It wasn’t an entirely selfless course of action. Elizabeth knew that she herself would benefit: “The only way I can carry my own sorrows is to carry the sorrows of others.”5 She wrote decisively, “I determined I would not be crushed, neither would I submit to see others crushed. In other language, I determined to be a living reprover of the evils I saw consummated in this Asylum.”6
She certainly had her work cut out for her. As the weak winter sun began its slow ascent outside, she saw more clearly than she had the night before the filthy state of both the ward and the patients. Some of the latter were seriously disturbed, a category of inmate called the “filthy insane,”7 known for besmearing “their beds, their heads and faces, and even the floors and walls of their rooms”8 with their own excrement. Though both the Tenney sisters were kind women, the overwhelming and thanklessly repetitive nature of their job seems to have made them negligent in cleaning up the mess. But Elizabeth did not blame them for the appalling state of Eighth Ward.
She blamed McFarland. He was in charge.
As soon as the dormitory door was unlocked that morning, she bustled to the bathroom, taking with her a chamber pot—the only utensil at her disposal—which she filled with soapsuds and warm water. Then she turned her attention to her fellow patients; there were eighteen of them in her immediate hall. As all were in “an exceedingly filthy condition,”9 she determined that “their personal cleanliness was plainly my first most obvious duty.”10
She had to approach them delicately. Many were scared. They were simply not used to washing or being washed; the hall had just a single washbasin for all the patients to use, and no bathtub. As this strange woman with her soft brown eyes and caring manner tried to attend to them, they reacted as many such patients did: “with a scream, a struggle, and a conflict.”11
Nevertheless, she persevered. Coaxing, kind, she eventually persuaded them to let her touch them. Then, with firm yet gentle hands, she washed their faces, necks, and hands in her repurposed chamber pot, the warm water flowing like a benediction. With those who would let her, she also shampooed their mangled hair, carefully combing through the tangles so as not to hurt them.
Midway through her daunting task, she heard a key in the lock of the main ward door, and in swooped McFarland on his daily rounds.
“I cannot forget the look of surprise he cast upon the row of clean faces and combed hair he witnessed on the side seats of the hall,” Elizabeth later wrote with satisfaction. “Simply this process alone so changed their personal appearance, that it is no wonder he had to gaze upon them to recognize them.”12
He gave her a bow when he saw her watching him. “Good morning, Mrs. Packard!”13 he said with a courtesy that now seemed false.
Neither of them made any mention of the dramatic change in her circumstances. Elizabeth had determined to accept it as God’s will; McFarland’s position, she would leave to his own conscience. Clearly intrigued by her activity, the doctor took a seat in the corridor and watched her as she worked.
“Doctor,” she said cheerily as she lathered up another filthy head, “I find I can always find something to do for the benefit of others, and you have now assigned me quite a missionary field to cultivate!”14
“Yes,”15 was all he said. When she next looked up, he had gone.
Elizabeth’s mission did not stop there. The following day, she asked the Tenney sisters to provide her with a bowl of warm salt water, castile soap, towels, and cloths. She had decided, bathtub or no bathtub, that she was going to bathe each and every patient in her hall. It was shocking to her that there was no system in place for this already, but she had determined to change all that.
She worked one woman at a time, taking her frightened form into her room alone, stripping off her bedraggled clothing, and hand-sponging every part of the woman until she was clean. “It is no exaggeration to say,” Elizabeth later recalled, “that I never before saw human beings whose skin was so deeply embedded beneath so many layers of dirt as those were. The part cleaned would contrast so strikingly with the part not cleaned, that it would be difficult to believe they belonged to the same race, if on different individuals.”16
She was uniformly kind to her charges, no matter whether they were violent or timid or rude. “I do not regard an insane person as an object of reproach or contempt, by any means,” she said simply. “They are objects of pity and compassion; for I regard insanity as the greatest misfortune which can befall a human being in this life.”17 As such, she had only respect for those who were surviving this affliction. When every day was a battle, what courage these individuals showed. What respect and love they were due for the daily wars they won.