Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles

"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 set forth. 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 byword 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 from below, 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 daredevil

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 the fallen

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 4th 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. Half-way 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

directionthey 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 at first 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 popular superstition.

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 over hung 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!"

Read next: Chapter 3 The Problem

Read previous: Chapter 1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes

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