Devonshire Characters and Strange Events

Presently the boat shot out beyond the breakwater, and began to pitch. Budd turned livid, and his lips leaden. “He’s a fool, a cursed fool,” said he, after he had stooped over the side, “he who, having the means, keeps a yacht; and he’s a cursed fool who, having a friend that has a yacht, allows himself to be over-persuaded to go out with him.”

Mrs. Calmady was in a very poor way. The doctors had bled her and allowed her only slops, and the poor lady was reduced to death’s door. As a last resource Dr. Budd was called in. “Chuck the slops away, and chuck the doctors after them, with their pills and lancets,” roared Budd. “Give her three or four glasses of champagne a day, a bowl of beef-tea every three hours, beefsteaks, mutton-chops, and oysters.”

In fact, Dr. J. W. Budd broke through the wretched system that prevailed of bleeding and giving lowering diet for every kind of malady, which was the Sangrado system of the day.

A girl was shown to him in a sort of box, almost like a coffin. He had been called in to examine her, and he said that he would undertake to cure her if she were taken to his house and his treatment were not interfered with.

“But, oh! Doctor,” said the mother, “dearest Evangeline can eat nothing but macaroons.”

“In – deed!”

“And, oh! Doctor, she cannot bear the light; and the shutters have to be kept fast, and even the blinds down. The least ray of light causes her excruciating pain.”

“Ha! Humph!”

“And, Doctor Budd, she cannot stand; she lies always in that box; and, what is more, she can’t speak, only moans and mutters.”

“I understand. Send her to me.”

So the box was brought. To accommodate it a hearse was hired – no cab or carriage would contain it in a horizontal position.

The chest with the hysterical girl in it was carried into one of Budd’s rooms in his house, where the shutters were closed and the curtains drawn.

The weeping mother departed after giving strict injunctions to the Doctor not to allow any noise to be made in the house, no doors to be slammed, or poor darling Evangeline would go into convulsions – so highly strung were her sensitive nerves.

“Humph!” said Budd, and saw the good lady depart. He allowed ten minutes to elapse, and then he went upstairs, stamping on each step, threw open the door of the room in which his patient lay, and shouted —

“Halloo! What tomfoolery is this? I’ll soon make an end to it.” He went to the window, drew back the curtains, threw open the shutters, and let the sun stream into the apartment.

The girl began to moan and cry.

“Stop that nonsense!” said he. “I’m not like that fool of a mother of yours to believe in your whims. Get out of that box this instant.”

The girl began to tremble, but made no attempt to obey.

Budd went to a drawer and pulled out a pistol. Then to a cupboard and emptied a draught into a glass.

“Now, then,” said he, “which shall it be, pistol or poison? I’ll gripe you with the dose till you squeal with good reason, or put a bullet into you – whichever you prefer. It’s all one to me, but out of that box you jump.”

And jump she did, and fell on her knees before Dr. Budd.

“Oh! please, please, do not kill me!”

“I am not going to kill you if you do what you are told. Sit down there,” indicating a chair.

The girl complied. He rang the bell, and when a servant appeared he ordered a beefsteak and a small bottle of porter and bread. These were speedily brought into the room.

“Now, then,” said the Doctor, “eat and drink and enjoy yourself.”

“I – I – I can only eat macaroons.”

“Macaroons be d – d. You eat that steak and you drink that porter,” roared Budd, “or” – and he proceeded to cock and present the pistol.

The girl tremblingly obeyed, but presently became interested in the succulent beef and some crisp potatoes, and the porter she sipped first, and then drank, and drained the tumbler.

“That will do for to-day,” said Budd. “I have sent for your out-of-door clothes, and to-morrow morning you shall trundle a hoop round Princess Square. Now I leave you a packet of illustrated books. You dine with me this evening at seven.”

Another hysterical girl he dealt with and cured even more expeditiously. He was shown into the room where she lay in bed, and was informed that she could not rise. The Doctor begged to be left alone in the room with her.

When all were gone forth, he locked the door; then proceeded to divest himself of his coat, next of his waistcoat, and when he began to unhitch his braces —

“Now, then, make room – I’m coming to bed!”

“Mamma! Mamma! Mamma!” screamed the girl, and pulled violently at the bell.

“All right, madam,” said Budd when the mother arrived on the spot; “she’s cured now. Get this little maid up instantly, and vacate the bed for me. If there be any more nonsense, madam, send for me.”

A small girl had a tiresome nervous cough. Dr. Budd was called in. He heard her cough. Then he suddenly took her up in his arms and planted her on the mantelshelf.

“There!” said he. “Balance yourself here for half an hour.” He pulled out his watch. “If you cough you will infallibly tumble over among the fire-irons and cut your head. You are a nice little girl, you are an active little girl, you are a pretty little girl; but you have one cussed fault which makes every one hate you, and I’m going to cure you of that. No coughing. The fire is burning, and if you do fall I suspect your skirts will catch fire, and you will be frightfully burnt, besides having your cheek cut open by the fender.”

A young lady was one day brought to the Doctor by her parents, who were very anxious about her, as she was in a depressed condition of mind, out of which nothing roused her. Budd promised to give every attention to the case, and requested the parents to leave her with him at his residence in Princess Place. Soon afterwards he bade his coachman put to and take the young lady out for a drive. “And mind,” said the Doctor, “you upset the carriage.”

His orders were obeyed. The landau was upset in a ditch, and the young lady appeared screaming at the window to be extricated. “No more apathy now,” said Budd; and sent her home cured.

Budd, with all his roughness, was a kind-hearted and liberal man. His surgery was at the “Cottage,” in Westwell Street, and thousands streamed there every year full of implicit faith in Budd’s powers. A child was one day brought to the “Cottage,” a puny little sufferer. The Doctor, with his quick eye, saw that the case was critical; and although this was a free patient, he immediately had it sent to his own home in Princess Square, with strict orders that it was to be well fed and cared for; and it remained there for several days under his care without fee or reward.

A tradesman in Plymouth, living not long ago and in good circumstances, was at that time a man of straitened means. He was attacked by Asiatic cholera. Dr. Budd was called in, and saw that the case was severe and required every care; and he attended morning, noon, and night – on some days almost hourly – for a fortnight or three weeks, and at last the patient was cured. Then, with trembling lips, he asked Dr. Budd for his bill, thinking he would have to pay thirty or forty pounds. The Doctor replied: “You are a struggling tradesman, and cannot afford to pay much; if you cannot rake together five pounds, pay me what you can.”

A girl suffering from S. Vitus’s dance was brought to him. He looked hard at her. “Humph! Every time you make one of those jerks, I’ll force you to kiss me,” said the Doctor. This succeeded – for, according to the general opinion, Dr. Budd was “mortal ugly.”

A boy patient was fencing with his questions. Budd put the poker in the fire, and when it was red-hot took it to the bedside, and with a severe look and voice declared that he would at once apply it if the lad did not answer fully to his questions. The threat produced the immediate result of eliciting the replies he required, so as to enable him to diagnose the case.

Dr. Budd had an aptitude to diagnose his patient at a glance. At one time a young schoolmaster of Willinghull, aged twenty-two, named Horswell, visited him. He had formerly been in Plymouth, and knew the fame of Dr. Budd. As he had broken down in health, he returned to Plymouth. Two doctors had assured him that he would soon recover, but he thought he would obtain an opinion from Dr. Budd. This physician examined him, and told him in his usual blunt manner that he was food for worms. His right lung was gone, and his left was affected. “I shan’t give you medicine. Eat and drink well, and keep out of the cold, and you will hold on for ten months – no longer.”

Horswell got better and returned to his duties at the Wesleyan School at Willinghull. He wrote frequently to his friends, and told them how much better he was, and jeered at Budd’s prediction.

About eight months after his return he announced to his friends in Plymouth that he was about to be married, and again alluded to Budd’s prediction, and promised to write announcing his wedding. That letter never came; but instead of it one with a black edge, informing his friends that Horswell had broken a blood-vessel and had died suddenly; and a post-mortem examination proved that the right lung had long been gone, and a portion of the left.

A drunken man fell into Sutton Pool. It was late in the evening, and very dark at the time, but a tradesman in the locality happening to hear the splash, raised the alarm. With great presence of mind, he laid hold of a number of newspapers, set them on fire, and threw them into the water. By this light the drowning man was seen and recovered, and taken into a public-house. Every means was adopted to restore animation. Several medical men were soon in attendance, and they pronounced the man out of danger. Dr. Budd put in his appearance somewhat late, and, shaking his head, pronounced the man’s condition to be hopeless. The man slept well that night, and next day ate his breakfast and dinner as usual. The doctors all called to see him in the morning, and all, with the exception of Dr. Budd, pronounced him out of danger; but Budd stepped forward and asked the man if he was prepared to die, “for,” said he, “you will be dead before six o’clock this evening.” No one present, not even the man himself, believed the statement, as all was going on so favourably. But Budd was right, and before sundown the man was dead. Dr. Budd considered it impossible that he should recover from the blood-poisoning caused by taking into his stomach the poisonous deposits in Sutton Pool.

A miserly old fellow who was well off in worldly goods visited Dr. Budd at his “Cottage” in Westwell Street, and, thinking to save the guinea fee, dressed himself in rags. The Doctor recognized him, but listened patiently to the old man’s tale, and then asked him where he lived, to which the man replied by naming a very poor part of the village near his own residence and using a feigned name.

The Doctor said: “Do you know who lives in that big house in the place with the door that has a pediment over it?” To which the old man replied “Yes,” and mentioned his own name.

“Then,” said Dr. Budd, “call on that gentleman on your way home and tell him that the devil will have him in a fortnight.”

A few days beyond the fortnight the old gentleman actually died.