After the young man, the brother of the patient, had left, the family where I stopped explained to me the probable reasons why they were going to send him to the asylum. The young man had become of age, and was not capable of supporting himself; they were afraid he was getting, or would get, suicidal; he was getting to be a burden to the family.
His own mother was dead, and he had a step-mother. If they put him in the asylum they would get rid of the trouble of looking after him, and would save his support by throwing him into the asylum as a county charge. Yet they were not poor. There can be no doubt but many are sent there for similar reasons.
I was greatly surprised to find children in the asylum not more than six or seven years old. I saw two little boys there, one from Rondout, of about that age. Poor things, how I pitied them. They were very sprightly little fellows, but it was said they had epileptic fits. I would think it much more appropriate to send a child there that had the measles, or one troubled with worms, than to send one there troubled with fits, for, I think likely, they might cure the measles, and I am sure they would give medicine enough to kill the worms.
I will now return to the first hall, and give a description of the patients on that floor. I have already said that generally there are about forty patients on this hall, perhaps a little less; there are constant changes on this hall of patients. When patients are first brought in they are seldom left on this floor, though some are. Some come on this hall and never go to any other. They come and stay from three months to a year, and sometimes longer, as the case may be, and leave almost entirely ignorant of the general state of things in the asylum. And some of this class are well pleased with the asylum; this depends much on who they are, and what the state of their body and mind was in while there.
But the great majority first have a schooling on other halls, and, if very insane, are quite likely to be sent on the old eleventh, which, I believe, is now changed to some other number, but the hall is the same. This hall is the most like hell, in my judgment, so far as we have any knowledge of what hell is, of any other place on earth. I recollect when I was there, I used to fear and tremble, lest I should be sent on to the eleventh; and it was a common thing for attendants to scare patients, by telling them they would report them to the doctor and have them sent on to the eleventh hall.
This is a low small hall, on the ground floor, in the west end of the wing, made of brick, and, I think, but one story high. Here men are bound in fetters and laid in irons! Many of them are so crazy they are obliged to be kept bound, some in cribs, some hand-cuffed, some tied down in seats, some with muffs, and many of them in strait jackets. I am not censuring anybody for this, unless it be the patients themselves, who have brought themselves to this state by imprudence and debauchery. As to the treatment of these, I have no knowledge, only by hearsay. I have often heard many hard stories concerning their treatment, but there can be no doubt, that means that would seem to be rash has to be sometimes used, to bring to bearings some of these raving maniacs.
Their food, I understand, is as good as in any other department in the institution, but the manner of eating it is different. They are not allowed knives and forks, but eat with spoons; their food being prepared and put on their plates by the attendants. As these patients improve, they are changed to other halls more appropriate to their state, until some of them finally get to the first hall. Not that all come on to the first hall who get well and are discharged from the asylum, yet many come on the first hall from other floors, and many are discharged from the first hall and go home, making constant changes on that floor. I visited the asylum in April last, and found eight persons on the first floor, who were there three years ago, when I left; some of these seem to be fixtures. I could give the names of these, but perhaps they would regard it a freedom which I had no right to take; so I will forbear. There is a kind of mystery attached to the history of some of these men. One of them, a well, hearty man of about forty, who has been there about six years, and he told me he had not taken a dose of medicine since he entered the institution; and no man would think of charging him with insanity; and I have often said, and say now, that a man must be made of stern stuff that can remain shut up there for six years, in the prime of life, amidst the howlings and babblings of five hundred maniacs, and not become insane!
There are a number of others who have been there from ten to fifteen years, who show but slight marks of insanity; if any, perfectly harmless. There are many out in the world doing business quite as crazy as they. These, I know, are all groaning to get free, but their friends prefer to keep them there, and as property doubtless has much to do with the matter, they will be likely to die in the institution. Were they county patients, they would long before now have been set at liberty.
There is one case in the asylum that I will venture to name, because I am quite sure he would prefer to have me do so. This case is Frank Jones. He has been there a number of years. He is troubled with epileptic fits; these fits have somewhat impaired his mind. He is as harmless as a child; is capable of doing considerable business of a certain kind. He has his liberty to go about where he pleases; he does a great many chores for the doctor; goes into the city daily, to the post-office and stores; dresses very neatly, is perfectly honest and truthful, and can be trusted in any matter. He occupies the first hall; is a private patient, and is the son of Mrs. Jones, the owner of the Clarendon House at Saratoga Springs—one of the best houses in that place.
I have often had talk with Frank on the subject of his being in the asylum; he seems to feel bad at times that his mother chooses to keep him in the asylum. I had the opportunity of watching him for two years. I have seen him have his fits; he is very little trouble to any one when he has them; he generally so manages as to have them in his room on his bed.