1 Study in Scarlet: Introduction + Part I, Chapter I: Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
A Study in Scarlet is the first novel featuring Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. John Watson, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and published in 1887. The story introduces the brilliant detective Holmes and his methodical approach to solving crimes through keen observation and deductive reasoning.
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Chapter I: Mr. Sherlock Holmes
(Being a reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., Late of the Army Medical Department.)
In the year 1878, I received my Doctor of Medicine degree from the University of London. I then proceeded to Netley to undertake the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as an 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 Kandahar safely. There 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. He 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. I had permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months attempting to improve it.