have described?”
I had seen them in the new Western Penitentiary at Pittsburg, Pa.,
but I did not dare say so. I merely answered:
“Oh, I have seen them in a place I was in–I mean as a visitor.”
“There is only one place I know of where they have those locks,” he
said, sadly, “and that is at Sing Sing.”
The inference is conclusive. I laughed very heartily over the implied
accusation, and tried to assure him that I had never, up to date, been
an inmate of Sing Sing or even ever visited it.
Just as the morning began to dawn I went to sleep. It did not seem
many moments until I was rudely awakened and told to get up, the
window being opened and the clothing pulled off me. My hair was
still wet and I had pains all through me, as if I had the rheumatism.
Some clothing was flung on the floor and I was told to put it on. I
asked for my own, but was told to take what I got and keep quiet by
the apparently head nurse, Miss Grady. I looked at it. One underskirt
made of coarse dark cotton goods and a cheap white calico dress
with a black spot in it. I tied the strings of the skirt around me and
put on the little dress. It was made, as are all those worn by the
patients, into a straight tight waist sewed on to a straight skirt. As I
buttoned the waist I noticed the underskirt was about six inches
longer than the upper, and for a moment I sat down on the bed and
laughed at my own appearance. No woman ever longed for a mirror
more than I did at that moment.
I saw the other patients hurrying past in the hall, so I decided not to
lose anything that might be going on. We numbered forty-five
63
Ten Days in a Mad-House
patients in Hall 6, and were sent to the bathroom, where there were
two coarse towels. I watched crazy patients who had the most
dangerous eruptions all over their faces dry on the towels and then
saw women with clean skins turn to use them. I went to the bathtub
and washed my face at the running faucet and my underskirt did
duty for a towel.
Before I had completed my ablutions a bench was brought into the
bathroom. Miss Grupe and Miss McCarten came in with combs in
their hands. We were told so sit down on the bench, and the hair of
forty-five women was combed with one patient, two nurses, and six
combs. As I saw some of the sore heads combed I thought this was
another dose I had not bargained for. Miss Tillie Mayard had her
own comb, but it was taken from her by Miss Grady. Oh, that
combing! I never realized before what the expression “I’ll give you a
combing” meant, but I knew then. My hair, all matted and wet from
the night previous, was pulled and jerked, and, after expostulating to
no avail, I set my teeth and endured the pain. They refused to give
me my hairpins, and my hair was arranged in one plait and tied with
a red cotton rag. My curly bangs refused to stay back, so that at least
was left of my former glory.
After this we went to the sitting-room and I looked for my
companions. At first I looked vainly, unable to distinguish them
from the other patients, but after awhile I recognized Miss Mayard
by her short hair.
“How did you sleep after your cold bath?”
“I almost froze, and then the noise kept me awake. It’s dreadful! My
nerves were so unstrung before I came here, and I fear I shall not be
able to stand the strain.”
I did the best I could to cheer her. I asked that we be given additional
clothing, at least as much as custom says women shall wear, but they
told me to shut up; that we had as much as they intended to give us.
64
Ten Days in a Mad-House
We were compelled to get up at 5.30 o’clock, and at 7.15 we were
told to collect in the hall, where the experience of waiting, as on the
evening previous, was repeated. When we got into the dining-room
at last we found a bowl of cold tea, a slice of buttered bread and a
saucer of oatmeal, with molasses on it, for each patient. I was
hungry, but the food would not down. I asked
Lorraine Massey, Michele Bender