On the morning of the 3d day of July, 1862, 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 3d of July, 1862, 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 1860, 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 16, 1873—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 1 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 6 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 1 and 6 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.