I will now return to the narrative of my two years in the asylum. I
never can forget my feelings when I got out of the carriage and walked
up the stone steps and into the centre of that mammoth building. The
very thought that I was brought to a lunatic asylum, as a patient, was
sufficient to take all the man out of me. I glanced my eyes around upon
the massive walls, and high ceilings, and sat down. The doctor came,
and my case was introduced to him by my attendant; a very few words
passed between the doctor and me; I begged to not be left; I knew not
what was before me; I had not formed the least idea of the construction
of the building, nor of the manner in which patients were managed.
My attendant, Mr. Harvey, gave me over into the hands of Dr. Gray, the
superintendent of the asylum, and seemed to be in haste to get out
of my sight; at least it seemed so to me. I asked him how long he was
going to leave me here; he replied “perhaps about two months; when your
folks get settled they will send for you.” But instead of coming to
take me away in two months, it was ten months before I heard one word
from any person I had ever known before I went to that place, though I
often enquired. I finally came to the conclusion that my wife must be
dead, or I should have heard from her.
The first intimation I received concerning any of my family, was a
visit from my daughter from Illinois, ten months after I entered the
institution; this to me was as a visit from an angel from Heaven.
But to return to the thread of my narrative. I said but little to the
doctor; my spirits were crushed, and I doubt not but I showed it; I
was worn to a skeleton; I was well dressed, excepting one thing, and
that was invisible. In my haste in the morning in dressing I left off
my suspenders, as I was urged to hurry, and supposed I was only going
to take a short ride. I observed this when I got to Utica, and got out
of the cars; and having left my porte-monnaie at home with my watch, I
had no money to purchase a pair. So I ventured to state the fact to the
man that accompanied me to Utica, and asked him to buy me a pair; he
looked blank and cold towards me, as though he thought I did not know
what I asked for, and made me no reply. I felt grieved; I never doubted
but he thought it was a freak of madness that caused me to ask for the
suspenders. I thought I would not repeat my request, but often thought
that at some subsequent time I would show him that I knew what I asked
for, and tell him how I felt when he treated the matter so coldly; but
I have never mentioned the subject to him since, and should not have
mentioned it now, only to show, that no incident happened at that time,
however small, but is still fresh in my recollection.
I bade my friend who took me there good bye, with a heavy heart, and
the doctor ordered me taken on to the third hall, which was the third
story of the building from the ground floor. There I found about forty
patients, the majority of which were very insane. I was afraid as I
entered the room; I took a seat on a row of benches fastened to the
floor. I have already stated that I at this period wished myself as
insane as the rest; I then should not be afraid. I saw that they were
reckless, raving, and knocking each other. I looked round among the
patients to see if I could see any that looked intelligent and sane; I
saw a little old white-headed man that looked the most like a sane man
of any on the hall. I approached him and spoke to him; I found his name
was Francis; a brother of the editor of the Troy Times; he has since
died in the asylum.
A small incident took place a few minutes after I entered the hall,
that, though small in itself, was nevertheless most annihilating to my
feelings. Mr. Jones, one of the attendants of the hall, approached me
and said he must search my pockets. So he went into all my pockets,
and as good luck would have it, he found nothing but a few pennies;
these he said he must take. I said, “very well, take them.” He never
mentioned it afterwards to me. I have never doubted but many things are
taken from the patients in that way that they never get again. I regard
it no less a crime than highway robbery, only more low and cowardly.
It must be understood that the patient's word is not received in
evidence if it is contradicted by the attendant. An attendant might
take anything from a patient, and if complaint should be made by the
patient to the superintendent, the attendant has only to deny it, and
then woe to that patient, if the attendant pleases to chastise him.
Patients had better suffer than to reveal anything against an
attendant, for suffer he will if he does reveal it to the doctor. I
shall, perhaps, have occasion to speak of this hereafter, in relation
to the loss of my clothing.
I will here state that as the doctors have a name for every degree and
kind of mental derangement, mine was termed by them _melancholy_—a
state of gloominess that some would term hypochondria. I believe none
ever charged me with being wild and incoherent in my expressions, and
though it is proverbial in the institution, among the patients and
attendants, that if a man says he is not insane it is a sure sign that
he is, so in consequence of this saying, I was careful to say nothing
about my own mental condition, only to ask the attendants and doctors,
at times, whether they observed marks of insanity in me.
I once asked one of the doctors this question, and he said he did
see marks of insanity in me. I expected this answer, for we were
disagreeing about the manner in which they were doctoring me. So he
gave me to understand that his word was law, and whatever I thought
or whatever I said would make no difference; that I must obey his
directions, and would often lay his hand on his mouth, thereby
indicating to me that I must not speak unless I was spoken to. I
pitied the doctor more than I blamed him, for I saw in him positive
and decided marks of tyranny that were in his organization: A dark
countenance, low built, short neck, a low forehead, not broad, and
eyebrows nearly or quite meeting; a peculiar side glance of his eyes,
as though he was looking wondrously wise at times; was subject to a low
criticism of words; nothing noble and manly about him.
These remarks may seem to the reader not only too severe but uncalled
for. I do not doubt but it does so appear, but I cannot help it; and I
confess there was nothing I dreaded so much as to see this doctor come
on the hall, and it was always a relief to me when he left.
But to return to my first day's experience in the asylum. In two or
three hours, supper was announced by the ringing of a bell; all rushed
to the end of the hall, and through a doorway into the dining room,
where two long tables were set that would seat forty boarders. I was
seated between two very insane men—one an Irishman and the other
I think a German. The victuals were all on the plates when we sat
down, and the tea, or whatever the drink might be called, was already
prepared in large pitchers, and poured out in small punch bowls, which
were used as a substitute for tea cups and saucers. This was a kind of
tea, very weak, prepared with milk and sugar before being turned into
the bowls. I tasted it, but it being so different from what I had been
used to drinking, as I had never used sugar in my tea, it produced a
most sickening influence.
The supper consisted of a couple of pieces of bread, one of wheat, and
the other what they called brown or Graham bread—the best I thought
I ever had seen—a small piece of butter and a small square piece of
gingerbread. As I sat nibbling a little, for I did not eat much the
first meal, my Irish companion on the right reached to my plate and
took my bread. I looked at him, but he did not notice me; next he
reached and took my butter, not seeming to act as though he had done
anything out of order. An Irishman on the opposite side of the table
reached and took the remainder of my bread and cake, so that when
supper was ended, it appeared that I had eaten very heartily, for when
I sat down there was enough on my plate to satisfy any hungry man. It
was astonishing to see with what rapidity some of those lunatics would
devour their food.
When supper was over, one of the attendants came round to every man's
plate, took up the knives and counted them, to see if any were missing.
This was done to prevent any evil from those who might be suicidal or
otherwise evil disposed. At a given signal, all arose and went out. I
observed, however, that a number of patients staid in the dining room
to help in clearing off the table, washing up, and setting the table
again for breakfast.
As soon as this was ended, I heard a sound ringing through the whole
length of the hall, “_Bed time gents_.” I thought it very strange, as
the sun was yet an hour high. The attendant came to me and told me I
must retire. I said, “this is earlier than I am used to retiring.” He
made no reply, but led me into a large dormitory, at the end of the
hall, containing five beds. One of these was assigned to me; the others
were occupied by two Irishmen, and two Americans—one from Saratoga
Springs, by the name of Burnham, the other from Hartford, N.Y., whose
name I do not now recollect. Burnham and one of the Irishmen were very
crazy. The Irishman would get out of bed, wrap himself in his sheet,
walk the room, or stand and look out the window, keeping up, in the
meantime, an incoherent jingle of words, mixing it with cursings on all
Protestants, threatening to scald them to death with hot water; while
Burnham would damn him and pour upon him the most bitter curses.
I tried to appease them by flattery. So the night wore away, and in
consequence of the novelty of the scene, being locked up in a room
with four crazy men, our clothing left out in the hall, the quarreling
of my room-mates, with now and then a wild yell from some other
apartment, were not very favorable accompaniments to sleep or rest.
Sleep entirely departed; I did not feel the least sensation of sleep
during the whole night.
No one, unless placed in the same condition with myself, can imagine
with what pain and anguish I passed that first night of my captivity.
I had already seen that patients were treated more like prisoners than
like innocent men and invalids. I had been in bed about an hour, it
being now about sundown, when one of the attendants, a gladiatorial
looking German, entered the dormitory bearing in his hand a tray of
medicine, arranged in rows in little white earthen mugs, each holding
perhaps a half of a gill; he came to my bed side and held out one of
these mugs to me, and said in broken English, “_trink tis_.” I had seen
enough already to know that resistance or remonstrance was of no use,
so drank the nostrum but a more nauseous dose I never took. In half an
hour more another dose was presented of another kind, I knew not what.
I began to think by this time that if a man could live through all
this, he must be made of stern stuff.
The morning came, and I was glad to see the light and to get out of
that inner prison, where I could have a little wider liberty in walking
the hall, which was about two hundred feet long by ten or twelve feet
wide, with bed-rooms ranged on each side. After adjusting matters in my
sleeping room, making beds and sweeping—as every patient is expected to
make his or her own bed, unless unable to do so by physical or mental
inability—I was introduced to a wash room. In this room there were
barely accommodations to wash by forty patients washing out of about
two tin wash dishes, one after another, till all had finished, and then
all wipe on about two towels hanging on the wall. No looking glass,
combs or brushes were furnished for patients on this hall. I did not
see my face in a glass until I left that hall and went to another,
which was six weeks from the time I entered the asylum.
Breakfast was announced by the same ringing of the bell. The men were
soon in their places; I lingered a little, and was urged forward. I was
no sooner in my old place by the side of my agreeable companions, than
the Irishman on my right snatched at my bread on my plate; I turned
his arm aside, but he seemed determined to seize the whole contents
of my plate, which consisted of bread, potato, a piece of cold baked
beef and a small piece of butter. Instead of tea, it was called coffee,
prepared in the same manner of the tea. I could not drink it at first,
but finally by degrees worked myself up to the point. A most wonderful
drink is this for sick folks!
As to the diet, so far as I was concerned, all was well enough; they
make use of a vast amount of meat; and it was amusing to hear Dr. Gray
philosophise on the utility of the patients eating so much meat. This,
perhaps, was all well enough, but in no place but in a lunatic asylum
would such doctrines be urged, expecting the people would indorse them,
as a diet for invalids, and especially for invalids whose disease
is supposed to be mostly of the mind. It is generally supposed, by
reasoning beings, that less meat and more variety in lighter food,
would be more appropriate to such constitutions as the asylum is made
up of. But concerning this matter, I must give no decided opinion; I
consider it of minor importance, compared with other things.
The second day had now come; it was Friday, the 21st day of August. I
took the medicine in the morning, and after breakfast set myself to
learning all I could of the institution by observation. I noticed that
in some of the rooms were cribs in which were confined patients by a
lid or cover, locked down; these I regarded as men who were not safe
to have their liberty and to lie on ordinary beds, and I found this
was so. I noticed also that food was carried to these, of a very light
nature, as farina or a little soup, and sometimes a small piece of
toast. I wondered how men could live on so very little as they seemed
to give them, but perhaps they had all that was necessary.
I noticed one among these, of a manly and noble bearing, when he would
rise out of his crib; and on inquiry, I found his name to be Maulby,
Doctor Maulby, who had been in the institution for many years; and
before I left the institution he died there. He was a man, I was
informed, of superior talents, and at times was very insane.
In one end of this hall, I observed a large wardrobe or closet, in
which all the clothing of the patients was kept for this hall. No
patient on this hall is allowed to keep his clothing in his own room;
and indeed this is the case with every other hall in the building,
except the first hall, which is used mostly for cured patients and the
convalescent.
On the gentlemen's side of the house, there are about twelve halls
occupied by patients, making in all about three hundred; and as many
on the opposite side of the building occupied by females, averaging in
all, perhaps, as a general thing, about six hundred.
About nine o'clock in the morning of this my second day in the asylum,
I observed a rush of all the patients around a large basket which had
been brought out, containing their hats and caps. It was the hour of
going out to walk and take the air in the yard, an enclosure attached
to the building, of two or three acres, guarded on two sides by the
building and on the other two by a high board fence. This yard was
beautifully laid out in walks, and covered with grass, trees, and
shrubbery.
I supposed I must go out with the rest of the lunatics, so I walked
up to take my hat, but I was told I could not go. I could not see the
point at that time, but afterwards learned that no patients, when they
first come, are allowed to go out until they have been there a number
of days. I was glad of this, for I preferred staying in alone to going
out with that motley group of maniacs. Not only from this hall did
patients go into this yard, but from all the halls, except the first,
second and fourth, and sometimes they went from these; and when all
these came together, it furnished a most interesting yet ludicrous
picture—all the nations of the earth here represented, making a perfect
bedlam.
I spent the forenoon as best I could, walking up and down the hall, and
sitting alone in my glory; all seemed a blank. In the course of the
forenoon Dr. C., who had charge of the north wards of the building,
which contained the men's side, came on the hall. He introduced himself
to me as the physician of this ward, and took some pains to impress
me with the idea that “_he was the boss of this shanty_,” and that
his orders must be carried out to the letter. This doctor had charge
of the men under Dr. Gray, while Dr. Kellogg had charge of the female
department.
This first interview with the doctor made an unfavorable impression
upon my mind. I next came to a point in my experience in the
institution which added greatly to my fears, and filled me with
anguish, and robbed me of all confidence in the attendants, that they
had any regard whatever for the feelings and comfort of the patients.
In the afternoon of Friday, my second day in the asylum, I was told by
the little Dutchman, the second attendant, to go with him; I followed;
he went into the bath-room, carrying a change of my clean underclothes,
which they had taken from my trunk; when in the bath-room he locked the
door; there stood the bath, about two-thirds full of water, or rather
mud and slime, in which ten or twelve filthy maniacs had been scrubbed
and washed with soft soap, until the water had become quite thick and
disgusting to look upon. He said to me in his broken English, “_untress
you and kit in dare_.” I looked at him and said, “am I to bathe in that
mud and slush?” he said, “yes, kit in dare quick.” I saw I was sold; I
was weak in body, the door locked, and though when in my full strength
could have thrown him into the bath and held him there; yet now I
doubted my ability to vie with him, and besides, I knew he had the
power to call to his aid whoever he chose. I did not deliberate long;
I threw off my clothes and jumped in, but jumped out as soon as I went
in, and called for a towel to wipe off the filth; he refused to give me
one, but ordered me to take my cast-off shirt and wipe myself with it.
I did so as well as I could, and begged for a clean pail of water to
wash myself with, but this was refused.
I made complaint to the first attendant on the hall, but got no
satisfaction. I saw the matter was all understood between them; it was
done to save time and a little work. There was water plenty, so that
each and every man could have had a clean bath; if not, it were far
better to not bathe at all, than to bathe in a mud hole. But the laws
must be obeyed to make each and every patient bathe once a week. I knew
if I complained to the doctor, it would be no better, for he would
either justify the course, or the attendants would deny that such an
event ever took place, and I alone would be the sufferer.
I did, however, before I left the institution, lay this matter,
with some other things, before Dr. S., a fine humane man who was in
the institution for a year before I left. He believed my story and
reprobated the course. I only wished at the time that those who forced
me into such measures had been obliged to bathe in the same slough hole.
Such attendants are men that never went in good society. I can say as
Job said of those who taunted him in his affliction, that they were men
that he, before he was cast down, would not have associated with his
dogs; yet, now they ridiculed him when he was in trouble. So say I;
these are men that now, and before I went to the asylum, I should have
been ashamed to associate with, but having a little power, they humbled
me, and in fear I obeyed them, yet I despised them, and I cannot forget
them.