I think it was in the spring of 1865 that I saw a man walking up the hall, who I recognized as an old friend from Fort Plain; we had been warm friends for a number of years; I had once been stationed there, as their pastor. Anticipating what he might think of my state of mind, I said to him the very first word, that I wanted him to look upon me as the same man that I used to be, and not to talk to me as though he thought I were insane.
The meeting was affecting to both of us. He took dinner with me. He had a talk with Dr. Gray about the propriety of my leaving the institution soon. I accompanied him to the depot when he left, and I am sure he was satisfied that I was not insane. Since I left the institution I have visited him twice, and once spent with him an agreeable Sabbath, in preaching in the same house that I did in 1850 and 1851.
August came, and the 23d of August came. Two years had now rolled round since I entered the asylum. I had said nothing about leaving since my daughter left, which was now more than a year before. My general impression had been, ever since I entered the asylum, that I should never leave it alive; but, for a month or two before the two years had elapsed, hope had begun to spring up in my mind; and when the two years were ended I hoped the doctor would tell me I could leave. But no such welcome message came, till at length, about the 23d of August, I said to the doctor that two years had now passed since I came there, and if I were ever to leave, I though the time had fully come. He replied very promptly, that “the two years had nothing to do with it; that when I got well I should go.” “Get well!” I replied, “if I am to wait for that I do not know when it will be, for I did not know that I was sick.” I then said: “Doctor, do you think I shall ever get away from here?” He answered, “Yes; there are some things we do know, and we know you will go away.” I said, “Yes, I know, too, that I shall get away, either dead or alive; but how long, doctor, do you think it will be before I can go?” He answered, “Two or three months, if you get well, and your folks come after you.” I said no more, but I stuck a pin down there. “Two or three months,” I repeated to myself; it seemed short to think of.
I now felt that I had some grounds to hope; the time was limited to two or three months. Time now began to hang more lightly upon me. Mr. Harvey visited me during this fall, this is the man who was my attendant, when I went to the asylum. He observed that I was more like myself, that I appeared more life-like. And why should I not appear more like living? the medicine was taken off, the time was limited to three months, that I was to have my liberty once more and go where I pleased.
There was a man by the name of Fenton, a patient who used to accompany me in my rambles this fall, through the forests, fields and city. He was one of those eccentric, poetic, wiry, excitable creatures that would astonish you with his outbursts of wit and humor, making a very agreeable companion to help while away the gloomy hours spent in an asylum.
I left him in the menagerie, as he used to call the asylum, when I left; but I learnt that he soon after got away, and has written me two or three times since, sending me some of his poetic productions, which will compare well with our best American poetry.
As the time drew nigh for me to leave, the steward took me down to the city and told me to select just such a suit of clothes as I chose. I, of course, got me a good suit, with hat and boots. I was now prepared to leave, so far as I was concerned, with the exception of money.
When the three months were out, which brought it to the 20th of November, I reminded the Doctor of his promise. “Yes, yes,” he said, “I have written to your son to come after you from Illinois; when he comes you can go.” I thought of the matter. I wrote to my folks to not come after me. I felt indignant that my friends should be required to come a thousand miles and spend a hundred dollars to accompany me back, when I knew I was just as capable of traveling alone as I ever was.
I sent to a friend for money. He sent me a draft. I told the Doctor my friends were not coming after me; that I was capable of traveling alone, and that I must start by the 20th of December, as I did not want to stay through another winter. Besides, I wanted to be with my friends during the holidays. He tried to prevail on me to stay another week.