IV

Naturally I was suspicious of all about me, and became more so each day.  But not until about a month later did I refuse to recognize my relatives.  While I was at Grace Hospital, my father and eldest brother called almost every day to see me, and, though I said little, I still accepted them in their proper characters.  I remember well a conversation one morning with my father.  The words I uttered were few, but full of meaning.  Shortly before this time my death had been momentarily expected.  I still believed that I was surely about to die as a result of my injuries, and I wished in some way to let my father know that, despite my apparently ignominious end, I appreciated all that he had done for me during my life.  Few men, I believe, ever had a more painful time in expressing their feelings than I had on that occasion.  I had but little control over my mind, and my power of speech was impaired.  My father sat beside my bed.  Looking up at him, I said, “You have been a good father to me.”

“I have always tried to be,” was his characteristic reply.

After the broken bones had been set, and the full effects of the severe shock I had sustained had worn off, I began to gain strength.  About the third week I was able to sit up and was occasionally taken out of doors But each day, and especially during the hours of the night, my delusions increased in force and variety.  The world was fast becoming to me a stage on which every human being within the range of my senses seemed to be playing a part, and that a part which would lead not only to my destruction (for which I cared little), but also to the ruin of all with whom I had ever come in contact.  In the month of July several thunder-storms occurred.  To me the thunder was “stage” thunder, the lightning man-made, and the accompanying rain due to some clever contrivance of my persecutors.  There was a chapel connected with the hospital—­or at least a room where religious services were held every Sunday.  To me the hymns were funeral dirges; and the mumbled prayers, faintly audible, were in behalf of every sufferer in the world but one.

It was my eldest brother who looked after my care and interests during my entire illness.  Toward the end of July, he informed me that I was to be taken home again.  I must have given him an incredulous look, for he said, “Don’t you think we can take you home?  Well, we can and will.”  Believing myself in the hands of the police, I did not see how that was possible.  Nor did I have any desire to return.  That a man who had disgraced his family should again enter his old home and expect his relatives to treat him as though nothing were changed, was a thought against which my soul rebelled; and, when the day came for my return, I fought my brother and the doctor feebly as they lifted me from the bed.  But I soon submitted, was placed in a carriage, and driven to the house I had left a month earlier.