She talked with Dr. Gray, and he made her believe it was best for me to remain in the asylum. I was permitted to visit with her in the city, and when she was about to leave, I applied to Dr. Gray to let me leave the institution, and go home with her. He was very decided,—and said, “as a state officer, he could not let me go.” My heart sunk down.
The time came for her departure; I went to the city with her; she had her little boy, her only child with her, of nine or ten years old. When the moment came for separation, she and my only grandchild, to go to her mother, and I to go back to the asylum, my heart nearly died within me. I bade her and the child good by, and gave them my blessing. But, O God! What a moment was that to me, as I gazed after my two only children as long as I could catch a glimpse of them! and then said to myself, “shall I ever see them again?” None but a father can know how I felt at that moment. Ah, none but a father in like circumstances can know how I felt! An ordinary parting of parents and children is touching; but one of this kind is beyond description.
If a man is insane, no such thing moves him; he can see his children go and come unmoved and unaffected, he can see his children die and not be moved, all things are alike to him.
I returned to the asylum with a heavy heart, yet comforted that I had seen my only beloved children, and thanked God for the opportunity. By the coming of my daughter, I formed an acquaintance with some friends in Utica, who called occasionally at the asylum to see me.
I have passed over a circumstance which I will notice in this place. While on the fourth hall, in about the month of November, I observed a thick, stout built man brought in from one of the back halls, and introduced to the attendant. He had come from the eleventh hall; he was a bold and naturally a good feeling man, and, I perceived, a man of strong impulses; and of some cultivation, he attracted my attention, and I perceived he was highly gratified with his change. On further acquaintance I found he was a preacher from the New York Conference; his name I shall withhold.
He had been thrown into the asylum by his friends, I learned, in consequence of the high state of excitement his mind got into by over-working and much care. He was first put on one of the back halls, and soon got on to the eleventh. There they have rough work sometimes. He was under a high excitement when carried there.
Mr. Vallerly, the attendant, a strong Irishman, and not overstocked with patience, took charge of him. The Reverend gentleman supposed he understood his own business, and, therefore, was not very prompt in obeying the strict and iron rules of the attendant, upon which the Hibernian drew his fist and knocked him to the floor, in the meantime giving him a terrible black eye, which he brought on to the fourth hall with him.
This Vallerly had the name of being a perfect gladiator, and this, I suppose, is the reason why he was placed on the eleventh as an attendant. I ever after that was afraid of Vallerly. This hall is greatly dreaded by the patients; is regarded as a whipping post. I confess I always had fears of being put there. This Reverend gentleman expressed his high gratification in being removed from the eleventh hall, saying he felt raised at least fifty per cent.
He was free to talk of his being a minister of the Gospel; he observed that I said but little about my being a preacher; I told him I did not care to say much about it while in the asylum, not that I was ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, but thought it was a disgrace to the ministry to have one of its members thrown into a lunatic asylum. So deeply did this matter affect me that the prefix Rev. to my name on some of my clothing annoyed me very much. Was this one mark of my insanity?