III

It was squarely in front of the dining-room window that I fell, and those at dinner were, of course, startled.  It took them a second or two to realize what had happened.  Then my younger brother rushed out, and with others carried me into the house.  Naturally that dinner was permanently interrupted.  A mattress was placed on the floor of the dining room and I on that, suffering intensely.  I said little, but what I said was significant.  “I thought I had epilepsy!” was my first remark; and several times I said, “I wish it was over!” For I believed that my death was only a question of hours.  To the doctors, who soon arrived, I said, “My back is broken!”—­raising myself slightly, however, as I said so.

An ambulance was summoned and I was placed in it.  Because of the nature of my injuries it had to proceed slowly.  The trip of a mile and a half seemed interminable, but finally I arrived at Grace Hospital and was placed in a room which soon became a chamber of torture.  It was on the second floor; and the first object to engage my attention and stir my imagination was a man who appeared outside my window and placed in position several heavy iron bars.  These were, it seems, thought necessary for my protection, but at that time no such idea occurred to me.  My mind was in a delusional state, ready and eager to seize upon any external stimulus as a pretext for its wild inventions, and that barred window started a terrible train of delusions which persisted for seven hundred and ninety-eight days.  During that period my mind imprisoned both mind and body in a dungeon than which none was ever more secure.

Knowing that those who attempt suicide are usually placed under arrest, I believed myself under legal restraint.  I imagined that at any moment I might be taken to court to face some charge lodged against me by the local police.  Every act of those about me seemed to be a part of what, in police parlance, is commonly called the “Third Degree.”  The hot poultices placed upon my feet and ankles threw me into a profuse perspiration, and my very active association of mad ideas convinced me that I was being “sweated”—­another police term which I had often seen in the newspapers.  I inferred that this third-degree sweating process was being inflicted in order to extort some kind of a confession, though what my captors wished me to confess I could not for my life imagine.  As I was really in a state of delirium, with high fever, I had an insatiable thirst.  The only liquids given me were hot saline solutions.  Though there was good reason for administering these, I believed they were designed for no other purpose than to increase my sufferings, as part of the same inquisitorial process.  But had a confession been due, I could hardly have made it, for that part of my brain which controls the power of speech was seriously affected, and was soon to be further disabled by my ungovernable thoughts.  Only an occasional word did I utter.