et to bed, and refused me with curses. Then I replied in
kind.

"If I come there I'll kill you," one of them said.

"Well, you won't get in if I can help it," I replied, as I braced my
iron bedstead against the door.

My defiance and defences gave the attendants the excuse for which they
had said they were waiting; and my success in keeping them out for two
or three minutes only served to enrage them. By the time they had
gained entrance they had become furies. One was a young man of
twenty-seven. Physically he was a fine specimen of manhood; morally he
was deficient--thanks to the dehumanizing effect of several years in
the employ of different institutions whose officials countenanced
improper methods of care and treatment. It was he who now attacked me
in the dark of my prison room. The head attendant stood by, holding a
lantern which shed a dim light.

The door once open, I offered no further resistance. First I was
knocked down. Then for several minutes I was kicked about the
room--struck, kneed and choked. My assailant even attempted to grind
his heel into my cheek. In this he failed, for I was there protected by
a heavy beard which I wore at that time. But my shins, elbows, and back
were cut by his heavy shoes; and had I not instinctively drawn up my
knees to my elbows for the protection of my body, I might have been
seriously, perhaps fatally, injured. As it was, I was severely cut and
bruised. When my strength was nearly gone, I feigned unconsciousness.
This ruse alone saved me from further punishment, for usually a
premeditated assault is not ended until the patient is mute and
helpless. When they had accomplished their purpose, they left me
huddled in a corner to wear out the night as best I might--to live or
die for all they cared.

Strange as it may seem, I slept well. But not at once. Within five
minutes I was busily engaged writing an account of the assault. A
trained war correspondent could not have pulled himself together in
less time. As usual I had recourse to my bit of contraband lead pencil,
this time a pencil which had been smuggled to me the very first day of
my confinement in the Bull Pen by a sympathetic fellow-patient. When he
had pushed under my cell door that little implement of war, it had
loomed as large in my mind as a battering-ram. Paper I had none; but I
had previously found walls to be a fair substitute. I therefore now
selected and wrote upon a rectangular spot--about three feet