This hospital
is a very gloomy place, with its wide bleak entries and staircases, which
may be very good for summer weather, but which are most congenial at this
bleak November season. I found the physicians of the house laughing and
talking very cheerfully with Mr. Wilding, who had preceded me. We went
forthwith, up two or three pairs of stairs, to the ward where the sick
man lay, and where there were six or eight other beds, in almost each of
which was a patient,--narrow beds, shabbily furnished. The man whom I
came to see was the only one who was not perfectly quiet; neither was he
very restless. The doctor, informing him of my presence, intimated that
his disease might be lethal, and that I was come to hear what he had to
say as to the causes of his death. Afterwards, a Testament was sought
for, in order to swear him, and I administered the oath, and made him
kiss the book. He then (in response to Mr. Wilding's questions) told how
he had been beaten and ill-treated, hanged and thwacked, from the moment
he came on board, to which usage he ascribed his death. Sometimes his
senses seemed to sink away, so that I almost thought him dead; but by and
by the questions would appear to reach him, and bring him back, and he
went on with his evidence, interspersing it, however, with dying groans,
and almost death rattles. In the midst of whatever he was saying, he
often recurred to a sum of four dollars and a half, which he said he had
put into the hands of the porter of the hospital, and which he wanted to
get back.
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