Read Online Ten Days in a Mad-House and Other Stories by Nellie Bly - Free Book Online Page A

would use force and that it
    would not be very gentle. At this I noticed one of the craziest women
    in the ward standing by the filled bathtub with a large, discolored
    rag in her hands. She was chattering away to herself and chuckling
    in a manner which seemed to me fiendish. I knew now what was to
    be done with me. I shivered. They began to undress me, and one by
    one they pulled off my clothes. At last everything was gone
    excepting one garment. “I will not remove it,” I said vehemently, but
    they took it off. I gave one glance at the group of patients gathered at
    the door watching the scene, and I jumped into the bathtub with
    more energy than grace.

    The water was ice-cold, and I again began to protest. How useless it
    all was! I begged, at least, that the patients be made to go away, but
    was ordered to shut up. The crazy woman began to scrub me. I can
    find no other word that will express it but scrubbing. From a small

58
Ten Days in a Mad-House
    tin pan she took some soft soap and rubbed it all over me, even all
    over my face and my pretty hair. I was at last past seeing or
    speaking, although I had begged that my hair be left untouched.
    Rub, rub, rub, went the old woman, chattering to herself. My teeth
    chattered and my limbs were goose-fleshed and blue with cold.
    Suddenly I got, one after the other, three buckets of water over my
    head–ice-cold water, too–into my eyes, my ears, my nose and my
    mouth. I think I experienced some of the sensations of a drowning
    person as they dragged me, gasping, shivering and quaking, from
    the tub. For once I did look insane. I caught a glance of the
    indescribable look on the faces of my companions, who had
    witnessed my fate and knew theirs was surely following. Unable to
    control myself at the absurd picture I presented, I burst into roars of
    laughter. They put me, dripping wet, into a short canton flannel slip,
    labeled across the extreme end in large black letters, “Lunatic
    Asylum, B. I., H. 6.” The letters meant Blackwell’s Island, Hall 6.
    By this time Miss Mayard had been undressed, and, much as I hated
    my recent bath, I would have taken another if by it I could have
    saved her the experience. Imagine plunging that sick girl into a cold
    bath when it made me, who have never been ill, shake as if with
    ague. I heard her explain to Miss Grupe that her head was still sore
    from her illness. Her hair was short and had mostly come out, and
    she asked that the crazy woman be made to rub more gently, but
    Miss Grupe said:
    “There isn’t much fear of hurting you. Shut up, or you’ll get it
    worse.” Miss Mayard did shut up, and that was my last look at her
    for the night.
    I was hurried into a room where there were six beds, and had been
    put into bed when some one came along and jerked me out again,
    saying:
    “Nellie Brown has to be put in a room alone to-night, for I suppose
    she’s noisy.”

59

    Ten Days in a Mad-House
    I was taken to room 28 and left to try and make an impression on the
    bed. It was an impossible task. The bed had been made high in the
    center and sloping on either side. At the first touch my head flooded
    the pillow with water, and my wet slip transferred some of its
    dampness to the sheet. When Miss Grupe came in I asked if I could
    not have a night-gown.
    “We have not such things in this institution,” she said.
    “I do not like to sleep without,” I replied.
    “Well, I don’t care about that,” she said. “You are in a public
    institution now, and you can’t expect to get anything. This is charity,
    and you should be thankful for what you get.”
    “But the city pays to keep these places up,” I urged, “and pays
    people to be kind to the unfortunates brought here.”
    “Well, you don’t need to expect any kindness here, for you won’t get
    it,” she said, and she went out and closed the door.

60
Ten Days in a Mad-House
    A sheet and an oilcloth were under me, and a sheet and black wool
    blanket above. I never