[CHAPTER IV.]
The first Sabbath came the 23d of August. I had seen nothing of the institution as yet, only what I had seen from this hall. I could only look out of a north window, and see the hills afar off, the valley of the Mohawk stretching east and west as far as the eye could reach; could see the cars passing up and down the valley, and the canal, with its loaded crafts slowly but constantly passing by. I could also see fine carriages constantly passing by, going in and out of the city. I could also see the beautiful lawn lying at my feet, and stretching away to the street passing out of the city. While I stood at my window and saw all this, and then turned and looked at myself, shut up and confined with bars and bolts, I then began to think that I could now conceive how those poor creatures felt whom I had often seen crowding to prison windows to catch a glimpse of passers-by, through their iron grates.
I recollect, while thus employed and thus philosophising, of crying out, that “my life is a failure.” I had never realized before the sweets of liberty, and finally came almost to the conclusion that I must have committed some crime, or I never should have been thus confined and shut out from society; yet I had no knowledge that I had violated the law in any sense.
Yes, this was a lonely Sabbath; yet I felt that while I remained in that institution, I had no desire to go out or to form any acquaintances. I could not get rid of the idea that the whole process of proceedings in putting me into the asylum was deception from end to end. First, they were deceived as to the cause of my trouble; secondly, they were deceived in regard to my real condition. I did not wish to look any man in the face, outside of the asylum, for the reason that I supposed all within its walls were regarded as insane and unfit to mingle in society.
I learned that there was service in the chapel that evening, but nothing was said to me about attending; and I did not mention it, for fear I should be denied the privilege of attending.
A day or two more passed away, and I had not, as yet, put off my best clothes. I was thinking of it, and then I thought again—“Why should I care about the future? And if I lay off this suit I shall never see it again.” These were thoughts that came into my mind; and I thought I might as well wear out my best clothes as to let others have them.
While these thoughts were revolving in my mind, Mr. Jones, the attendant, came to me and said—“You had better lay off that suit of clothes, and put on a poorer one, to wallow on the hall in.” So I made the change, as I had a number of poorer suits in my trunk. This suit that I laid off was a very fine one and valuable. Time went on, and in about six weeks I was removed to the fourth floor. This was a short hall on the first floor, extending west from the main building; but the same suit of clothes that I laid off, a few days after I entered the asylum, I never saw again. I was never fully satisfied what became of them.
The State Fair was held in Utica that fall, and I was invited to ride on to the grounds, with others, in an omnibus. I did not care to go, yet I did not think it best to refuse; I consented and called for my coat; a coat was brought me, but it was not mine; it was much smaller, shorter sleeves, and much worn; it was not worth ten dollars; mine was worth thirty.