On several occasions I concocted plans to escape, and not only that, but also to liberate others.  That I did not make the attempt was the fault—­or merit, perhaps—­of a certain night watch, whose timidity, rather than sagacity, impelled him to refuse to unlock my door early one morning, although I gave him a plausible reason for the request.  This night watch, I learned later, admitted that he feared to encounter me single-handed.  And on this particular occasion well might he, for, during the night, I had woven a spider-web net in which I intended to enmesh him.  Had I succeeded, there would have been a lively hour for him in the violent ward—­had I failed, there would have been a lively hour for me.  There were several comparatively sane patients (especially my elated neighbor) whose willing assistance I could have secured.  Then the regular attendants could have been held prisoners in their own room, if, indeed, we had not in turn overpowered them and transferred them to the Bull Pen, where the several victims of their abuse might have given them a deserved dose of their own medicine.  This scheme of mine was a prank rather than a plot.  I had an inordinate desire to prove that one could escape if he had a mind to do so.  Later I boasted to the assistant physician of my unsuccessful attempt.  This boast he evidently tucked away in his memory.

My punishment for harmless antics of this sort was prompt in coming.  The attendants seemed to think their whole duty to their closely confined charges consisted in delivering three meals a day.  Between meals he was a rash patient who interfered with their leisure.  Now one of my greatest crosses was their continued refusal to give me a drink when I asked for it.  Except at meal time, or on those rare occasions when I was permitted to go to the wash room, I had to get along as best I might with no water to drink, and that too at a time when I was in a fever of excitement.  My polite requests were ignored; impolite demands were answered with threats and curses.  And this war of requests, demands, threats, and curses continued until the night of the fourth day of my banishment.  Then the attendants made good their threats of assault.  That they had been trying to goad me into a fighting mood I well knew, and often accused them of their mean purpose.  They brazenly admitted that they were simply waiting for a chance to “slug” me, and promised to punish me well as soon as I should give them a slight excuse for doing so.

On the night of November 25th, 1902, the head attendant and one of his assistants passed my door.  They were returning from one of the dances which, at intervals during the winter, the management provides for the nurses and attendants.  While they were within hearing, I asked for a drink of water.  It was a carefully worded request.  But they were in a hurry to get to bed, and refused me with curses.  Then I replied in kind.

“If I come there I’ll kill you,” one of them said.