The Hound of the Baskervilles - Chapter 3

Books at Bedtime by Calming Anxiety The Hounds of the Baskervilles Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles I have in my pocket a manuscript, said Doctor James Mortimer. I observed it as you entered the room said Holmes. It is an old manuscript, early 18th century, unless it's 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've been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date of the document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little monograph from the subject. I put that at 1730.

The exact date is 1742, Doctor Mortimer drew it from his breast pocket. This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, who, suddenly and tragic death, came three months ago, created so much excitement and Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, true, 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 end was written Baskerville Hall and below in large scrolling 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 wished consult me. Most modern, a most practical, pressing matter that must be decided within 24 hours.

But the manuscript is short and intimately connected with the affair. With your permission, I will read it to you. Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips 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 have the story from my father who also had it from his. I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as it was here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the same justice which punishes sin may also 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 circumspeced in the future. That those foul passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed by 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 manner of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name. Or can it be gained said 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 byword through the West. It's a chance that this Hugo came to love, if indeed so dark passion, may be known under so brighter name. The daughter of a yeoman who held hands near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being discreet and of God repute, would ever avoid him for she feared his evil name.

So it came to pass that one michael mass this Hugo with five or six of his idol 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 carous, as was then nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have had her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below. For they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville when he was in wine was such as might blast the man who said them.

At last, in the stress of her fear, she did that which might have dawned to the bravest or most active men. For by the aid of the grove of ivy which covered and still covers the south walls, she came down from under the eaves and so home would across the mall. There being three leagues between the hall and her father's farm. It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guest to carry food and drink, with other worse things per chance to his captive and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped.

Then, as it would seem, he became at one the half of a devil for rushing down the stairs into the dining hall, he sprang upon the great table. Faggons and trenches 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 revelers stood a guest 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. Where at Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare and unken all the pack and giving the hounds a kitchief of the maids he swung them to the line and so off full cry in the moonlight over the mall.

Now, for some space the revelers stood a gate, unable to understand all that had been done in such haste. But a non there be mused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was narrowing and uproar, some calling for their pistols, some for their horses and some for another flask of wine. But at length, some sense came over the crazed mines and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took horses and started in pursuit.

The moon shone clear above them and they rode swiftly a breast, taking that course which the maid must have taken if she were to reach her own home. They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night's 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 scared and crazed with fear that he could scare 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.

The Hugo basketball passed me upon his black mare and therean mute behind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels. For 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 bridal and empty saddle. Then the revelers rode close together for a great fear was on them but they still followed over the moor though each had been alone.

Would have been right glad to have turned his horses head riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These though known for their valla and their breed were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep or goyl as we call it upon the moor. Some slinking away and some with startling 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 be by no means advanced but three of them the boldest or it may be the most drunken rode forward down the goyl. Now it opened into a broad space in which the two of those great stones still to be seen there which were there set by certain forgotten people in the days of old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing and there in the centre lady unhappy made where she had fallen dead or fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Basqueville lying near her which raised her hair upon the heads of these three dare devil roisterers 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 it ever mortalised has bisted upon.

And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Basqueville on which as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them the three shrieked with fear and robed for dear life still screaming across the morn. 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. Much 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 has less terror than that which is but hinted at and guess.

Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths which have been sudden bloody mysterious. It may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of providence which would not forever punish the innocent beyond the third or fourth generation which is threatened and holy rite. To that providence my sons I hereby commend you and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the morn in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted. This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Roger and Ron with instructions that they say nothing they are of to their sister Elizabeth.

When Dr Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up over 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 bit more recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle on May 14th of this year.

To the shorter count of the facts elicitated 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-Devin as the next election has cast a gloom over the county.

Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Halls for a comparatively short period. His amoeability of character and extreme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into his contact with him. In these days of new Vowritches it is refreshing to find a case with a sion of an old county family which is full on evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles as his 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 him. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall and it is common to talk now how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself charlatas it was his openly expressed as eye that the whole countryside should within his own lifetime profit by his good fortune and many will have personal reasons for bewailing his entire life.

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 whatsoever 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 simply in his personal tastes and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall, consisted of a married couple named Baramall, the husband acting as a butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence corroborated by that of several friends tends to show that Sir Charles's health had for some time been impaired and points especially some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness and a cute attack 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 U-ally of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the Baramall show had been his custom. On the 4th of May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for London and adorted Baramall to repair 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 12 o'clock Baramall 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 onto the mall.

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 in the statement of Baramall that his master's footprints altered their character from the time that he passed the mall gate and that he appeared from thenc's onward, to have been walking upon his toes.

Once Murphy, a gypsy horse dealer, was on the mall at no great distance at the time. But he appears by his own confession to have been worse for drink. He declares that he heard cries but his unable to stay 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. Mortarum refused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who laid before him.

It was explained that this is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of dysnia and death from cardiac extortion. The explanation was born by the postmortem examination which showed long standing organic disease and a coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. It is well known 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 preseic 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 basketball hall. It is understood that the next of Kiernan for Mr Henry Basketball, if he bees to the live, the son of Sir Charles's basketball younger brother. The young man when last heard of was in America and inquiries are being instituted with a view of informing him of his good fortune. Dr Mortarum refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.

"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 fingertips together and assumed his almost impassive and judicial expression.

In doing so, said Dr Mortarum 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 endorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskville Hall, as the papers say, would certainly remain unattended 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 more is a 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 Baskville with the exception of Mr. Franklin of Lafdahorn and Mr. Stapledon, the naturalist. There are no other men of education within many miles.

Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance for his illness brought us together and the community of interest 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 see to me that Sir Charles nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken his legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart, so much so that although he could walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night.

Charles as it may appear to you Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhangs family and certainly the records which he was able to give us of his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly present constantly haunted him and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had it on my medical journeys at night ever seen a strange creature or heard the bane 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 chance to be at the 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 stared past me with an expression the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just timed to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black cat, passing at the end 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 instant 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 is confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when I first came. I mentioned this small episode because it assumes some importance in the view of the tragedy, which followed, but I was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivoned 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, Chimera called 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 is 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 a 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 U Valley.

I saw the spot at the morgate where he seemed to have waited. I remarked the change in the shape of the prince after that point. I noticed that there were no other footsteps saved 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 fault statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground around the body. He did not observe any, but I did, some little distance off but fresh and clear. Footprints?

Footprints? A man or a woman's? Doctor 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 giant hound.