Devonshire Characters and Strange Events

Budd was visiting a farmer in the country. Every time he left, a prentice boy on the farm came with an anxious face to inquire how his master was.

The Doctor was touched with the intense interest the lad took in the condition of his master. One day as he left and the boy asked after the farmer, Budd shook his head and said, “I fear it’s going bad with him.”

Thereupon the boy burst out into a loud bohoo of tears and sobs.

“There, there,” said the Doctor, “don’t take on so, my lad. It can’t be helped.”

“Oh, you’d take on if you was in my place,” sobbed the youth, “for missus makes us eat all the stock, pigs and what not, as dies on the farm.”

He was visited in his consulting room by a patient who had lock-jaw.

“Come upstairs,” said he; “I can do nothing with you here.” He threw open the door and preceded the man up the flight of stairs. When he had got some way up he suddenly lurched against his patient, upset him, and sent him rolling heels over head to the bottom of the staircase.

The man yelled out from the bottom, “Confound you, Doctor, you’ve broken my arm!”

“Oh! is that all? I can set that. I have already loosened your jaw.”

He visited the late Mrs. Radford, an aged lady.

“What you want,” said he, “I’ll tell you. Get a boat and a pair of sculls and row round Plymouth Sound; do that or be d – d.”

“Doctor,” replied she, “I can’t do one – and I won’t be the other, not even to please you.”

When he resided in George Street, Devonport, the young officers often came to him to try, as the saying is now, “to pull his leg”; but they rarely got the better of him. Once a couple called with grave faces to inform him that a comrade had swallowed a blue-bottle fly, and that it was buzzing about in his interior and made him feel very ill. Doctor John went to an outhouse and returned with a fat spider, and gave it to the young officers. “There,” said he; “tell your friend to swallow that, and it will soon settle the blue-bottle.”

On another occasion, some officers whom he had served invited him to dine at the mess with them, but, “No,” said he; “I never dine from home.”

“Very well,” said they, “dine with you we will; and, if you will allow us, we will order a dinner to be served in your own house.”

“No objection to that,” said Budd, and he protested afterwards that they had given him the best dinner and the best wine he had ever eaten and drunk in his life.

From Devonport he removed to Westwell Street, Plymouth, and this became the Mecca of the poor, whom he attended with as much consideration as the richest patients; and everyone took his or her turn; no favour was shown to one who could pay above another who could not.

Dr. John Budd would attend at the workhouse, to see the sick there. One day the master said to him, “There is Jose here again. He pretends that he is doubled up with lumbago, or something of that sort. The fellow, I believe, is a malingerer; he hates work, and he loves to be in the infirmary and have extra rations.”

“I’ll deal with him,” said Budd; and he was shown into the ward where Jose lay groaning and crying out.

“Where is it, man?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, sir! cruel pains right across my body. I can’t walk; I can scarce breathe. Oh! oh! oh!” and he began to howl.

“I must examine your back,” said the Doctor. “You must be placed on the table and your spine bared.”

So the moaning rascal was placed, face downwards, on the board, and his hands and feet tied. He did not like that; he said it hurt him “cruel bad.” But it had to be done, and he was stripped to the waist.

“I’ll try Carne’s Balls on him,” said Dr. Budd. The fellow, looking out of the corners of his eyes, saw an apparatus introduced, a couple of iron balls like large bullets, with handles to them; then a spirit lamp was lighted, and the balls were heated in the flame.

“I think I feel easier, sir,” said Jose, who did not relish the preparations.

“But we’re going to make you quite well,” said the medical practitioner; and flinging his leg across Jose’s hams he sat astride on him, and signed to his assistant to hand him the heated balls.

With these he began to pound the patient in the small of the back. They were not red hot, but nearly so, and the purpose of the application was to raise round blisters.

Jose yelled. “Take it patiently,” said Budd; “it will do you good. Heat the balls again.”

Further dabbing with the implement; vociferous yells from the patient. “I am well! I’ve no more pain. Have mercy on me!”

At last he was disengaged and sent back to bed. Next day away went Jose blistered in the back; not another visit from the Doctor would he abide. Nor did he appear again in the Plymouth workhouse. The man was well known elsewhere, and the master had communicated with other heads of workhouses in Devon. A few weeks later Jose turned up at Newton Abbot, and applied for admission into the workhouse; he was suffering badly, very badly, with spasms in the heart. He was taken to the infirmary, at once recognized, and the surgeon sent for.

“Humph!” said the medical man. “This is a case for Carne’s Balls, I see. I’ve heard of him from Dr. Budd.”

“I’ll be shot if you try them on me!” roared Jose. “Let me go – I’m better – I’m well.”

He was dismissed. About a fortnight later he appeared at Exeter workhouse, with his leg contracted, tottering and scarce able to walk. He was put into the infirmary. Said the master, “This is a more serious case than is apparent. We must send for Dr. Budd.” There was then a Dr. Budd of Exeter.

“Budd! Budd!” shouted the man. “I’ll have no Budds about me. Let me go. My leg is well.”

One day, at North Tawton, a man doubled up with pain and reeling in his walk applied at several houses for relief, got some coppers, and came to the respectable house of evidently a well-to-do man, and rang the bell.

The servant at once opened and asked what he wanted. He stated his case and his need of help. “I’ll go and call Dr. Budd,” said the maid.

“Budd here! Budd there! Budd everywhere! I’ll be off!” And, completely cured, away went the sick man as hard as his legs could carry him.

Whether he became a steady working man, or whether he fled the county and the region of Budds to malinger elsewhere, was never known, but the Devon workhouses saw him no more.

Budd was called to see a lady one night after dinner. As soon as he reached the room, feeling his own condition, he staggered to the foot of the bed, clung to a bedpost, and exclaimed, “Drunk, by Gad!” and walked or reeled out of the room. Next morning a letter came from the lady, with a handsome cheque, and a petition that he would not mention the condition in which he had found her.

REAR-ADMIRAL SIR EDWARD CHICHESTER, BART

The Chichesters are an ancient, and in North Devon an all-pervading family, that has overflowed into South Devon.

The original name was Cirencester, but in the fifteenth century Sir John de Cirencester married the heiress of Sir John Raleigh, Knight, of Raleigh near Barnstaple, whereby the estate passed to the Cirencester family, and the name slid imperceptibly into Chichester, just as Cirencester in Gloucestershire is now pronounced Cicester.

From Raleigh the Chichesters radiated on all sides, married heiresses, and settled into snug nests. Of the Hapsburgs it was said “Felix Austria nube,” and the same with a change of name might be said of the Chichesters.

There are Chichesters of Youlston, of Hall, Chichesters of Arlington, of Widworthy; there were Chichesters of Eggesford, who choked up the little church with their monuments; Chichesters of Calverleigh, and Chichesters of Grenofen by Tavistock. What is more, the Chichesters have made their mark in history. Sir Arthur Chichester, Lord Deputy of Ireland, was created Baron Chichester of Belfast in 1612; his brother, Sir Edward, had a son who was made first Earl of Donegal; and the present Marquess of Donegal is a Chichester.

Sir John Chichester, sergeant-major of the army in Ireland and Governor of Carrickfergus, fell into the hands of Sir James MacDonnell, and was beheaded on a stone in Antrim. Sir Thomas Chichester, his brother, was granted one thousand acres in Rathdonnell, in Ireland. So Chichesters crossed the stormy streak and settled down in the Emerald Isle.

It is really remarkable how many Devonshire families did the same in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I, and families of old county repute and of acres sent their younger branches thither, where they rooted themselves and became vigorous; whereas in a good many cases, the parent stock in Devon decayed and disappeared. It does seem that just as certain plants need transplantation, to maintain their vigour and to avoid degeneration, the same should be the law with families.

Sir Edward Chichester, ninth Baronet, the subject of this memoir, was the second son of Sir Arthur Chichester, whose eldest son, Arthur, died without issue in 1898.

Youlston, the family seat, is in the parish of Sherwill, about four miles from Barnstaple. Youlston itself is not beautiful externally. It, however, has fine ceilings in some of the rooms, and Grinling Gibbons’ carving in the library. It stands in a fine park of one hundred and fifty acres, on high ground between the two streams of the Bradiford and the Youlston waters. Youlston at the time of the Domesday inquest was held by Robert de Beaumont, but a lucky, keen-sighted Chichester snapped up the heiress of Beaumont and so settled himself into the property. The old park and the old house were near the little river that bears the name of Yeo, but these sites have been abandoned and house and park shifted further to the west.

Born in 1849, Sir Edward began his preparation for service in the Royal Navy by entering as a cadet when he was thirteen years old. In January, 1865, he joined the Victoria in the Mediterranean, was appointed in 1868 to the Constance on the west coast of America, and in 1869 passed as sub-lieutenant to the Donegal for service in the Ocean off China. He was gazetted commander, captain, and rear-admiral respectively in 1882, 1889, and 1902.

He was too candid a man to attempt to conceal his political faith in any way. A stauncher Conservative it would have been hard to find, and he followed the political life in North Devon with the keenest interest, wherever his work took him or however great its pressure. He took an active part in the political struggles of Barnstaple in the eighties. Severe contests were fought by the late Sir Robert Carden and Lord Lymington, now the Earl of Portsmouth. Excitement led enthusiasts to extremes. The head-quarters of the rival candidates adjoined. After a public meeting the candidates had a rough time on their way from the hall to their several hotels. Edward Chichester and his brother one evening escorted the aged Sir Robert Carden. Stones were thrown and the little party hustled. A Radical crowd blocked the main entrance to the Tory candidate’s head-quarters, and threatened to maltreat him. By great efforts, and after frequent assaults, the two Chichesters got Sir Robert safely indoors. A moment later and they emerged from the entrance without their coats and with their sleeves turned up. “Now,” shouted Edward Chichester, “some of you fellows assailed my brother and myself; come out and face us like men, if you be such!”

There were groans and cheers; but no man accepted the challenge. Edward Chichester and his brother did not look inviting, as they stood in the street with teeth and fists clenched, and “their tails were up.” After this they escorted Sir Robert Carden many times, but there were no further molestations.

For a considerable number of years Captain Chichester was on the unemployed list, eating out his heart in his bungalow at Instow. But to every man at least once in life comes a chance, and the unlucky and unsuccessful man is he who, seeing it, does not recognize and grasp the chance.

It so fell out that the gunboat Banterer was caught in a storm, and was supposed to have foundered in the Bristol Channel. No tidings had been heard of her, and the Admiralty and the Duke of Edinburgh, then in command at Devonport, were greatly alarmed. However, she managed to run into Bideford estuary, but was there in a deplorable condition, and threatened to become a total wreck by running on some of the sandbanks that obstruct the channel. Captain Chichester, who was on the beach with telescope to his eye, saw the peril, called together at once a scratch crew, manned a boat, and at great personal risk, for the wind was on shore and huge rollers were coming in, made his way to the Banterer, and himself piloted her into anchorage at Appledore, and was able to wire to the Admiralty that she was safe. This got him the command of the troopship Himalaya.

During the operations against the Boers in the Transvaal he was naval transport officer, till the ignominious surrender by Mr. Gladstone in 1881. Whenever that was mentioned in Sir Edward’s hearing, his colour would mount in cheek and temple, and he would lower his eyes, feeling the dishonour done to his country as if it were a personal offence.

In 1881–2 he was lieutenant of the Thalia during the war in Egypt. In 1882 he was promoted for his services and received the Egyptian medal and the Khedive’s bronze star, and was again employed in the transport service.

In 1884–5 he was engaged on the same work in Egypt.

In 1887 he was a member of a Committee of Inquiry on British Drift-net Fisheries, and the following year received the thanks of the Board of Trade for the judgment and tact he displayed as senior officer in command of the ships employed in protecting North Sea Fisheries; while in 1891 he served on a Board of Trade Committee on Fishing Boats’ Lights. In 1895 he was sent with the Immortalité to the China station. On inspecting a ship on the China station he was accompanied by a major of the Royal Marines; the latter had forgotten his inspection papers, and asked leave to go back to his ship to fetch them. When he returned he apologized to the captain for the delay and for having forgotten the papers. “You’ve forgotten something else,” said Captain Chichester, looking up and down at the Marine officer, who wore the official spurs; “why, you’ve forgotten the ’oss.” He was there in 1898 when the Spanish-American war broke out.

When, after destroying the Spanish squadron at Cavite, Commodore Dewey blockaded Manila, the Immortalité and three other men-of-war were dispatched thither to protect English interests. Ships of other nations also assembled there, and amongst these the Germans with such an assumption of menace, that Commodore Dewey fired a shot across the bows of the flagship of Admiral Dietrich, commanding the German squadron. It was well known that the Germans were desirous of putting a stop to the war, and that the Kaiser had no desire to see the Stars and Stripes wave over any possession in the Eastern Archipelago. He had but just before used the expression “the Mailed Fist” in reference to his squadron in the Far East. The Emperor’s royal brother was in command of one of the German ships. The American fleet was employed in Manila Bay in keeping the Spanish squadron inside. The Germans were approaching menacingly, and showed signs of irritation at the prospect of the Americans taking active and decisive measures with the enemy. It became necessary for the American admiral to restrict the movements of the foreign men-of-war in the circumstances. It seemed probable that Dietrich had received secret instructions to fire on the American fleet in the event of its bombarding Manila, but only on the condition that the English remained neutral. Be that as it may, the disposition of the German squadron drawing in upon that of the American looked suspicious. But before opening fire the German admiral went to the Immortalité in a boat to sound the disposition of the English commander.

On meeting in the cabin, Dietrich inquired, “What attitude are you likely to take up in the event of the Americans bombarding Manila?” “That,” replied Chichester, “is a matter known only to Dewey and me.”

Dietrich, somewhat disconcerted, paused, and then asked, “Where, sir, do you intend the English squadron to be, should, unhappily, a conflict ensue between the American Navy and that of his Imperial Majesty?” “Ask Dewey,” was the only answer vouchsafed, and the German retired down the side of the vessel growling in his beard.

Immediately significant orders were issued, and the four British men-of-war steamed across the line of the German vessels, the Immortalité leading, and the others following in line, and when the senior vessel was about two ship-lengths off, the band of the Olympia played “God Save the Queen,” and the band of the Immortalité responded with “The Star-spangled Banner.” It was but a common, everyday act of courtesy, but it was vastly appreciated by the Americans who witnessed it, and it was a significant hint of “hands off” to the Germans.

Towards nightfall, when it was evident that the American fleet was not going into action, the French cruisers Bayard and Pascal, and the German cruisers Kaiser and Kaiserin Augusta returned to their former anchorage. The American cruisers Concord and Petrel steamed slowly up the bay in front of the city, and anchored between it and the foreign warships, but all through the night kept the searchlight travelling over the water between them.

Next morning Dietrich sent an apology to the Yankee admiral.

The exact details were never officially divulged. The significance of this dramatic action was that it convinced the world that England was on the side of the United States, and that, to use the old familiar phrase, “Blood is thicker than water.” Hitherto, the Americans had been jealous and suspicious of Great Britain, and believed it possible that England might have sided with the Germans in the negotiations which it was understood were then taking place in Europe for the combination of the Old World forces against the States in favour of Spain. As a contemporary writer had it: “It was the first signal demonstration which the Americans received that the sympathies of their kith and kin were with them, and that the jealousy of no third Power would be allowed to interfere with the just retribution which they were about to exact from their enemy. Sir Edward made history that day. He wiped out the memories of Bunker Hill and New Orleans – so far as they were bitter memories.” That his conduct was approved at home was shown by the Government conferring on him the C.M.G. On another occasion, when in the China seas, Captain Chichester had an opportunity of making history, and make it he would have had he been supported by the Government at home. The incident shall be given in his own words: —

“I ran into Port Arthur one morning and anchored alongside a Russian cruiser. Well, there was the devil of a to-do. The Port Admiral put off and told me I could not anchor there. I said I was already anchored. He said I must weigh again and get out. I told him I wouldn’t budge an inch until it suited me, and in the meantime I must have fresh provisions and vegetables. Then there was no end to the excitement, Russian pinnaces and Chinese pinnaces darting all over the harbour. I went quietly about my business. The Chinese said they would complain to my Government. I grinned. This went on for some time, and then I got orders from home – Salisbury was getting old then, and probably a little weak – to leave Port Arthur and sail for Chefoo. When I reached Chefoo, the Russians took possession of Port Arthur. Had I remained, the history of the Far East would have changed for all time.”

With all officers with whom he had been shipmates, as with the men of the lower deck, the feeling entertained for Sir Edward was one of real affection. He was a sailor after the sailor’s own heart – bluff, hearty, and just and generous to a degree, and as fearless as he was just. In his manner of bearing there was an entire absence of that characteristic which in the service as in civil life is generally known as side. To his great disappointment he was never engaged in naval warfare; but there can be no manner of doubt that he would have proved a brilliant commander in an engagement at sea.

During the South African war in 1899 to 1900, he was again employed as Transport Officer, this time at Cape Town. It was no light matter to transport a quarter of a million men over five thousand miles of sea, and to land them at the Cape without a hitch. It was no fault of his that the troops were dumped down in chaotic groups and in unsanitary spots. All he had to do was to convey these men who were sent to him from England to Africa.

As the Morning Chronicle said: —

“During the South African war, Sir Edward Chichester, as Chief Naval Transport Officer, superintended the disembarkation of the troops, horses, guns, and provisions, which the country poured into the subcontinent. The smoothness and the skill and the absence of casualty with which that difficult work was carried through, won for the gallant officer universal approbation.”

Chichester was a man of blunt speech, and most of the stories told of him illustrate this roughness. Sir Edward ordered, on one occasion, the captain of one of the transports lying in Cape Town docks to move his ship out, in order to make room for another. The captain did not want to go, and raised difficulties. “He had not his steam up – could not possibly change quarters that night.” Sir Edward remarked, “Give him an hour, and if he is not out by then, we will shift him.”

The hour elapsed without a move being made. Then, at a signal, two Government tugs shot out, ran alongside, and in twenty minutes the steamer was had out and anchored in the bay.

Into his room at Cape Town one day burst a Volunteer colonel, swelling with importance. “Who are you, sir?” asked Sir Edward.

“I am Colonel Blank,” was the reply, given with much pomposity.

“Oh, indeed, is that all?” said Sir Edward. “I thought at least you were an admiral.”

He was busy writing in his office on the quay on another occasion, and took no notice of a ponderous person waiting impatiently.

“Will you please to attend to me?” the man asked at length.

Sir Edward looked up and inquired, “Have you bought these docks, sir?”

“Most certainly not. I do not know what you mean.”

“Then go to the devil,” Sir Edward remarked, going on with his writing. Then, summoning his clerk, he said: “Here! stick up on my door the notice in big letters, ‘Office of the Chief Transport Officer, and not a general inquiry office.’” But he had also inscribed on his office door, “Walk right in; no Red Tape here.”

On one occasion the captain of a big Union-Castle liner came in to make a report. Chichester had a great objection to the uniforms worn by the officers of these ships, because he thought they were modelled too closely on the lines of the naval uniforms. Seeing this gorgeously clad individual in his office he stood up, and gravely saluting him remarked: —

“I am sorry, Admiral, that the Government have thought it necessary to send you out to supersede me in my duties. I hoped that I was giving satisfaction, but – ”

“There is some mistake, Sir Edward,” was the reply. “I am Captain – , of the – Castle.”

“Oh! Then why the devil do you deck yourself up in that rig?” roared out the Chief Transport Officer. “If that is all you are, you can wait till I’ve finished my letter.”

Bored on another occasion by some officer over a trumpery affair, he burst out, “Look here, sir! you are sent out to South Africa to kill Boers, and not to kill time. Anyhow, you shall not kill mine.”

Mr. Douglas Story tells the following: An anæmic officer came to Sir Edward one day during the Boer war, and demanded attention.

“H’m, what do you want?” growled the Chief Naval Transport Officer.

“Food, sir, for my men.”

“Well, haven’t they got any? What are they living on?”

“Biscuits, sir; beastly dry biscuits.”

“Can’t they live on biscuits? The Navy men manage to subsist on them.”

“They are used to ’em; our Tommies are not. Theirs is a better stomach for biscuits than that of the men in the army.”

“Aye, and they have a d – d better stomach for fighting, too!” roared the Captain, and resumed his work.