APRIL
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 3.
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 30.
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.
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