Recollections of Windsor Prison; / Containing Sketches of its History and Discipline, with Appropriate Strictures and Moral and Religious Reflection

by of Vermont John Reynolds

The cry that he was able to work, and was counterfeiting his appearance, had been rung so long, that it triumphed over all the science and practice of the doctor, and led him to neglect him under the impression that he was a hypocrite. At last, his suffering, and dying, and persecuted patient said,—"Doctor, I wish you would do something for me."—"I will do something for you," was the significant and fatal reply; and he immediately ordered him large and frequent doses of calomel, which every novice in the medical art knew was a very fatal medicine to that complaint in its present confirmed stage. It was not long in doing its work, and the victim was laid in the earth. When the doctor was afterwards asked why he gave the calomel, he replied; "I knew its nature and effects, and I thought I would make short work of it."—I do not suppose that the physician intended to kill the man, but I suppose he meant to try an experiment. His opinion was, that the effect would soon be apparent, and be fatal if the disease were firmly seated; and I blame him for listening to those who had an interest in deceiving him, and not acting from his own examination, as he would in other cases.

The keeper who drove this dying man from the place provided for such sufferers, and made him labor when he ought to have been at rest, I knew well, and I have always considered him to be one of the most unfeeling, as well as ignorant, and unprincipled of the human race. This is not the only case in which I shall present him to the contempt of the reader, for many are the dark records against him, and through many years was he an infernal spirit in the prison, a Satan to the sick, and a curse to the well.

A friend of mine watched with this man the night he died. Soon after he went into his room, he made an effort to rise. There was a remarkable expression in his countenance, and he was asked if the bell should be rung to call the keeper? He shook his head. His eyes opened very wide, and looked wishful and anxious. They then rolled back in his head and he lay a few minutes and then recovered. He said—"I thought I was going; if I have another such turn, send for the keeper." This was his last utterance. He lay for some time very still, and when the nurse went to him again he was dead.

In the bloom and strength of manhood, this unhappy man was hurried out of time, by those who should have been his friends and treated him kindly. No inscription is on his tomb. He sleeps in silent peace near the room in which he died; and his spirit is where the prisoners hear not the voice of oppressors.

LEVITT.

This young man had been under the influence of mental derangement a few years before he became a prisoner, and he had not yet so far recovered but that his mind was often very much depressed, and his ideas confused; and this induced an unhealthy and debilitated state of body. During one of these frequent seasons of disease, a phial of nitric acid was given him by the doctor, of which he was directed to take a few drops in half a tumbler of water twice a day. This prescription he followed a few days; and then one morning, in a fit of delirium, he took all that remained in an equal quantity of water at once. The effect was immediate; he was senseless, and stiffened with convulsions, and in this condition was conveyed to the hospital, where he endured for several weeks as much bodily pain as human nature can suffer.

For three or four weeks he was perfectly senseless to all appearance; he breathed, but almost imperceptibly; he could neither see nor hear; and the only indications of life were his feeble pulse and his feebler breath. While he lay in this condition, he was so shamefully neglected, that certain living creatures began to inhabit his eyes! His clothes were not changed, his face was not washed, and all that was done for him was to administer the medicine prescribed and pour a little gruel into his mouth. No one supposed it possible for him to live, and he was left, in utter neglect, to die. His rash act was the theme of unfeeling and inhuman sport; and it was said that, as he wanted to die, it was a pity that he should not have his wish.

After a few weeks, however, contrary to all expectations, he began to give evidence of returning life. His head began to move, and it became apparent that he could hear; but he could not speak louder than the lowest whisper, and he could see nothing distinctly. At this time his iron-hearted keeper, in the luxury of his unearthly feelings, would move the candle before his eyes in order to draw his attention, and when he seemed not to notice it, he would thrust it close up to his face until he burned off all his eye brows.

By slow degrees he so far regained his health as to be able to walk about and perform some labor, though his voice was nothing but an audible whisper, and his eye-sight would not, with the best glass, enable him to read.

When he returned to his work, I had an opportunity of conversing with him, and I learned from his own lips the cause of his attempt at suicide, and his bodily feelings under the effect of the medicine he so rashly took. He said that life had lost all its charms to him; he had lost the confidence and respect of mankind, and nothing awaited him but ignominy, and the keen rebuke of a guilty conscience, which he was unable to bear. He dreaded to die, but he dreaded more to live. He had thought on the crime of suicide; he had thought also on the crimes of which he had already been guilty; and his conclusion was that the door of mercy was closed against him. "A guilty conscience! despair of the mercy of heaven! these," said he, "kept me in awful dread of the pains of eternal death; and convinced that this dread of hell was worse than the suffering dreaded, I resolved to know the worst, and hang no longer on the rack of anticipated destruction."