Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters

by Неизвестный

  I have applied at the War Office, Lord Chisham, the Middlesex Yeomanry &c but had no luck. I want a commission and they wont give a civilian one—which is rot. My plan now is to let Undershaw, send the family to South of France, go out ‘on my own’ to Africa and see how things are. If all is well I shall see a bit of history in the making, if men are wanted I shall help to make it. It would bore me to remain in England and have folk stop me & say ‘Hullo, Doyle, I thought you were at the front.’ That becomes annoying. Unless something unexpected occurs that seems my best plan. Mackie, who is going, comes down today to spend Xmas—a fine fellow—and he may throw a fresh light.

  Another plan—Mr Langman is sending out an ambulance under Archie. Why should I not attach myself to it, and then see what turns up there.

  Dearest I have gone carefully into my money affairs and there is ample to keep you all going if I were not here. I shall draw a careful will. If it were not so I should not feel justified. All our Xmases are dark this year, but they will be lighter in the future if we all do our duty to the highest.

  The Mam was pleased that he had been turned down by the army—

  from Mary Doyle UNDERSHAW, DECEMBER 26, 1899

  Your letter so far (undated but came yesterday) is a great consolation to me. If you look at it from the ordinary military standpoint no doubt they are, as a rule right not to give Commissions to Civilians, you see how harshly it would work when promotions & so on came with pay, & the Regulars would have cause to complain—However I thank Heaven that has heard a poor Mother’s prayer—for going in that way meant almost certain death—as big men are picked off on system & very much more exposed to wounds & death, even when not actually aimed at. I know you would make a splendid officer but that is not your calling, so for every reason I am glad.

  Now about the Boers. They trekked into there because the one desire they had was to make a little home for themselves in the Wilderness—after wonderful toils they succeed—They want to spread into Bechuanaland we promptly ‘head’ them out of that—Gold the root of all evil is found & diamond mines & the riff-raff of the world swarms down & settles & keeps on increasingly swarming and settling. Now can you imagine the disgust of those Burghers! Well I believe firmly that they did try to be just & fair, it was a difficult position. Narrow minded people like them—They actually would rather let the gold alone than work it! Apropos of trying to do right, they employed no end of English officials & judges. Morice whom I think you must have met at Cray House is still in Pretoria.

  My idea that a ring of those men—Millionaires so many times over—have encouraged all the discontent envenomed all the pricks & deliberately worked unto this evil end—Had the Boers agreed over the Franchise demands they would have been overwhelmed & wiped out utterly by the hordes that would have poured into the country. After the Jameson (Rhodes planned) affair, at once the silliest & boldest attempt to break the peace between two nations, the Boers must indeed have been idiots if they did not foresee & prepare for the worst.

  But her arguments failed to persuade her son. The hard-pressed British in South Africa were woefully short of medical support, and a number of volunteer field hospitals were being raised by wealthy public-spirited citizens, one of them ‘my friend John Langman, whose son Archie I had known well in Davos days’, and who was to go as the hospital’s general manager. Conan Doyle volunteered to go as a surgeon.

  to Mary Doyle UNDERSHAW, DECEMBER 1899

  Many thanks for your sweet letters. I think I have a way of reconciling my duty & your desire. Langman pére sends out a Private Hospital, Archie in charge—I will go in the first instance with that, and will not volunteer further unless the emergency there should be excessive—which it won’t be now. I wrote suggesting it & have had an enthusiastic wire back accepting the idea. My precious carcase would be safe enough there—and I would be serving my country also. I very badly want an absolute change at present and this is a great chance. I shall be much the better in the long run.

  I think your views about the righteousness of the war are quite mistaken. Would you mind reading the very interesting book ‘The Transvaal from the Inside’ which I am sending. Remember the following undisputed facts

  1. That the Uitlanders were the majority of the population of the country.

  2. That they were mostly English.

  3. That they furnished nine tenth of the taxation.

  4. That after 15 years agitation they not only had no vote, but not even a town council.

  5. That they were harassed & oppressed in every way, English children compulsorily taught Dutch, no public meetings, no arms, no service on Juries, no law courts to be relied on.

  6. That these things were before the Jameson Raid, not a consequence of it.

  7. That England was the Guardian of these people & also the Paramount Power.

  8. That 18 years of diplomacy & entreaty had made things worse—far worse—not better.

  What would you have done? What could one do?

  from Mary Doyle UNDERSHAW, DECEMBER 31, 1899

  I know you say & feel like all good & sensible Britons, that the wish to ‘take the country’ is not in existence, oh yes—that is what Rhodes & Co are after! Do you remember saying the same (in opposition to my opinion) about Cuba & the Philippines before the Spanish-American war. The U.S. wanted nothing of them & to whom do they now belong? I grant you we are most useful in every way, but we must not mix up the Boers with the random races of the Nile.

  The former are solid for their country & what I see in your book old President Kruger said ‘Over my dead body’ will be true enough like the falling Roman Emperor we grasp too much & we shall never be better than we are now if only we had not begun this war.

  Thanks for the book dearest I have read many extracts & reviews about it, but I shall read, only you know however disagreeable the Boers may have been the people who went there to get gold got it at much less cash than in any other great mining centre & why if they did not want them, the Boers, whose daily torment I am sure they were, accept these foreign intruders who having got the gold usually departed as citizens with equal rights? Not any more than if several men were to go to Undershaw & say ‘Now we are manly & can pay our way, you are the one we desire to become, not your lodgers—but fellow owners with you!’

  Fancy all your prosperity, your well-earned money, your in some ways unique talent all in jeopardy through these horrors!

  to Mary Doyle UNDERSHAW, JANUARY 1900

  Just a line my dearest Mam to say that I am better. All your sweet letters much appreciated. I will be all the better for this rest—though it comes at an awkward time.

  Made my will yesterday. Left you 4000 pounds. I tell you this lest you should fear that any mischance to me would hurt you in that direction. Of course I know that it would in others. Lottie, Innes & Dodo would all have separate provisions (ample ones) so your money would all be for yourself.

  We wont get off much before the beginning of February. Dont write to the Langmans at all about it like a good little mother. I know exactly what I am doing and why & there is lots of method in my actions. Nothing could fit into my life better. I have lived for six years in a sick room and oh how weary of it I am! Dear Touie! It has tried me more than her—and she never learns of it and I am very glad she does not. That is the restlessness of which Connie speaks.

  May 1900 bring us all including the Country better luck! I am sure the British Flag will fly over a united South Africa where every man has equal rights before the end of it.

  to Mary Doyle UNDERSHAW, JANUARY 1900

  No chance of getting to London before Friday next so I fear I cant see you again. May you have a pleasant journey & find all right when you get there. And all thanks, dear Mammie, for your help.

  The Edinburgh visit, though exhausting, was a great success. My ‘dead soldier’ speech was all right. You could have heard a pin drop & when I had finished they all sat frozen for about two minutes. It was remarkable.

  to
Mary Doyle 6 STANHOPE TERRACE, HYDE PARK, LONDON, FEBRUARY 1900

  This is a line to tell you that they all got safely off. The weather was vile but all was accomplished without a hitch. I am so glad to have it done and over.

  These good friends have carried me & my luggage here. Tonight I dine with the O’Callaghans. Tomorrow I settle my legal affairs with Williams, interview a man about the rifle, and lunch with a friend. I hope to get with you by the 6.10 train.

  Next Monday the men are fitted & on Wednesday ‘the Dook’ reviews us—but in a closed drill hall—thank Goodness.

  ‘The Dook’ seeing them off was the Duke of Cambridge, for forty years the head of the British Army, whom Conan Doyle as a lad of fifteen had glimpsed during the Christmas holiday he spent with his London relatives. Stanhope Terrace was Archie Langman’s home, where Conan Doyle spent a week in February helping to select hospital staff. Its senior physician was already chosen, a Dr O’Callaghan—‘an excellent gynaecologist’, allowed Conan Doyle in Memories and Adevntures, but ‘a branch of the profession for which there seemed to be no immediate demand’ in South Africa. Also, he continued, ‘we were compelled to have one military chief, as a bond with the War Office, and this proved to be one Major Drury, a most amusing Irishman.’

  To leave the service and to ‘marry a rich widow with a cough’ was, he said, the height of his ambition. He was a very pleasant companion in civil life, but when it came to duties which needed tact and routine he was rather too Celtic in his methods, and this led to friction and occasional rows in which I had to sustain the point of view of Mr Langman. I have no doubt he thought me an insubordinate dog, and I thought him—well, he has passed away now, and I remember him best as a very amusing companion.

  But there were also ‘two really splendid younger surgeons’, Drs Gibbs and Scharlieb, ‘as good as they could be. Then we had our wardmasters, cooks, stewards, storekeepers, and finally some fifteen to twenty orderlies. Altogether we numbered just fifty men, and were splendidly fitted out by the generosity of Mr Langman.’*

  By now Conan Doyle planned to write a history of the conflict, and was already at work on it.

  to Mary Doyle 6 STANHOPE TERRACE, FEBRUARY 1900

  Many thanks for yours. We have our personnel nearly completed now, but our departure will be a week later I think. We want to make sure of going with all our equipment for we feel that if it comes in another ship we shall never see it. Tonight I meet Sir Evelyn Wood so I may get some inside information. The Meeting of Parliament will be exciting.

  So glad Touie is well. Poor Mrs Reeves! Yes next Sunday I’ll be at home but I grudge every working day—even to good kind friends.

  to Mary Doyle AT SEA, MARCH 9, 1900

  I was so sorry that you should have puddled about in the mud & rain at the Albert Dock. It was sweet of you to come but I reproached myself for allowing it. We have had an excellent voyage, and make St Vincent tonight, where we eagerly expect news of the war. I hope there will be no peace except after absolute unconditional surrender. But surely the public would not stand it.

  I have been inoculated for typhoid and for the last two days have been mighty sorry for myself. I am so far better today that I hope to play cricket against St Vincent tomorrow. The Royal Scots whom we have on board are a great cricketing regiment, so we have a good team, only most of them have been inoculated & faint on very small provocation which will not improve their play. I have done ‘Magersfontein’ since I was on board, and hope to do ‘Stormburg’ and ‘Colenso’ before Capetown.*

  Goodbye, darling. I have really nothing to write about for the days are all equally uneventful. My love to Ida and Nelson—bless them! We had a concert and I took the chair and heard ‘Who Carries the Gun’ sung by 1000 soldiers—rather pleasant.

  to Mary Doyle SOUTH AFRICA, MARCH 28, 1900

  We are lying now off East London [South Africa, following a first landfall at Capetown] and expect to go ashore any moment. Such a charming place! Such yellow sand and such green trees! It is a fine country. Anyone with any energy could make a fortune here in no time. If I had not other work to do I should certainly remain here.

  We have to unload all our stuff in lighters and we leave the old ship at last. It is like breaking the last tie with you for as I write I look across at the corner of the saloon where you all sat. I have done pretty well since that day, for apart from travel I should not have written more had I been in my study at home. I am catching the war up fast, and there is every chance that the history will be finished in time for the end of the war.

  I have written to Touie about my Capetown experiences and I take it for granted that you will see or hear about them, so I don’t attempt to give you the news. We are all on fire to get off and there is no reason why by this time tomorrow or a little later we should not be at Bloemfontein which is only 300 miles away. This begins to look a little more like business.

  I am already much the better for my change. I had certainly got into a rather nervous state and was feeling the effect of years of hard work. Now I have & will have rest with interesting occupation and I shall come back five years younger.

  Adieu, darling mother. I often think of you. Pray forgive me if I have ever seemed petulant or argumentative—it is all nerves, of which I possess more than most people know.

  Conan Doyle had seen no actual war during his stay in Egypt in 1896. Now he encountered the real thing. Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, might be but 300 miles away, but Conan Doyle found, he wrote in his diary, ‘You could find your way from Modder to Bloemfontein by the smell of dead horses.’

  to Touie BLOEMFONTEIN, APRIL 3, 1900

  I can only find this half sheet of paper so I must try to make the most of it. It took us four days to get up from East London, one day we only did 40 miles, and waits of 8 hours were common but here we are. We have only half our stores which cripples us, but we expect our quartermaster with the other half any hour.

  Yesterday, Monday Ap 2 we arrived and I got your letter. When I had read that I heard there was a battle going on about 7 miles away, so off I started with Gibbs and Sharlieb in the hope of doing some good. Oh what a walk, a burning sun over a great bare plain! After 5 miles we got on a kopje [small hill] but saw that it was a false alarm and no troops visible, so we returned. We have been given the cricket ground and pavilion for our hospital, and the pavilion is a magnificent one so we hope to take 160 instead of 100 patients. This morning down we went to get our stores out of the trucks. I stripped to my undershirt and worked like a demon and that set the pace for all of them, and my word we did work. I could not speak when we had finished, for my tongue clung to my lips. We took about 40 tons of cases—huge cases, out of the trucks, loaded them up into bullock waggons, then unloaded them here, then opened the cases, and in six hours we had the beds laid out and all ready. Wounded are pouring into the town and there is no place to put them, so you can think what splendid work we are doing and how far any sacrifices we have made are justified. You would have smiled if you could have seen me in my pink undershirt, breeches & helmet, burned red and covered with dirt. Ah if you could have seen the men! I mean the troops. A whole brigade passed us today, such splendid chaps, bearded and pierce, picturesque brigands. My word they looked like fighters. How I should love to march them down the Strand just as they are, London would go mad. The Gordons passed me. ‘Good old Gordons!’ I yelled. ‘What cheer, mate!’ they cried back, seeing in the dirty man a brother Tommy. They are splendid. We are not depressed by the recent cavalry reverse. Last night it was rumoured that the Boers would raid the town, but we saw nothing, except our own signal lights twinkling from the top of every hill. It was very picturesque in the darkness, and I lay awake some time watching it. I sleep on the roof of the cricket pavilion. Friends I meet everywhere. Do you remember Vanderbilt, a bearded man who played in the Bournemouth match. He is here in the Irregular Horse. Goodbye, dearest. Tell Laura I had her note with many thanks, and dear Tootsie also.

&nb
sp; At least things in Bloemfontein seemed under control. ‘I dined last night at Headquarters and was glad to see Lord Roberts looking very well,’ Conan Doyle wrote of the British commander to Lady Jeune on April 11th. He told her also, ‘The Boers are fooling about in our rear, but I am sure you know more about that in London than we do.’ Soon they discovered to their dismay that the Boers had seized the waterworks for British-occupied Bloemfontein and cut off the supply of fresh water. Before long enteric (typhoid) fever was raging. ‘The outbreak was a terrible one,’ Conan Doyle recalled in his memoirs.

  It was softened down for public consumption and the press messages were heavily censored, but we lived in the midst of death—and death in its vilest, filthiest form… [T]he floor was littered between the beds with sick and often dying men. Our linen and utensils were never calculated for such a number, and as the nature of the disease causes constant pollution, and this pollution of the most dangerous character and with the vilest effluvia, one can imagine how dreadful was the situation. The worst surgical ward after a battle would be a clean place compared to that pavilion.

  ‘One man died as I fanned him. I saw the light go out of his eyes,’ he wrote in his diary: ‘Nothing could exceed the courage & patience of Tommy.’

  But ‘in the very worst of it,’ he said in Memories and Adventures, ‘two nursing sisters appeared among us, and never shall I forget what angels of light they appeared, or how they nursed those poor boys, swaddling them like babies and meeting every want with gentle courage. Thank God, they both came through safe.’*