Insomnia; and Other Disorders of Sleep

by Henry M. Lyman

“Another singular thing of a different sort, which was not less remarkable. One night, in the middle of winter, he dreamed that he was walking on the bank of a river, and saw a child fall into the water where he was drowning. The severity of the cold did not hinder him from hurrying to the rescue. He threw himself at full length upon his bed, in the position of a man who is swimming, and imitated all his movements. After having fatigued himself for some time with this exercise, he felt a portion of the coverlid gathered in a heap on one corner of the bed. He believed this to be the child; grasped it in one hand, and with the other went through the motions of swimming back to the bank of the supposed river. There he laid down his burden, and came out, shivering and chattering his teeth as if he were really getting out of an icy river. To the bystanders he said that he was freezing, and would die of cold, that his blood was all turned to ice; he must have a glass of brandy to warm him. Not having any, they gave him some water which chanced to be in the room; he tasted it, recognized the deception, and called, with greater emphasis than before, for brandy, insisting upon the magnitude of the danger which threatened his health. A glass of liquor was finally given to him; he drank it with pleasure, and spoke of the great relief which it afforded him. Notwithstanding all these incidents, he did not wake, but went to bed, and slept most profoundly.”

An equally instructive case is related by my distinguished colleague, Prof. J. Adams Allen.[80] The subject of the observation was a medical student who resided in Professor Allen’s house during a portion of the time covered by the narrative.

“About the summer of 1847, a somewhat dilapidated bass-viol, which was a kind of heir-loom in the family, was brought into the house, and he devoted spare moments to learning how to play upon it. Unfortunately, the antiquity of the instrument had told upon its keys, and unless they were wetted at each time of use, it would not remain in tune. He was determined, however, to command its notes, and succeeded. His somnambulic walks, thereafter, led him from his chamber to the parlor, and to the bass-viol, and the family would be awakened in the small hours by the inevitable tuning up prelude, mingled with slipping of the old keys, and quiet objurgations upon his part. Sometimes the bridge would fall down when the keys slipped, and sometimes a string would snap or escape from the keys, nevertheless he would persevere, repair damages, tune up, and then execute all varieties of music of which the machine was capable, not unfrequently accompanying it with his voice. All this would be done in total darkness. When any one entered the room with a light, he took not the least notice, although when spoken to he would reply in monosyllables or with considerable asperity. His face was usually flushed, although sometimes pale—the features immobile and passive, the eye open, pupil dilated, the surface glazed, and the lids apparently motionless. The extremities warm and the pulse full, frequent and soft. Very often the skin would be bathed with free perspiration. Remarkably sensitive to titillations when awake, there seemed total absence of reflex movements from this cause whilst in the somnambulic state.

“As he extended his acquaintance with music and musical instruments, his feats became wonderful. Whilst in attendance upon the Medical College at La Porte, the household looked forward with high anticipations to the hours when his skillful touch of the melodeon would wake them. He had a voice of the purest tone and very considerable compass, in fact of rare sweetness. I am enabled to say from a multitude of observations, that he played with a precision and skill while asleep that he could not approximate while awake. Besides this, he would execute music which he had heard, perhaps, but once, the evening previous or after a long interval—no note of which he could recall in his waking moments. His memory here seemed wonderfully exalted. If interrupted, he was irritable in the extreme, but would go on with his music exactly from the point of interruption.

“Among the numberless exhibitions of his somnambulism, I have time only to notice a few of the most striking.

“Whilst attending lectures at Ann Arbor, where I was then lecturing on Physiology, I requested his assistance in enlarging some of the drawings illustrative of minute anatomy and histology, for use in class demonstrations. He entered into the work with great zeal, and proved very expert and rapid in execution. One evening, previous to the day on which I was about to lecture on the kidney, I wished the cuts in Carpenter’s Physiology, illustrating the tubular arrangement, etc., were ready. He had an engagement for the evening, but said he would try and prepare them in the morning. During the night he rose, dressed himself, played a few tunes on the guitar, part of the time singing (and, by the way, the guitar was about as dilapidated as the bass-viol before noticed, and he had to knot one or two of the strings first), and then arranged the drawing paper, prepared his India ink and brushes, took the parallels and pencils and laid off the space, and worked for half an hour or more rapidly and perfectly, nearly completing the figures on pp. 596 and 597 of Carpenter’s Principles, in the edition of 1853.... These drawings are now in the series used for illustration in Rush Medical College. Although we had a light in the room while watching him, he went on with his work entirely regardless of it. Before completing the work, he went to bed and slept until the usual hour in the morning, when at the breakfast he asked if he had been up in the night, as he had dreamed that he had. This was the only time he ever remembered even dreaming about being up or occupied in anything. He had by this time become so fully aware of his habits, that nothing of the sort astonished him. Shortly after this he went to spend the night with a fellow student, but a little after midnight he rose, dressed himself, and went out, followed by the other gentleman, walked down to the Exchange Hotel, where there were a number of his acquaintances and others waiting for a train of cars due at that time. Some one rallied him on his being out so late, but being cautioned by his companion, they did not attempt to awake him, but watched his movements. On being invited, he took a glass of ale, and then said he would only have time to go home and get his dinner before the afternoon lecture hour. He walked with his friend to our door, and was indignant to find it locked. His room-mate (a cousin) admitted him and awakened myself and wife. He asked if dinner was ready, and seemed astonished that it was not; then said he would get a drink of water and be off, ‘for old D. (one of the faculty) would be mad if he was late.’ I told him he had plenty of time and he need not be in a hurry. He then walked into the kitchen, drank a tumblerful of water, and, looking up to the clock, although it was totally dark, remarked the time, and started for the front door. I then told him that I was not feeling well, was pretty blue, and wished he would sit down and play euchre with us. This seemed to please him, and he took off his overcoat and said he had as lief play until ‘old D.’ was through lecturing, as to go.

“His cousin sat down at the table with us, and we played ‘three-handed (cut-throat) euchre.’ He paid not the slightest attention to us, although we passed the cards backwards and forwards between us, exchanging hands, and everything we could do to attract his attention. He dealt the cards in his turn, correctly, and played ‘according to Hoyle.’ In one hand, spades were trumps, and he held the jack of clubs. Clubs being led, he first threw down this jack, then quickly picked it up, saying, ‘I forgot that was the left bower.’ It is somewhat humiliating to record that, notwithstanding our tricks and devices, he beat us in the game.

“On its conclusion, he got up hastily and insisted upon going to the college. We only prevented him this time, by throwing water in his face—the only method, by the way, in which we could awake him without great violence. Pungent odors, ammonia, camphor, etc., he seemed to disregard, or merely pushed away the object.

“On regaining consciousness, he always appeared like one stunned, or suffering from a severe shock. The influence upon the pulse and nervous system was always so severe, that we never awaked him at these times if we could avoid it.

“Whenever a little out of health, as from trifling attacks of indigestion, or after watching with the sick, or fatigue, he would be sure to be up and doing something notable in the somnambulic state.