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.