Part I.
Being a reprint from the reminiscences of JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of theUniversity of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through thecourse prescribed for surgeons in the Army. Having completed mystudies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth NorthumberlandFusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in Indiaat the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war hadbroken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps hadadvanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy’scountry. I followed, however, with many other officers who were inthe same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candaharin safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered uponmy new duties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, butfor me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removedfrom my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom Iserved at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on theshoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazedthe subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of themurderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courageshown 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 whichI had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of woundedsufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and hadalready improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, andeven to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down byenteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months mylife was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and becameconvalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical boarddetermined that not a day should be lost in sending me back toEngland. I was despatched, accordingly, in the troopship “Orontes”,and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my healthirretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal governmentto spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.
I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as freeas air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence aday will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturallygravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all theloungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. ThereI stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leadinga comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such moneyas I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarmingdid the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that Imust either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in thecountry, or that I must make a complete alteration in my styleof living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making upmy mind to leave the hotel, and take up my quarters in some lesspretentious and less expensive domicile.
On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I wasstanding at the Criterion Bar, when someone tapped me on theshoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, whohad been a dresser under me at Bart’s. The sight of a friendly facein the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed toa lonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a particularcrony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, inhis turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberanceof my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and westarted off together in a hansom.
“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” heasked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowdedLondon 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 hardlyconcluded it by the time that we reached our destination.
“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened tomy misfortunes. “What are you up to now?”
“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve theproblem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at areasonable price.”
“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; “you are thesecond man today 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 thehospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because hecould not get someone to go halves with him in some nice roomswhich he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”
“By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants someone to share therooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should preferhaving a partner to being alone.”
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wineglass.
“You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhapsyou 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 littlequeer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. Asfar as I know he is a decent fellow enough.”
“A medical student, I suppose? said I.
“No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he iswell up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as Iknow, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. Hisstudies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lotof out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors.”
“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.
“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he canbe communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”
“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge withanyone, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I amnot strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I hadenough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of mynatural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?”
