EDWARD being in a dying state when Elizabeth was taken delirious, and having no means at his disposal was powerless to act. The land-lady of the lodging, together with the doctor, soon were apprised of the fact that Edward was poor, so they sought to get Elizabeth into a lunatic asylum. She was quite unconscious when she was taken. They took her from her bed, and hastily put her into a cab, and drove her to this building. No place for her, as many afterward said; still God in His goodness hid her from the coming trial; from the coming solemn events. Her medical attendant said that her body was in such a weak state, that she must have died had she passed through all the after events connected with her husband's death. Every detail from the commencement of her illness till the time she left the institution came vividly to her recollection, On arriving at the building her Bible, a gift from her mother, was taken from her. She was then led to a small cell with a lattice window, not a particle of furniture, and put on a bed of straw on the floor. Here she remained for three weeks; perfectly dead to the outer world.
The wild shrieks of the insane sounded through the corridors, and were mixed up with the wild fancies of her fevered brain. Still in her wild delirium, thoughts of heaven and heavenly things soothed that fevered brain. She was often heard to sing in the dark hours of the night,
“How good is the God I adore,
My faithful, unchangeable Friend,
Whose love is as great as His power,
And knows neither measure nor end.”
And oftener still:—
“There is a Name I love to hear,
I love to sing its worth,
It sounds like music in my ear,
The sweetest Name on earth.”
During these weeks she had occasional visits from young attendants, and once or twice during the night, the tiny window in the door was quickly opened, and a dark-eyed, matronly looking woman threw the light of the lantern on the suffering one and then quickly passed on. Once or twice she came to Elizabeth and gave her something to drink.
The day before she got up, Edward was taken to the mansions above. The authorities heard of his death, and likely thinking that friends would be looking after Elizabeth, had her dressed and taken to the ward of the worst patients, where she was so weak that she had to be supported by an attendant, and she was so frightened that she feared to move. The frantic shrieks of some of the patients, mixed with the oaths of one or two attendants, and the waking up as it were from a dream, without then the faintest recollection of how she came there or where she was, that in her weakness, she fancied she was in a place of satanic influence.
Edward wanted to write a letter to her, that she might have it, when she came to herself, that she might be told where she was. The woman who nursed him said she would never get it, so Edward did not write. Well would it have been for Elizabeth, when she did come to consciousness, to have had some loving heart to break the awful news; but the naked truth of her position dawned on her, on seeing "Lunatic Asylum" on a printed form. The doctor, who was the means of her being placed in this institution, was heard to say that some place between an asylum and a hospital was needed for her.
On the following Sunday, Edward's remains were put in their last resting place, and the succeeding Sunday was one also never to be forgotten by Elizabeth. When returning to her dark cell, she could throw herself on her knees, and cry to her God to deliver her from this cell. How this was to be done, she did not know; but she had faith to believe that He could do it.
On this Sunday morning in question she asked for a Bible. The attendant said, "What Bible." Elizabeth felt deeply hurt and answered, "There is but one Bible.”
Within ten minutes the doctor, a truly kindhearted man, came his rounds with the matron, and on coming to Elizabeth, who was trying to support her weak frame on the bench, said to the matron, "This is no place for her.”
Half-an-hour afterward the woman took her up-stairs. Elizabeth wondered where she was going, when a door was thrown open and she was led into the convalescent ward—a long cheerful room, with flowers and pictures, and a piano at the far end. A number were seated around the table, with their prayer-books and hymn-books. And soon after the chaplain walked in, and a truly godly man he was. The first hymn he called sent such comfort to Elizabeth that words cannot express: —
“Art thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest,
Come to me, saith One, and coming,
Be at rest.”
Only a person in like circumstances can fully understand the calm that these words brought to Elizabeth's troubled breast. She was informed that she was to stay in this ward. Never had any patient in that building passed so quickly to it. It was the custom to bring them gradually through each ward.
At night she feared she was to be taken to her lonely cell; instead of which she was taken to a bright cheerful ward of 36 beds, and her resting place was shielded, and in one of the best positions. Now again, how truly could she say, "How good is the God I adore.”
All here showed her kindness. Firmer and rougher hands were needed for patients below, but here she had every care. Once, when in the cell below, two attendants came to her with something, and because she did not want to take it, they boxed her ear so, that it gave her pain for some time after. She never spoke of it; as whatever sense she had then restored to her, told her to make a fuss would only be worse for herself.
The Superintendent or the Inspectors would never have allowed such an action had they known it; but how, my reader, are the authorities to guard always against unprincipled servants? It should be the last extremity for friends to put those dear to them in such a place. It is only those who have suffered within its walls can tell the secrets. One of Elizabeth's attendants would often come to her and ask her to sing that well-known hymn: —
“Sweetest note in seraph song,
Sweetest carol ever sung,
Jesus, blessed Jesus.”
The poor afflicted ones delighted to hear Elizabeth sing and play. None, to their ears, played like Mrs. R.; none sang like her. She could only account for it, that what came from the heart, spoke to the heart. She had proved the One, whose name was the sweetest name on earth, and would therefore with wondrous feeling sing of
“His mighty power to save.”
All this time Elizabeth could not imagine why her husband never came to her, and intuition kept her from asking the reason; for she was afraid of the answer, for in her wild delirium she fancied he was safe on the other shore.
One afternoon, about five weeks after she was an inmate of this institution, she was told that a lady wished to see her. She went to the waiting-room, a cold-looking place, and met this lady. She was a Christian and an elderly one, and in her strong Scotch brogue in answer to Elizabeth's question, "Where is my husband?" she said, “He has gone to be with the Lord." The tone, the accent, and greater still the words, all sank down into Elizabeth's bleeding heart. Oh! what a moment that was, God alone witnessed her feelings; but in the midst, such a calmness stole over her that she was never able to express. She felt an unseen presence around her. The visitor was heard to say, "She took it far better than I expected.”
Words often used; still, if prayer is made, what is there that we cannot expect Jehovah to do! He can calm the troubled breast: —
“How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear,
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.”
She left her visitor to ascend that staircase, with no friendly arm to lean on, no mother's breast to sob her sorrow out on; but that unseen presence was with her, as she ascended to the ward. It was a living reality. No outward emotion did she show. She thought of her child, and pleaded for strength to bear. The doctor came twice that night to the ward to see Elizabeth. Her intuition told her that he feared a relapse; but instead of which he saw something he could not understand. She knew where to fly for refuge. Oh with what fervor did she whisper: —
“Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly.”
When all the lights were out she stifled her sobs beneath the bedclothes. This relieved her. Sleep came at last, and in the morning she opened her Bible that had been returned to her, and her eye fell on Psa. 146. Every word seemed written for her. "While I live will I praise the Lord. Put not your trust in the son of man, in whom there is no help. Happy is he who hath the God of Jacob for his help, who made heaven and earth. Which executeth judgment for the oppressed. The Lord looseth the prisoners. The Lord preserveth the strangers. He relieveth the fatherless and widow." In days of old what care He always took of the stranger. Once when speaking to Israel He said, "Ye know the heart of the stranger." Under the head of that word "and widow" also did Elizabeth come. The faithful Promiser was hers, He was a husband to the widow and a Father to her fatherless child. Truly did she feel a stranger in a foreign land. Sometimes she felt she could only utter
“Guide me, Oh I Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land;
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Guide me with Thy powerful hand.
Bread of Heaven:
Feed me till I want no more.”
He did guide her, He did lead her, in a most remarkable way. The doctor one day asked her if she had any friends. She thought of the good woman who had befriended her and Edward on first coming to the island. She sent a message to her, and in a few hours she and her husband came to her. Oh! how they sympathized. The wife saw Elizabeth's colored dress, and the next morning before breakfast Elizabeth received a new black dress, that hands must have plied the needle over late on into the preceding night. The robe was a sombre one indeed, but the Lord will bless the giver of that sombre parcel.
These two good people offered her a home at once. Certain forms had to be gone through, but in a few days the
good people fetched her and brought her to their humble dwelling. It was a lovely spring morning when the prison doors were opened to let the lonely widow through. A hearty welcome and an ample repast were awaiting her; and
as she entered that lowly dwelling, her heart again she lifted to her “... Faithful, unchangeable Friend,
Whose love is as great as His power,
And knows neither measure nor end.
Tis Jesus, the First and the Last,
Whose Spirit will guide me safe home;
I'll praise Him for all that is past,
And trust Him for all that's to come.”
The darkest hour is just before the dawn. Elizabeth's darkest hour was past, and dawn came at last.