CHAPTER I

TWO YEARS AND FOUR MONTHS

IN A

LUNATIC ASYLUM,

From August 20th, 1863,

To December 20th, 1865.

BY REV. H. CHASE.

SARATOGA SPRINGS:

1868.

VAN BENTHUYSEN & SONS' STEAM PRINTING HOUSE.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Pg.

Preface. 3

Chapter I. 11

Chapter II. 26

Chapter III. 39

Chapter IV. 59

Chapter V. 99

Chapter VI. 114

Chapter VII. 140

Chapter VIII. 168

Testimonials. 183

PREFACE.

I have been urged ever since I left the Asylum, by friends, to write my

history of those two unfortunate years, and give it to the public. This

I did purpose to do while I was in the asylum, as soon as I left it,

while all things would be fresh in my memory. But after leaving that

place, and mingling again with the world and with my friends, the very

thought of the subject sickened me, for I desired to think and talk as

little about the matter as possible.

Besides this, in eighteen months after I left the asylum I entered upon

the regular work of the ministry again, and did not wish, while in the

effective work of the ministry, to mix with it the history of those two

unhappy years, of which I knew, the public had no adequate conception;

and which, if I should write out faithfully, would develop facts which

many would disbelieve, while others would only laugh at them, as freaks

of my insanity, and not as sober truths.

Another reason which has deterred me from giving to the world the

history of those two years, is the fact, that a number of inmates of

lunatic Asylums in this country have given to the public their views

of asylum life, and one especially, who was in the asylum at Utica,

and discharged just before I entered it. I could not help noticing the

effect these productions produced on society. In many instances the

history was read only to laugh, and pity the insanity of the writer.

This case referred to, was a lady from Syracuse.

The object she had in view in writing her narrative was evidently lost,

excepting the profit she expected to derive from the sale of the work,

which I judge could not have been great. She was very unfortunate in

writing this narrative; marks of insanity stand out prominently through

all the work in the language she uses, in the low scurrilous manner in

which she attacks all who differ from her in opinion, her bitterness

to the Church, and its ministers, and especially her low ribaldry

concerning the doctors of the institution.

On reading this pamphlet, I saw the difficulty attending the writing a

narrative of asylum life by a patient, however truthful it might be;

for, notwithstanding all the objections that can be raised to the work

above referred to, it nevertheless contains many truths of an alarming

character—truths which every sane inmate can testify to. And by the

way, it must not be supposed that every patient in that institution is

insane; far from it; but more of this in its proper place. And though

very much, if not all that is related in that pamphlet concerning the

institution, is strictly true, yet the manner and spirit in which it is

told, detracts very much from its merits.

Considering all these facts, with some others that I need not name, I

hesitated, and at one time thought that I would never write one word on

the subject. But notwithstanding all the objections that have crowded

themselves upon my mind to such an undertaking, I confess I felt myself

urged onward to write the facts as they presented themselves to me; and

this work I have undertaken, hoping that by this means the public mind

may become somewhat, at least, disabused in relation to lunatic asylums

in general, and especially in regard to the State Lunatic Asylum at

Utica, N.Y.

About three years have elapsed since I left that institution. Since

that time I have mingled with society as formerly, have ever since I

left preached Christ and the Resurrection as a regular minister in the

church of Christ, have done a little worldly business, and am still

employed in worldly matters in connection with preaching about every

Sabbath. I would state still further that I have been a minister of

Christ more than forty years, and more than forty years have been a

member of the Troy Conference of the M.E. Church; and I am positive

that during that long period no charges or complaints have ever been

made against me for immorality, imprudence, or heresy.

I have been thus particular in describing my present standing, to show

the public that I have not entered upon this subject as a mad-man,

or a man broken down in society. I am not aware that anybody, in or

out of the church, looks upon me otherwise than before I went to that

institution.

I wish to also state to the public, to the praise of God, that I have

not had a sick day since I left the asylum. And what will perhaps

appear more strange to the reader, is, that I am prepared to say, and

even to prove, that during the two years and four months I was in the

institution, I never had a sick day—never lost one meal, but went to

the table three times each and every day of the two years and four

months; and though over sixty years old when I entered the asylum, I

am positive that I never laid down ten minutes upon the bed in the day

time during the whole of that time; yet, there were times in which it

would have given me great relief from my rheumatic pains, could I have

done so, but it was not the good pleasure of the doctors to allow this

privilege to me.

I wish to also say, before I enter upon the rather painful work of

narrating the events of my captivity, (for I can call it by no other

name so appropriate,) that before I went to the asylum as a patient,

I was totally ignorant of the character of these institutions. I had

never heard them described, except in one instance, and that by a

man who was so unfortunate as to be carried there by force by his

neighbors, as most patients are carried there. He gave me a most

horrible description of his treatment, while in the asylum; how he was

dragged by his hair, beaten and bruised, and how he finally made his

escape and went home. I heard his sad and tragical tale, but I disposed

of it as most men do, by regarding the whole story as imaginary, the

effect of a disordered mind, believing that such things could never be

tolerated in a Christian country.

It is true that at the time he related this to me, he was sober and

in his right mind, and was one of the best of men; yet, I regarded

the story at the time, as the wild freak of a disordered mind. I now

believe he told me the truth. He afterwards died in the asylum.

To show the general impression on the minds of the outer world on the

management of such institutions, and the treatment of their inmates, I

was once conversing with a man whose neighbor's wife was an inmate of

the Asylum at Utica, and had been for years. I asked him his opinion

on the propriety of keeping one so many years in the asylum. He gave

it as his opinion that in such public institutions the doctors were

the most wise and skillful men in the world; that the nurses and

attendants were well skilled in the business; that great care and

patience were exercised over the patients, and that no stone was left

unturned to soothe and comfort these unfortunate victims of insanity.

This certainly was a very charitable view to take of an institution got

up professedly for the purpose of relieving that unfortunate class of

society. I cheerfully gave my assent to his relation of supposed facts,

and went away feeling gratified that we had in our State so noble and

so humane an institution.

But the sequel will tell how near right he was in his conclusions,

and how near right the public mind is generally, concerning the most

of public or State institutions, got up ostensibly for the purpose

of relieving suffering humanity. Before my narrative will close, the

reader will have the opinion of one, at least, whether State lunatic

asylums are a blessing or a curse to our country.

I wish to farther say, before I close my preparatory remarks, that I

have no selfish motive to induce me to lay open my experience during

those two eventful years. It is not for money, of course, that I do it,

for in this respect I shall expect to be the loser; and it certainly

cannot be to let the world know that I have been an inmate of a lunatic

asylum. I do it for the purpose of opening the eyes of the people of

the State of New York, that they may enquire more strictly into the

nature and workings of the institutions of benevolence, so called,

under their control and patronage; to warn the good people of the

State of New York to never send their wives, their children, or any of

their dependants to a State institution for the cure of any disease

of body or mind, where the patient is confined by bolts and bars by

legal sanction, and where the sole power over the patient is vested in

one man, whose word is law, and whose commands are as imperious as the

Sultan's of Turkey. Such is the fact in relation to the Lunatic Asylum

in Utica.

Whatever he orders must be done, and as one of the supervisors once

said to me, to show the absoluteness of his word, “That if Dr. Gray

should order him to carry me out doors head downwards he should most

certainly do it, for his word was law.” I replied, “All right; so if

the doctor should order you to kill me you would do it.” He hesitated

a moment and said, “No; I don't think I should do that.” The idea

advanced, however, was, that the patients must understand that the word

of one man _is the law_ of this institution, and whoever comes within

its walls must bow to this scepter. And though this institution is

under the supervision of eight or nine managers, it is also true, that

one man, the superintendent or commander-in-chief, has the sole and

undisputed control over all the patients as soon as they are received

as patients.

Enough, perhaps, has been written to prepare the way for the particular

history of the time I was in that institution, so far at least as

my experience and observation is concerned; and though three years

have passed away since I left the asylum, yet almost everything that

happened within my observation seems to be indelibly written on my

mind, so that they are as fresh in my recollection as if they had

happened but yesterday.

H. CHASE.

TWO YEARS IN THE ASYLUM.

CHAPTER I

In the spring of 1863, I was appointed by the proper authorities of the

church, as the pastor of the M.E. Church in the town of Kinderhook,

for the third year, having served that people the two previous years.

I commenced my new year in good health and fine spirits; all went on

favorably, so far as I knew, until about the first of June, when the

first shock which I felt which terminated in my downfall, was but a

small affair in itself, and at first affected me very slightly, but

continued to wear upon me, until another circumstance, arising from a

little gossip in the village of Kinderhook, added to my former trial,

threw me into a diseased state of body.

The circumstances were as follows: As I had been in the charge the

two previous years, the rules of the church did not admit of my being

returned the third year, and yet the official board petitioned to

have me returned to them the third year. To effect this, and to make

it legal for me to return, some alteration or change must be made in

the name of the charge. This was effected in the following manner:

This charge contained the villages of Kinderhook and Valatie, lying

one mile apart, each having a church, and each having preaching every

Sabbath. This charge also embraced the little village of Stuyvesant,

near the Kinderhook depot. The first year I had Valatie alone; the

second year, Kinderhook, which had been a separate station, was taken

in or connected with Valatie, both now making but one charge. To effect

my return and make it legal, the authorities at the Conference dropped

the name of Valatie off from the minutes, and inserted in its stead

Stuyvesant, making the charge now read “Kinderhook and Stuyvesant,”

instead of Valatie and Kinderhook.

This change of names was observed by some of the friends in Valatie,

and they were highly dissatisfied. I explained the cause, and told them

that the name would be restored at the end of the year. This did not

satisfy some of them, so the fire was kept up; not that any change was

made in the work; each had the same service that they had the previous

year. I finally told them I was sorry I had returned to them, as they

felt so bad about the change of the name of the charge, as it was done

solely that I might return to them. I told them it was not my doings;

they had asked for my return, and to effect it this change had to be

made.

So matters went on for a month, and I supposed all was quiet, and had

never heard a lisp but all were satisfied with me, when all at once one

of the official board told me that two or three private members of the

church had met to consult on the propriety of having me removed from

the charge; mixing a little gossip with this, which was studiously kept

from me, until this kind brother revealed it to me. I was not moved

by it at first; I knew all the official men of the church were in my

favor, and they told me not to mind what these two or three had said.

This was the first friction I had ever felt in my ministry.

The leaven continued to work in my mind; my health began to give way.

The official board visited me, gave me great encouragement, and offered

me money; said I could rest, and they would get the pulpits filled

until I was better: they did so. My mind became more and more excited;

friends came from a distance to comfort me, but all was in vain; little

things were magnified to mountains; I knew that I was unmanned, and

could not tell why; I imagined things took place that never existed;

my mind took a strange turn; I imagined I was the worst of beings, and

that thousands must suffer on my account.

I soon became exceedingly restless; wanted to be constantly on the go;

wanted to be constantly doing something, and hardly knew what. I felt

in a great hurry to have something done. It is true that I knew at the

time what I wanted to do, but when I attempted to do it, I would either

find opposition by some one or a strange inability to do what I wanted

done. I did not give up preaching until the 28th of June. I shall never

forget that day; it was Sabbath; I preached in Kinderhook, and, I

think, had the Sacrament; it was a day of great gloominess and trial.

The next day being Monday, my wife took me to Hillsdale to see our

friends, hoping a change of place and scenery would help me. But O, how

restless I was when I got there; I could not be persuaded to stay any

length of time; it seemed as though I must go back; and when I got home

I was more wretched than ever. I was sorry I went home. We visited the

parish the following week, but none knew where we went; my feelings

all seemed a wreck. I did not feel sick during all this time. I laid

all my feelings at this time to outward circumstances; I suffered them

to prey upon my mind. I had always kept clear of all difficulties;

was very tenacious about my standing in society. But I thought I now

saw that I was liable to suffer as a minister, and also in my moral

character as a Christian; and somehow my hands seemed tied. If I

resolved on any particular given course, I seemed to have no power or

ability to carry it out. I ceased to write in my diary about the middle

of July. If I attempted to write anything I could not find words to say

what I wanted to, and if I wrote anything I was not satisfied with it,

and would tear it out; so I ceased to write altogether.

About this time I took my room and wished to be alone, and yet I wanted

my wife near me all the time, and wanted to talk to her constantly upon

the same subject. I knew it was a great annoyance to her, and yet it

seemed to me that I could not help it. I knew that I was wearing her

out by my course, yet I had no control over myself. It seemed to me

that she could help me out of all my troubles, at least I acted so, and

yet my judgment told me she could not. I groaned much; my appetite now

entirely failed; I did not want to eat for days. Sleep entirely left

me, and a night seemed an eternity. I prevailed on my wife to take a

separate room to prevent my wearing her out with my groanings. I felt

now that I did not want to eat, sleep, or drink anything; my flesh

seemed to dry down to my bones. It was at this stage of my condition

that I felt that I was the worst being in the world. I shall never

forget that I thought Jeff. Davis was a saint compared to me; yet I

knew all that passed; my mind was as clear to reason as at this moment,

but I viewed everything in a most extravagant light.

It was Sunday, about the first of August, that I lay on my bed; I think

some of the family were gone to church; I was in great trouble of mind;

all that I ever did that was wrong seemed to rush upon my mind, and

though I did not have the consolations of religion to comfort me, as

I had been accustomed to, yet I wanted to do all things right, and

leave nothing undone that I ought to do. I felt that it was probable

that I should not live long, and I wanted to die. At that moment, I

thought of some nitrate of silver and corrosive sublimate that I had

been using for certain purposes, that I had set away rather carelessly,

without labeling. Fearing that some of the family might get hold of

them, mistaking them for medicine, I sprung from the bed, took the

bottle of nitrate of silver, ran out door with it, made a hole in the

ground, and meant to empty the contents of the bottle into this hole;

but all at once I thought that some animal might get it and be killed

by it. I hesitated, ran back with the bottle, then resolved again to

bury it. The day was very hot, and I was running about with this bottle

in my hand, undecided what to do with it. At that moment my family

came in; wanted to know what I had. I told them; they did not believe

me, of course, for I had never told them what was in this bottle they

snatched it from my hand, and threw it somewhere, I could not see

where. I thought I had as much trouble before as I could bear, but

this seemed worse than all the rest put together; I imagined that some

animal or human being would get hold of that nitrate of silver and be

killed, and I should be charged with their death.

The next day I brought out the corrosive sublimate and meant to have

buried it, but my wife snatched it from me and threw it into the cook

stove; this, too, alarmed me, fearing some one would be poisoned with

it, and even warned them all not to eat the food cooked on the stove,

lest they should be poisoned. It will be seen that all these things

were evidences that my mind had given way and that I was a prostrated

man; yet I knew all that passed.

Boils at this time came out on my face and head; they were very

painful; I have no knowledge of ever suffering so much pain before as

I did with these boils. At this time the rain fell in torrents, with

much thunder and lightning; it rained for many days. This rendered the

scene to me much more gloomy and dismal.

My physician now gave me medicine, and after a day or two I felt as

well as I ever did in my life; got up, my head feeling clear; dressed

and went into the garden, and tried to work a little, but I was too

weak to do much; discouragement came over me and I gave it up. Friends

had called during the last two weeks, but I had refused to see them;

I wanted to be alone. From the middle of August until the 19th, I was

feeling much better, and my appetite began to come; medicine had had a

good effect.[A]

[A] My bowels had been obstinately constipated for ten or twelve days;

when the medicine operated, I was better.

On the 19th of August, my physician with another came in, and I was

called up to see them; as I walked out, my physician left the house,

leaving the other to converse with me. He commenced conversation; I did

not understand his object; my wife told me to ask him about the nitrate

of silver and corrosive sublimate, and hear what the doctor would say

about it. I told him the story as it was, and asked him if he thought

any damage could proceed from it. He said no, he thought not; that it

might kill the grass, perhaps, where it was thrown, and that would be

all. I thought no more of his call; he left, and I have never seen them

since. They went immediately to Hudson, I understood, and got a warrant

from the judge to take me to the asylum at Utica.

These doctors were Benson and Talmage; their mission was now ended, and

I suppose they calculated they had done a great good to their country.

It is not a supposable case that men who can coldly deprive a man of

his liberty when he is harmless, would ever enquire after his welfare,

or send him a word of comfort; of course I never expected it of these

men, and I have no doubt, if the truth could be known, that they would

have greatly preferred to have had me die in the asylum than to have

had me live and come out again.

The next day, the 20th of August, 1863, about 9 o'clock in the

morning, I was called out of my room to dress and take a ride as far as

the depot. I rose, dressed and went out. I perceived they seemed in a

hurry; I got into the wagon with three men besides myself; these were

George Harvey, J. Snyder and Rev. A. Farr. As I got into the wagon and

saw my trunk, I enquired where they were going. Mr. Harvey told me I

was going to the asylum in Utica.

I have always thought until this day that those three men supposed

that what I said and did when I was told where I was going, was a

sudden outburst of insanity, but I knew as well what I said, and what

I did, as they knew; yet I said some things which I ought not to have

said. I knew that I was getting better fast; I knew that I had had

a terrible time of it; I had felt much better for a few days past;

my mind was not as much agitated as it had been. At a glance I took

in the whole scene before me. I saw that I had been deceived; that I

was torn from home without my consent; was to be shut up with raving

maniacs, and probably to die with them. I saw how cold and unfeeling

men could be when a little power was given them; I felt that the world

and the church had turned against me. I rose in the wagon in despair

and indignation; I said strong things; I knew who had been the chief

instruments of my imprisonment. I begged to go anywhere else rather

than to Utica; when this was denied me, and I was told by Mr. Snyder to

sit down, I announced that I should consider myself no longer a member

of the Methodist E. Church; that my connection was dissolved. This was

an outburst, it is true, and a foolish one, but I knew what I said, and

at the time I meant it. I felt that I was forsaken by God and man; I

also confessed that I was a bad man, given over by the Almighty, and

had no hope. This was the substance of the confession. This was also

wrong; even if it had been true, no one could be benefited by such a

confession. I knew what I said and I know too what reply was made by

Mr. Farr.

I know that these expressions of mine were marks showing that my mind

had been racked. I could not control my mind as usual; yet my memory

and reasoning powers were not broken; I ought not to have been sent to

an insane asylum.

My attendants soon found that there was no need of fetters or handcuffs

to get me to Utica; so one after another fell off, leaving me but with

one man, and he not much of a giant. When he told me that he had all

the papers in his pocket for my commitment, I made up my mind to be a

_law and order man_, and I have never heard that he had any trouble

in getting his patient within the bolts and bars of that _humane

institution_, as some are disposed to call it.[B]

[B] I shall never forget that, while on our way to Utica on the cars,

between Schenectady and Utica, Mr. Harvey tried to divert my mind

from the subject of going to the asylum. He first referred to the

case of Gerrit Smith, who had been in the asylum, to show that it was

no disgrace to go there; that did not comfort me. He next called my

attention to the case of Major Lee, of Sandy Hill, who had recently

died, and to the disposition of his property. I knew he did this to

divert my mind; I was indifferent to all this, as I knew what it was

done for.

We arrived there the same day, and I was locked up in the third story

of the building, with about forty raving maniacs. Others must judge of

my feelings when I sat down and looked around me and saw where I was,

among entire strangers, and all these disfranchised like myself. One of

my first thoughts, after I arrived there, was: “_Would to God that I

were crazy_—so crazy that I could not realize where I am, or what I am,

or what will be my future.”

But more of this in its appropriate place. I now wish to appropriate a

chapter to a particular subject, viz.: to the manner in which patients

are sent to the asylum, and the laws of the State of New York on that

subject.