(*First published in a serialized fashion by The Strand Magazine August 1901 - April 1902. SPOILERS AHEAD)
"Mr. Holmes they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" But I do get ahead of myself. I couldn't help myself! Great line. A great line that this chapter ends with, so again, I do-so get ahead of myself. First, we must learn what it is exactly that brings Dr. James Mortimer to seek the assistance of Sherlock Holmes. It begins with an account read from a document Holmes first dates from 1730 but is, in fact, from 1742. You see, Dr. Mortimer has been displaying a top-bit of it all along to H's spying eyes.
Speaking of, "At the head [of said document] was written: 'Baskerville Hall', and below, in large scrawling figures: 1742'. To take nothing from Holmes' deducing of the date or era, could it be that that top-bit on display at least partially and quite literally spelled out the date for H to see? Possibly he then rounded out the year to make his actually seeing it less obvious? Possibly, but on top of this may be bit of chicanery, he does make good with showing his work or at least knowledge...
A thing that aided him in his dating is its use of the long S, which had fallen out of printed London favor by 1800. It was seen in handwriting for only a couple of decades after that. There were, naturally, specific uses for the long S in its heyday. I'll not share too much here but it essentially was put in place of double-S or in lieu of one of them. Also, before or after an F, this is due in part for clarity's sake, as linguistically, the two letters are quite similar in certain ways. Its ancestry traces back to Roman cursive. Wait--there's only one S in 'Baskerville' and no F. Then again, I'm neither scholar nor cunning linguist.
Nevertheless, "With your permission I will read it to you," says Mortimer. Odd, since H was already in possession of the document, spread out upon his knee. While this narrating does add a certain and lovely stage production value, mainly, it is indicative of the fact that in those times (almost exactly bridging the Victorian and Edwardian eras) it was quite a regular thing to read aloud to one-another as both a form of entertainment and even bonding/wooing. In the case of M, perhaps an added story-telling flare to garner attention or foster intrigue. Theatrics.
So we learn of the horrible Hugo Baskerville, an evil man who rightly had his throat torn out by a Hellhound while pursuing a fair maiden he'd held captive. She had been plucked from her father's house and brought to Baskerville Manor by he, much against her will. It would seem in regards to the poor woman "It chanced that Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known so bright a name)." Such an excellent line, that. A line, which would be well-read on the stage.
But she had other plans and she dared to venture out her prison cell's window and down the ivy vines, an act "which might have daunted the bravest or most active man." Then she made a run for it, it being her father's house some three leagues away. For perspective, a league is three miles. We are looking at a nine-mile frantic run while chased by hounds both of hell (indirectly) and earth (directly) and by Hugo and his drunken cohorts. That is a heckuva distance over that perceived terrain and in the inky blackness of night. A league makes me think of the sea, and how she was so helplessly-hopelessly adrift.
We also learn that the same ivy still clung in 1742 to the Baskerville Manor. I'd like to imagine still then and even now. It's a fantastic play at making present the horrid affairs of that fateful and wicked night. She was felled. Of the three Hugo accomplices there at the scene, one died of fright later that same night, and the other two were broken by what they had beheld. The document itself is a warning to the future Baskerville men, the hound still plagues them. So pray hard, repent, and don't cross the moor at night. And never feed Mogwai after midnight.
That's not all that M reads to H, though, in his 'high crackling voice'. He also reads an article from a recent Devon County Chronicle edition, covering the death of one Sir Charles Baskerville. The eccentric but well-liked widower was found dead on the moor (and yes, he was aware of the risks and quite disturbed by the document) so why was he there? Well, he sort of maybe was not, but definitely, he was in wait. He was in the Yew Alley of the Hall. I'm a bit foggy on that. It was by the moor-gate, nonetheless.
In any event, he liked these nightcap walks of his, with a cigar in both hand and lip. Barrymore the butler found him dead, with his face twisted grotesquely in horror (a thing seen throughout canon) with no physical signs of violence. He had a bad heart, and that was that. Although why was he tip-toeing at one point? Better yet, why would any investigator take those footprints as that instead of running as H plainly read it? Curious. At times, things really do seem lined up to make Holmes superior in ways that resemble the previous chapter's Dr. Watson thinking 'Hunt' and not 'Hospital'.
Off the record, however, there is another quite important item; one which Barrymore either missed or neglected to mention at the inquest. One which no one but Mortimer saw, and kept to himself until now "--some little distance off, but fresh and clear."
"Footprints?"
"Footprints."
"A man's or a woman's?"
Mortimer then lowers his voice to a whisper. "Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" Even now as I relate this to you, I feel like retreating to my fainting couch in horror. Such a line! A note as to delivery. M lowers his voice and then delivers a line ending in an exclamation point. This is a brilliant bit of stage direction, really. Try it. It renders itself as ::: very ::: intense.
And with it, the game is punintentionally afoot (get it, footprints?) So what did I think of this all? I still recall being that fourth or fifth grader, reading this for the first time, and being hooked unbelievably-so. I still cling to that first time, throughout time, much like the manor's ivy. It is a busy chapter, an info-dump, really. Particularly in comparison to the opening chapter's slow-roll. And we have still a tick more to see unfurl in M's initial consultation.
Over-all, the blackness engulfs us, even within the safe and familiar confines of Baker Street. We are all the fair maiden, the unnamed daughter of a yeoman, adrift together and alone. Soon, we'll even be without the calm logic of Holmes and lost in one of the great Victorian creepers. Don't fear too hard though, as Watson will be there too, with a revolver in hand and a bit of a cowboy in Sir Henry Baskerville in tow, as we find out that, in fact, the butler didn't do it.
ADDITIONAL HOUN:
Thoughts on Chapter 1
Thoughts on Chapter 3
::: very :::