to the one man in the state who had the power to institute such an investigation as might make it necessary for all to seek employment elsewhere. in my frame of mind, to wish to mail my letter was to know how to accomplish the wish. the letter was in reality a booklet. i had thoughtfully used waterproof india drawing ink in writing it, in order, perhaps, that a remote posterity might not be deprived of the document. the booklet consisted of thirty-two eight-by-ten-inch pages of heavy white drawing paper. these i sewed together. in planning the form of my letter i had forgotten to consider the slot of a letter-box of average size. therefore i had to adopt an unusual method of getting the letter into the mails. my expedient was simple. there was in the town a certain shop where i traded. at my request the doctor gave me permission to go there for supplies. i was of course accompanied by an attendant, who little suspected what was under my vest. to conceal and carry my letter in that place had been easy; but to get rid of it after reaching my goal was another matter. watching my opportunity, i slipped the missive between the leaves of a copy of the _saturday evening post_. this i did, believing that some purchaser would soon discover the letter and mail it. then i left the shop. on the back of the wrapper i had endorsed the following words: "mr. postmaster: this package is unsealed. nevertheless it is first-class matter. everything i write is necessarily first class. i have affixed two two-cent stamps. if extra postage is needed you will do the governor a favor if you will put the extra postage on. or affix 'due' stamps, and let the governor pay his own bills, as he can well afford to. if you want to know who i am, just ask his excellency, and oblige, yours truly, ?" flanking this notice, i had arrayed other forceful sentiments, as follows--taken from statutes which i had framed for the occasion: "any person finding letter or package--duly stamped and addressed--_must_ mail same as said letter or package is really in hands of the government the moment the stamp is affixed." and again: "failure to comply with federal statute which forbids any one except addressee to open a letter renders one liable to imprisonment in state prison." my letter reached the governor. one of the clerks at the shop in which i left the missive found and mailed it. from him i afterwards learned that my unique instructions had piqued his curiosity, as well as compelled my wished-for action. assuming that the reader's curiosity may likewise have been piqued, i shall quote certain passages from this four-thousand-word epistle of protest. the opening sentence read as follows: "if you have had the courage to read the above" (referring to an unconventional heading) "i hope you will read on to the end of this epistle--thereby displaying real christian fortitude and learning a few facts which i think should be brought to your attention." i then introduced myself, mentioning a few common friends, by way of indicating that i was not without influential political connections, and proceeded as follows: "i take pleasure in informing you that i am in the crazy business and am holding my job down with ease and a fair degree of grace. being in the crazy business, i understand certain phases of the business about which you know nothing. you as governor are at present 'head devil' in this 'hell,' though i know you are unconsciously acting as 'his majesty's' st lieutenant." i then launched into my arraignment of the treatment of the insane. the method, i declared, was "wrong from start to finish. the abuses existing here exist in every other institution of the kind in the country. they are all alike--though some of them are of course worse than others. hell is hell the world over, and i might also add that hell is only a great big bunch of disagreeable details anyway. that's all an insane asylum is. if you don't believe it, just go crazy and take up your abode here. in writing this letter i am laboring under no mental excitement. i am no longer subjected to the abuses about which i complain. i am well and happy. in fact i never was so happy as i am now. whether i am in perfect mental health or not, i shall leave for you to decide. if i am insane to-day i hope i may never recover my reason." first i assailed the management of the private institution where i had been strait-jacketed and referred to "jekyll-hyde" as "dr.----, m.d. (mentally deranged)." then followed an account of the strait-jacket experience; then an account of abuses at the state hospital. i described in detail the most brutal assault that fell to my lot. in summing up i said, "the attendants claimed next day that i had called them certain names. maybe i did--though i don't believe i did at all. what of it? this is no young ladies' boarding school. should a man be nearly killed because he swears at attendants who swear like pirates? i have seen at least fifteen men, many of them mental and physical wrecks, assaulted just as brutally as i was, and usually without a cause. i know that men's lives have been shortened by these brutal assaults. and that is only a polite way of saying that murder has been committed here." turning next to the matter of the women's wards, i said: "a patient in this ward--a man in his right mind, who leaves here on tuesday next--told me that a woman patient told him that she had seen many a helpless woman dragged along the floor by her hair, and had also seen them choked by attendants who used a wet towel as a sort of garrote. i have been through the mill and believe every word of the abuse. you will perhaps doubt it, as it seems impossible. bear in mind, though, that everything bad and disagreeable is possible in an insane asylum." it will be observed that i was shrewd enough to qualify a charge i could not prove. when i came to the matter of the bull pen, i wasted no words: "the bull pen," i wrote, "is a pocket edition of the new york stock exchange during a panic." i next pointed out the difficulties a patient must overcome in mailing letters: "it is impossible for any one to send a letter to you _via_ the office. the letter would be consigned to the waste-basket--unless it was a particularly crazy letter--in which case it might reach you, as you would then pay no attention to it. but a sane letter and a _true_ letter, telling about the abuses which exist here would stand no show of being mailed. the way in which mail is tampered with by the medical staff is contemptible." i then described my stratagem in mailing my letter to the governor. discovering that i had left a page of my epistolary booklet blank, i drew upon it a copy of rembrandt's anatomy lesson, and under it wrote: "this page was skipped by mistake. had to fight fifty-three days to get writing paper and i hate to waste any space--hence the masterpiece--drawn in five minutes. never drew a line till september (last) and never took lessons in my life. i think you will readily believe my statement." continuing in the same half-bantering vein, i said: "i intend to immortalize all members of medical staff of state hospital for insane--when i illustrate my inferno, which, when written, will make dante's divine comedy look like a french farce." i then outlined my plans for reform: "whether my suggestions meet with approval or not," i wrote, "will not affect the result--though opposition on your part would perhaps delay reforms. i have decided to devote the next few years of my life to correcting abuses now in existence in every asylum in this country. i know how these abuses can be corrected and i intend--later on, when i understand the subject better--to draw up a bill of rights for the insane. every state in the union will pass it, because it will be founded on the golden rule. i am desirous of having the co-operation of the governor of connecticut, but if my plans do not appeal to him i shall deal directly with his only superior, the president of the united states. when theodore roosevelt hears my story his blood will boil. i would write to him now, but i am afraid he would jump in and correct abuses too quickly. and by doing it too quickly too little good would be accomplished." waxing crafty, yet, as i believed, writing truth, i continued: "i need money badly, and if i cared to, i could sell my information and services to the _new york world_ or _new york journal_ for a large amount. but i do not intend to advertise connecticut as a hell-hole of iniquity, insanity, and injustice. if the facts appeared in the public press at this time, connecticut would lose caste with her sister states. and they would profit by connecticut's disgrace and correct the abuses before they could be put on the rack. as these conditions prevail throughout the country, there is no reason why connecticut should get all the abuse and criticism which would follow any such revelation of disgusting abuse; such inhuman treatment of human wrecks. if publicity is necessary to force you to act--and i am sure it will not be necessary--i shall apply for a writ of habeas corpus, and, in proving my sanity to a jury, i shall incidentally prove your own incompetence. permitting such a whirl-wind reformer to drag connecticut's disgrace into open court would prove your incompetence." for several obvious reasons it is well that i did not at that time attempt to convince a jury that i was mentally sound. the mere outlining of my ambitious scheme for reform would have caused my immediate return to the hospital. that scheme, however, was a sound and feasible one, as later events have proved. but, taking hold of me, as it did, while my imagination was at white heat, i was impelled to attack my problem with compromising energy and, for a time, in a manner so unconvincing as to obscure the essential sanity of my cherished purpose. i closed my letter as follows: "no doubt you will consider certain parts of this letter rather 'fresh.' i apologize for any such passages now, but, as i have an insane license, i do not hesitate to say what i think. what's the use when one is caged like a criminal? "p.s. this letter is a confidential one--and is to be returned to the writer upon demand." the letter was eventually forwarded to my conservator and is now in my possession. as a result of my protest the governor immediately interrogated the superintendent of the institution where "jekyll-hyde" had tortured me. until he laid before the superintendent my charges against his assistant, the doctor in authority had not even suspected that i had been tortured. this superintendent took pride in his institution. he was sensitive to criticism and it was natural that he should strive to palliate the offence of his subordinate. he said that i was a most troublesome patient, which was, indeed, the truth; for i had always a way of my own for doing the things that worried those in charge of me. in a word, i brought to bear upon the situation what i have previously referred to as "an uncanny admixture of sanity." the governor did not meet the assistant physician who had maltreated me. the reprimand, if there was to be any, was left to the superintendent to administer. in my letter to the governor i had laid more stress upon the abuses to which i had been subjected at this private institution than i had upon conditions at the state hospital where i was when i wrote to him. this may have had some effect on the action he took, or rather failed to take. at any rate, as to the state hospital, no action was taken. not even a word of warning was sent to the officials, as i later learned; for before leaving the institution i asked them. though my letter did not bring about an investigation, it was not altogether without results. naturally, it was with considerable satisfaction that i informed the doctors that i had outwitted them, and it was with even greater satisfaction that i now saw those in authority make a determined, if temporary, effort to protect helpless patients against the cruelties of attendants. the moment the doctors were convinced that i had gone over their heads and had sent a characteristic letter of protest to the governor of the state, that moment they began to protect themselves with an energy born of a realization of their former shortcomings. whether or not the management in question ever admitted that their unwonted activity was due to my successful stratagem, the fact remains that the summary discharge of several attendants accused and proved guilty of brutality immediately followed and for a while put a stop to wanton assaults against which for a period of four months i had protested in vain. patients who still lived in the violent ward told me that comparative peace reigned about this time. xxvii my failure to force the governor to investigate conditions at the state hospital convinced me that i could not hope to prosecute my reforms until i should regain my liberty and re-establish myself in my old world. i therefore quitted the role of reformer-militant; and, but for an occasional outburst of righteous indignation at some flagrant abuse which obtruded itself upon my notice, my demeanor was that of one quite content with his lot in life. i was indeed content--i was happy. knowing that i should soon regain my freedom, i found it easy to forgive--taking great pains not to forget--any injustice which had been done me. liberty is sweet, even to one whose appreciation of it has never been augmented by its temporary loss. the pleasurable emotions which my impending liberation aroused within me served to soften my speech and render me more tractable. this change the assistant physician was not slow to note, though he was rather slow in placing in me the degree of confidence which i felt i deserved. so justifiable, however, was his suspicion that even at the time i forgave him for it. i had on so many prior occasions "played possum" that the doctor naturally attributed complex and unfathomable motives to my most innocent acts. for a long time he seemed to think that i was trying to capture his confidence, win the privilege of an unlimited parole, and so effect my escape. doubtless he had not forgotten the several plans for escape which i had dallied with and bragged about while in the violent ward. though i was granted considerable liberty during the months of april, may, and june, , not until july did i enjoy a so-called unlimited parole which enabled me to walk about the neighboring city unattended. my privileges were granted so gradually that these first tastes of regained freedom, though delightful, were not so thrilling as one might imagine. i took everything as a matter of course, and, except when i deliberately analyzed my feelings, was scarcely conscious of my former deprivations. this power to forget the past--or recall it only at will--has contributed much to my happiness. some of those who have suffered experiences such as mine are prone to brood upon them, and i cannot but attribute my happy immunity from unpleasant memories to the fact that i have viewed my own case much as a physician might view that of a patient. my past is a thing apart. i can examine this or that phase of it in the clarifying and comforting light of reason, under a memory rendered somewhat microscopic. and i am further compensated by the belief that i have a distinct mission in life--a chance for usefulness that might never have been mine had i enjoyed unbroken health and uninterrupted liberty. the last few months of my life in the hospital were much alike, save that each succeeding one brought with it an increased amount of liberty. my hours now passed pleasantly. time did not drag, for i was engaged upon some enterprise every minute. i would draw, read, write, or talk. if any feeling was dominant, it was my feeling for art; and i read with avidity books on the technique of that subject. strange as it may seem, however, the moment i again found myself in the world of business my desire to become an artist died almost as suddenly as it had been born. though my artistic ambition was clearly an outgrowth of my abnormal condition, and languished when normality asserted itself, i am inclined to believe i should even now take a lively interest in the study of art if i were so situated as to be deprived of a free choice of my activities. the use of words later enthralled me because so eminently suited to my purposes. during the summer of , friends and relatives often called to see me. the talks we had were of great and lasting benefit to me. though i had rid myself of my more extravagant and impossible delusions of grandeur--flying-machines and the like--i still discussed with intense earnestness other schemes, which, though allied to delusions of grandeur, were, in truth, still more closely allied to sanity itself. my talk was of that high, but perhaps suspicious type in which imagination overrules common sense. lingering delusions, as it were, made great projects seem easy. that they were at least feasible under certain conditions, my mentors admitted. only i was in an abnormal hurry to produce results. work that i later realized could not be accomplished in less than five or ten years, if, indeed, in a lifetime, i then believed could be accomplished in a year or two, and by me single-handed. had i had none but mentally unbalanced people to talk with, i might have continued to cherish a distorted perspective. it was the unanimity of sane opinions that helped me to correct my own views; and i am confident that each talk with relatives and friends hastened my return to normality. though i was not discharged from the state hospital until september th, , during the preceding month i visited my home several times, once for three days. these trips were not only interesting, but steadying in effect. i willingly returned to the hospital when my parole expired. though several friends expressed surprise at this willingness to enter again an institution where i had experienced so many hardships, to me my temporary return was not in the least irksome. as i had penetrated and conquered the mysteries of that dark side of life, it no longer held any terrors for me. nor does it to this day. i can contemplate the future with a greater degree of complacency than can some of those whose lot in life has been uniformly fortunate. in fact, i said at that time that, should my condition ever demand it, i would again enter a hospital for the insane, quite as willingly as the average person now enters a hospital for the treatment of bodily ailments. it was in this complacent and confident mood, and without any sharp line of transition, that i again began life in my old world of companionship and of business. xxviii for the first month of regained freedom i remained at home. these weeks were interesting. scarcely a day passed that i did not meet several former friends and acquaintances who greeted me as one risen from the dead. and well they might, for my three-year trip among the worlds--rather than around the world--was suggestive of complete separation from the everyday life of the multitude. one profound impression which i received at this time was of the uniform delicacy of feeling exhibited by my well-wishers. in no instance that i can recall was a direct reference made to the nature of my recent illness, until i had first made some remark indicating that i was not averse to discussing it. there was an evident effort on the part of friends and acquaintances to avoid a subject which they naturally supposed i wished to forget. knowing that their studied avoidance of a delicate subject was inspired by a thoughtful consideration, rather than a lack of interest, i invariably forced the conversation along a line calculated to satisfy a suppressed, but perfectly proper, curiosity which i seldom failed to detect. my decision to stand on my past and look the future in the face has, i believe, contributed much to my own happiness, and, more than anything else, enabled my friends to view my past as i myself do. by frankly referring to my illness, i put my friends and acquaintances at ease, and at a stroke rid them of that constraint which one must feel in the presence of a person constantly in danger of being hurt by a chance allusion to an unhappy occurrence. i have said much about the obligation of the sane in reference to easing the burdens of those committed to institutions. i might say almost as much about the attitude of the public toward those who survive such a period of exile, restored, but branded with a suspicion which only time can efface. though a former patient receives personal consideration, he finds it difficult to obtain employment. no fair-minded man can find fault with this condition of affairs, for an inherent dread of insanity leads to distrust of one who has had a mental breakdown. nevertheless, the attitude is mistaken. perhaps one reason for this lack of confidence is to be found in the lack of confidence which a former patient often feels in himself. confidence begets confidence, and those men and women who survive mental illness should attack their problem as though their absence had been occasioned by any one of the many circumstances which may interrupt the career of a person whose mind has never been other than sound. i can testify to the efficacy of this course, for it is the one i pursued. and i think that i have thus far met with as great a degree of success as i might have reasonably expected had my career never been all but fatally interrupted. discharged from the state hospital in september, , late in october of that same year i went to new york. primarily my purpose was to study art. i even went so far as to gather information regarding the several schools; and had not my artistic ambition taken wing, i might have worked for recognition in a field where so many strive in vain. but my business instinct, revivified by the commercially surcharged atmosphere of new york, soon gained sway, and within three months i had secured a position with the same firm for which i had worked when i first went to new york six years earlier. it was by the merest chance that i made this most fortunate business connection. by no stretch of my rather elastic imagination can i even now picture a situation that would, at one and the same time, have so perfectly afforded a means of livelihood, leisure in which to indulge my longing to write the story of my experiences, and an opportunity to further my humanitarian project. though persons discharged from mental hospitals are usually able to secure, without much difficulty, work as unskilled laborers, or positions where the responsibility is slight, it is often next to impossible for them to secure positions of trust. during the negotiations which led to my employment, i was in no suppliant mood. if anything, i was quite the reverse; and as i have since learned, i imposed terms with an assurance so sublime that any less degree of audacity might have put an end to the negotiations then and there. but the man with whom i was dealing was not only broad-minded, he was sagacious. he recognized immediately such an ability to take care of my own interests as argued an ability to protect those of his firm. but this alone would not have induced the average business man to employ me under the circumstances. it was the common-sense and rational attitude of my employer toward mental illness which determined the issue. this view, which is, indeed, exceptional to-day, will one day (within a few generations, i believe) be too commonplace to deserve special mention. as this man tersely expressed it: "when an employé is ill, he's ill, and it makes no difference to me whether he goes to a general hospital or a hospital for the insane. should you ever find yourself in need of treatment or rest, i want you to feel that you can take it when and where you please, and work for us again when you are able." dealing almost exclusively with bankers, for that was the nature of my work, i enjoyed almost as much leisure for reading and trying to learn how to write as i should have enjoyed had i had an assured income that would have enabled me to devote my entire time to these pursuits. and so congenial did my work prove, and so many places of interest did i visit, that i might rather have been classed as a "commercial tourist" than as a commercial traveler. to view almost all of the natural wonders and places of historic interest east of the mississippi, and many west of it; to meet and know representative men and women; to enjoy an almost uninterrupted leisure, and at the same time earn a livelihood--these advantages bear me out in the feeling that in securing the position i did, at the time i did, i enjoyed one of those rare compensations which fate sometimes bestows upon those who survive unusual adversity. xxix after again becoming a free man, my mind would not abandon the miserable ones whom i had left behind. i thought with horror that my reason had been threatened and baffled at every turn. without malice toward those who had had me in charge, i yet looked with abhorrence upon the system by which i had been treated. but i realized that i could not successfully advocate reforms in hospital management until i had first proved to relatives and friends my ability to earn a living. and i knew that, after securing a position in the business world, i must first satisfy my employers before i could hope to persuade others to join me in prosecuting the reforms i had at heart. consequently, during the first year of my renewed business activity (the year ), i held my humanitarian project in abeyance and gave all my executive energy to my business duties. during the first half of that year i gave but little time to reading and writing, and none at all to drawing. in a tentative way, however, i did occasionally discuss my project with intimate friends; but i spoke of its consummation as a thing of the uncertain future. at that time, though confident of accomplishing my set purpose, i believed i should be fortunate if my projected book were published before my fortieth year. that i was able to publish it eight years earlier was due to one of those unlooked for combinations of circumstances which sometimes cause a hurried change of plans. late in the autumn of , a slight illness detained me for two weeks in a city several hundred miles from home. the illness itself amounted to little, and, so far as i know, had no direct bearing on later results, except that, in giving me an enforced vacation, it afforded me an opportunity to read several of the world's great books. one of these was "les misérables." it made a deep impression on me, and i am inclined to believe it started a train of thought which gradually grew into a purpose so all-absorbing that i might have been overwhelmed by it, had not my over-active imagination been brought to bay by another's common sense. hugo's plea for suffering humanity--for the world's miserable--struck a responsive chord within me. not only did it revive my latent desire to help the afflicted; it did more. it aroused a consuming desire to emulate hugo himself, by writing a book which should arouse sympathy for and interest in that class of unfortunates in whose behalf i felt it my peculiar right and duty to speak. i question whether any one ever read "les misérables" with keener feeling. by day i read the story until my head ached; by night i dreamed of it. to resolve to write a book is one thing; to write it--fortunately for the public--is quite another. though i wrote letters with ease, i soon discovered that i knew nothing of the vigils or methods of writing a book. even then i did not attempt to predict just when i should begin to commit my story to paper. but, a month later, a member of the firm in whose employ i was made a remark which acted as a sudden spur. one day, while discussing the business situation with me, he informed me that my work had convinced him that he had made no mistake in re-employing me when he did. naturally i was pleased. i had vindicated his judgment sooner than i had hoped. aside from appreciating and remembering his compliment, at the time i paid no more attention to it. not until a fortnight later did the force of his remark exert any peculiar influence on my plans. during that time it apparently penetrated to some subconscious part of me--a part which, on prior occasions, had assumed such authority as to dominate my whole being. but, in this instance, the part that became dominant did not exert an unruly or even unwelcome influence. full of interest in my business affairs one week, the next i not only had no interest in them, but i had begun even to dislike them. from a matter-of-fact man of business i was transformed into a man whose all-absorbing thought was the amelioration of suffering among the afflicted insane. travelling on this high plane of ideal humanitarianism, i could get none but a distorted and dissatisfying view of the life i must lead if i should continue to devote my time to the comparatively deadening routine of commercial affairs. thus it was inevitable that i should focus my attention on my humanitarian project. during the last week of december i sought ammunition by making a visit to two of the institutions where i had once been a patient. i went there to discuss certain phases of the subject of reform with the doctors in authority. i was politely received and listened to with a degree of deference which was, indeed, gratifying. though i realized that i was rather intense on the subject of reform, i did not have that clear insight into my state of mind which the doctors had. indeed, i believe that only those expert in the detection of symptoms of a slightly disturbed mental condition could possibly have observed anything abnormal about me at that time. only when i discussed my fond project of reform did i betray an abnormal stress of feeling. i could talk as convincingly about business as i had at any time in my life; for even at the height of this wave of enthusiasm i dealt at length with a certain banker who finally placed with my employers a large contract. after conferring with the doctors, or rather--as it proved--exhibiting myself to them, i returned to new haven and discussed my project with the president of yale university. he listened patiently--he could scarcely do otherwise--and did me the great favor of interposing his judgment at a time when i might have made a false move. i told him that i intended to visit washington at once, to enlist the aid of president roosevelt; also that of mr. hay, secretary of state. mr. hadley tactfully advised me not to approach them until i had more thoroughly crystallized my ideas. his wise suggestion i had the wisdom to adopt. the next day i went to new york, and on january st, , i began to write. within two days i had written about fifteen thousand words--for the most part on the subject of reforms and how to effect them. one of the documents prepared at that time contained grandiloquent passages that were a portent of coming events--though i was ignorant of the fact. in writing about my project i said, "whether i am a tool of god or a toy of the devil, time alone will tell; but there will be no misunderstanding time's answer if i succeed in doing one-tenth of the good things i hope to accomplish.... anything which is feasible in this philanthropic age can easily be put into practice.... a listener gets the impression that i hope to do a hundred years' work in a day. they are wrong there, for i'm not so in love with work--as such. i would like though to interest so many people in the accomplishment of my purpose that one hundred years' work might be done in a fraction of that time. hearty co-operation brings quick results, and once you start a wave of enthusiasm in a sea of humanity, and have for the base of that wave a humanitarian project of great breadth, it will travel with irresistible and ever-increasing impulse to the ends of the earth--which is far enough. according to dr. ----, many of my ideas regarding the solution of the problem under consideration are years and years in advance of the times. i agree with him, but that is no reason why we should not put 'the times' on board the express train of progress and give civilization a boost to a higher level, until it finally lands on a plateau where performance and perfection will be synonymous terms." referring to the betterment of conditions, i said, "and this improvement can never be brought about without some central organization by means of which the best ideas in the world may be crystallized and passed along to those in charge of this army of afflicted ones. the methods to be used to bring about these results must be placed on the same high level as the idea itself. no yellow journalism or other sensational means should be resorted to. let the thing be worked up secretly and confidentially by a small number of men who know their business. then when the very best plan has been formulated for the accomplishment of the desired results, and men of money have been found to support the movement until it can take care of itself, announce to the world in a dignified and effective manner the organization and aims of the society, the name of which shall be--, decided later.... to start the movement will not require a whole lot of money. it will be started modestly and as financial resources of the society increase, the field will be broadened." ... "the abuses and correction of same is a mere detail in the general scheme." ... "it is too early to try to interest anyone in this scheme of preventing breakdowns, as there are other things of more importance to be brought about first--but it will surely come in time." "'uncle tom's cabin,'" i continued, "had a very decided effect on the question of slavery of the negro race. why cannot a book be written which will free the helpless slaves of all creeds and colors confined to-day in the asylums and sanitariums throughout the world? that is, free them from unnecessary abuses to which they are now subjected. such a book, i believe, can be written and i trust that i may be permitted to live till i am wise enough to write it. such a book might change the attitude of the public towards those who are unfortunate enough to have the stigma of mental incompetency put upon them. of course, an insane man is an insane man and while insane should be placed in an institution for treatment, but when that man comes out he should be as free from all taint as the man is who recovers from a contagious disease and again takes his place in society." in conclusion, i said, "from a scientific point of view there is a great field for research.... cannot some of the causes be discovered and perhaps done away with, thereby saving the lives of many--and millions in money? it may come about that some day something will be found which will prevent a complete and incurable mental breakdown...." thus did i, as revealed by these rather crude, unrevised quotations, somewhat prophetically, if extravagantly, box the compass that later guided the ship of my hopes (not one of my phantom ships) into a safe channel, and later into a safe harbor. by way of mental diversion during these creative days at the yale club, i wrote personal letters to intimate friends. one of these produced a result unlooked for. there were about it compromising earmarks which the friend to whom it was sent recognized. in it i said that i intended to approach a certain man of wealth and influence who lived in new york, with a view to securing some action that would lead to reform. that was enough. my friend showed the letter to my brother--the one who had acted as my conservator. he knew at once that i was in an excited mental condition. but he could not very well judge the degree of the excitement; for when i had last talked with him a week earlier, i had not discussed my larger plans. business affairs and my hope for business advancement had then alone interested me. i talked with president hadley on friday; saturday i went to new york; sunday and monday i spent at the yale club, writing; tuesday, this telltale letter fell under the prescient eye of my brother. on that day he at once got in touch with me by telephone. we briefly discussed the situation. he did not intimate that he believed me to be in elation. he simply urged me not to attempt to interest anyone in my project until i had first returned to new haven and talked with him. now i had already gone so far as to invite my employers to dine with me that very night at the yale club for the purpose of informing them of my plans. this i did, believing it to be only fair that they should know what i intended to do, so that they might dispense with my services should they feel that my plans would in any way impair my usefulness as an employé. of this dinner engagement, therefore, i told my brother. but so insistently did he urge me to defer any such conference as i proposed until i had talked with him that, although it was too late to break the dinner engagement, i agreed to avoid, if possible, any reference to my project. i also agreed to return home the next day. that night my guests honored me as agreed. for an hour or two we discussed business conditions and affairs in general. then, one of them referred pointedly to my implied promise to unburden myself on a certain subject, the nature of which he did not at the time know. i immediately decided that it would be best to "take the bull by the horns," submit my plans, and, if necessary, sever my connection with the firm, should its members force me to choose (as i put it) between themselves and humanity. i then proceeded to unfold my scheme; and, though i may have exhibited a decided intensity of feeling during my discourse, at no time, i believe, did i overstep the bounds of what appeared to be sane enthusiasm. my employers agreed that my purpose was commendable--that no doubt i could and would eventually be able to do much for those i had left behind in a durance i so well knew to be vile. their one warning was that i seemed in too great a hurry. they expressed the opinion that i had not been long enough re-established in business to be able to persuade people of wealth and influence to take hold of my project. and one of my guests very aptly observed that i could not afford to be a philanthropist, which objection i met by saying that all i intended to do was to supply ideas for those who could afford to apply them. the conference ended satisfactorily. my employers disclaimed any personal objection to my proceeding with my project, if i would, and yet remaining in their employ. they simply urged me to "go slow." "wait until you're forty," one of them said. i then thought that i might do so. and perhaps i should have waited so long, had not the events of the next two days put me on the right road to an earlier execution of my cherished plans. the next day, january th, true to my word, i went home. that night i had a long talk with my brother. i did not suspect that a man like myself, capable of dealing with bankers and talking for several consecutive hours with his employers without arousing their suspicion as to his mental condition, was to be suspected by his own relatives. nor, indeed, with the exception of my brother, who had read my suspiciously excellent letter, were any of my relatives disturbed; and he did nothing to disabuse my assurance. after our night conference he left for his own home, casually mentioning that he would see me again the next morning. that pleased me, for i was in a talkative mood and craved an interested listener. when my brother returned the next morning, i willingly accepted his invitation to go with him to his office, where we could talk without fear of interruption. arrived there, i calmly sat down and prepared to prove my whole case. i had scarcely "opened fire" when in walked a stranger--a strapping fellow, to whom my brother immediately introduced me. i instinctively felt that it was by no mere chance that this third party had so suddenly appeared. my eyes at once took in the dark blue trousers worn by the otherwise conventionally dressed stranger. that was enough. the situation became so clear that the explanations which followed were superfluous. in a word, i was under arrest, or in imminent danger of being arrested. to say that i was not in the least disconcerted would scarcely be true, for i had not divined my brother's clever purpose in luring me to his office. but i can say, with truth, that i was the coolest person in the room. i knew what i should do next, but my brother and the officer of the law could only guess. the fact is i did nothing. i calmly remained seated, awaiting the verdict which i well knew my brother, with characteristic decision, had already prepared. with considerable effort--for the situation, he has since told me, was the most trying one of his life--he informed me that on the preceding day he had talked with the doctors to whom i had so opportunely exhibited myself a week earlier. all agreed that i was in a state of elation which might or might not become more pronounced. they had advised that i be persuaded to submit voluntarily to treatment in a hospital, or that i be, if necessary, forcibly committed. on this advice my brother had proceeded to act. and it was well so; for, though i appreciated the fact that i was by no means in a normal state of mind, i had not a clear enough insight into my condition to realize that treatment and a restricted degree of liberty were what i needed, since continued freedom might further inflame an imagination already overwrought. a few simple statements by my brother convinced me that it was for my own good and the peace of mind of my relatives that i should temporarily surrender my freedom. this i agreed to do. perhaps the presence of two hundred pounds of brawn and muscle, representing the law, lent persuasiveness to my brother's words. in fact, i did assent the more readily because i admired the thorough, sane, fair, almost artistic manner in which my brother had brought me to bay. i am inclined to believe that, had i suspected that a recommitment was imminent, i should have fled to a neighboring state during the preceding night. fortunately, however, the right thing was done in the right way at the right time. though i had been the victim of a clever stratagem, not for one moment thereafter, in any particular, was i deceived. i was frankly told that several doctors had pronounced me elated, and that for my own good i _must_ submit to treatment. i was allowed to choose between a probate court commitment which would have "admitted me" to the state hospital, or a "voluntary commitment" which would enable me to enter the large private hospital where i had previously passed from depression to elation, and had later suffered tortures. i naturally chose the more desirable of the two disguised blessings, and agreed to start at once for the private hospital, the one in which i had been when depression gave way to elation. it was not that i feared again to enter the state hospital. i simply wished to avoid the publicity which necessarily would have followed, for at that time the statutes of connecticut did not provide for voluntary commitment to the state hospitals. then, too, there were certain privileges which i knew i could not enjoy in a public institution. having re-established myself in society and business i did not wish to forfeit that gain; and as the doctors believed that my period of elation would be short, it would have been sheer folly to advertise the fact that my mental health had again fallen under suspicion. but before starting for the hospital i imposed certain conditions. one was that the man with the authoritative trousers should walk behind at such a distance that no friend or acquaintance who might see my brother and myself would suspect that i was under guard; the other was that the doctors at the institution should agree to grant my every request, no matter how trivial, so long as doing so could in no way work to my own injury. my privileges were to include that of reading and writing to my heart's content, and the procuring of such books and supplies as my fancy might dictate. all this was agreed to. in return i agreed to submit to the surveillance of an attendant when i went outside the hospital grounds. this i knew would contribute to the peace of mind of my relatives, who naturally could not rid themselves of the fear that one so nearly normal as myself might take it into his head to leave the state and resist further attempts at control. as i felt that i could easily elude my keeper, should i care to escape, his presence also contributed to _my_ peace of mind, for i argued that the ability to outwit my guard would atone for the offence itself. i then started for the hospital; and i went with a willingness surprising even to myself. a cheerful philosophy enabled me to turn an apparently disagreeable situation into one that was positively pleasing to me. i convinced myself that i could extract more real enjoyment from life during the ensuing weeks within the walls of a "retreat" than i could in the world outside. my one desire was to write, write, write. my fingers itched for a pen. my desire to write was, i imagine, as irresistible as is the desire of a drunkard for his dram. and the act of writing resulted in an intoxicating pleasure composed of a mingling of emotions that defies analysis. that i should so calmly, almost eagerly, enter where devils might fear to tread may surprise the reader who already has been informed of the cruel treatment i had formerly received there. i feared nothing, for i knew all. having seen the worst, i knew how to avoid the pitfalls into which, during my first experience at that hospital, i had fallen or deliberately walked. i was confident that i should suffer no abuse or injustice so long as the doctors in charge should live up to their agreement and treat me with unvarying fairness. this they did, and my quick recovery and subsequent discharge may be attributed partly to this cause. the assistant physicians who had come in contact with me during my first experience in this hospital were no longer there. they had resigned some months earlier, shortly after the death of the former superintendent. thus it was that i started with a clean record, free from those prejudices which so often affect the judgment of a hospital physician who has treated a mental patient at his worst. xxx on more than one occasion my chameleonlike temperament has enabled me to adjust myself to new conditions, but never has it served me better than it did at the time of which i write. a free man on new year's day, enjoying the pleasures of a congenial club life, four days later i found myself again under the lock and key of an institution for the insane. never had i enjoyed life in new york more than during those first days of that new year. to suffer so rude a change was, indeed, enough to arouse a feeling of discontent, if not despair; yet, aside from the momentary initial shock, my contentment was in no degree diminished. i can say with truth that i was as complacent the very moment i recrossed the threshold of that "retreat" as i had been when crossing and recrossing at will the threshold of my club. of everything i thought and did during the interesting weeks which followed, i have a complete record. the moment i accepted the inevitable, i determined to spend my time to good advantage. knowing from experience that i must observe my own case, if i was to have any detailed record of it, i provided myself in advance with notebooks. in these i recorded, i might almost say, my every thought and action. the sane part of me, which fortunately was dominant, subjected its temporarily unruly part to a sort of scientific scrutiny and surveillance. from morning till night i dogged the steps of my restless body and my more restless imagination. i observed the physical and mental symptoms which i knew were characteristic of elation. an exquisite light-heartedness, an exalted sense of wellbeing, my pulse, my weight, my appetite--all these i observed and recorded with a care that would have put to the blush a majority of the doctors in charge of mental cases in institutions. but this record of symptoms, though minute, was vague compared to my reckless analysis of my emotions. with a lack of reserve characteristic of my mood, i described the joy of living, which, for the most part, then consisted in the joy of writing. and even now, when i reread my record, i feel that i cannot overstate the pleasure i found in surrendering myself completely to that controlling impulse. the excellence of my composition seemed to me beyond criticism. and, as to one in a state of elation, things are pretty much as they seem, i was able to experience the subtle delights which, i fancy, thrill the soul of a master. during this month of elation i wrote words enough to fill a book nearly as large as this one. having found that each filling of my fountain pen was sufficient for the writing of about twenty-eight hundred words, i kept a record of the number of times i filled it. this minute calculation i carried to an extreme. if i wrote for fifty-nine minutes, and then read for seventeen, those facts i recorded. thus, in my diary and out of it, i wrote and wrote until the tips of my thumb and forefinger grew numb. as this numbness increased and general weariness of the hand set in, there came a gradual flagging of my creative impulse until a very normal unproductivity supervened. the reader may well wonder in what my so-called insanity at this time consisted. had i any of those impracticable delusions which had characterized my former period of elation? no, not one--unless an unreasonable haste to achieve my ambitions may be counted a delusion. my attention simply focussed itself on my project. all other considerations seemed of little moment. my interest in business waned to the vanishing point. yet one thing should be noted: i did deliberately devote many hours to the consideration of business affairs. realizing that one way to overcome an absorbing impulse is to divide the attention, i wrote a brief of the arguments i had often used when talking with bankers. in this way i was able to convince the doctors that my intense interest in literature and reform would soon spend itself. a consuming desire to effect reforms had been the determining factor when i calmly weighed the situation with a view to making the best possible use of my impulse to write. the events of the immediate past had convinced me that i could not hope to interest people of wealth and influence in my humanitarian project until i had some definite plan to submit for their leisurely consideration. further, i had discovered that an attempt to approach them directly disturbed my relatives and friends, who had not yet learned to dissociate! present intentions from past performances. i had, therefore, determined to drill myself in the art of composition to the end that i might write a story of my life which would merit publication. i felt that such a book, once written, would do its own work, regardless of my subsequent fortunes. other books had spoken even from the grave; why should not my book so speak--if necessary? with this thought in mind i began not only to read and write, but to test my impulse in order that i might discover if it were a part of my very being, an abnormal impulse, or a mere whim. i reasoned that to compare my own feelings toward literature, and my emotions experienced in the heat of composition, with the recorded feelings of successful men of letters, would give me a clue to the truth on this question. at this time i read several books that could have served as a basis for my deductions, but only one of them did i have time to analyze and note in my diary. that one was, "wit and wisdom of the earl of beaconsfield." the following passages from the pen of disraeli i transcribed in my diary with occasional comment. "remember who you are, and also that it is your duty to excel. providence has given you a great lot. think ever that you are born to perform great duties." this i interpreted in much the same spirit that i had interpreted the th psalm on an earlier occasion. "it was that noble ambition, the highest and best, that must be born in the heart, and organized in the brain, which will not let a man be content unless his intellectual power is recognized by his race, and desires that it should contribute to their welfare." "authors--the creators of opinion." "what appear to be calamities are often the sources of fortune." "change is inevitable in a progressive country. change is constant." ("then why," was my recorded comment, "cannot the changes i propose to bring about, be brought about?") "the author is, as we must ever remember, of peculiar organization. he is a being born with a predisposition which with him is irresistible, the bent of which he cannot in any way avoid, whether it directs him to the abstruse researches of erudition or induces him to mount into the fervid and turbulent atmosphere of imagination." "this," i wrote (the day after arriving at the hospital) "is a fair diagnosis of my case as it stands to-day, assuming, of course, that an author is one who loves to write, and can write with ease, even though what he says may have no literary value. my past proves that my organization is a peculiar one. i have for years (two and a half) had a desire to achieve success along literary lines. i believe that, feeling as i do to-day, nothing can prevent my writing. if i had to make a choice at once between a sure success in the business career ahead of me and doubtful success in the field of literature, i would willingly, yes confidently, choose the latter. i have read many a time about successful writers who learned how to write, and by dint of hard work ground out their ideas. if these men could succeed, why should not a man who is in danger of being ground up by an excess of ideas and imagination succeed, when he seems able to put those ideas into fairly intelligible english? he should and will succeed." therefore, without delay, i began the course of experiment and practice which culminated within a few months in the first draft of my story. wise enough to realize the advantages of a situation free from the annoying interruptions of the workaday world, i enjoyed a degree of liberty seldom experienced by those in possession of complete legal liberty and its attendant obligations. when i wished to read, write, talk, walk, sleep, or eat, i did the thing i wished. i went to the theatre when the spirit moved me to do so, accompanied, of course, by an attendant, who on such occasions played the rôle of chum. friends called to see me and, at their suggestion or mine, invited me to dinner outside the walls of my "cloister." at one of these dinners an incident occurred which throws a clear light on my condition at the time. the friend, whose willing prisoner i was, had invited a common friend to join the party. the latter had not heard of my recent commitment. at my suggestion, he who shared my secret had agreed not to refer to it unless i first broached the subject. there was nothing strange in the fact that we three should meet. just such impromptu celebrations had before occurred among us. we dined, and, as friends will, indulged in that exchange of thoughts which bespeaks intimacy. during our talk, i so shaped the conversation that the possibility of a recurrence of my mental illness was discussed. the uninformed friend derided the idea. "then, if i were to tell you," i remarked, "that i am at this moment supposedly insane--at least not normal--and that when i leave you to-night i shall go direct to the very hospital where i was formerly confined, there to remain until the doctors pronounce me fit for freedom, what would you say?" "i should say that you are a choice sort of liar," he retorted. this genial insult i swallowed with gratification. it was, in truth, a timely and encouraging compliment, the force of which its author failed to appreciate until my host had corroborated my statements. if i could so favorably impress an intimate friend at a time when i was elated, it is not surprising that i should subsequently hold an interview with a comparative stranger--the cashier of a local bank--without betraying my state of mind. as business interviews go, this was in a class by itself. while my attendant stood guard at the door, i, an enrolled inmate of a hospital for the insane, entered the banking room and talked with a level-headed banker. and that interview was not without effect in subsequent negotiations which led to the closing of a contract amounting to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. the very day i re-entered the hospital i stopped on the way at a local hotel and procured some of the hostelry's stationery. by using this in the writing of personal and business letters i managed to conceal my condition and my whereabouts from all except near relatives and a few intimate friends who shared the secret. i quite enjoyed leading this legitimate double life. the situation appealed (not in vain) to my sense of humor. many a smile did i indulge in when i closed a letter with such ambiguous phrases as the following: "matters of importance necessitate my remaining where i am for an indefinite period." ... "a situation has recently arisen which will delay my intended trip south. as soon as i have closed a certain contract (having in mind my contract to re-establish my sanity) i shall again take to the road." to this day few friends or acquaintances know that i was in semi-exile during the month of january, . my desire to suppress the fact was not due, as already intimated, to any sensitiveness regarding the subject of insanity. what afterwards justified my course was that on regaining my freedom i was able, without embarrassment, again to take up my work. within a month of my voluntary commitment, that is, in february, i started on a business trip through the central west and south, where i remained until the following july. during those months i felt perfectly well, and have remained in excellent health ever since. this second interruption of my career came at a time and in a manner to furnish me with strong arguments wherewith to support my contention that so-called madmen are too often man-made, and that he who is potentially mad may keep a saving grip on his own reason if he be fortunate enough to receive that kindly and intelligent treatment to which one on the brink of mental chaos is entitled. though during this second period of elation i was never in a mood so reckless as that which obtained immediately after my recovery from depression in august, , i was at least so excitable that, had those in authority attempted to impose upon me, i should have thrown discretion to the winds. to them, indeed, i frankly reiterated a terse dictum which i had coined during my first period of elation. "just press the button of injustice," i said, "and i'll do the rest!" this i meant, for fear of punishment does not restrain a man in the dare-devil grip of elation. what fostered my self-control was a sense of gratitude. the doctors and attendants treated me as a gentleman. therefore it was not difficult to prove myself one. my every whim was at least considered with a politeness which enabled me to accept a denial with a highly sane equanimity. aside from mild tonics i took no other medicine than that most beneficial sort which inheres in kindness. the feeling that, though a prisoner, i could still command obligations from others led me to recognize my own reciprocal obligations, and was a constant source of delight. the doctors, by proving their title to that confidence which i tentatively gave them upon re-entering the institution, had no difficulty in convincing me that a temporary curtailment of some privileges was for my own good. they all evinced a consistent desire to trust me. in return i trusted them. xxxi on leaving the hospital and resuming my travels, i felt sure that any one of several magazines or newspapers would willingly have had me conduct my campaign under its nervously commercial auspices; but a flash-in-the-pan method did not appeal to me. those noxious growths, incompetence, abuse, and injustice, had not only to be cut down, but rooted out. therefore, i clung to my determination to write a book--an instrument of attack which, if it cuts and sears at all, does so as long as the need exists. inasmuch as i knew that i still had to learn how to write, i approached my task with deliberation. i planned to do two things: first, to crystallize my thoughts by discussion--telling the story of my life whenever in my travels i should meet any person who inspired my confidence; second, while the subject matter of my book was shaping itself in my mind, to drill myself by carrying on a letter-writing campaign. both these things i did--as certain indulgent friends who bore the brunt of my spoken and written discourse can certify. i feared the less to be dubbed a bore, and i hesitated the less, perhaps, to impose upon good-nature, because of my firm conviction that one in a position to help the many was himself entitled to the help of the few. i wrote scores of letters of great length. i cared little if some of my friends should conclude that i had been born a century too late; for, without them as confidants, i must write with no more inspiring object in view than the wastebasket. indeed, i found it difficult to compose without keeping before me the image of a friend. having stipulated that every letter should be returned upon demand, i wrote without reserve--my imagination had free rein. i wrote as i thought, and i thought as i pleased. the result was that within six months i found myself writing with a facility which hitherto had obtained only during elation. at first i was suspicious of this new-found and apparently permanent ease of expression--so suspicious that i set about diagnosing my symptoms. my self-examination convinced me that i was, in fact, quite normal. i had no irresistible desire to write, nor was there any suggestion of that exalted, or (technically speaking) euphoric, light-heartedness which characterizes elation. further, after a prolonged period of composition, i experienced a comforting sense of exhaustion which i had not known while elated. i therefore concluded--and rightly--that my unwonted facility was the product of practice. at last i found myself able to conceive an idea and immediately transfer it to paper effectively. in july, , i came to the conclusion that the time for beginning my book was at hand. nevertheless, i found it difficult to set a definite date. about this time i so arranged my itinerary that i was able to enjoy two summer--though stormy--nights and a day at the summit house on mount washington. what better, thought i, than to begin my book on a plane so high as to be appropriate to this noble summit? i therefore began to compose a dedication. "to humanity" was as far as i got. there the muse forsook me. but, returning to earth and going about my business, i soon again found myself in the midst of inspiring natural surroundings--the berkshire hills. at this juncture man came to the assistance of nature, and perhaps with an unconsciousness equal to her own. it was a chance remark made by an eminent man that aroused my subconscious literary personality to irresistible action. i had long wished to discuss my project with a man of great reputation, and if the reputation were international, so much the better. i desired the unbiased opinion of a judicial mind. opportunely, i learned that the hon. joseph h. choate was then at his summer residence at stockbridge, massachusetts. mr. choate had never heard of me and i had no letter of introduction. the exigencies of the occasion, however, demanded that i conjure one up, so i wrote my own letter of introduction and sent it: red lion inn, stockbridge, mass. august , . hon. joseph h. choate, stockbridge, massachusetts. dear sir: though i might present myself at your door, armed with one of society's unfair skeleton-keys--a letter of introduction--i prefer to approach you as i now do: simply as a young man who honestly feels entitled to at least five minutes of your time, and as many minutes more as you care to grant because of your interest in the subject to be discussed. i look to you at this time for your opinion as to the value of some ideas of mine, and the feasibility of certain schemes based on them. a few months ago i talked with president hadley of yale, and briefly outlined my plans. he admitted that many of them seemed feasible and would, if carried out, add much to the sum-total of human happiness. his only criticism was that they were "too comprehensive." not until i have staggered an imagination of the highest type will i admit that i am trying to do too much. should you refuse to see me, believe me when i tell you that you will still be, as you are at this moment, the unconscious possessor of my sincere respect. business engagements necessitate my leaving here early on monday next. should you care to communicate with me, word sent in care of this hotel will reach me promptly. yours very truly, clifford w. beers. within an hour i had received a reply, in which mr. choate said that he would see me at his home at ten o'clock the next morning. at the appointed time, the door, whose lock i had picked with a pen, opened before me and i was ushered into the presence of mr. choate. he was graciousness itself--but pointed significantly at a heap of unanswered letters lying before him. i took the hint and within ten minutes briefly outlined my plans. after pronouncing my project a "commendable one," mr. choate offered the suggestion that produced results. "if you will submit your ideas in writing," he said, "i shall be glad to read your manuscript and assist you in any way i can. to consider fully your scheme would require several hours, and busy men cannot very well give you so much time. what they can do is to read your manuscript during their leisure moments." thus it was that mr. choate, by granting the interview, contributed to an earlier realization of my purposes. one week later i began the composition of this book. my action was unpremeditated, as my quitting boston for less attractive worcester proves. that very day, finding myself with a day and a half of leisure before me, i decided to tempt the muse and compel myself to prove that my pen was, in truth, "the tongue of a ready writer." a stranger in the city, i went to a school of stenography and there secured the services of a young man who, though inexperienced in his art, was more skilled in catching thoughts as they took wing than i was at that time in the art of setting them free. except in the writing of one or two conventional business letters, never before had i dictated to a stenographer. after i had startled him into an attentive mood by briefly outlining my past career and present purpose, i worked without any definite plan or brief, or reference to data. my narrative was therefore digressive and only roughly chronological. but it served to get my material in front of me for future shaping. at this task i hammered away three or four hours a day for a period of five weeks. it so happened that mr. choate arrived at the same hotel on the day i took up my abode there, so that some of the toil he had inspired went on in his proximity, if not in his presence. i carefully kept out of his sight, however, lest he should think me a "crank" on the subject of reform, bent on persecuting his leisure. as the work progressed my facility increased. in fact, i soon called in an additional stenographer to help in the snaring of my thoughts. this excessive productivity caused me to pause and again diagnose my condition. i could not fail now to recognize in myself symptoms hardly distinguishable from those which had obtained eight months earlier when it had been deemed expedient temporarily to restrict my freedom. but i had grown wise in adversity. rather than interrupt my manuscript short of completion i decided to avail myself of a vacation that was due, and remain outside my native state--this, so that well-meaning but perhaps overzealous relatives might be spared unnecessary anxiety, and i myself be spared possible unwarranted restrictions. i was by no means certain as to the degree of mental excitement that would result from such continuous mental application; nor did i much care, so long as i accomplished my task. however, as i knew that "possession is nine points of the law," i decided to maintain my advantage by remaining in my literary fortress. and my resolve was further strengthened by certain cherished sentiments expressed by john stuart mill in his essay "on liberty," which i had read and reread with an interest born of experience. at last the first draft of the greater part of my story was completed. after a timely remittance (for, in strict accordance with the traditions of the craft, i had exhausted my financial resources) i started for home with a sigh of relief. for months i had been under the burden of a conscious obligation. my memory, stored with information which, if rightly used, could, i believed, brighten and even save unhappy lives, was to me as a basket of eggs which it was my duty to balance on a head whose poise was supposed to be none too certain. one by one, during the preceding five weeks, i had gently lifted my thoughts from their resting-place, until a large part of my burden had been so shifted as to admit of its being imposed upon the public conscience. after i had lived over again the trials and the tortures of my unhappiest years--which was of course necessary in ploughing and harrowing a memory happily retentive--the completion of this first draft left me exhausted. but after a trip to new york, whither i went to convince my employers that i should be granted a further leave-of-absence, i resumed work. the ground for this added favor was that my manuscript was too crude to submit to any but intimate acquaintances. knowing, perhaps, that a business man with a literary bee buzzing in his ear is, for the time, no business man at all, my employers readily agreed that i should do as i pleased during the month of october. they also believed me entitled to the favor, recognizing the force of my belief that i had a high obligation to discharge. it was under the family rooftree that i now set up my literary shop. nine months earlier an unwonted interest in literature and reform had sent me to an institution. that i should now in my own home be able to work out my destiny without unduly disturbing the peace of mind of relatives was a considerable satisfaction. in the very room where, during june, , my reason had set out for an unknown goal, i redictated my account of that reason's experiences. my leave-of-absence ended, i resumed my travels eagerly; for i wished to cool my brain by daily contact with the more prosaic minds of men of business. i went south. for a time i banished all thoughts of my book and project. but after some months of this change of occupation, which i thoroughly enjoyed, i found leisure in the course of wide travels to take up the work of elaboration and revision. a presentable draft of my story being finally prepared, i began to submit it to all sorts and conditions of minds (in accordance with mill's dictum that only in that way can the truth be obtained). in my quest for criticism and advice, i fortunately decided to submit my manuscript to professor william james of harvard university, the most eminent of american psychologists and a masterful writer, who was then living. he expressed interest in my project; put my manuscript with others on his desk--but was somewhat reserved when it came to promising to read my story. he said it might be months before he could find time to do so. within a fortnight, however, i received from him a characteristic letter. to me it came as a rescuing sun, after a period of groping about for an authoritative opinion that should put scoffers to flight. the letter read as follows: irving st., cambridge, mass. july , . dear mr. beers: having at last "got round" to your ms., i have read it with very great interest and admiration for both its style and its temper. i hope you will finish it and publish it. it is the best written out "case" that i have seen; and you no doubt have put your finger on the weak spots of our treatment of the insane, and suggested the right line of remedy. i have long thought that if i were a millionaire, with money to leave for public purposes, i should endow "insanity" exclusively. you were doubtless a pretty intolerable character when the maniacal condition came on and you were bossing the universe. not only ordinary "tact," but a genius for diplomacy must have been needed for avoiding rows with you; but you certainly were wrongly treated nevertheless; and the spiteful assistant m.d. at ---- deserves to have his name published. your report is full of instructiveness for doctors and attendants alike. the most striking thing in it to my mind is the sudden conversion of you from a delusional subject to a maniacal one--how the whole delusional system disintegrated the moment one pin was drawn out by your proving your brother to be genuine. i never heard of so rapid a change in a mental system. you speak of rewriting. don't you do it. you can hardly improve your book. i shall keep the ms. a week longer as i wish to impart it to a friend. sincerely yours, wm. james. though mr. james paid me the compliment of advising me not to rewrite my original manuscript, i did revise it quite thoroughly before publication. when my book was about to go to press for the first time and since its reception by the public was problematical, i asked permission to publish the letter already quoted. in reply, mr. james sent the following letter, also for publication. irving st., cambridge, mass. november , . dear mr. beers: you are welcome to use the letter i wrote to you (on july , ) after reading the first part of your ms. in any way your judgment prompts, whether as preface, advertisement, or anything else. reading the rest of it only heightens its importance in my eyes. in style, in temper, in good taste, it is irreproachable. as for contents, it is fit to remain in literature as a classic account "from within" of an insane person's psychology. the book ought to go far toward helping along that terribly needed reform, the amelioration of the lot of the insane of our country, for the auxiliary society which you propose is feasible (as numerous examples in other fields show), and ought to work important effects on the whole situation. you have handled a difficult theme with great skill, and produced a narrative of absorbing interest to scientist as well as layman. it reads like fiction, but it is not fiction; and this i state emphatically, knowing how prone the uninitiated are to doubt the truthfulness of descriptions of abnormal mental processes. with best wishes for the success of the book and the plan, both of which, i hope, will prove epoch-making, i remain, sincerely yours, wm. james. several times in my narrative, i have said that the seemingly unkind fate that robbed me of several probably happy and healthful years had hidden within it compensations which have offset the sufferings and the loss of those years. not the least of the compensations has been the many letters sent to me by eminent men and women, who, having achieved results in their own work, are ever responsive to the efforts of anyone trying to reach a difficult objective. of all the encouraging opinions i have ever received, one has its own niche in my memory. it came from william james a few months before his death, and will ever be an inspiration to me. let my excuse for revealing so complimentary a letter be that it justifies the hopes and aspirations expressed in the course of my narrative, and shows them to be well on the way to accomplishment. irving street, cambridge, january , . dear beers: your exegesis of my farewell in my last note to you was erroneous, but i am glad it occurred, because it brought me the extreme gratification of your letter of yesterday. you are the most responsive and recognizant of human beings, my dear beers, and it "sets me up immensely" to be treated by a practical man on practical grounds as you treat me. i inhabit such a realm of abstractions that i only get credit for what i do in that spectral empire; but you are not only a moral idealist and philanthropic enthusiast (and good fellow!), but a tip-top man of business in addition; and to have actually done anything that the like of you can regard as having helped him is an unwonted ground with me for self-gratulation. i think that your tenacity of purpose, foresight, tact, temper, discretion and patience, are beyond all praise, and i esteem it an honor to have been in any degree associated with you. your name will loom big hereafter, for your movement must prosper, but mine will not survive unless some other kind of effort of mine saves it. i am exceedingly glad of what you say of the connecticut society. may it prosper abundantly! i thank you for your affectionate words which i return with interest and remain, for i trust many years of this life, yours faithfully, wm. james. at this point, rather than in the dusty corners of the usual preface, i wish to express my obligation to herbert wescott fisher, whom i knew at school. it was he who led me to see my need of technical training, neglected in earlier years. to be exact, however, i must confess that i read rather than studied rhetoric. close application to its rules served only to discourage me, so i but lazily skimmed the pages of the works which he recommended. but my friend did more than direct me to sources. he proved to be the kindly mean between the two extremes of stranger and intimate. i was a prophet not without honor in his eyes. upon an embarrassing wealth of material he brought to bear his practical knowledge of the workmanship of writing; and my drafting of the later parts and subsequent revisions has been so improved by the practice received under his scrupulous direction that he has had little fault to find with them. my debt to him is almost beyond repayment. nothing would please me more than to express specifically my indebtedness to many others who have assisted me in the preparation of my work. but, aside from calling attention to the fact that physicians connected with the state hospital and with the private institution referred to--the one not run for profit--exhibited rare magnanimity (even going so far as to write letters which helped me in my work), and, further, acknowledging anonymously (the list is too long for explicit mention) the invaluable advice given me by psychiatrists who have enabled me to make my work authoritative, i must be content to indite an all-embracing acknowledgment. therefore, and with distinct pleasure, i wish to say that the active encouragement of casual, but trusted acquaintances, the inspiring indifference of unconvinced intimates, and the kindly scepticism of indulgent relatives, who, perforce, could do naught but obey an immutable law of blood-related minds--all these influences have conspired to render more sure the accomplishment of my heart's desire. xxxii "my heart's desire" is a true phrase. since , when my own breakdown occurred, not fewer than one million men and women in the united states alone have for like causes had to seek treatment in institutions, thousands of others have been treated outside of institutions, while other thousands have received no treatment at all. yet, to use the words of one of our most conservative and best informed psychiatrists, "no less than half of the enormous toll which mental disease takes from the youth of this country can be prevented by the application, largely in childhood, of information and practical resources now available." elsewhere is an account of how my plan broadened from reform to cure, from cure to prevention--how far, with the co-operation of some of this country's ablest specialists and most generous philanthropists, it has been realized, nationally and internationally, through the new form of social mechanism known as societies, committees, leagues or associations for mental hygiene. more fundamental, however, than any technical reform, cure, or prevention--indeed, a condition precedent to all these--is a changed spiritual attitude toward the insane. they are still human: they love and hate, and have a sense of humor. the worst are usually responsive to kindness. in not a few cases their gratitude is livelier than that of normal men and women. any person who has worked among the insane, and done his duty by them, can testify to cases in point; and even casual observers have noted the fact that the insane are oftentimes appreciative. consider the experience of thackeray, as related by himself in "vanity fair" (chapter lvii). "i recollect," he writes, "seeing, years ago, at the prison for idiots and madmen, at bicêtre, near paris, a poor wretch bent down under the bondage of his imprisonment and his personal infirmity, to whom one of our party gave a halfpennyworth of snuff in a cornet or 'screw' of paper. the kindness was too much ... he cried in an anguish of delight and gratitude; if anybody gave you and me a thousand a year, or saved our lives, we could not be so affected." a striking exhibition of fine feeling on the part of a patient was brought to my attention by an assistant physician whom i met while visiting a state hospital in massachusetts. it seems that the woman in question had, at her worst, caused an endless amount of annoyance by indulging in mischievous acts which seemed to verge on malice. at that time, therefore, no observer would have credited her with the exquisite sensibility she so signally displayed when she had become convalescent and was granted a parole which permitted her to walk at will about the hospital grounds. after one of these walks, taken in the early spring, she rushed up to my informant and, with childlike simplicity, told him of the thrill of delight she had experienced in discovering the first flower of the year in full bloom--a dandelion, which, with characteristic audacity, had risked its life by braving the elements of an uncertain season. "did you pick it?" asked the doctor. "i stooped to do so," said the patient; "then i thought of the pleasure the sight of it had given me--so i left it, hoping that someone else would discover it and enjoy its beauty as i did." thus it was that a woman, while still insane, unconsciously exhibited perhaps finer feeling than did ruskin, tennyson, and patmore on an occasion the occurrence of which is vouched for by mr. julian hawthorne. these three masters, out for a walk one chilly afternoon in late autumn, discovered a belated violet bravely putting forth from the shelter of a mossy stone. not until these worthies had got down on all fours and done ceremonious homage to the flower did they resume their walk. suddenly ruskin halted and, planting his cane in the ground, exclaimed, "i don't believe, alfred--coventry, i don't believe that there are in all england three men besides ourselves who, after finding a violet at this time of year, would have had forbearance and fine feeling enough to refrain from plucking it." the reader may judge whether the unconscious display of feeling by the obscure inmate of a hospital for the insane was not finer than the self-conscious raptures of these three men of world-wide reputation. is it not, then, an atrocious anomaly that the treatment often meted out to insane persons is the very treatment which would deprive some sane persons of their reason? miners and shepherds who penetrate the mountain fastnesses sometimes become mentally unbalanced as a result of prolonged loneliness. but they usually know enough to return to civilization when they find themselves beginning to be affected with hallucinations. delay means death. contact with sane people, if not too long postponed, means an almost immediate restoration to normality. this is an illuminating fact. inasmuch as patients cannot usually be set free to absorb, as it were, sanity in the community, it is the duty of those entrusted with their care to treat them with the utmost tenderness and consideration. "after all," said a psychiatrist who had devoted a long life to work among the insane, both as an assistant physician and later as superintendent at various private and public hospitals, "what the insane most need is a _friend_!" these words, spoken to me, came with a certain startling freshness. and yet it was the sublime and healing power of this same love which received its most signal demonstration two thousand years ago at the hands of one who restored to reason and his home that man of scripture "who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces; neither could any man tame him. and always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones. but when he saw jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him, and cried with a loud voice, and said, what have i to do with thee, jesus, thou son of the most high god? i adjure thee by god, that thou torment me not." ten years and ten months in lunatic asylums in different states. by moses swan, of hoosick falls, rensselaer county, n. y. hoosick falls: printed for the author. . agents wanted _to canvass for this work. specimen sheets furnished and full information given on application._ [illustration] _sells rapidly. liberal inducements offered._ address moses swan, hoosick falls, n. y. transactions of a single day. but oh! tongue cannot tell or pen describe what i suffered at the hands of the cruel and inhuman male attendant and the equally cruel and barbarous female attendant, whose hearts were calloused and harder than the adamantine rock. but to my story. i was standing alone in the back hall, having just finished washing the breakfast dishes and sweeping the floor (work required of me), when the attendant came through the hall up to me with a pair of handcuffs, which i shall represent by a (see engraving). b represents the leather belt, with a large lock buckle attached to one end. c represents the second strap, same as b. d is the feet straps or bands to bind the feet. e is the muff or great confine for the hands. f is attached to b, d and d, when on a person. as i said, i was standing in the back hall when this male attendant came up to me and ordered me to put on the handcuffs a. i had done nothing to be punished for, and for the _first time_ refused to obey him, saying "i can't, i can't." he immediately struck me with the strap and lock buckle b, again and again, making marks upon my left shoulder which i shall carry to my grave; when at last tired of that, he drew his long arm, pounded me in the face until the blood, running down from my face, stood in pools on the floor. the female attendant, hearing the noise, rushed out of the cross hall with the muff, feet straps and strap c, heretofore spoken of. as she approached us i appealed to her, and kindly asked her to take him away. "oh, no!" she said, much to my dismay, "i have come to help him." the male attendant now stepped back a little with his fist drawn, ready at any moment to strike me again. the female attendant, a large, muscular woman, who could not have weighed less than two hundred pounds, stepped up and buckled the strap around me so tight that i could scarcely breathe, then stepping behind me took off my coat; she next took up my right foot and placed upon my ankle fetter d, after which she fastened another to my left ankle. (see engraving.) she then buckled strap f into b, which was around my body; she next took cuffs a and put them on my wrists; these have each a staple in one end and a button hole in the other sufficient to receive the staple. she next put on the great muff or hand confine e. it is made of heavy leather, and is some eighteen inches in length, and about fifteen inches in circumference; it opens on the front and at each end, and has a staple in the middle at one end, and a button hole on the other; also staples and button holes at both ends, as seen in the engraving. i did not resist, for i knew it would do no good, though i had been terribly beaten. she placed this last jacket upon me, drew all the straps tight, and i had on the whole of the accursed harness. immediately after this the female attendant proceeded to open the doors and lead the way down two flight of stairs to the bath room. the male attendant took me by the arm and hurried me along after her; there we were met by a patient by the name of e. scott. i was there ordered into a bath tub of cold water, compelled to sit down, compelled to lie down, bound as i was hand and foot, and chilled through and through; my feet were pressed hard against the foot of the bath tub and my shoulders against the raised bottom of the tub. the water not being of sufficient depth over the raised part of the bottom to cover my head or keep it under water, the attendant took an old tin wash dish, and dipping the water from between my legs poured the dirty water into my mouth and down my throat, keeping my mouth pried open all the while. i begged for my life; i cried for mercy; they would not desist, but again and again filled the dish and poured it down my throat. i was almost strangled, but not yet content, they both grabbed my legs and raised them from the bottom of the tub, thereby drawing my head and shoulders into the deeper water. then the attendant, by the aid of scott, held my head under water until i was almost strangled. whenever i was almost gone they would raise it a moment for me to revive, and then jam it down again under the water. oh, fiend! can you tell how one feels in the act of drowning, with no one near to pity. but he, who is everywhere present, beholding the evil and the good, delivered me out of their hands, blessed be his holy name forever and forever. amen. it was most unjust; if i was a lunatic it was unjust; if i was not, it was none the less so. strange, that in a free land, in a thickly settled and civilized community, such barbarous and inhuman acts are allowed by those in authority. if we can learn, experience and suffer so much in one short hour, what think you i learned, suffered and experienced in _ten long years_! moses swan. recommendation. _first baptist church of hoosick falls._ greeting--this certifies that brother moses swan is a member in our church in good and regular standing, and has been for forty years, and this is given him as a traveling letter. lewis crandell, _clerk_. hoosick, _september , _. preface. i have been prompted by my friends and urged by a sense of duty to write the history of the _ten years_ i spent in _lunatic asylums_, and give it to the public. this i proposed to do as soon as i came out, but i dreaded to expose my family to the scorn and reproach that would be cast upon them by my telling the _whole truth_, and when i did conclude to give it to the public, my feeble health prevented me, for a long time, from doing any thing. i commenced during the last summer to write a full account of _all_ the _terrible acts_ that i experienced, saw and heard during those eventful years of sorrow and affliction, hoping that at some future day i might be able to give it to the public. n. b.--i have prefixed an original engraving to the title page of this little history, descriptive of an act that took place in one of the back halls of the marshall infirmary or lunatic asylum, ida hill, troy, n. y. _this certifies that i was a patient in the above-named institution from march , , to october , ._ there are several reasons why the author offers to the reader and public in the present form, ten years, ten months and thirteen days of his life while he was unjustly held in lunatic asylums in different states; and there are many reasons that prompt him to write upon the _cruel_ treatment he received from beings with unfeeling hearts and cruel hands, and there are good reasons why he has cause to write upon the treatment of other poor creatures which came under his observation who were confined within those walls up to october , . i herewith give to the public and reader a true statement of facts relative to some of my former life, and ten years, ten months and thirteen days while held in lunatic asylums by bars and bolts. early in the year of , i found i had overdone and become unable to labor as heretofore. my nervous system had become unstrung; i became somewhat disheartened, and i grew weak in body. my spirits drooped, and i verily thought i should be lost eternally. i became melancholy; the sun, the moon and the stars lost their brilliancy to me, and the sweet music and singing of the birds had lost their charm to me as heretofore; all nature seemed dark and dreary, and, like job, i said "o, that i had not been." things that were appeared as though they were not, and things that were not as though they were. at length i closed my business matters as far as in me lay. during the spring and summer of i was under medical treatment up to august . all seemed unavailing. the th of august i was persuaded in part and compelled to go to brattleborough, vt., lunatic asylum to undergo a course of medical treatment. i was brought home by brother b. the last of november, nothing better; staid home through the winter with my little family. although i had staid four months in this so-called vermont cure-all institution, i still crossed the green mountain toward my longed-for home in low spirits and sadness. cheerfulness is natural to the strong and healthy, and despondency and gloom are usually the indirect consequences of some physical ailment. i have been troubled very much from my youth with the dyspepsia, nervousness, and bilious and other ailments. long before i went to brattleborough i was thought by dr. hall to have the consumption, who said my left lung was gone. doctors mistake, as well as ministers and people, and i am glad a mistake is not a sin, neither is insanity. mistakes sometimes arise from the want of knowledge or strength, sometimes from want of watchfulness and care. my great spiritual mistake was this (after having tried to serve the lord from my youth), i verily thought, these many years of sorrow, i should be finally lost. this mistake arose from over-taxing the body, which became weak, drawing the mind down. i believe the mind is the man; so as man thinketh so is he. if he thinks right, he will act right until the mind changes. we are not our own; we are all bought with a price. i can say there is one who sticketh closer than a brother; and, to-day, i can truly say, as did the psalmist, the _lord_ is my shepherd; i shall not want; he maketh me to lie down on green pastures; he restoreth my soul. i stated in the outset there were many reasons why i undertake this great work. my god first and then the people. _reason_ . because i owe a duty to him who rules and overrules all things. . because i feel it my bounden duty to let the public know that these institutions are robbing some men and women of their liberty, and even of their lives. . because the poor we have always with us, and when we will we may do them good. . i hope it may have a tendency to stimulate those who have authority, and the public, to examine these places more critically, that they may ameliorate, if possible, the condition of these unfortunate sufferers, by providing them with attendants or nurses with kind hands and charitable hearts. with a hopeful prayer that this little history may serve the cause of truth, by enlightening the minds of those who are inquiring after truth, it is dedicated to the candid public by the author. moses swan, hoosick falls, n. y. ten years and ten months in lunatic asylums in different states, by moses swan, with some remarks upon his life and parentage. chapter i. i, moses swan, was born in the town of hoosick, rensselaer county, new york, march the th, . my father was a native of tyngsborough, berkshire county, massachusetts. my mother was born in greenfield, massachusetts, and there lived with her honored parents until my father who being a mechanic, at the age of one and twenty years old, bade his parents good-by and went out into the wide world, like other young men, to seek his fortune, and by the by, as i have often heard him say, he stopped at greenfield, and worked a few months in the fall, and then and there he became for the first time acquainted with abigail clark, who in the course of time became my mother. from greenfield, my father crossed the green mountain, with his pack upon his back, down into north adams, and whilst i am writing, methinks i see him trudging along with his yankee pack upon his back, from adams along to williamstown, and by the old brick college and on, and on he travels between the rugged rocks of pownal, and the little river that winds its way along down to old hoosick. here he finds himself at hoosick four corners, a pilgrim and a stranger in a strange land, doubtless tired, but yet he presses onward a little farther, to the west part of the town, to what is called the cross neighborhood, where he hired his board of captain ebenezer cross; here he set up business, for he was a cooper by trade and a practical farmer; here doubtless he labored with industry and economy, having an eye out for this greenfield abigail. and a kind providence smiled upon him, and he returned to greenfield, in search of abigail clark, and they were married. he was now in his twenty-fourth year. this year he was married to her, who then left her parents' house and came with my father to hoosick; here, by their industry and economy, they soon saved enough to purchase a small farm, about two miles and a half west of hoosick falls, where i was born. i was the third son and the fourth child, one of seven sons and a daughter, which my mother bore to my father. here upon the old south-western hill of hoosick, upon the self-same farm my parents lived and toiled together, until my father fell asleep. i well remember the th day of february, , when i stood by my father's dying bedside and smoothed his dying pillow and wiped the cold sweat from his brow, yes, i remember very well of closing his eyes in death. i do not, i can't, i must not wish him back to this lower world of sin and sorrow, of toil and woe, though there be joys in christ for his children, who walk not according to the course of this world. while i am writing the foremost part of my little narrative, it will be remembered, that i am speaking of things far back in the distance, when things of a temporal kind were far inferior to what they now are. fifty years has made great changes and improvements in arts and sciences in this country; true it is of americans as the scripture says, "ye have sought out many inventions." and while writing, my mind is carried back to my boyhood, some fifty years ago, when i, for the first time, took my father's oxen and went to the field to plow, with one of the best of pardon cole's plows. were i to describe this wonderful plow, and we had its picture, we should judge it more appropriate for a comic almanac than for an agricultural show case. it truly was a huge looking thing, the beam or neap as the yankee would call it, was made of wood, and the land-side was wood and the mould-board was wood, and then we had a little wooden paddle to paddle off the dirt off the wooden mould-board at every corner when necessary; and now for the point, it was forged out by a common country blacksmith, one would suppose at the present day it was more fit to iron off a hog's nose than to be used for a plow-share, in short, it was what the yankees call a hog plow. let us compare this with the plows now in use and be thankful for what we have. well may it be said by the inspired writer, "ye have sought out many inventions." we might take most of the minor implements of the farmer, and speak at length of the glorious improvements in farming utensils for the last fifty years. but we will speak of but one more of this class, and that is, the wonderful buggy or mowing machine, sweeping through our meadows, drawn by horses where fathers and sons, fifty years ago, sweat with an iron hook in hand to mow down their fields. what an onward march is our world making in the things that are seen which are but temporal that must decay with their usage. once more, i well remember when i was some ten or eleven years of age, my parents promised me a visit to troy for the first time, and i, like most of other country boys, thought much of going to see the great place; the buildings were so thick i could not see the city, as the saying is. at the time, i had no shoes, and they were difficult to get at that time, for i had first to get the shoemaker's promise and then wait for the fulfillment. i got the promise, and the shoes were to be done the day previous to my going to troy. i went for the shoes at the appointed time, and behold, i had the shoemaker's promise, for they were not done. and this makes me think of an anecdote which took place between a shoemaker and his wife, the wife says, "what made you promise the lad when you knew you could not fulfill," the husband replies, "it is a poor man that cannot make a promise:" there i was disappointed. again we might speak of the many mechanical improvements, such as the housewife's sewing machine, the telegraph, the steam powers and the railways, and many other things of note that we have seen at our town, county and state fairs. but lest i digress too far from the great object i have set forth and have still in view, i will hasten to it. i feel incompetent for the great work i have undertaken. it always was hard work for me to write out my thoughts or speak before my superiors, and many there are whom i esteem better than myself, yet, however good my neighbors may be, they cannot do my duty nor stand in the judgment for me. i remember of asking my dear mother, many years ago, how old i was when she took me by the hand and walked along by the side of the wall, and from thence to the old log-house, where lay a young lady asleep in death. mother informed me that i was then three and a half years old. i speak of this because it was the first person that i saw a corpse, and to show that early impressions upon the tender mind are hard to be eradicated. i have just been speaking of things that transpired in , and, as it is true that one thing leads to another, my mind is called to think of my beloved parents, and the early trainings they gave their children; the beloved words of our saviour is, "train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." at this early day of my life neither of my parents were joined to the saviour by a public profession; they were eastern people brought up strictly under the presbyterian order. i am very thankful they taught their children to strictly keep the sabbath and read the holy scriptures, for they are the power of god unto salvation to every one that believeth, to the jew first, and also to the gentiles, and the saviour said, "they are they which testify of me." old as i am, never have i heard one of my father's family use a word of profane language, so far as i know, not one intemperate drinker. but we are not a family without faults. in early life i became sensible that i was a sinner; when but ten or twelve years of age the spirit of the lord strove very powerfully with me, and from time to time i grieved its gentle influences from my heart, saying, like felix, "go thy way for this time," promising, that when i had a more convenient season i would seek the salvation of my soul. i often felt sorry that i was not a christian, and many a time the tears would trickle down my cheeks in penitence when but a child. at this early period of my life, country children did not have the advantages they now have, and it was so even with children living in villages. i was a farmer's son, and i now well remember the shoemaker that came from the east, and whipped the cat, as he called it, then i got my year's stock of shoes, consisting of one pair; if these did not last me till the cat-whipper came around again, i had to go barefoot till he came again, or get the promise for another pair of some other shoemaker, and that was about the same as going barefoot. i well remember this day, in the days of my youth, many a time washing my feet in the cold months of autumn, and my mother oiling them with sweet cream, and putting me to bed. many a time have i went to the old district school-house to hear rev. aaron haynes preach, when a boy, and that too barefoot. i also remember of once hearing an old rev. bennet, who came from pownal to our school-house, and preached; the text i do not remember. the prayer he made i cannot reiterate. but i very well remember an anecdote he told, concerning himself, when he was a young man (and methinks he was a little hypocritical at the time). be that as it may, it appears it was in a time of some excitement, and he said he was away from home on a visit among some of his friends; sitting one evening with his friends, it being nearly time to retire to rest, he says to his friends, "shall we have a word of prayer before we retire?" "if you please," was the response. and now for the prayer. it was a premeditated prayer, as he said, and he was not a christian at this time; the prayer he had framed up by his own wisdom and strength, he thought very appropriate and very nice for the occasion; then said he, "i bowed upon my knees to reiterate this nice prayer, and for my life," said he, "i could not recall a single word of it to my mind. i was upon my knees, ashamed, and could not pray my nice prayer. i quickly arose from my knees and ran for bed, leaving my friends to say their own prayers, covering up my head in bed, with shame, to rest for the night." i would here remark, if any there be who are now feeling they need to pray, come to jesus and ask him to give you that faith which works by love and purifies the heart, and he will teach you to pray in spirit and in truth, and you will not be ashamed nor confounded. here one passage of scripture comes to my mind, and it is this: "man know thyself." men are very apt to know their neighbors better in their own estimation than they know themselves. first pull the beam out of thine eye. self-examination and the study of human nature is a great work, i think, if i have the right estimate upon them, having studied myself and others, having the scriptures in my mind more than forty long years, as the scale whereby to discern between right and wrong, truth and error; yet, if the truths of the scriptures are not sent home upon the heart by the divine spirit, they will be like the moon-light upon the cold snow. i feel thankful to-day that my mother, though long dead, taught me in early life to read the scriptures, for they are the power of god unto salvation to every one that believeth. not only good fathers and mothers teach their children to read the word of god, but our divine redeemer says, "search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and they are they which testify of me." chapter ii. this chapter is dedicated to the most essential things of my life, from my boyhood up to my twenty-first birth-day, march , . sabbath morning, may, i feel thankful that i was not left without parents in my childhood like many little children; i also feel grateful that i had a pious mother, a kind and an affectionate father, to advise and instruct me in the ways of truth and righteousness; i am happy to-day because i listened to the sweet counsel of my mother and obeyed the laws of the united head of the god-like pair who have crossed over the river of death. while i am writing, my mind is carried back to my boyhood and my school days, and child-like plays of innocence, when all seemed like a little paradise below; it gladdens my heart to review those pleasant days of my childhood and call to memory many of my associates, and the little plays and prattles we had together in our innocent days. but a long time has intervened between those happy and youthful days, and many joys, many sorrows and afflictions, trials, sufferings and disappointments, and even death, has been the lot of many of the little paradise family. yet there are some who have arrived to man and womanhood, became pious fathers and mothers, and even grandparents, and are now occupying high and important places in the church of christ and community; these have come up through much tribulation, as says the inspired writer. in early life my mother taught me to say, "our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." and when i came to riper years she taught me to read the holy scriptures, and they were they that were the power of god to my salvation, for in early life they were treasured up in my heart; my mother often encouraged me to read the bible, and particularly on the sabbath; when i was quite a small boy, she told me if i would read the bible through by course she would give me a new one. i consequently commenced with all the eagerness of a saint and continued until i had accomplished the great work, though but a child when i commenced, early impressions made upon the tender mind while it is not clogged with the cares of the world are not easily erased from the mind. although i was once an innocent child and sat in my mother's lap, and clung to her breast, being encircled in her arms for protection and safety, and had not sinned after the similitude of adam's transgression and had been dandled in the lap of paradise, yet i was born under the law and in sin did my mother conceive me. i feel to bless the lord my god and redeemer to-day that my parents taught me in early life to read the scriptures, and in them i found this passage, "as in adam all die, so in christ shall all be made alive." if we are made alive to christ, then we become heirs of god and joint heirs with jesus christ to an inheritance that is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for us. who will not sell all for such an inheritance. oh, young man, young lady! i ask you in the name of my master, sell all that you have and buy the truth, the pearl of great price, and sell it not. in early life the spirit of the lord strove with me, when but a child the tears of penitence would steal down my cheek in my wakeful moments, and i can say as did paul, "i was _alive_ once without the law, but when the _commandments_ came, sin revived, and _i died_." let us ask the apostle paul what he means by _life_, by the _commandments_, by _death_. paul, do you mean by this death, you was unconscious? oh! now, friends; previous to this death i was persecuting the church under a mistaken notion, and had a conscience void of offense toward god and man. then you mean, paul, by this death, you was unhappy, and your unhappiness was brought about by the coming of the commandments, and by their being set home upon your heart with reviving energy by the holy spirit? again, paul, what do you mean by being alive once without the law? i mean i was without the word of christ that speaketh better things than that of abel. i was living under the jewish dispensation, brought up at the feet of gamaliel, and acting under a mistaken faith. i verily thought i was doing god service when i was persecuting the church. (paul was mistaken.) as my father was a mechanic in early life my mind ran in that direction, and as i was a boy of rather feeble constitution, my parents allowed me many hours to myself. i was a sort of errand-boy and kitchen helper to my mother, as she had seven sons and but one daughter. i acquired a knowledge of my father's trade by working in the shop from time to time, but this did not seem to satisfy my mechanical genius, my mind rather ran to machinery. i made my father's grain cradles and horse rakes before the revolving rake was in use in this country. at one time i made a little trundle-head apple paring machine, and i have often heard remarked, one thing leads to another, and necessity is the mother of invention. as i was the errand-boy i often had to go to the neighbors to borrow fire, as there were no matches in those days. this led me to make a machine of this kind, to produce fire. i cut out a wher from a piece of steel, placed it upon an arbour, gave it a double geer to give it speed, held a flint against it. i then had that which i borrowed and never returned. (fire.) parents often mistake in pointing out the line of business for their children in regard to placing them to trades or professions. it is my opinion, had my father chosen for me the machinists' art, i should not have been a jack of all trades, and workman at none, as the saying is, although i have often regretted that my parents did not give me greater opportunity to improve in the arts and sciences, i have no cause to mourn that they did not train me up in the way a young man should go; for in early life they pointed me to the lamb of god who taketh away the sins of the world; and this they did by precepts and by their example. dear friends, if i have failed somewhat in literature, and in the arts and sciences, for want of opportunity, i shall not have it to say on the day of judgment, on the great day of accounts, that i had no opportunity to make my calling and election sure, no! no! no! he that believeth, and is baptized, shall be saved; but he that believeth not, shall be damned. this is the first doctrine our emmanuel god taught the eleven after his resurrection. there is no ifs nor ands about this doctrine. there is a thus saith the lord for it; and this i believed in my youthful days; although, when moved by the holy spirit, i often said: i am young, time enough yet; and when i think how many there are called away by death under the age of eighteen years, i feel thankful that god spared me till my nineteenth, september, . since i began to write my little history, i have been advised to give it up, by old and young. one young man advised me so to do, that did not know that the lord's prayer was in the new testament; and like many others could not say it correctly. now i do not neglect my duty, as i am traveling through this, to another world, stopping to listen to every dog, and beat off every one that barks at me. enough has been said in the fore part of this little history to prepare every truthful mind to listen with some interest to the religious experience of the author. august , . previous to this date the good lord and saviour having often called me by the gentle influences of his gracious spirit, now, upon this th day of august, , gave me faith sufficient to encourage me to ask him to be my friend and pardon and forgive my sins. faith is the gift of god, and without it no man can please the lord. faith is brought about to sinful men oftentimes by the moving of the holy spirit which guides into all truth. whether the faith here given me would be considered by the christian world a living faith, the faith that works by love and purifies the heart, it was the turning point to better days. many days previous to the day herein alluded to my mind had been wrought up to the subject of religion and the necessity of an interest in christ; my mind was saddened, my joys had fled and my soul was stirred within me, and i exclaimed, "oh, wretched man that i am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" then i cried unto the lord and he heard me. "when thou prayest," is the instruction of our saviour, "enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door [the heart, the mind, the soul, against all but jesus] pray to thy father which seeth in secret, and thy father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." there is power in prayer. not only is there power in prayer with a wrestling jacob and a prevailing israel, but our divine redeemer manifested his willingness to save the chief of sinners, by answering the prayer of the penitent thief on the cross, by saying "this day thou shalt be with me in paradise." i did not feel that i had been a thief or a robber, but i felt i was a sinner lost forever without the pardoning grace of god. "ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find," is the encouragement given to every inquiring sinner by the divine redeemer. i felt at this time the necessity of prayer, and that of earnest, humble, contrite prayer. i had been taught to say "our father," but now, for the first time, on the th of august, , i retired in secret to pray under the direction of that spirit that guides into all truth. having thus entered the closet i asked the lord to have mercy on me a sinner. this was in the evening of the th; i arose from my knees, but oh, the darkness that gathered over my mind; i went to my bed but sleep had departed from me; i often knelt in earnest prayer, day after day i continued knocking at mercy's door, and praying for mercy to him who is the sinner's friend. one evening i went to the kitchen, when under this tried state, and stood by the south window, in sadness. my mother approached me, raised my hat, and kindly says, "moses, what is the matter, have you the cholic?" (knowing i was subject to it) "no, mam," said i, turning and looking out of the window and across the valley. i saw a light (but it was from a neighboring window) and oh how brightly it shone, for it was a dark night and had been for many days to my soul, all my troubles subsided and i retired to rest, unconscious for the night, that it was the lord's work. in the morning i arose, entered my closet, but my prayers were turned to thankful praise to him who had heard my prayers and i trust took my feet from the horrible pit and miry clay; he put a new song into my mouth, even praise to his name. and i could then say "whereas i was once blind now i see, the things i once loved, i now hate, and the things i once hated i now love; behold, all things have become new." the first opportunity presented itself in a religious meeting. i arose and said in so many words, draw near all ye that love the lord and i will tell you what the lord has done for my soul. from this glad hour i continued to entreat and exhort men to be reconciled to god and become the followers of the saviour, and i rejoiced in god, the rock of my salvation; soon after my happy concession i related the dealings of god with my soul, and was received as a subject of christian baptism, and the th day of september, , i was baptised by rev. i. keach in the old hoosick river, a few rods above the bridge and falls; two young ladies, by name m. and e. pierce, were immersed at the same time. i believe the wicked may forsake their ways through faith in christ and return unto the lord who will have mercy upon them, and to our god and he will abundantly pardon. i believe it is impossible for an impenitent person to be happy while persisting in sin. i believe the finally impenitent will be turned into hell with all the nations that forget god. the day i was baptized i marched from the water's brink to the old church, erected , received the right hand of church fellowship and it has never been withdrawn from me. from this day i went on my way rejoicing, often exhorting, entreating and trying to persuade my young associates to be reconciled to the saviour. still living with my parents, working on the farm during the summer season and with my father in the shop in the fall, all went on pleasantly; thus i lived at home till i arrived at the age of one and twenty years of age, then i bade my parents, brothers and sister, good morning, and left my little paradise home, and went out into the wide and unfeeling world to gain my bread by the sweat of my brow, and to withstand all the temptations of the devil, and the scoffs and sneers of a wicked and gainsaying world. chapter iii. at the age of twenty-one i went to an adjoining town and (worked for j. bracket, at my trade, making barrels at thirty-six cents each, two was allowed to be a day's work, i often made three; paid one dollar and twenty-five cents per week for board), here i lived and toiled nearly three years; when in my twenty-fourth year, i was married to mary ann slade of hoosick, and finding her just with the key of my safe, i did her intrust. my wife, soon after we were married, joined the church, and in the spring we set up housekeeping in my father's house, and i worked for him at my trade that year, in the spring of , my father gave up the coopering business for a time and i set up the trade for myself in the town of pittstown. (this year i made flour barrels, sold them to van alstyne & co., at melville.) in the spring of , moved to hoosick near potterhill, bought me a team, employed hands and carried on my business more extensively; by our industry, economy within doors and out, we added a little to our temporal wealth. still holding our place in the church and attending to the ordinances of the lord's house, nothing seemed to mar our peace and future prospects. whilst we were living at this place our pastor visited one day and introduced to me the subject of preaching, and said he thought it was my duty to preach, i told him i had never made up my mind to that effect, but he insisted upon it, saying he would give out an appointment next wednesday evening at brother heart philipses (convert a man against his will, he is the same unbeliever still), i consequently met the appointment, but it was not a self-will duty under the guidance of the holy spirit, and i knew but little better what to do than a thief would in an apothecary shop, i could pray and exhort; i think if i have any spiritual gift it is exhortation and prayer. a few weeks elapsed and i learned the church had granted me license voluntarily without my request or knowledge. now, i felt under obligations to do something, to go forward was a great work, to disobey the man-made call seemed then almost like denying my lord, and thus i labored on; sometimes it seemed i pleased the lord, sometimes men, and sometimes the devil. i was also advised by the preacher to suspend my little flourishing trade and go to study which i did, spending some hundred dollars for learning, which was almost impossible for a man of my constitution to obtain, having used all the money i had in my own hands--i could not get what i had loaned (for it was finally lost), i gave up my study and again went to work to support myself and family. shortly after this my father died, leaving me more cares and difficulties to overcome. afflictions, though they seem severe, often work out a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. i felt keenly the loss of my kind father and more than ever i now appreciated the good advice and the beneficial lessons he taught me in his life-time, for they restrained me from outbreaking sins and have led me to seek an interest in christ which now gave me consolation in this hour of trial and affliction. after the death of my father our family were scattered far and wide, one brother in california, two brothers and a sister in the far west, one gone to his long home to meet our dear parents, while the remaining two and myself are living in our native town. after the death of my father, which took place in february, , and th day, i occupied one of my father's farms, until it was sold. while living upon this farm, in , our only daughter and child was born, and soon after i graduated from my high asylum-school and came home, she was married to mr. j. h. tucker, and is now living in the pleasant little village of hoosick falls. i am now living within the sound of the church-going bell in the above-named village, and i can truly say since i have been restored to my family and friends and society, i feel like a bird escaped from the fowler's snare, and i can truly say i have enjoyed life better since my return than in my youthful days. little do men know how to appreciate the blessings a bountiful creator bestows upon them until they are deprived of them. by this time the reader is aware that i have written to a considerable length upon my former life, bringing to mind many important things that may be of use to the young and rising generation, if reduced to practice, especially the one thing needful that mary chose, which shall never be taken from her. may every one that have not as yet chosen christ and the good part, make up their minds without delay; and may those who have faith that works by love and purifies the heart, continue steadfast unto the end, that they may receive a crown of life and enter into the city through the pearly gates and bask in the sunshine and behold the saviour's face forever is the prayer of the author. chapter iv. troy marshall infirmary and lunatic asylum, ida hill, under the direction of a board of governors. this institution was chartered by the legislature of the state of new york. john c. heartt, president; j. w. downings, st vice-president; thos. coleman, d vice-president; r. h. ward, m. d., secretary; george a. stone, treasurer. _governors._--hon. william kemp, mayor. jonas c. heartt, john p. albertson, john l. thompson, alfred watkins, m. d., j. w. freman, john hitchins, j. w. downings, s. m. vail, lyman bennett, j. hobart warren, thomas coleman, alfonso bills, hanford n. lockwood, george h. phillips, john sherry, james thorn, m. d., j. c. osgood, m. d., henry b. whiton, charles eddy, r. h. ward, m. d., c. w. tillinghast, e. thompson gale, george a. stone, c. l. hubbell, m. d. _inspectors._--calvin haynes, t. w. lockwood, h. warren. _committee of managers._--alfonso bills, j. w. downing, george h. phillips, john sherry, thomas coleman. _consulting physicians._--dr. alfred watkins and dr. james thorn. _attending physicians, etc._--drs. henry b. whiton, r. h. ward, c. l. hubbell, g. h. hubbard. _attending physician and surgeon._--joseph d. lomax, resident medical superintendent; e. j. fisk, m. d., medical assistant. john harrison, steward; mrs. harrison, matron. * * * * * _this is one of the popular institutions of the day. read and shed a sympathizing tear._ * * * * * this certifies that i, moses swan, of the town of hoosick and county of rensselaer and state of new york, was confined by bars and bolts, in the above-named institution, from march , , to october , . * * * * * if i am rightly informed, this institution was chartered by the legislature of the state of new york for the benefit of unfortunate persons who are actual lunatics, not for a penitentiary or prison-house. if i am rightly informed by judge r., the law to get a person into this institution lawfully, against his or her will, two physicians must examine the patient, and make oath that a. or b. is a lunatic or an insane person. secondly, these affidavits must be presented to the county judge, and he issues an order to take mrs. a. or mrs. b. to the asylum. amid all the opposition used to hinder me from this heart-burdened work, i have firmly resolved, by the grace of him who delivered me from this inhumanly governed institution, to set forth and carry through the press, to the community at large, some of the most prominent transactions that came under my observation. so help me * * * * my capture and ride to the asylum. early in the morning of march , , a posse of strong men surrounded my house, rushed into the hallway, and one into my room of sickness, sorrow and gloom, made no complaint of lawful authority, and ordered me to arise, saying he was going to send me to the marshall asylum by post-coach. said i, "you had better send me in a box," choosing death rather than go, having been to brattleborough asylum four months previous. no alternative, up drove the post-coach, in came the long-arm driver, f. tarbal, who captured me and hurled me out of door and into the coach, while daughter clung to me in tears. he seated me by the side of wm. kelly, a state prison culprit, who took me by the arm. extricating myself from him, said i, "you had better go back where you came from." r. manchester remarked at the time, he don't like silkworth's man. no one can imagine the sorrow and anguish that filled my aching heart at this critical moment--one snatched from the bosom of the wife of his early choice, and from the embrace of an affectionate and lovely daughter; and, yea, more than that, i was numbered with transgressors. and now for the unhappy ride. snap went the whip, round went the wheels; and never was man so sad, for i can truly say, no person from this time saw me smile for ten long years. we rode down the hill a few rods and added an extra horse, making a spike team; then drove to a mr. messers, took his wife and little burnt child aboard; drove next to h. wardsworth's; here i tried to elope, but vandenburg crowded me back. the die was cast. on and on we went; halted at pittstown four corners; next, raymertown; here we left the poor pole horse. "how many oats," says the hostler. "four quarts," says tarbal. mail changed now for haynerville, post-office in shoemaker's shop; next we halted at brunswick center to change mail; and next we halted in troy, at the northern hotel, for dinner; but, mind you, i got none; no, not so much as the law allows a prisoner; not so much as a cup of cold water. i very well remember what tarbal said when we started from the northern hotel and the reply i made him. "come, swan," says he, "let's go home." said i, "i have no home," and followed him to the coach, when he immediately started off down street, made a halt at judge robertson's office. says tarbal to me, "get out and stay here in the post-office until i go down to the boat and get a box for mrs. brown." i was told, when a boy, the moon was made of green cheese, but i did not believe it, neither did i believe at the time that judge robertson's office was the post-office, although he is now postmaster, in . here h. rowland talked with the judge about receiving me into the asylum, passing papers to the judge and the judge to a boy to go and have recorded. presently came tarbal and ordered me into the coach, when n. harwood, rowland and myself were aboard, up ida hill and over across the stone bridge, we turned to the right and then drove to the asylum, which is situated between the albia and the hollow road. making a halt at the office door we were met by drs. gregory and mclean. i was ordered to dismount. i soon found myself sitting in the doctor's office in the marshall lunatic asylum. "now," says rowland, "you'll show us around." "yes," was the response from the doctor. after the post-coach and the pittstown band left i was soon ushered into the back hall with many brute, beast-like creatures, to share the fate of poor tray caught in bad company. as i entered this hall the first i noticed was john p. bacon, handcuffed and bound to a stationary chair, on one side of the hall, and on the other, patrick mely, in the same way. there were others that i noticed at the time; john beldon, charles barclay. i mention these men to show, by circumstantial evidence, that i was sensible at the time i entered this institution. (i conversed with john p. bacon the th of april, , he was in the upper or incurable house, doing drudgery under attendant william anderson.) soon after i was seated in this hall a man approached me, by the name of smith, whose curly locks hung down his shoulders most beautifully. he said, "i will take your coat and hat." soon after supper was announced, then i found j. smith was the attendant on that hall. although i had had no dinner i could not relish supper in a prison, for a prison i found it to be. bedtime came and i was locked up in a cell three doors from the dead-house, on the left, or east, side of the south hall, the window was darkened by a heavy shutter and the door heavily lined on the inside; here i lay, upon a couch of straw or mattrass, many sleepless nights, listening to the screeches and yells of the inmates; permitted to walk out upon the hall through the daytime with some of the patients whose names i shall now record: some of the main house patients and attendants. march th, , to july d, : _patients._--john p. bacon, patrick mely, john newbanks, john beldon, william b. gibbs, sidney betts, john smawly, capt. lord, mr. o'donnel (destroyed bible), ebenezer scott, patrick fitzgerald, mr. babcock (has lame foot), james bolin, william lewis, alfred (the painter). william anderson (helper), isabella anderson, helper (hanged herself march th, ). from march th, , to july d, , then i was removed to the incurable house: _attendants._--john smith, mr. burr, geo. harrison, charles harrison, one, name unknown, mr. adkins (lunatic barber from brattleborough asylum), drs. mclean and gregory; john harrison, steward, mrs harrison, matron. i am now writing a book for sane minds to read and peruse; and whether you judge the author sane or insane, he prays you may sympathize with the poor unfortunate beings herein mentioned who are still living. some have gone to their long homes; and it is through the mercy of god that i am spared to make manifest things that i have seen and heard in this institution, and labor for the good of the poor. "in a large house are many masters," so says the bible. at the present day lunatic asylums have become very popular; and it is granted by many that this ida hill institution is well cared for, having twenty-six governors, and half as many doctors, to overlook, and a committee to inspect, and supervisors to visit. all this may be true. but where are these duty-bound men? one in the national bank; another in the mayor's office; another in his flour store; another galloping through the city to attend to his own medical practice. all these are troubled about many things--the supervisors have their home cares also. these are governors without. who governs the inmates? but, says one, who governed these patients you have named within? this i can answer readily, though i had to learn it. brattleborough and the marshall institutions were high schools to teach human nature to me. i was on one of the halls of the brattleborough asylum with thirty-seven patients, where blood was often shed; upon this hall was a patient by the name of adkins, here i thought my attendants were lunatics, did not certainly know. but soon after i got into the marshall institution, this same patient, adkins, became attendant over me, i shall call him the brattleborough lunatic barber, for he often ordered me into the shaving room and shaved me, and my lord i was afraid to be shaved by a lunatic barber in a room alone, no alternative, be shaved i must. and when i was taken to the incurable house, alfred and thomas haly, formerly patients, whom i shall speak of in future pages, became my attendants. these men had been self-abused; alfred was a drunkard; the others were something else--they also knew how to abuse others; give such low, degraded men the keys, and a little authority, and their word is law, and they are lord of all. such men govern within. after suffering more than ten years in this institution, i graduated on the th day of october, . if any one thinks that i have not got my diploma, please look at the accursed harness in the engraving that i bought in of mr. hogan of river street, troy, similar to the accursed ones used in the marshall crazy house, to bind poor unfortunate men and women with, and then torture and strangle them. i have read of our saviour casting out devils in kindness, and i have read of the devil being bound in everlasting chains, but it never came into my mind that such barbarous acts were practiced in these institutions, until i saw them with my own eyes and experienced to my sorrow. i am governor of my own house, but if i do not rule it well, i shall be awfully accountable on the day of judgment. and i fear those twenty-six governors, doctors and inspectors, and all who have any thing to do in holding men and women in slavery in this institution will have a dread account to give at the judgment day. march , . after i had lodged in this dead-house hell many lonely nights, i made up my mind that i was considered a bad man by all who knew me, yet i was childlike and innocent. i had more than uncommon watch-care, for i greatly feared to do any thing wrong. here i used much discretion and caution, shunning the paths of the inmates, for many of them were as ferocious as lions. at length i was removed from this cell to an opposite room on the same hall, and patrick fitzgerald was locked up in it, after which a john beldon, a man who, it was said, killed his daughter in a passion. by this time i had learned this cell was used for wicked men, and i was numbered with transgressors in the asylum as well as in the post-coach at my door, when we first started. this, in addition to my own spiritual trouble, added greatly to my sorrows and tears. i was obliged to stay upon this hall with these lion-like men through the day-time, though in fear of my dear life. i was the whole time quiet and peaceable, although i groaned under my burden with groans that could not be uttered. since i left the asylum i have often visited it, not because i felt it a sort of a home, neither because i was cured, by a course of medical treatment (for i had no medicine administered to me the first four years). i visited, not because i had any antipathy against the governors of this institution, doctors or inspectors. but i visited out of pure motive, for often the words of the saviour came to mind, "the poor ye have always with you, and when you will you may do them good." on one of my visits to the asylum, i remarked to dr. lomax, "you have got a nice theater, now," said i, "you need one more house, separate from noise, to keep the quiet patients in." although my advice may not be heeded, i suffered much for want of sleep by being disturbed by noisy inmates. i remained upon this dead-house hall most of the time till the war broke out, about that time i was removed to a small hall near the dining-room. i have said but little about the transactions i saw in that dead-house hall; many that pained my heart. among the many was one most trying to see, a person walk up and down the hall like a roaring lion, and leaf after leaf torn from the bible, and destroy it by chewing with his teeth. this bible lay upon a stand at one end of the hall. here was a mixed multitude of many nations, of high and low degree, of different faith and different belief, some mild and gentle, whilst others were lion-like and ferocious as tigers; here the quiet ones had to share the abuses of the ruffians, and the ruffians had to share the abuses of the attendants. i have seen patients that were bound with handcuffs upon this dead-house hall, taken by the throat by attendants, and their breath shut off. i have seen patients called by attendants to their assistance, who would thrash other patients to the floor most cruelly. these transactions, with many others, led me to remark to doctor lomax the necessity of having a house of quietude for quiet patients. had my father, when farming, put all his stock into one fold, such as the horses, the oxen, the swine, the lambs, and all the fowl kind, would not the strong and ferocious trample down and kill the weak and the innocent, as is done in these popular institutions at the present day? i am not recording such barbarous transactions to gratify a disordered mind, but to wake up sensibility and activity in sane minds to the subject of suffering humanity. neither am i setting forth the inward workings of this institution that it may be disannulled by the authority that chartered it, for the purpose of keeping the unfortunate and poor. i am aware that there are many innocent ones who are suffering in these institutions who are proper subjects for a prayer-meeting and not for a penitentiary. there are many received into these lunatic asylums that are more fit for state prison or penitentiaries than places like these, and these are they that cause so much bloodshed, as did haly and mrs. anderson, in my case, being appointed attendants by the government of the asylum. i have stated that about the time the civil war broke out i was placed upon a hall near the dining-room, the patients in this hall were more quiet at times. in the room that i occupied were three single beds, one was occupied by charles barclay a part of the time, at other times while i remained these were occupied by transient comers. at one time there was a patient came into this room bound with belt and handcuffs, locked up with me for a room companion. now i was in a perilous situation, for he was a strong, muscular man, apparently unable to control his thoughts and acts. many nights he would ramble about the room, climbing from bed to bed, and from window to window, while i lay mute in fear; he descended from his ramble to the floor, raised my bed from its foundation, and threw me prostrate on the floor. mr. burr, the attendant, hearing the noise, unlocked the door and hurled him out. how many times i have thought of sweet home and friends once so dear, when locked up in these rooms with these brute-like men. and many has been the time when i have knelt upon my knees in silent prayer in this poorly governed institution and implored mercy and deliverance, and thanks be to him who hears prayers, he delivered me and gave me peace, and brought me on my way home rejoicing. my wife's first visit to the asylum. we met for the first time in prison, as a husband and wife in friendship and love. but my troubles were so great that my love for wife or our cousin who came with her was barely manifest, here i had to learn for the first time how a husband's heart could bleed when visited by a wife, under such adverse circumstances; our first visit was short and i cannot say it was sweet to me, for i dreaded the parting time. behold, it soon came. i followed her to the door, and took the parting hand, turning around, being overcome, i fell prostrate to the floor. mrs. swan remembers this to-day as we talk over our joys and sorrows around our own happy fireside. and i very well remember the question my careworn wife asked the attendant, mr. burr. "what," said she, "is the matter with him?" said the attendant, "he is overcome"--no marvel to me that i was. a word to husbands and wives. few there be, if any, outside of these walls that know the feelings of a husband or a wife, when visited by their friends in these places. i have seen husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, take the parting hand in these institutions and some never to meet again below the sun. i have seen young and old die in these places and no friend to smooth their dying pillow or wipe the cold sweat from their brow, or catch their dying words. o, fathers! o, mothers! keep your unfortunate sons and daughters from these places until a reform is brought about. you know but little how patients are treated by attendants and others. i have seen gentlemen and ladies visit this main house and walk through the hall adjoining the dining room, and remark how nice it looked, and so it did, but can such a one imagine how he or she would feel locked up in one of those side rooms as i was with a raving maniac? how mistaken are many who visit this place. once there was a smart appearing genteel looking man walking through this hall who remarked (looking into a side room), "if i was sick i should rather be here than home." thought i, poor deluded man you know but little about this place. in that same room i had lodged, upon the bed was a nice white spread, under the spread, to all appearance, a soft bed, but it was not so, deluded visitor. would you like to be in that room to-day and be treated as one poor man was in the hands of two doctors and their attendant? one says, put the rope here, tie it up there, and a long struggle ensues between the parties, at length he gives a long moan, saying, "i shall have to give up." this patient once had a kind mother and an affectionate father, but where is he now? go visitor, to lunatic asylums as visitor, but until you go as a patient you will know but little about the secret workings of these institutions. fathers and mothers, friends and neighbors, send your sick and unfortunate ones to these places, and you little know how they are treated and dealt with. i have learned to my sorrow how patients are treated, and i would say to one and all, know you are right before you transport any to an earthly hell. since i left the ida hill asylum, in , i have often visited it, going through from center to circumference, being permitted so to do by dr. lomax, who was the resident medical superintendent, and is up to this time, . dr. lomax is the only physician that i formed an intimate acquaintance with while a patient in this institution, and this acquaintance was first formed in the incurable house, and to do dr. l. justice, in my opinion he is a gentleman. i found, in , that he could not only reason, but that he was willing to hear others. after i had thoroughly weighed him in my own mind, i resolved to improve every opportunity of reasoning with him i had, for with him, i had learned, depended my permit to go _home_, and that i very well knew would not be until he thought me sane in body and mind. i often heard patients ask attendants if they could go home, "ask the doctor," was the get-off. a few of my interviews with dr. l. are in future pages. apparently a garden of paradise. when first i entered this house, situated upon ida hill, in , on the west side lay a beautiful garden, inclosed with a gate on either side, east and west, from gate to gate, was the vineyard forming a shady walk, between the house and the garden was a thorny hedge, within this garden were many kinds of trees bearing fruit, and like adam and eve, our first parents, i saw mr. and mrs. john harrison often walking in this asylum garden, in the cool of the day. soon after i entered this house, i found a circular containing the rules and by-laws of this institution, and in it i learned that mr. harrison was steward, and mrs. harrison was matron. i also learned that there was a chapel in the building, and mr. harrison often read a chapter and prayed at the sacred desk, though for ten long years he has not spoken to me, neither had i been into the chapel, and no one had given me an encouraging word, however much i needed it. in , i found a friend, who encouraged my heart, and assisted me to work out my own salvation with fear and trembling. since i left the asylum not a cloud has gathered o'er my mind to darken my hopes in regard to my future happiness and joys in a future state, which for more than ten years was the burden of my heart. like paul, i have suffered, and that too for christ's sake; like paul i have been cruelly beaten, yea, and imprisoned, and my feet made fast in the stocks or straps. and like job i have been delivered into the hands of the devil, all but my life apparently. whatever might have been the great design of the good lord in my case, i can say, with paul, our light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. i believe the path of the righteous groweth brighter and brighter unto the perfect day, though they may have trials and afflictions to encounter; jesus promised his grace shall be sufficient for them. again and again i have visited the asylum, and when i look for that once beautiful garden it is not there, it is gone, the hedge is removed, the vineyard is rooted up, the beautiful pear tree that was heavily loaded near the window was gone, the currant bush and the strawberry beds all removed. we ask the cause of this great change. who hath sinned, this happy appearing pair or their children, or the twenty-six governors of the institution. we hope for the best, praying that change after change may take place, until lunatic asylums become what they were originally designed for, the benefit of the inmates and their weeping friends, and not for the benefit of slave holders in the first degree. like the garden, we shall all be changed in the twinkling of an eye. the garden converted into shady walks. during my stay in the incurable house from july , , to october , , the beautiful garden that lay west of the asylum was converted into pleasant walks, with paths and crosswalks overspread with beautiful shade trees of various kinds, and a beautiful croquet lawn, neatly arranged for the diversion of the patients. in or i was met at the dining table by wm. b. gibbs, an old acquaintance, who accosted me in the following manner: "how do you do, brother swan, i am glad to see you here." glad, thought i, and happy to see a brother shut up in a lunatic asylum. i was not made glad to see any one who did not try to help me to get home. in the main house i had but few calls from acquaintances. i will record the names of those: my wife, p. stade, pittstown; c. pierce, do; mrs. norman baker, do; mr. sprut, do; john warren, do. home, home sweet home, thought i. this wm. b. gibbs have just come from utica asylum, having been there once and again many years, at this time somewhat ferocious and mischievous, became quiet, and his sister took him home about , with whom he now lives in a low, melancholy state of mind. n. b.--sometimes a person's troubles arise from the abuses of others, and sometimes from self-abuse. could self-abused persons say as did the penitent thief on the cross, all would be well. my treatment in the main house. the first night i was locked up in the inner prison or cell heretofore alluded to, and this was enough to make a rational man crazy. what, said i, a lunatic asylum for my home, a cell for my dining room, a cell for my lodging, and a cell for my closet of prayer. ah, friend, can you imagine how one feels, sick and in prison, friendless and hopeless. the first night said i, no dear wife to smooth down my pillow, and no dear daughter to fan my fainting person, or to give a cup of cold water. ah, what a deplorable situation, if i die i must die alone. main house. in this house i received no maltreatment from attendants (much from patients, gibbs, and others). i remained in this house fifteen months without the opportunity to go out, even to the chapel. not a particle of medicine was administered to me while in this house, not a book did i have to read after o'donnel destroyed the bible. my board and bedding. as to my board in this house, i have no fault to find, in regard to myself i had enough and in good order, a few strawberries and grapes in their season and vegetables occasionally, also on thanksgiving and the holidays some nice meats from the poultry yard, this is customary. after i was taken from the dead-house cell or cell near the dead-house, i was changed from hall to hall and from bed-room to bed-room, and locked in by different attendants, treated roughly by room-mates, not by attendants personally, but inasmuch as they did not care they did it unto me. the bedsteads that i occupied were iron through, the beds were mattrasses; well supplied with suitable clothing; in this house, summer and winter, kept neat and clean (on my part) more so than of many others. remarks. there is a heaven where angels sing, there is an opposite where devils prowl. there is a paradise and there is a world of woe, and although a person be exalted to heaven in point of privilege he may be thrust down to hell. in this apparent paradise, my five pittstown neighbors saw me once, and like the deluded man perhaps made up their minds this was the place for me. be it known that i, moses swann, was never a proper subject for a lunatic asylum (only as a spy or for the sake of others), neither was the devil a christian when he met with the sons of god. whoever complained against me or believed me a proper subject for such a lunatic asylum, was as greatly mistaken as i was in regard to my future happiness; ten years i was conscientiously mistaken, they might have been; our saviour said first pull the beam out of thine own eye then thou canst see more clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye. many there are who know their neighbors in their own estimation better than they know their own hearts. my wife's last visit to the main house. in the spring of , my wife visited me; that year the war broke out in the south. as we sat in the dining room i said to her, "there is a war." "o, yes," said she, "and many of the stores are shut in troy." our hearts were too sad to talk much about home and past time, our visit was short, she inquired of me something about my fare, to her i never complained, knew she was too weak to bear my burdens, therefore i made the best of it to her. the separation time drew near, she says to a patient, "let me out" (supposing him to be the attendant or turnkey), "not so" said i, calling george harrison (for he was attendant then), we took the parting hand once more in a lunatic asylum. soon after we took the parting hand at this time, i was removed to the south or dead-house hallway, having been shaved by adkins, the lunatic barber; i was now afraid i should be shaved to death by others. when i returned to this hall i was met by a large, robust, muscular man, his name i did not learn, english by birth. not long after he came into my bed-room with patient gibbs and ordered me to change my own suit for others, i knew not whose, i was very loth to do so, fearing i should never get them again, and so it is as yet, my trunk, overcoat, and all i carried there were retained, although i asked the steward for them when i left the institution in , oct. . my removal from the main house to the incurable one. on the morning of the d day of july, , the attendant, above described, came into the hall and put an old white hat on my head; taking me by the arm, says, "come, go up to the other house" (meaning the incurable one) "and stay a few weeks." "i don't want to go," said i. he then left me, and soon returned with george harrison, who steps up to me and says, "you must go." the attendant again took me by the arm, and i stepped out door for the first time since i entered the institution. he led me on up the hill. by the way we were met by wm. anderson, who abruptly said, "you have got him then." (at this time anderson was cow-boy and common helper.) on i marched, like a prisoner in the hands of a drunken policeman (for i could smell his whisky breath). presently we came in sight of the old brick small-pox house, which is used as a branch asylum, or incurable house, to stow away poor unfortunate victims like myself. as we came to the south door we were met, not as at endor by the great whore of babylon, but by the great maiden _isabel_ anderson, who bound me, as seen in the engraving. the attendant now asks the magdalene _isabel_, "where shall i put him?" "in the room where there is one man," said she. up one flight of stairs we went, turning to the right. i was locked up with ebenezer scott, who assisted t. haly to strangle me, when bound by isabel. (see engraving.) though the reader may think it strange that i should know isabel, the magdalenish woman, when i entered the incurable house, and know it was the d of july, , having had no almanac, yet, it is, nevertheless, true. how i knew it was the third, when i was removed from house to house, because the next day was celebrated as our american independence, i saw the little boys with fire-crackers; i heard the loud cannons roar; i saw the fire-works or sky-rockets ascend high in the air from troy and albany, while looking out of the window in the evening. how i knew isabel--saw her at the main house scouring the oil-cloth in the hall; saw her raking hay in the door-yard; saw her and dr. gregory stand out door looking into my window, when my wife and i were visiting quietly, alone, in a room near the dining room and kitchen; this was in the winter of , the same year i entered the asylum. again. in my opinion, when haly and isabel bound me, she was a magdalenian woman of the cain family, possessed of seven devils, and, although the _troy daily whig_ would not publish for me against such treatment, because they got much gain from the institution on ida hill, still they caused the following to be published in their columns, namely, isabel's suicidal and untimely death, which took place march , --hanging to the same balusters whose stairs led to my room in the third story of the incurable house--same stairs she dragged wm. jefferson down. suicide at the marshall infirmary--a female nurse hangs herself to the balusters--the cause a mystery. the inmates of marshall infirmary were greatly shocked on arising yesterday morning to discover that one of the nurses had hanged herself during the night. the facts are as follows: isabel anderson, aged about fifty-four years, first entered the employ of the infirmary as a nurse some eight or ten years ago. she was assigned to take charge of the ward for female insane persons, but when the small-pox was epidemic, her ward was changed, and small-pox patients were put under her charge. at the disappearance of that disease she was again placed in her old position. she had been suffering from some obscure disease since january last, but within the last few days she had greatly improved, and when her husband (who has charge of the male insane ward) left her on saturday night, she appeared to feel better and more cheerful than she had in some time. a little before o'clock, yesterday morning, her husband thought he heard her knock at the door, and consequently went to her room, but found every thing quiet. it is probable that the noise mr. anderson heard proceeded from some one of the insane patients who are more or less noisy all the time. after satisfying himself that every thing was right he returned to his room and went to sleep. on rising about o'clock, he was descending to his wife's room, when he was horrified to see his wife suspended by the neck from the balusters on the third story. he immediately gave the alarm, and with assistance, cut down the body and laid it out in her room. mrs. anderson was a very fleshy woman, weighing over two hundred pounds, and the supposition is that she left her room between and o'clock, taking one of the sheets from her bed, and proceeding to the hallway on the third story, tied one end of it to her neck and the other to the balusters and then dropped over the rail. owing to her great weight it is probable that she died almost immediately. coroner brennan was notified and took charge of the remains, and he will hold an inquest. mrs. anderson will be buried to-morrow. she was a hard working, industrious woman, and by studied economy had saved considerable money and bought three or four houses up-town. her husband was very devoted to her and feels his loss keenly. he cannot give any cause for her suicide, as she had never threatened any thing of the kind nor given any reason to suspect such an intention. it is but justice to say that the persons in charge of the infirmary are entirely blameless in the matter, as mrs. anderson was capable of attending to her duties as usual. we make this remark, as the public are often apt to blame the authorities of a hospital when any such occurrence takes place. dr. lomax, who is at present confined to his room, stated to a _whig_ reporter that the affair was an entire mystery to him. mrs. anderson was one of the most faithful, honest and industrious nurses ever employed in any hospital and had never shown any signs of insanity. her sickness, however, may have caused her mind to be depressed, and perhaps during the night she may have been taken with some acute pains, and jumping out of bed, deliberately committed the act. the above local news is an extract from the _troy daily whig_, monday morning, march , . i knew that isabel anderson was turnkey in the incurable house of the marshall asylum more than nine years. i know that isabel anderson was not honest. my wife brought me two flannel shirts, they were marked m. swan, on the bosom, i wore them a few times and they were gone, and they were worn by isabel and haly that winter, and i had to go without all winter. so much for the _troy daily whig_. m. swan at home. isabel's maiden name was miss anderson, dr. lomax told me she was married after i went to the incurable house, in care of haly and others. after mrs. isabel was married to william anderson, he became an attendant over the male patients, and i came under his care; this was about or . chapter v. judged incurable, july , --rooming with ebenezer scott. the first attendant over me in the incurable house was a dutchman called chris, i recognized him as a helper; when i was in the main-house william anderson told me chris and his wife were patients, now attendants; the first shaving day he called me into the hall, sears standing by, who was a patient also, and i was shaved by another lunatic barber, in fear of my life, in a lunatic asylum. i appeal to the committee of managers. would either of you dare be shaved by one of these? (i answer in the negative.) then adopt the golden rule: "do unto others as you would have others do unto you." the incurable house of the marshall institution is situated upon ida hill, between the main house and the pest-house, in an open field, on either end of the house are high hills, making a lonely place. beneath is the hollow road, and on the west beneath, is the great hudson river to be seen, passing between south and west troy. often have i seen, in the time of the war, the great flag hoisted near the arsenal, and heard the loud cannons roar, when locked up a prisoner in this house. incurable house. july , . soon after i was in the room with scott, in came chris and ordered me to take off the coat that was given me by the attendant and gibbs in the main house; time passed on, the hour for dinner came, in came chris and his wife with dinner, placing mine upon a small stand and scott's upon his bed, one plate each and a cup of water. here we slept, ate and done all we did do for many weeks, and i declare, it was not a very sweet smelling place for a dining-room, in the month of july. this room was on the second floor, the other rooms were occupied by females. in the adjoining room there were two colored women. the old mrs. jones that chris struck when she came into my room at dinner time, died before i left, the other referred to is maria, who i have often seen there since , if i am not mistaken. after the reign of chris. alfred, who i have described as the painter, was a very intemperate man, english by birth; first saw him in the main house, in - ; did not see him bound there, heard he was, to a stationary chair. i went to the incurable house july d, ; saw him there, he done some painting in the house. after chris was removed alfred had the key to my room and scott's. scott was a man about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age. i soon learned he was a self-abused person and that he knew how to abuse others. i think he was an impenitent, self-condemned madman; he knew enough to work, he knew when he was called to dinner; most of the time sullen and mute. some time in july john p. bacon was brought from the main house to my room and bound to a stationary chair. now we numbered three in this room of perfumery. j. p. bacon was a resident of lansingburgh, some nineteen or twenty years old; had been taken to, and brought from, utica asylum previous to his coming to ida hill asylum. in the fall of we were moved to the third floor, and i roomed with scott and others in the middle east room nights, being locked in another through the daytime, with many maniacs. upon this third floor i staid until i got my liberty in . walked out a few times. doctors, attendants and patients in the incurable house. during my stay in this house i became acquainted with many different attendants and patients whose names i here record, and shall speak of some of them individually in subsequent pages. names of attendants and doctors in the incurable house. second, dr. lomax and dr. gregory, first. names of male attendants: . chris, . alfred, sears, patient; unknown, gagged barclay; isabella, when alfred was drunk, thomas haly, ebenezer scott, patient; name unknown, robbed me of tobacco, amos knowles, patient; william anderson was attendant from to and is still in . names of female attendants: mrs. isabella anderson, up to march , , then hanged; mary wager, august th, . conversed with her. names of the male patients in the incurable house. ebenezer scott, john p. bacon, lansingburgh; patrick mealy, o'conner, thomas leonard, dr. klingstine, berlin; sherman s. bristol, troy; charles barclay, from utica asylum; john smalley, son did visit him; mr. walis, wife and sons visit; john h. ham, father and mother visit; n. buel, troy, wife visited; wm. b. gibbs, pittstown; nelson west, pittstown; kirk hull, berlin; wm. lewis, berlin; gen. skyler, west troy; sears, and wm. lawrence, boint; wm. jefferson, troy. female patients in the incurable house. miss jones, colored; mariah, colored; miss petre; aunta (so called), miss lawn, miss byron, one indian woman, one called betsy, catharine morris, bridget hamilton, ann twogood, late from pittstown, . patients in the incurable house averaged from thirty to thirty-seven, say about one-third males. dead removed and live ones brought. reign of alfred. after i roomed in the east middle room, roomed nights, for a number of years with patients from england, ireland, scotland, germany and america, black and white, of many professions and different beliefs, and truly it was a high school to an observing mind. be it known to the reader it was not a very desirable lodging room, now and then awoke in dead of night by the groans of the dying in an adjoining bed. in this room were from four to five single beds of straw, some two feet apart. at one time for many weeks lay a negro, wm. lawrence, bound to his bed and handcuffed, singing and whistling, although he was bound with an asylum harness such as i am exhibiting around the country in public. i was afraid of my life; he was a wicked, self-abused young man. oh! what a set of school mates, thought i. but to these i made no conversation. i have often seen wm. lawrence compelled to wash dishes with hands bound; one morning haly told me to hold up the darkey's dirty pants so he could step into them. attendant's word was law. i raised them front side toward the darkey in presence of attendant. "go away," says he, supposing me to be green. i willingly left and had no more darkeys to wait upon. scott. after lawrence left this bed, scott was placed in it. although i had never spoken to scott he had once kicked me severely when walking upon the hall peaceably and quiet. again, one night, soon after we were all locked up in this room scott arose from his bed, placed his feet upon the floor, grabbed me by the whiskers with both hands, throwing himself backward upon his bed, held me fast. and i can truly say he is the first person i ever struck, and i could not strike him very hard though in self-defense, for i was very weak, and my antagonist was a strong young madman. at this critical moment the door unlocked and in came alfred, the attendant, saying, "what is the matter?" though i did not practice talking i told the truth. the attendant placed upon scott the asylum harness and hurled him out of the room; after a time he returned with scott wet and nearly fainting, then strapping him to the bed for the night. in this transaction scott learned a lesson by sad experience, that i learned by observation. alfred's reign continued though under isabel magdalene. it must be remembered that in alfred's reign the hall on the second floor, occupied by females, was accessible to the hall above, occupied by male patients, as the stairs were not at the time cased up. one day as i stood looking from the head of the stairs, i saw down at the foot, a female lunatic bound in a straight jacket in a squabble with isabel the magdalene attendant, then quickly passed by alfred, and down to the ward-hall, severely laying hold of the almost helpless lunatic, crushing her to the floor upon her back, then jumping upon her bowels, with both his knees and with all his heft pounced upon her, like a ferocious animal upon his prey. it was a bloody battle, pray, judge ye, how i felt seeing the blood standing in pools on the floor. yea, reader, drop a sympathizing tear for the unfortunate sufferers who are locked in lunatic asylums with such brutal outcasts for attendants. union is strength, this the serpent-like know as well as the righteous. and he who knows all hearts hath said, "though the wicked go hand in hand, they shall not go unpunished." alfred's reign continued. in reviewing and comparing the former transaction with this transaction, committed in the large room on the third floor, used as a lock-up for many patients during the day-time, alfred being the key-master. in this room we done what we could not help doing, and upon my honor it was not one of the finest perfumed rooms. among the many was a german man, much deformed and an object of pity (his name i cannot recall), he would walk about the room, though wearing a part of the asylum harness, discontented, uneasy and to all appearance deluded and insane, acting upon first thought like many, regardless of consequences. one warm day as he was promenading about the room he drew his foot and kicked the chamber-pail from the corner of the room to the center, dumping its contents amongst the crew. in came alfred and isabel, the male and female attendants, down with the poor deluded man, and whilst alfred was placing upon him the remainder of the accursed harness, isabel stood heavily upon his ankles with both feet, holding him in her grasp. and now for the bath-room, down stairs they went with their victim. after a time he was returned to the room wet and weak, placed in a chair with not strength to hold up his head, he soon fell prostrate to the floor with his hands bound; soon after he died and was stretched upon the dead board and carried out. i have now already related two transactions wherein both the male and female attendants were engaged in brutal acts against poor lunatic persons, who should have had the sympathy of all and kind treatment by attendants. by this time the reader sees that these wicked attendants are in league and go hand in hand in crimes of this kind. the devil is the father of the cain family and the father of lies, and almost all of the attendants of lunatic asylums are graduates or pupils in that family, as near as i can judge by their works, "for by their works ye shall know them." alfred still holds the rein of government. i will relate another transaction wherein i, m. swan, was a great sufferer, and lest the reader may think me a trespasser, i will state it was not for what i had done, but for what i could not do. early one morning j. p. bacon, scott, fitzgerald, clingstain and others, six or eight in number, were brought in my room and seated on a bench in a line, then alfred began to clip their hair one by one, giving them the state prison clip, so called. he then says to me, "sit down." i knew most of them to be wicked men, and to sit down with them and receive the mark, i could not, and disobeyed his command by saying, "i can't." i believe the spirit is the moving cause or mainspring of the mind, and the mind is the man, or in other words, "that which suffers or enjoys." reader, can you rise from your seat until your mind is changed? can a mistaken person change his or her ways till the mind is changed? could the blind man whose eyes jesus opened see until there was a cure wrought by the divine redeemer? could saul of tarsus, desist in persecuting the church till his mind was changed, for he said he "verily thought he was doing god service?" and so like paul i labored under the mistaken notion in my weakness, that i should be lost forever, yet i was a firm believer in the truth; i believed others could be saved. i was afraid to do anything wrong, and no person saw me smile during my captivity for more than ten years. but to my story. i said, "i can't," when he told me to sit down to have my hair sheared. the attendant then removed all others from the room, locking me in. presently he returned with patient sears. sears was a great, stout, robust-looking man, having in his hand two of the straps bb, buckled together with a noose made in the same. they both rushed toward me. i backed into the corner, and sears tried to lasso me by throwing the noose or running-knot over my head. in the meantime, i raised my hands, warding off the noose. sears being tired of this, then tried to persuade me to be bound, asking me to put on cuffs a, which i refused. he plead like the devil transformed into an angel of light, saying, "put them on, they won't hurt you," and then tried to encourage me by saying, he had had them on a hundred times. oh, the devil let loose in the person of sears and attendant alfred. this moment a boy came along near the window. attendant raised the window and told him to send up a man from the other house to bind a man (meaning me), and the cowards left, and cowards they were, for the boy, not more than twelve years old, could have floored me at that time in a moment. i watched their return in fear and trembling. presently the two cowards, encouraged by david hicks, a child of the devil isabel, for he often called her mother for the sake of gain. hicks was a strong person, of more than medium size. the three rushed up to me, hicks grabbed me around my body and arms, hurling me to the floor in a moment, placing his heavy knee upon my left side. "oh," said i, "you will break my ribs." "it is of little consequence," says hicks. holding me fast, whilst the two cowards bound me with the accursed harness. the attendant then raised me upon my feet; the three ruffians then kicked me into another room to a chair that was ironed to the floor, when seated, my hands being bound as seen in the engraving; the attendant ran strap b and b between my body and arms, on either side, then below to the rounds of the chair; then drawing strap f, which was fast to my feet, by cuff d and d, strap f was locked to the back round of the chair. in this suffering condition, in pain from my wounded side and ribs, all day long i sit, nothing to eat, not even a cup of cold water. i was much fatigued and faint when the sun set in the west. but, says the reader, as many others have said, who have listened to the rehearsal of this transaction, did the attendant cut your hair off, he did not, he loosed me in the evening, told me he would never bind me again, and he kept his word as to that. remarks. i wore the accursed harness but twice in the asylum, and that too against my will, not as a duty. but now in i am exhibiting a similar one that i bought of a mr. hogan, as a duty, to let the people know how patients are treated in lunatic asylums. although i have received maltreatment in asylums in new york and vermont states, i am not altogether opposed to these institutions, for there are insane persons who have no homes, yet i protest against maltreatment. we are received as insane, unfortunate beings, use us kind, and the good lord will reward you. will lecture upon this subject, and exhibit the asylum harness, when arrangements are made in proper places. address m. swan, hoosick falls, rensselaer county, n. y. a charge to keep, i have, a god to glorify, a never dying soul to save, and fit it for the skies. to serve the present age, my calling to fulfill, oh, may it all my power engage to do my master's will. although i may not have the gift of a poet, and may not have the gift of prophecy, neither be as good as john the baptist, yet i can truly say, like paul, i have been beaten for christ's sake, when bound in the ida hill lunatic asylum. it is not a pleasant task for me to reveal the faults of others, more particularly those of the dead, yet when i realize how many are robbed of their liberty and lives, my soul is stirred within me, in behalf of poor sufferers in these institutions. if these great sins are the sins of ignorance or neglect on the part of any one of the governors or inspectors, or government, it is not to be winked at. alfred the intemperate attendant's cruelty to john smalley, a patient. j. smalley came to the main house in ; removed to the incurable one before the d of july, in , where he died about or ' . he was a man some seventy-five years old, weighing about seventy or eighty pounds. by what i gathered from him he had been an inn-keeper, and had become an intemperate man. alfred, the attendant, gave him liquor for medicine, a share to himself. john smalley lodged in the black or brown floor room; i have often seen him bound to the window bars, from day to day; often seen attendants carry him down stairs for washing; but what was more cruel, i saw alfred pounce upon him while he was lying upon his back in bed, stamping him with both knees upon his bowels. the poor old man had a son come to see him, but what of that, be ye clothed and be ye fed does no more good than the priest's passing look did the man who went from jerusalem down to jericho and fell among thieves. i ask, could not the old man's son have acted the part of the good samaritan, and took the old man to an inn and bound up the wounds that alfred, the attendant, made by his cruel treatment. my wife visiting me in the incurable house with brother b. and nephew. _dr. gregory, in the reign of alfred._ after my wife and brother b. and his son livy had been received for the first time into the incurable house, and seated in the south hall, i was loosed from the large room where i was once bound, and taken to the hall to meet my wife and brother for the first time in this hopeless house. my wife and friends had been told by doctors there was no hope of my being any better, i was incurable. this caused my visits to be few and far between. i was considered a worthless man, and a nuisance. i was asked by my wife if i would like to go home with them, when i answered yes. brother spoke to alfred in regard to my going, who says, "you must ask dr. gregory." we took the parting hand and i remained a sufferer for years to come. treatment of j. h. ham by alfred. j. h. ham had a father and mother who visited him in the back hall. henry was a young man, not twenty years of age. saw him bound day after day with the whole of the asylum harness, fastened to a chair, with gag in his mouth day after day for being noisy. he was often taken to the bath tub and put into cold water so long that his feet were frozen. i saw chilblains he said were caused by so doing. young ham, under this treatment, grew pale and weak, and one leg became almost useless. i saw his father come and take him away. rejoice with those that rejoice, and weep with those that weep. friday morning, _june , _. just returned from my daughter; saw her for the first time press her first-born babe to her bosom with a smile. who can know the joys of my daughter's heart this morning but a mother. who knows the feeling of the virgin mary when she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger. who knows her feelings when she gazed upon the cross and saw her son bleeding and dying. who can know that mother's grief when she stood by joseph's tomb inquiring of the angel for her risen lord. who knows the feelings of jesus when he was agonizing in the garden of gethsemane. who knows the feelings of jesus but a jesus, when he hung upon the cross saying, "father, forgive them, they know not what they do." 'tis easy for a mother to love her infant, but to love our enemies is more than all burnt sacrifices. try it. again, who can know the heartrending feelings of the author, when he reviews the ten years of his asylum life, and thinks of the poor he left in bonds, and exclaims, help, lord, for the godly man ceaseth. help me to watch and pray, and on thyself rely, assured if i my trust betray i shall forever die. arm me with zealous care, as in thy sight to live, and oh, thy servant, lord, prepare, a strict account to give. chapter vi. fred the attendant after alfred. fred was a native from england; had a wife with him; lodged in attendants' room, near me; fred abused me shamefully by bathing and washing me in water and human filth; then galled off my wet hair, in spots, with the shears, disfiguring my person for gazers to sneer at; yet, i had feelings for others, as well as for myself. one time he had a victim or patient bound with hand-cuffs, a, seated on the irons of an iron bed-stead, with his feet fastened up to the same, thus sitting till falling backward upon the iron rack, crying and groaning in pain from torture. but, oh, alas! as i have said, they kill some in these institutions. second transaction of fred against his victim. behold the _man_, a _lunatic_, in a lunatic asylum, bound with muff, e, as seen in the engraving. and as i positively saw in the incurable house; fred, with a chair raised above his victim's head, with one round broken; did not see him strike him with the chair, but saw him drag him out of the room by the neck, bound, as described above, with strap, b, noosed around his throat and neck, as a hunter lassoes the wild horse. behold them at the head of the stairs, as i did; fred hurrying through the doorway, and his victim slammed against the door-post, helpless and bound as he was, slamming around the door-post, strangling, in fear of the awful precipice below, down he plunges to the bottom, and like one in deep water, disappeared from my sight for a time. after a time came back fred, the asylum nurse, and the poor strangled man, bound as he was, and wet from head to foot, nature was almost exhausted; he survived a few hours, and gave up the ghost. a few thoughts suggested. is this marshall lunatic asylum a slave depot to hold poor unfortunate men and women, and send them on to eternity without a moment's warning, prepared or not, and no one accountable? money is the root of all evil. and these sins are sins of ignorance, not to be winked at. herod laid hold on john, and bound him and put him in prison for herodias' sake, for naught but telling the truth. and the king sent and beheaded john in the prison. and his head was given to the daughter of herodias, who danced before the king and his guests on his birth-day. is no one accountable for his death? and john's disciples went and told jesus. and i often tell jesus how attendants kill poor lunatics in troy lunatic asylum. and i have been and told governor dix, of new york state, how they bound and pounded me, without cause, and strangled me. i carried the accursed harness into the executive chamber, hoping that governor dix would protest against such treatment; and i still hope. i have exhibited to mayor kemp, of troy city, the accursed harness, and revealed to him the cruel treatment the lunatics undergo in ida hill lunatic asylum by the cain family or their children. i have told the president of the institution how badly i was treated when bound by isabella, hoping to influence the government by setting before them the facts as i saw and realized them. i have lectured privately and publicly with all long suffering upon the subject of asylum life; though it be sown in weakness it may be raised in strength to the good of poor sufferers and redound to the glory of god. attendant after fred, name unknown. this attendant was a carpenter or mechanic of some kind; was a tall, lean, bald-headed, cruel-hearted man. his stay was short; negro lawrence was too strong for him, as i saw them in a tussle; but a child could handle a strong man when harnessed tightly with the asylum harness. a soldier of the last war, after listening to one transaction and seeing the asylum harness, told me how he was tortured when a prisoner in libby prison, bound in chains and almost starved. i have seen so much of human nature i believed him. a fool can lead a horse to water but he cannot make him drink. i have revealed great truths thus far in my history; do not expect to convert the world, but will try to do my duty. transactions in my room. charles barclay was a great sufferer in the hands of this cruel mechanic and attendant, barclay being bound with handcuffs, a, muff, e, and belt b, became somewhat noisy. he had enough to endure to make a sane man crazy. one morning came in this cruel mechanic with a cord tied to a round stick as large as a broom handle, placed it into barclay's mouth then placing the cord back of his neck tied it to the other end of the stick, which was in the poor man's mouth, his hands were bound and he was gagged and left in this suffering condition till dinner time; loosened a little while for dinner and then gagged till supper time, and so on from day to day. reader, did i not have a specific object of prayer before me as a room mate? after the gagging attendant left. another attendant came who gave me the first medicine i had after i entered the institution. the first medicine i received was three sugar-coated pills; must have been in the spring of , it was before i became acquainted with dr. lomax. no unkindness did he manifest to me, only he robbed me of the tobacco my wife brought me on her visit about that time. fall of , visited by mr. and mrs. g. wadsworth and my wife. mr. george wadsworth, his wife and mine, were shown into my room by isabella, when in came the male attendant and isabella made an excuse for showing them to my room. i was lying in bed, in low spirits, weak and discouraged. i asked no questions about friends or home. i knew wadsworth and his wife lotty, although i had not seen them in four years. for a person to be visited in a prison, especially by acquaintances, is not very pleasant and to be left is harder. i was asked by my wife if i knew mrs. wadsworth, who i so much liked to hear sing when at church. the countenances of neighbors were as familiar to me when seen in prison as out. i knew the different kinds of birds although their sweet music had lost its charms to me. i preferred home in preference to that place, and had i had one encouraging word in that direction my heart would have leaped for joy at that time. we took the parting hand. oh, think for a moment, reader, how must a dear wife have felt, when the tears trickled down her cheek, to leave her husband in an incurable asylum; incurable as she had often been told by doctors. at one time, and again a brother j. visited, at other times a brother b., and one time a brother r., from buffalo, visited me, whom i had not seen for many years, and while the tears streamed from both our eyes we separated, perhaps to meet no more on earth. pen cannot describe, i must hasten. i sent to a brother l., living in california, the transaction as seen and described in the engraving, saying i would send him this history, when published. he writes as follows: "it is enough," praying me not to send it, "i cannot bear to read of so much sufferings of a brother." i pray you who cannot read my history and sufferings take the bible and read of paul, beaten and in prison, of job, of our saviour, in the garden, pleading that the cup might pass, and read the story of the cross. thomas haly, incurable house attendant. haly was born of old country parents, and so was isabella, the magdalen woman, who helped him bind me, as seen in the engraving. the morning they bound me, as seen in the picture, i was standing by a window in the short hall, when haly came to me and says, in a harsh voice, "go to the dummy and stand till it is ready." i immediately obeyed, and as i stopped at the place he drew his foot and kicked me severely. i turned around, showing no violence, did not speak to him, don't think i had for days; but he drew his fist and says "don't face me;" i then turned to the dummy and soon raised the breakfast from the kitchen to the third floor. this transaction was the beginning of the second one which took place soon after breakfast with me, as seen in the engraving. i believe these transactions were plotted and agreed upon by the two wicked attendants. the first time my friends came i told them haly and isabella were killing me, but i suppose they thought me to be crazy, though i never heard any one call me crazy until magistrate boynton, of pittstown, addressed me as follows: "you crazy old hypocrite, when are you going back to the asylum?" i hope boynton will become a gentleman. man, know thyself. again, as i was telling another man how haly pounded me with the strap and buckle leaving wounds up to that time, he replied, "may be you needed it." i hope he will be saved by and by through faith in christ yet to be obtained. i saw haly in a fight with patrick fitzgerald; had an iron weight in his hand, and the blood streaming from the patient's brow. patrick was received as a lunatic; thrust into the dead-house cell soon after i was taken out in . i believe a lunatic should be treated as a mischievous little innocent child. i never begged but once. i begged while in that strangling condition for my dear life, and, whilst life remains, i will beg and pray for those i left behind me in lunatic asylums, numbering seven hundred unfortunate ones. my wife, daughter and mrs. alexander's visit. some time after haly and isabel and scott strangled me; i was very weak and short of breath; and at the time my wife and daughter came i was very weak; i told them the cause, and, perhaps, will never recover from that lung and breath straining. be that as it may, god is my helper, and i shall not want. up to the time haly left, and anon, isabel had access to the men's department, and acted as independent as though she was mistress of all. after haly, mr. noals, a patient, acted as attendant; heard isabel say to him, when in a dispute, he had better save his breath to cool his porridge. some of the female patients called isabel mother, and so did david hix when he came in the evening and wanted a female patient to take a walk with him; in dead of night, when the moon shone bright, i have heard hix say, mother! mother! i have brought back your daughter; and the daughter says, mother! mother! there is no danger of walking out with such a fine man as mr. hix. this was the hix that helped to bind me when kicked to the chair and bound to it. after noals. william anderson, attendant, until i left october , . soon after william came william b. gibbs went home, and i was placed in the north-east room that gibbs left, where i lodged until i left. in this room i remained at least four years. i was a great sufferer from rheumatism in the stomach, much soreness and often raising blood; faint and weak; away from home and friends. but, says one, did not the attendant care for you? i ask, what can one man do for twelve patients, by night and by day, even if he was well disposed. in this room were from three to six beds, from to ' , occupied by white and black, old and young. should i attempt to fully describe every transaction that occurred in this room within the four years, a volume as large as this would not contain it. i will give a few names of persons over whom william anderson was attendant in this room. i will relate a few transactions that occurred. myself, ned buel, kirk hull, william jefferson, john p. bacon. i have talked with many country physicians since i left the asylum, and they generally believe that patients in troy asylum are all well cared for. but doctors are mistaken, and the public are deceived, and the poor incurable ones, and others, have to suffer wrongfully. troy lunatic asylum is like a whited sepulchre without, but within is full of dead men's bones; and i say to county doctors, do not recommend such an institution, neither blow for them longer, until a reform is brought about, for you know not who the fire burns in those secret chambers. sufferings of wm. jefferson, a lunatic. after jefferson had been bound in bed all night anderson loosed him and told him to get up. the negro refused; attendant drew the clothes immediately off him, the darkey leaped from the bed, though hands bound with cuffs, aa, and belt, b, grabbing the vessel from under his bed, threw it at the attendant's head, missed his game, hit the door and broke the vessel. attendant drew the door shut and was gone for a time and i trembled in fear, lying in bed. presently came anderson with the magdalen, isabella, and a male bully from the main house entering the room where i was, pounced upon the negro, and, after a long tussle, brought him to the floor, and whilst the two held and bound his feet together with strap, b, the magdalen isabella was pounding his shins with a broom handle and saying, "'tis his shins that want it," another strap, b, being noosed around the one that fastened his legs together, isabella hitched a ginny, or her hands, to the strap and started for the door, dragging the poor lunatic out of my sight by his heels and in all probability down two flights of stairs to the bath-room, as may be judged by what is yet to come. second sufferings of wm. jefferson, the negro. again, one morning as i was lying in bed having just finished my breakfast and placed the heavy coffee bowl on the stand, quickly, jefferson darted across the room, grabbed the bowl and struck me on my head as i was lying in bed, and left, taking a stool went to the next room; did not see him strike wm. mine, mine told me he did. saw mine in the poor-house since. saw anderson bring the stool out of mine's room; inch and a half plank bottom split in two. saw anderson dress mine's wounded head. by this time jefferson was back with me, anderson pulled the self-locking door and i was locked in with the crazy negro. come in doctors, the luny negro will not hurt you, come in doctors, and give me a cup of cold water; you say i am incurable, i say i am faint. come in, doctors, the negro won't hurt you, his luny mind is turned another way; he stands with a drawn mop, this side the door, ready to meet his foes. at this moment came anderson with two main house bully fighters. slam, bang, open came the door and in came the attendant with his two fighters pouncing upon the negro and jammed him down on a bed near where i lay, whilst one, not weighing less than two hundred pounds, grasped both hands in the negro's hair, held him tight to the bed. in the meantime the second one (who had helped bind him previously) pounded him in the face until the blood streamed from his nose and mouth. "now," says anderson, who had strapped his feet together whilst they were pounding him, "let him up," instantly drawing him bodily to the floor. now he lays bleeding on the floor, and now they raise him upon his feet, and place on his hands muff e. the lunatic being bound, hand and foot, was taken out of my sight. after a time i saw him lying on the floor bound as described, with the exception of his feet; wet from head to foot; gasping for breath. come in doctors, the lunatic is cured, he can't hurt you; come in, father, your son won't hurt you; come in, mother, and fan your fainting son; pray, come one and all, make up minds to keep your unfortunate ones from lunatic asylums. kirk hull, of berlin. kirk hull was an orphan boy, some sixteen or seventeen years of age, of a slender constitution; was subject to falling fits,--have seen him have many--falling prostrate on the floor, bruising his head and face till the blood ran down his brow; frothing and bleeding at the mouth, with his hands fastened in muff e. i have seen anderson put the whole of the asylum harness on him, and lay him on his back in bed and bind him to the bedstead on either side, stretching his legs to the foot, and then fast with the feet straps to the foot of the bedstead, lying in such a torturing state night after night, and week after week. he was cured of fits in the marshall lunatic asylum, ida hill, troy; n. b., not by medical skill, but from torture and such maltreatment. the orphan died in the darkness of night, with no one to smooth his dying pillow, or wipe the cold sweat from his brow. lying as i was, within two feet of the orphan's body, sleep departed from my eyes till morning, when in came anderson with the dead board. bacon, noals, anderson and another carried him from my sight. remarks. when i ask the husband to keep his luny wife with him at hoosick falls, he says, "i cannot take care of her." when i pray a sister who has her thousands to keep her foolish sister from ida hill lunatic asylum, she says, "i can't take care of her." (what! not better than kirk was cared for?) chapter vii. john p. bacon, of lansingburgh. bacon is wronged, being held a slave to hard labor. first saw bacon in ida hill lunatic asylum, march , , bound to a chair in the hall near the dead-house; heard visitors say to him, "how old are you johnny?" "eighteen," says he. i was removed from the main house to the incurable one july , . soon after this he was brought to the same, where he now is, in . john p. bacon's treatment and sufferings by william anderson. after anderson came to the incurable house as attendant, bacon roomed with me most of the time, until i left in , and lodged within three feet of my bed. here i became intimately acquainted with him. in his childhood he had the advantages of the sabbath school; could say the lord's prayer, and repeat many passages of scripture correctly, and, in all probability, was a mild-tempered, well-disposed boy, until he was led away and tempted by the opposite sex, as many of the young and rising generation are before they are aware of the danger. bacon was a great sufferer from self-abuse. behold, what a great fire a little matter kindleth! he became ferocious, uneasy and discontented, unable to govern his mind and person. he was sent to utica asylum; from thence to where he suffered under the hands of william anderson and others in the incurable house of the troy asylum. anderson. anderson is a man about six feet high, well proportioned, of uncommon muscular power. he told me with his own mouth, in , he had been in the troy lunatic asylum sixteen years and had not slept out of the institution one night. (think you he entered as a patient? i do.) he has been kept as attendant and bully fighter many years. he was married to isabella, the magdalen attendant, and when united it seemed as though there was nothing so daring or cruel at times that they could not do. and yet, when my wife came, they seemed so nice and talked so soft it seemed that butter would not melt in their mouths, as the old saying is. the devil says many fine things to bring about his designs and purposes, so do his children. the lord keep me from such a government as the incurable house of the troy lunatic asylum, and all others that i know any thing about. but to my revelation. bacon's sufferings under wm. anderson's cruel hand. as i have stated, bacon lodged within three feet of me, and that for more than three years, bound every night but one, some times one way, and sometimes another, with the asylum harness. bacon was required to work like a slave under a cruel master, at almost all kinds of work, from the wheelbarrow to the dirty work of the chambers, and one winter, night after night and week after week, at a late hour, he came to the room so wet his shirt would have frozen if exposed to frost. what now? anderson puts on his wrists cuffs, aa, and muff, e, then runs strap, b, through staples that are in a and a, locking it around his body, as seen in the engraving, then binds him in bed. later. anderson again. habit a strong power. i have seen bacon at bed-time place on his own wrists cuffs a and a and stand by his bed waiting for anderson to come and put on the remainder of the harness and bind him in bed. again, i have seen anderson many a time whip him upon his naked flesh, with strap b, till his flesh was red as a piece of raw beef, and harnessed and put him to bed as heretofore. but, says one, as did another to me, perhaps he needed whipping. god forbid! no more ought a lunatic to be whipped, or abused, than the fond mother's infant child that creeps to and paddles in the water-pail, carelessly left by her upon her nice carpet. when i last visited the kitchen of the incurable house in bacon was eating breakfast from off a coal-bin. he is no more luny, but kept as a slave to do drudgery for the benefit of the stockholders of the institution at the expense of tax payers in the county of rensselaer, if i am rightly informed. one of the many sufferings of general schuyler, of west troy. the general was some seventy years of age; a man of wealth; lived an unmarried life; to all appearance a man of bad habits. i think his sins had found him out. he was kept by his respected friends for a long time, at length his guardian paid $ per week for his board in the troy asylum. he died one night in an adjoining room to mine before i left. i saw him bound at bed-time one night with the accursed harness, and lashed to the bed, his feet being drawn to the foot round and made fast; and as the door was soon to be locked, he exclaims: "mr. anderson! mr. anderson! how long are you going to keep me here?" "all night," says anderson. "water! water!" "can't have any," says anderson; and locks the door, and leaves the general in bonds. isabel's treatment to male and female patients. isabel, the magdalen woman, could not only bind old men and women, but the young and strong. i saw her walk up to a young man by the name of patrick donahue; put on to him the asylum harness. isabel might have been the devil, for aught i know, that donahue was trying to get away from her when he leaped from the window of the third story; as he said when asked why he did so, "_i was trying to get away from the devil_." again i saw this wonderful female come to the men's hall with a skirt in her hand; laid hold of patrick fitzgerald, a young man; stripped off his clothes to his shirt, and put on him a skirt. there was no shame in her; there was no part of a lady in her. treatment of the patient called aunta by isabel. aunta worked in the dining-room through the day. saw isabel put on aunta's night-dress, and that consisted of the asylum harness; then saw isabel go down stairs night after night with her, saying to put her in a crib or lock-up. q. is not this slavery in the first degree? isabel's cruel treatment against miss lawn. i first saw miss lawn in the short hall from the head of the stairs; appeared pleasant and sociable; days passed and i again saw her, but she was much disfigured; she had lost her beautiful head of hair; appeared to be in trouble on that account; talked much about it; months passed on, and i saw her hands bound with the muff, e; not long after saw her with the whole of the harness on, walking in the hall below me, where i first saw her. next, to add to her torture, isabel, the magdalen attendant, fastened her to a window bar in the south hall, where the sun, with all its meridian heat, beamed in upon her. many has been the time since i left the incurable house in , i have visited it merely to ferret out what i could for the benefit of others, taking minutes in my diary. learned of wm. anderson that, in , miss lawn, bridget hamilton, walis and others, to the amount of twenty-two, considered incurable, had been sent to the western part of new york state to a state lunatic asylum. the lord have mercy upon them. the first year i entered the troy asylum, i found in the attendant's room a circular containing the by-laws of the institution. to me, when i read it, there did not appear to be any thing objectionable; the attendants were required to treat their patients kindly. but who knows they do? does these twenty-six governors, under whose direction is this institution? if not, they come short, and will be held amenable at the judgment. an institution is an institution, and a kingdom is a kingdom. and when the righteous are in authority the people rejoice; but when the wicked beareth rule the people mourn. there is a chapel in the main house of the institution where prayer is wont to be made. but what is that to one shut out, more than the passing look of the priests and levites who passed by the wounded man who went from jerusalem down to jericho and fell among thieves; so i fell among thieves on ida hill and was wounded and passed by. i shall now leave this part of my narrative and speak briefly of the vermont state lunatic asylum at brattleborough, and the treatment of a few of the inmates. brattleborough asylum, vt. my ride to brattleborough asylum. in i visited the vermont asylum, and little did i then think that in i should have to pass through the iron gate leading from dr. rockwell's office and be shut up with thirty-six lunatics in the third story of that asylum. "be ye also ready, for ye know not what a day brings forth." august , , i was partly persuaded by my friends and in part compelled, by others, to go to brattleborough asylum to undergo a course of medical treatment. from this time up to no person saw a smile on my countenance. in addition to my own spiritual troubles and weakness of body, to be snatched from my home and locked in with such a crew was enough to break one's heart or make many crazy. the day was warm and fine; had a fine shower. after brother b. and myself were seated in the vehicle in came esq. warren who volunteered his services. weak as i was i had no pains or aches until they were brought on by the treatment i received in the asylums. we rode forty miles the first day, the esquire kindly holding a shade over me to keep off the heat of the sun. going through bennington, soon we arrived at the top of the green mountain, where i laid down waiting for refreshment in the fox hotel, in the neighborhood where i preached in the summer of , while attending school at bennington. paul verily thought he was doing god's service when he was persecuting the church; his mind changed. after trying to serve the lord many years i verily thought i should be forever lost, and was unhappy ten years and more. a mistake is no sin, though we suffer by it. but to my story; after we left the hotel we proceeded slowly onward, and when the heavens blackened and the rain descended, we hauled into a barn by the wayside. after the shower we continued our journey onward, and, as is common to nature, the esquire had occasion to leave the wagon; we halted. here, i thought, was a chance to elope and shun the dreaded asylum, but my better judgment forbade it on account of the weakness of my body, and i sat in the wagon. after the esquire returned we made our way onward and arrived in a village some eight or ten miles from brattleborough. here, in the hotel, we staid. supper being over, i was shown to my bed by my guides and the landlord who says "i sleep under this room, if any thing is wanting." two beds in the room, the esquire pushed his against the door. i lay with b., did not sleep sound; was not a strong believer in dreams, but here i saw, in a vision or dream, the bottomless pit, as i thought, while unconscious of all else around me. the unbeliever may argue, there is no place of torment "where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched," but christ told his disciples to say, "he that believeth not shall be damned." what i saw in my vision described. here, as i was lying within a few miles of the great and popular institution, vermont asylum, here i saw an awful pit below. naught but the inner side did i see; it was made of fire-brick as it appeared to me, round at the top, broad as the eye could extend, the depth was the same as the breadth at the top, running to a point below. cast one beast into such a pit and where is the bottom for his foot? fill this to the brim and one torments the other. i awoke from my visionary state and the sun was shining through the window from the east. soon i was on my way to that earthly hell, vermont asylum, similar to the troy asylum, that place of torment and slave depot. soon i entered the doctor's office; soon he grabbed my hat with his heavy paw says, "take off your hat"; soon came john white into the doctor's office says, "come," taking me by the arm, and locked me in the third story with thirty-six beast-like men, while tears gushed from my streaming eyes. i shall say but little of my treatment, let it suffice to say, the worst i was used was from attendant white, he kicked me severely when i was a little too slow to suit him when walking out. this i had to do with some two hundred men, bull-dogs and attendants, with clubs in hand. here, i contracted the catarrh and rheumatism by his showering me with cold water in the month of november, night after night. on this hall i became acquainted with atkins, whom i have designated as the lunatic barber. i will name a few others on this hall; atkins, mircells, an old man; a boy called mecheum, joel swain, a mr. reed, john eycleshymer, from pittstown. in this hall i was kept during the four months, lodged in the south-east room with from two to three patients, with thirty-six on the hall through the day. sufferings of mecheum the boy. proverbs. my son, keep my words, and lay up my commandments with thee, that they may keep thee from the strange woman, from the stranger which flattereth with her words. unto you, o men! i call, and my voice is to the sons of man. oh, ye simple, understand wisdom, and ye foolish, be ye of an understanding heart. mecheum came to the asylum after i entered it, roomed with me, was showered in cold water till he became like a skeleton, sat beside me at the table, sometimes refused to eat; attendant pulled his hair at the table to make him eat, and caused a running sore; saw his wound dressed. if mecheum, bacon, scott and other young persons whom i have seen in lunatic asylums, had shunned their seducers, they might have been rejoicing in health, and shunned the fires of an asylum hell. my opportunity to know the secret workings of this institution was limited, only four months stay; not being changed from house to house and room to room as in the troy asylum. i know we had small potatoes and cheap food. asylums are asylums. the young mr. reed. roomed on another hall; knew but little of his treatment, but i know he was showered as severely as mecheum; became pale and poor; could barely walk to his room after pouring four pails of cold water on his head, no alternative, the rattan lay above his head, and he in the hands of his attendant and j. white. joel swain. joel was a young man some twenty-two years of age; he was peaceable and quiet; assisted white to lead a blind man and scrubbing the floor. he once made a wooden false key to our room. i asked if he expected to get out: "yes, some time," said he, "i am going back there some time, if the lord will." the attendant made a mistake, and kept one of my shirts, sending one marked joel swain. swain is not swan, yet a swan may be a little goosey. john eycleshymer, of pittstown. eycleshymer came to the asylum in ; think he might justly be classed with those spoken of without the kingdom. his habits were bad, and, no doubt, were the cause of his being in this lunatic hell. for me to undertake to describe this asylum fully would be useless; to say the least it is a monster, and answers to the bottomless pit, i saw in my vision; beneath my window was a pit or yard, with from fifteen to twenty men; some bound; some up, and some down; some with naught but their shirt, and some with none--burnt to the quick by the rays of the sun. in this asylum hell i learn, by hearsay, there were five hundred patients, besides the bull-dog. i suppose the club attendants were reckoned in the number, at least the lunatic barber was, most assuredly. the first night in this asylum i watered my couch with my tears, groaning with groans that could not be uttered; naught but air to encircle in my arms, and no dear wife, thought i, to smooth my pillow. during my four months' stay at brattleborough, my only friend, w. robertson, visited me, and i whispered in his ear and told him they were killing me, and i wanted to go home. on the th of november brother b. came, while tears of joy and sorrow were streaming from both my eyes. he asked me if i would like to go home. we were soon seated in the coach, and up we rise the green mountain, and we stopped for the night; and now we are seated in a cutter; and now we are at the fox hotel, again waiting for refreshments; and now the th i am at brother b.'s at bed-time; and now at home, sweet home, november, ; there is no place like home! in this asylum i was a private patient, my wife and brother paid $ per week; in troy asylum the county paid $ per week, if i am rightly informed. if brattleborough institution made $ per week on my board, what did the stock company of the troy asylum make keeping me and others on shank beef more than nine years in the incurable house. . i answer, they wrong tax payers. . they wrong the poor. lastly, they wrong themselves. money is the root of all evil, and i fear the prayers of many stockholders connected with lunatic asylums are like the prayers of an aged doctor in vermont, who said to me, in times of health: "i wish there were more sick." said i: "doctor, don't pray for me." troy lunatic asylum incurable house. in this house i lay more than nine years, like persons at home; many a time nigh unto death. in the summer of , i had a long fit of sickness. my wife, my brother b., and brother j. were sent for, and informed i could not live long. during this sickness i was very weak; and, strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true, my bowels became indisposed, and moved not for thirty-two days. i was under the treatment of dr. lomax. as the cool weather came on, i finally recovered. as i gradually grew strong in body, my mind strengthened. the cloud that hung o'er my mind, during my captivity, gradually disappeared. the sweet singing of the birds was again music to my ears. all nature, which had been shrouded in darkness to me, seemed now to praise the great creator and gladden my heart. after o'donnel destroyed the bible in the main house, familiar passages of scripture seemed to rush upon my mind as though i was reading them. i will give one. rev. chap. ii, verse : "he that hath an ear, let him hear what the spirit saith unto the churches. to him that overcometh, will i give to eat of the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it." most of all, this verse seemed to encourage me. my spirits revived, and not a cloud has gathered o'er my mind since. i became talkative, cheerful, and happy. after i had been in the asylum more than ten years, without having an almanac, in , i gave the steward a note with the exact time i entered to a day, saying it would be ten years and six months the th of september, and that is to-morrow. i never lost time but once, to my knowledge. i always tried to remember what day of the week the month came in on, then i could say thirty days hath september, and so on, as my mother learnt me when a boy. after i was delivered from the spiritual mistake, and happy, i sought every opportunity to reason with dr. lomax, knowing i must show myself a sane man in his judgment, or stay in the asylum. previous to this, i did not talk with the doctor. i began on scripture reasoning, for here my mind ran from a boy. he is a greek scholar. i asked him if emmanuel was a greek word. i asked some other scripture questions. after a time, he waived the subject, saying he was a doctor; i must ask some clergyman. we had some pleasant interviews, but i perceived he wanted me to do the talking, and that upon pleasing temporal matters, such as telling anecdotes. this i could do, for i was jovial as a hungry pig squealing for his dinner. i mind one. a dutchman, who had spent a fortune by intemperance, after which becoming a good and temperate man, says: "i know more than any dutchman in town." "how is that?" says doctor or haunse, who were standing by. "can't you furstawn, haunse? i have found out that i am a fool." again, a funny joke on the doctor. going into his office: "good morning, doctor," said i. "doctor, do you know where i can get a calve's rennet or a cod-fish to grease my hair?" i asked the doctor how he found me, when i first began to talk with him. he said: "reasonable." brother b. has come for me, this th day of october, . "good-bye, doctor; i'm going home--i'm going home." chapter viii. since i left troy lunatic asylum as a patient. more than three years have elapsed since i left the asylum, yet i have often visited it within that time, taking a survey with diary and pen in hand, minuting down names of persons, localities and transactions, to refresh my mind in this direction that i might be better prepared to do justice to my god, the people and myself while wielding the pen in this great and awful disclosure, not forgetful to implore aid from that spirit which guides into all truth. since i left the asylum i have availed myself of books written by different authors who have been shut up in lunatic asylums, whose disclosures correspond with the facts herein set forth in regard to the treatment of patients. rev. h. chase penned out two years and four months of his asylum life spent in utica asylum. i believe it was an oversight in his friends in sending him there. the reverend remarks that he is not aware that anybody in or out of the church looks upon him otherwise than before he went to the institution. i would be glad if i could have as much charity as the reverend. but i have no confidence in the flesh; since i left the asylum my reputation has been encroached upon by the slanderer's tongue, by magistrate, by the foreman in the great mowing machine shop at falls, by grandfathers, behind my back, before children, who have said to me, "grand pa says that you are crazy, and asks when are you going back to the asylum." let those slanderers know we have as much feeling as a toad, and try to become gentlemen. before i went to the asylums as a patient i was totally ignorant of the character and secret workings of these popular institutions. i was also totally ignorant and understood not the different modes and operations practiced in sending patients to insane or lunatic asylums. law, and different modes practiced in sending patients to lunatic asylums. i learned from ex-judge robertson and others the law to send a patient to a lunatic asylum. two physicians examine the patient, pronounce him or her insane, by oath; the county judge being notified to this effect, issues an order and the patient is sent to the smut mill of hell or to a lunatic asylum. it must not be understood that the same mode of operation is practiced in all cases. some patients are supported in the troy institution solely by the county; while others by the patient himself or herself, for instance, as general schuyler, whose guardian paid $ per week for his board, he died in an adjoining room to me, fared no better than bacon and others (property sold since for $ , ). i entered the brattleborough institution as a private; it was not necessary to consult doctors, judges or jurors; i was a husband; brother b. gave bonds for security; i heard him call for them, and saw the doctor hand them to him before we left; suppose it to have been a wife or a child, it would have been all the same. when brother b. came for me to go home from the troy asylum, october , , we met steward harrison. i asked him for my trunk and clothing, but have not as yet obtained it. i shall ask once more. oh! how much i needed my overcoat in the cold fall and winter after i got home, going to and from my shop; i well remember what my wife and daughter said after cordially greeting me, "we don't expect you to do any thing;" thought i, "these feeble women can't support me and themselves with the needle," and i, joking, said to encourage them, "you will see me coming up this hill, with a half barrel of flour on my back" (at the time a pail of water was all i could carry up stairs); sure enough, before january, i surprised my family by sending up the hill a barrel of flour and pounds of pork, besides many other necessaries; these i earned working upon my knees part of the time, and they did not set us back, but came good when i lay sick in january and february, , nigh unto death with inflammation of the lungs; but thanks be to the great giver, in that sickness i had a beloved wife to smooth my pillow, and an affectionate daughter to administer the necessary cordials. * * * * * my daughter writes as follows, before i left the asylum: pittstown, _september , _. my dear father,--i received your letter, and was pleased to hear you are better. i will write you a few lines to let you know what we intend to do about having you come home. we are intending to have you come home when dr. lomax says you are well enough and can, and when you come home we will try to make home as pleasant as we can, so try to keep up good courage. please write if you feel able. this from your affectionate daughter, martha a. swan. a word to the people. proverbs , . buy the truth and sell it not; also wisdom and instruction, and understanding. for a description of my heart-felt sorrow during those ten years of my captivity, read psalm . to know my joys and hopes since the cloud passed off, that hung so heavily, long over my mind, read psalm . "the lord is my shepherd; i shall not want." "if any one knoweth how to appreciate the blessedness of liberty and good society, i more." "the kingdom of heaven is with men; but without, are dogs and liars, and sorcerers and whoremongers, and he that willeth and maketh a lie." "seek first the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness, and all things shall be added unto you." "the lord god is a sun and a shield, for a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. i had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my god, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness." to prevent any person going to a lunatic asylum as patient wrongfully, i recommend: st. that the complainant be required to summon each physician in said town where the defendant lives, these being duly sworn after having examined the accused or defendant in regard to his sanity or insanity. d. that this examination be in presence of twelve legal unprejudiced jurors who shall weigh the testimony and decide accordingly in regard to his being a proper subject of a lunatic asylum. d. that the defendant or accused, like paul before felix, be permitted to answer for him or herself. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ transcriber's notes original spellings and inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained. minor punctuation errors were corrected on pages , , , , , , , and . the following apparent typographical errors were corrected. page , "to day" changed to "to-day." (i am happy to-day because i listened...) page , "encourged" changed to "encouraged." (...my mother often encouraged me to read the bible...) page , "belden" changed to "beldon." (... a john beldon, a man who, it was said...) page , "conscientiouly" changed to "conscientiously." (...ten years i was conscientiously mistaken...) page , "brutual" changed to "brutal." (...were engaged in brutal acts against poor lunatic persons...) page , "hoosic" changed to "hoosick." (...keep his luny wife with him at hoosick falls...) page , "shirt" changed to "skirt." (...to the men's hall with a skirt in her hand...) page , "o'donnell" changed to "o'donnel." (after o'donnel destroyed the bible in the main house...) page , "smutmill" changed to "smut mill." (...sent to the smut mill of hell...)