Produced by Stacy Brown, K.D. 1885. 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." 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. She
was making it for some friend in the Asylum. 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 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. I have more to occupy my time now. I do it when no one sees me. I shall do all I can to make
myself comfortable, and they all share it. I am regulating the comfort of this ward in a
measure, but they don't know it. And I said, "Oh
Lewis, my dear boy, I am well enough to go home with you to your hotel
now." His reply was, "I don't
keep a boarding house." 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. 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. She is afraid of Mrs. Mills, and dare not ask for
any favor. He said they were for the indigent patients, so I got
none. No one would do me an errand outside. 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. I don't think so. 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. 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. 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. Her father came to see her, and she cried to go home
with him. She looked _so sad_, I was drawn to her at once. 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. 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. I wish I was like
you." I thought,
perhaps, she had done some great wrong. She has been here a long time. The nurses
were using force, and she struggled against it. They made her walk. Perhaps she has read too much and injured her brain; if so, I
would not let her read so much. 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 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. 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 was very much alone, engaged in writing a book on the laws of health. 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 ordered them away, but they would not go. I remember I kissed him
when he came, asked him what he came for, and bade him leave me. 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. My poor boys, how
tried and worried they must have been. I can but laugh when I
think of it now, but it was very real to me then. I was confirmed by Bishop John
Fredricton, in Trinity Church. I tasted it, and my fast was broken. 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. 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. Poor boys, I wonder if they remember that journey in the cars as I do. 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. They did not live to coax crazy people. If we live well, we will not be afraid to die. Dear
Lorelle, we all loved her for her goodness, and pitied her for her
infirmity. I know she is happy now. It is this waiting so long a prisoner, begging to be liberated. She is a
well-educated, intelligent lady. This day,
I remember, was worse than common days of trouble. 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. 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. She was angry at me again; she ordered me to my room,
and threatened to lock me in. I
am sorry to have him go so far. I have dreamed of seeing him looking
wretched and crying for fresh air, for he was suffocating. This day I had urged him all I could, and he left me, saying he
had too much on his mind today. I have stood
almost where He has stood, once before in my life. No steam on; I tried
the radiators, but there was no hot air to come. He said, "The hard
coal is all gone." 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?" I would like so much to
look after these poor women, who are so neglected. He received me very kindly, as did
also his good lady. "Lewis Huestis," said he, "I knew him well."