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.