During most of this time I was held also in seclusion in a padded cell.  A padded cell is a vile hole.  The side walls are padded as high as a man can reach, as is also the inside of the door.  One of the worst features of such cells is the lack of ventilation, which deficiency of course aggravates their general unsanitary condition.  The cell which I was forced to occupy was practically without heat, and as winter was coming on, I suffered intensely from the cold.  Frequently it was so cold I could see my breath.  Though my canvas jacket served to protect part of that body which it was at the same time racking, I was seldom comfortably warm; for, once uncovered, my arms being pinioned, I had no way of rearranging the blankets.  What little sleep I managed to get I took lying on a hard mattress placed on the bare floor.  The condition of the mattress I found in the cell was such that I objected to its further use, and the fact that another was supplied, at a time when few of my requests were being granted, proves its disgusting condition.

For this period of three weeks—­from October 18th until November 8th, 1902, when I left this institution and was transferred to a state hospital—­I was continuously either under lock and key (in the padded cell or some other room) or under the eye of an attendant.  Over half the time I was in the snug, but cruel embrace of a strait-jacket—­about three hundred hours in all.

While being subjected to this terrific abuse I was held in exile.  I was cut off from all direct and all honest indirect communication with my legally appointed conservator—­my own brother—­and also with all other relatives and friends.  I was even cut off from satisfactory communication with the superintendent.  I saw him but twice, and then for so short a time that I was unable to give him any convincing idea of my plight.  These interviews occurred on two Sundays that fell within my period of exile, for it was on Sunday that the superintendent usually made his weekly round of inspection.

What chance had I of successfully pleading my case, while my pulpit was a padded cell, and the congregation—­with the exception of the superintendent—­the very ones who had been abusing me?  At such times my pent-up indignation poured itself forth in such a disconnected way that my protests were robbed of their right ring of truth.  I was not incoherent in speech.  I was simply voluble and digressive—­a natural incident of elation.  Such notes as I managed to write on scraps of paper were presumably confiscated by Jekyll-Hyde.  At all events, it was not until some months later that the superintendent was informed of my treatment, when, at my request (though I was then elsewhere), the Governor of the State discussed the subject with him.  How I brought about that discussion while still virtually a prisoner in another place will be narrated in due time.  And not until several days after I had left this institution