Ten Days in a Mad-House and Other Stories

Ten Days in a Mad-House

Nellie Bly

INTRODUCTION.

SINCE my experiences in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum were

published in the
World
I have received hundreds of letters in regard

to it. The edition containing my story long since ran out, and I have

been prevailed upon to allow it to be published in book form, to

satisfy the hundreds who are yet asking for copies.

I am happy to be able to state as a result of my visit to the asylum and the exposures consequent thereon, that the City of New York

has appropriated $1,000,000 more per annum than ever before for

the care of the insane. So I have at least the satisfaction of knowing

that the poor unfortunates will be the better cared for because of my

work.

Ten Days in a Mad-House

CHAPTER I.

A DELICATE MISSION.

ON the 22d of September I was asked by the
World
if I could have

myself committed to one of the asylums for the insane in New York,

with a view to writing a plain and unvarnished narrative of the

treatment of the patients therein and the methods of management,

etc. Did I think I had the courage to go through such an ordeal as the

mission would demand? Could I assume the characteristics of

insanity to such a degree that I could pass the doctors, live for a

week among the insane without the authorities there finding out that

I was only a “chiel amang ‘em takin’ notes?” I said I believed I could.

I had some faith in my own ability as an actress and thought I could

assume insanity long enough to accomplish any mission intrusted to

me. Could I pass a week in the insane ward at Blackwell’s Island? I

said I could and I would. And I did.

My instructions were simply to go on with my work as soon as I felt

that I was ready. I was to chronicle faithfully the experiences I

underwent, and when once within the walls of the asylum to find

out and describe its inside workings, which are always, so effectually

hidden by white-capped nurses, as well as by bolts and bars, from

the knowledge of the public. “We do not ask you to go there for the

purpose of making sensational revelations. Write up things as you

find them, good or bad; give praise or blame as you think best, and

the truth all the time. But I am afraid of that chronic smile of yours,”

said the editor. “I will smile no more,” I said, and I went away to

execute my delicate and, as I found out, difficult mission.

If I did get into the asylum, which I hardly hoped to do, I had no

idea that my experiences would contain aught else than a simple tale

of life in an asylum. That such an institution could be mismanaged,

and that cruelties could exist ‘neath its roof, I did not deem possible.

I always had a desire to know asylum life more thoroughly–a desire

to be convinced that the most helpless of God’s creatures, the insane,

were cared for kindly and properly. The many stories I had read of

abuses in such institutions I had regarded as wildly exaggerated or

else romances, yet there was a latent desire to know positively.

I shuddered to think how completely the insane were in the power

of their keepers, and how one could weep and plead for release, and

all of no avail, if the keepers were so minded. Eagerly I accepted the

mission to learn the inside workings of the Blackwell Island Insane

Asylum.

“How will you get me out,” I asked my editor, “after I once get in?”

“I do not know,” he replied, “but we will get you out if we have to

tell who you are, and for what purpose you feigned insanity–only

get in.”

I had little belief in my ability to deceive the insanity experts, and I

think my editor had less.

All the preliminary preparations for my ordeal were left to be

planned by myself. Only one thing was decided upon, namely, that I

should pass under the pseudonym of Nellie Brown, the initials of

which would agree with my own name and my linen, so that there

would be no difficulty in keeping track of my movements and

assisting me out of any difficulties or dangers I might get into. There

were ways of getting into the insane ward, but I did not know them.

Ten Days in a Mad-House

I might adopt one of two courses. Either I could feign insanity at the

house of friends, and get myself committed on the decision of two

competent physicians, or I could go to my goal by way of the police

courts.

On reflection I thought it wiser not to inflict myself upon my friends

or to get any good-natured doctors to assist me in my purpose.

Besides, to get to Blackwell’s Island my friends would have had to

feign poverty, and, unfortunately for the end I had in view, my

acquaintance with the struggling poor, except my own self, was only

very superficial. So I determined upon the plan which led me to the

successful accomplishment of my mission. I succeeded in getting

committed to the insane ward at Blackwell’s Island, where I spent

ten days and nights and had an experience which I shall never

forget. I took upon myself to enact the part of a poor, unfortunate

crazy girl, and felt it my duty not to shirk any of the disagreeable

results that should follow. I became one of the city’s insane wards for

that length of time, experienced much, and saw and heard more of

the treatment accorded to this helpless class of our population, and

when I had seen and heard enough, my release was promptly

secured. I left the insane ward with pleasure and regret–pleasure

that I was once more able to enjoy the free breath of heaven; regret

that I could not have brought with me some of the unfortunate

women who lived and suffered with me, and who, I am convinced,

are just as sane as I was and am now myself.

But here let me say one thing: From the moment I entered the insane

ward on the Island, I made no attempt to keep up the assumed
role
of

insanity. I talked and acted just as I do in ordinary life. Yet strange to

say, the more sanely I talked and acted the crazier I was thought to

be by all except one physician, whose kindness and gentle ways I

shall not soon forget.

CHAPTER II.

PREPARING FOR THE ORDEAL.

BUT to return to my work and my mission. After receiving my

instructions I returned to my boarding-house, and when evening

came I began to practice the
role
in which I was to make my
debut
on the morrow. What a difficult task, I thought, to appear before a

crowd of people and convince them that I was insane. I had never

been near insane persons before in my life, and had not the faintest

idea of what their actions were like. And then to be examined by a

number of learned physicians who make insanity a specialty, and

who daily come in contact with insane people! How could I hope to

pass these doctors and convince them that I was crazy? I feared that

they could not be deceived. I began to think my task a hopeless one;

but it had to be done. So I flew to the mirror and examined my face. I

remembered all I had read of the doings of crazy people, how first of

all they have staring eyes, and so I opened mine as wide as possible

and stared unblinkingly at my own reflection. I assure you the sight

was not reassuring, even to myself, especially in the dead of night. I

tried to turn the gas up higher in hopes that it would raise my

courage. I succeeded only partially, but I consoled myself with the

thought that in a few nights more I would not be there, but locked

up in a cell with a lot of lunatics.

The weather was not cold; but, nevertheless, when I thought of what

was to come, wintery chills ran races up and down my back in very

mockery of the perspiration which was slowly but surely taking the

curl out of my bangs. Between times, practicing before the mirror

and picturing my future as a lunatic, I read snatches of improbable

and impossible ghost stories, so that when the dawn came to chase

away the night, I felt that I was in a fit mood for my mission, yet

hungry enough to feel keenly that I wanted my breakfast. Slowly

and sadly I took my morning bath and quietly bade farewell to a few

of the most precious articles known to modern civilization. Tenderly

I put my tooth-brush aside, and, when taking a final rub of the soap,

I murmured, “It may be for days, and it may be–for longer.” Then I