There was a young man, occupying a cell next to mine in the Bull Pen, who was so far out of his mind as to be absolutely irresponsible.  His offence was that he could not comprehend and obey.  Day after day I could hear the blows and kicks as they fell upon his body, and his incoherent cries for mercy were as painful to hear as they are impossible to forget.  That he survived is surprising.  What wonder that this man, who was “violent,” or who was made violent, would not permit the attendants to dress him!  But he had a half-witted friend, a ward-mate, who could coax him into his clothes when his oppressors found him most intractable.

Of all the patients known to me, the one who was assaulted with the greatest frequency was an incoherent and irresponsible man of sixty years.  This patient was restless and forever talking or shouting, as any man might if oppressed by such delusions as his.  He was profoundly convinced that one of the patients had stolen his stomach—­an idea inspired perhaps by the remarkable corpulency of the person he accused.  His loss he would woefully voice even while eating.  Of course, argument to the contrary had no effect; and his monotonous recital of his imaginary troubles made him unpopular with those whose business it was to care for him.  They showed him no mercy.  Each day—­including the hours of the night, when the night watch took a hand—­he was belabored with fists, broom handles, and frequently with the heavy bunch of keys which attendants usually carry on a long chain.  He was also kicked and choked, and his suffering was aggravated by his almost continuous confinement in the Bull Pen.  An exception to the general rule (for such continued abuse often causes death), this man lived a long time—­five years, as I learned later.

Another victim, forty-five years of age, was one who had formerly been a successful man of affairs.  His was a forceful personality, and the traits of his sane days influenced his conduct when he broke down mentally.  He was in the expansive phase of paresis, a phase distinguished by an exaggerated sense of well-being, and by delusions of grandeur which are symptoms of this form as well as of several other forms of mental disease.  Paresis, as everyone knows, is considered incurable and victims of it seldom live more than three or four years.  In this instance, instead of trying to make the patient’s last days comfortable, the attendants subjected him to a course of treatment severe enough to have sent even a sound man to an early grave.  I endured privations and severe abuse for one month at the State Hospital.  This man suffered in all ways worse treatment for many months.