Ten Years and Ten Months in Lunatic Asylums in Different States

In Short

This memoir recounts the author’s ten years and ten months of involuntary confinement within various psychiatric institutions, beginning in 1860. Detailing his harrowing experiences at the Marshall Lunatic Asylum and the Brattleborough Asylum, the text blends personal narrative with a searing indictment of the period's institutional cruelty. Beyond a mere chronological record, the work functions as a moral polemic, arguing for the humanity of the confined and the urgent need for oversight. Its enduring significance lies in its raw, unfiltered witness to the systemic abuse of the vulnerable.

The Story

The narrative begins with a look back at the author’s early life in Hoosick, New York, where he was raised in a strict, industrious, and deeply religious household. His path from farmer and cooper to a man of faith is marked by a "mistaken" struggle with his own spiritual state, a period of perceived darkness that he eventually equates to the trials of biblical figures. The pivot of his life occurs when, suffering from deep psychological distress, he is moved by his family and associates into the care of the psychiatric system. He arrives at the Marshall Lunatic Asylum in 1860, expecting treatment but finding instead a place of systematic degradation.

The heart of the story tracks his transition from the "main house" to the "incurable house" in 1862, a move that plunges him into a cycle of physical terror. He describes being bound in leather harnesses, gagged, and subjected to the caprices of attendants like Thomas Haly and the "muscular" Isabella Anderson. Throughout these years, his days are consumed by the mechanics of survival: navigating the movements of fellow inmates, enduring the "State prison clip" of his hair, and witnessing the physical abuse of others. He maintains his sanity through prayer, citing his absolute commitment to his faith as the only force that allowed him to endure, even when he felt utterly forsaken by the world outside.

The narrative arc reaches its resolution in 1870, when a period of severe illness—marked by a long physical decline—is followed by a profound psychological shift. As his health returns, so does his mental clarity, and the "cloud" that had obscured his mind for over a decade lifts. He realizes that his time in the asylum was not a life sentence, but a crucible. He eventually gains his liberty and returns to the outside world, though his mission remains unchanged. The final sections of the book transition from his personal history to a direct appeal to the public. He demands that the "candid public" take notice of the suffering of those still locked away. He concludes by proposing strict legal reforms, including public jury trials for all potential asylum commitments, ensuring that no one is ever again consigned to such institutions without a fair, public opportunity to defend themselves.

How It Unfolds

The transition to institutional life The author describes his departure from his family home and his initial entry into the asylum system, framing the experience as a loss of liberty and a descent into a world of unfeeling authority. He highlights his deep spiritual anxiety and his eventual realization that the "cure" offered by these facilities was fundamentally broken.

The descent into the incurable house This beat follows the author's forced relocation to the branch facility, where he details the physical instruments of restraint, such as handcuffs and leather muffles. He introduces the central antagonists, the attendants whose violence defines the daily reality for him and the other men held in these rooms.

The endurance of faith The author centers his narrative on his internal experience, describing his refusal to smile for over ten years as a reflection of his profound, isolated grief. He uses his religious convictions to interpret his suffering, drawing parallels between his confinement and the trials of Job or Paul.

The recovery of mind and freedom Following a long, near-fatal illness, the author experiences a sudden clarity of thought that marks the end of his decade-long struggle. He details the process of reclaiming his identity and his eventual release, which sets the stage for his final, vigorous call for institutional reform.

The People

The author, Moses Swan, is the central figure, a man of profound religious devotion who views his confinement through the lens of spiritual struggle. He is caught between his own sense of duty and the totalizing power of the institutions, yet he remains remarkably articulate in his condemnation of his captors. He emerges not as a broken man, but as a witness, determined to translate his suffering into political and moral action.

The antagonists are the attendants, most notably Thomas Haly and the couple William and Isabella Anderson. These figures represent the arbitrary, unchecked power of the asylum system; they are portrayed as "muscular" and cruel, using their strength to enforce a regime of intimidation. They are the "thieves" of the asylum who profit from the misery of those they are meant to care for.

Fellow inmates like John P. Bacon and Ebenezer Scott serve as tragic mirrors to the author. They are depicted as victims of "self-abuse" and institutional neglect, often bound and physically tormented. Their presence highlights the author's own fear of being permanently trapped alongside those who have lost the ability to govern their own minds. His wife and daughter act as the bridge to his past life; their visits are moments of agonizing contrast, where he tries to convey the truth of his condition while the attendants present a false, "soft" facade of professional care.

In Its Own Voice

"But oh! tongue cannot tell or pen describe what I suffered at the hands of the cruel and inhuman male attendant and the equally cruel and barbarous female attendant, whose hearts were calloused and harder than the adamantine rock."

The author recounts his first encounter with the physical brutality of the staff, emphasizing the sheer impossibility of conveying his pain to the outside world.

"I believe a lunatic should be treated as a mischievous little innocent child."

In a reflection on the nature of psychiatric care, the author argues for a return to a more humane, compassionate approach to those struggling with their mental faculties.

"If any one knoweth how to appreciate the blessedness of liberty and good society, I more."

Following his release, the author contrasts his newfound freedom with the darkness of his decade in confinement, underscoring the precious nature of the life he has reclaimed.

What It's Really About

The book is a protest against the unchecked power of institutional authority. It argues that the "asylum" system, as it existed in the mid-19th century, was a failed structure that prioritized physical control over healing. The core question is whether the state has the right to strip an individual of their liberty without a transparent, public process. The author posits that these institutions were often used to silence the inconvenient, the poor, and the vulnerable rather than to treat the ill. He challenges the reader to look past the veneer of institutional order to see the human cost, ultimately arguing that the moral health of a society is measured by how it treats those it deems "incurable."

Why Read It Today

Readers drawn to the history of psychiatry, the evolution of human rights, or the power of personal testimony will find this an essential, if difficult, document. It is a raw, unvarnished look at a dark chapter in 19th-century history, and it does not shy away from the author’s intense, at times repetitive, religious fervor or his period-specific language. The pacing can be challenging, as the text shifts frequently between memoir, biblical analysis, and administrative critique. However, the reward for the reader is a direct, unfiltered connection to a man who refused to be erased by the systems that contained him.

What lingers is not just the horror of the fetters and the "incurable" wards, but the author’s sheer willpower to document the truth. It is a testament to the idea that even when a life is stripped of everything, the capacity to observe, record, and demand justice remains. For those interested in the literature of advocacy and the history of medicine, this work offers a searing, authentic perspective on what it means to be stripped of one's humanity—and the arduous, singular process of regaining it. It is a difficult, singular read that stands as an enduring monument to the necessity of individual witness.