"I have in my pocket a manuscript," said Dr. James Mortimer.
"I observed it as you entered the room," said Holmes.
"It is an old manuscript."
"Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery."
"How can you say that, sir?"
"You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time that
you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date
of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little
monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730."
"The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket. "This
family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose
sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in
Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical
attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as
unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and
his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him."
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his
knee. "You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the
short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date."
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At the head
was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below in large, scrawling figures: "1742."
"It appears to be a statement of some sort."
"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville
family."
"But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which
you wish to consult me?"
"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided
within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately
connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his
eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the
light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world
narrative:
"Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there
have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct
line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from
my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down
with all belief that it occurred even as is here setforth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the
same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously
forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer
and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this
story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to
be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions
whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not
again be loosed to our undoing.
"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most
earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of
Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be
gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless
man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,
seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,
but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour
which made his name a by-word through the West. It
chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark
a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter
of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,
would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So
it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five
or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon
the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and
brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had
brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper
chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long
carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass
upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing
and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her frombelow, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville,
when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who
said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that
which might have daunted the bravest or most active man,
for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and
still covers) the south wall she came down from under the
eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three
leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's farm.
"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his
guests to carry food and drink—with other worse things,
perchance—to his captive, and so found the cage empty
and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became
as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs
into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,
flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried
aloud before all the company that he would that very
night render his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if
he might but overtake the wench. And while the revellers
stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or,
it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that
they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran
from the house, crying to his grooms that they should
saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the
hounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them to the
line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.
"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable
to understand all that had been done in such haste. But
anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed
which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything
was now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols,some for their horses, and some for another flask of
wine. But at length some sense came back to their crazed
minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took
horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above
them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course
which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach
her own home.
"They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the
night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to
him to know if he had seen the hunt. And the man, as
the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could
scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen
the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'But
I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville
passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind
him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at
my heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd
and rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for
there came a galloping across the moor, and the black
mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing
bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close
together, for a great fear was on them, but they still
followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone,
would have been right glad to have turned his horse's
head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last
upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour
and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the
head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the
moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles
and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them."The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you
may guess, than when they started. The most of them
would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest,
or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal.
Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of
those great stones, still to be seen there, which were
set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old.
The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there
in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen,
dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight
of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo
Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon
the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it
was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat,
there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped
like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal
eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing
tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it
turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the
three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still
screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that
very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were
but broken men for the rest of their days.
"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound
which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever
since. If I have set it down it is because that which
is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but
hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied that many
of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which
have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we
shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence,which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that
third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy
Writ. To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend
you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from
crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of
evil are exalted.
"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John,
with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their
sister Elizabeth.]"
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his
spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The
latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire.
"Well?" said he.
"Do you not find it interesting?"
"To a collector of fairy tales."
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. This is
the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short account of
the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few
days before that date."
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Our visitor
readjusted his glasses and began:
"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose
name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate
for Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over
the county. Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville
Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of
character and extreme generosity had won the affection
and respect of all who had been brought into contact with
him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing
to find a case where the scion of an old county family
which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own
fortune and to bring it back with him to restore thefallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known,
made large sums of money in South African speculation.
More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns
against them, he realized his gains and returned to England
with them. It is only two years since he took up his
residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how
large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement
which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself
childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the
whole countryside should, within his own lifetime, profit
by his good fortune, and many will have personal reasons
for bewailing his untimely end. His generous donations
to local and county charities have been frequently
chronicled in these columns.
"The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles
cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the
inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of
those rumours to which local superstition has given rise.
There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to
imagine that death could be from any but natural causes.
Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to
have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind.
In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his
personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville
Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the
husband acting as butler and the wife as housekeeper.
Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends,
tends to show that Sir Charles's health has for some time
been impaired, and points especially to some affection
of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour,
breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression.Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of
the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect.
"The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville
was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking
down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence
of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom.
On the fourth of May Sir Charles had declared his intention
of starting next day for London, and had ordered Barrymore
to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as usual
for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in
the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At
twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open,
became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search
of his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles's
footmarks were easily traced down the alley. Halfway down
this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor.
There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some
little time here. He then proceeded down the alley, and
it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered.
One fact which has not been explained is the statement
of Barrymore that his master's footprints altered their
character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and
that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking
upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on
the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears
by his own confession to have been the worse for drink.
He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state
from what direction they came. No signs of violence were
to be discovered upon Sir Charles's person, and though
the doctor's evidence pointed to an almost incredible
facial distortion—so great that Dr. Mortimer refused afirst to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient
who lay before him—it was explained that that is a symptom
which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from
cardiac exhaustion. This explanation was borne out by
the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing
organic disease, and the coroner's jury returned a
verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. It is
well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost
importance that Sir Charles's heir should settle at the
Hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly
interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not
finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been
whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been
difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is
understood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville,
if he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's
younger brother. The young man when last heard of was
in America, and inquiries are being instituted with a
view to informing him of his good fortune."
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket. "Those are the
public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the death of Sir Charles
Baskerville."
"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling my attention to a case
which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some
newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied by that
little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost
touch with several interesting English cases. This article, you say, contains all
the public facts?"
"It does."
"Then let me have the private ones." He leaned back, put his finger-tips
together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression.
"In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong
emotion, "I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone. My motive
for withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks
from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popularsuperstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says,
would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its
already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was
justified in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical good could result
from it, but with you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.
"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near each other are
thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir Charles
Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr.
Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many
miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us
together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had brought
back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a charming
evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of the
Bushman and the Hottentot.
"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that Sir
Charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken this
legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart—so much so that, although
he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon
the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was
honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly the
records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging. The
idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one
occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever
seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question
he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with
excitement.
"I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks
before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had descended from
my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves
over my shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful
horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something
which I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. So
excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled to go down to the spot where
the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the
incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I stayed with
him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which
he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to
you when first I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes some
importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at the
time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had no
justification."It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. His heart
was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however
chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon
his health. I thought that a few months among the distractions of town would
send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much
concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant
came this terrible catastrophe.
"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler, who made the
discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up
late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I checked
and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed
the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he
seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after
that point, I noted that there were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore
on the soft gravel, and finally I carefully examined the body, which had not
been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his
fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong
emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There
was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was
made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the
ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did—some little distance
off, but fresh and clear."
"Footprints?"
"Footprints."
"A man's or a woman's?"
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost
to a whisper as he answered.
"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"