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A Study In Scarlet
CHAPTER I.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
In the year 1878 I took my degree of
Doctor of Medicine of the University of
London, and proceeded to Netley to go
through the course prescribed for surgeons
in the army. Having completed my studies
there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland
Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment
was stationed in India at the time, and before I
could join it, the second Afghan war had broken
out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps
had advanced through the passes, and was already
deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, however,
with many other officers who were in the same
situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar
in safety, where I found my regiment, and at
once entered upon my new duties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion
to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune
and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and
attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at
the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on
the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the
bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should
have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis
had it not been for the devotion and courage shown
by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a
pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to
the British lines.
Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged
hardships which I had undergone, I was removed,
with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base
hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already
improved so far as to be able to walk about
the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah,
when I was struck down by enteric fever, that
curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life
was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself
and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated
that a medical board determined that not a day
should be lost in sending me back to England. I was
dispatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes,
and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with
my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission
from a paternal government to spend the next nine
months in attempting to improve it.
I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was
therefore as free as air—or as free as an income
of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit
a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally
gravitated to London, that great cesspool into
which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are
irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at
a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless,
meaningless existence, and spending such money
as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So
alarming did the state of my finances become, that
I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis
and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that
I must make a complete alteration in my style of
living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by
making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take
up my quarters in some less pretentious and less
expensive domicile.
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion,
I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when
some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning
round I recognized young Stamford, who had been
a dresser under me at Bart’s. The sight of a friendly
face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant
thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford
had never been a particular crony of mine, but now
I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn,
appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance
of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the
Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom.
“Whatever have you been doing with yourself,
Watson?” he asked in undisguised wonder, as we
rattled through the crowded London streets. “You
are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.”
I gave him a short sketch of my adventures,
and had hardly concluded it by the time that we
reached our destination.
“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he
had listened to my misfortunes. “What are you up
to now?”
“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to
solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get
comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.”
“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion;
“you are the second man to-day that has used
that expression to me.”
“And who was the first?” I asked.
“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory
up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself
this morning because he could not get someone
to go halves with him in some nice rooms which
he had found, and which were too much for his
purse.”
“By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants someone
to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very
man for him. I should prefer having a partner to
being alone.”
7
A Study In Scarlet
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me
over his wine-glass. “You don’t know Sherlock
Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care
for him as a constant companion.”
“Why, what is there against him?”
“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against
him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast
in some branches of science. As far as I know he is
a decent fellow enough.”
“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.
wered. |
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Author: Ragnos
Post time 2015-7-28 03:18:52
