Conan Doyle

To readers, the detective Sherlock Holmes is a household name. This image is so popular for many reasons. One of the important points is that the author Conan Doyle has received medical education and accumulated rich medical experience.

On May 22, 1859, Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, England. Both undergraduate and postgraduate studies at the University of Edinburgh Medical School, and later received a Bachelor of Medicine and Master of Surgery. Subsequently, as a surgeon on board, he made two voyages to the Arctic and the coast of Guinea in Africa. He also served as a doctor’s assistant in England many times. After returning to China in 1882, Conan Doyle practised medicine in the British coastal city of Plymouth, but his medical clinic was very rare and few visitors. To resolve loneliness, Conan Doyle began to write.

In 1887, Conan Doyle’s first important work was published in “Beton Christmas Yearbook”. This is the detective novel “Study of Blood”. The protagonist of the novel is the famous Sherlock Holmes. However, the author still cares about medicine and hopes to become an ophthalmologist. In December 1890, Conan Doyle went to Vienna, Austria to continue his medical studies. He returned to London in 1891 and became an ophthalmologist as he wished.

Conan Doyle has created a total of 60 detective stories about Sherlock Holmes. Applying his medical knowledge to his creation is one of the mysteries of his creative success. Among Conan Doyle’s 4 full-length and 56 short detective novels, there are 41 books on neurosis, accounting for two-thirds.

British media commented that although writing novels made Conan Doyle famous, medicine is still his sanctuary. He once wanted to give up the hobby of writing and concentrate on medical research. He even wrote Holmes to death on purpose in “The Last Case.” However, due to strong opposition and criticism from readers, even some residents of London wore black-armed veils and took to the streets to express their condolences to Sherlock Holmes. Conan Doyle had to revive Sherlock Holmes and start writing again.

On July 7, 1930, Conan Doyle died at the age of 71. “Real as steel, upright as a sword” is his epitaph. The British “Daily Herald” wrote in the obituary: Although Conan Doyle has driven away, but Sherlock Holmes will be immortal!

let’s go back to Tom and Becky’s part in the picnic. They wandered with the rest of the company through the gloomy corridors to visit the well-known wonders of the cave – wonders with promising, ostentatious names like the “great hall,” “the cathedral,” “Aladdin’s palace,” and so on. Then it was the turn of the game of hide-and-seek, and Tom and Becky participated eagerly until the pleasure began to seem a little tiresome. Then they strolled through the branched corridors, held up the candles and read the tangle of names, dates, addresses and rhymes that were painted with candle smoke and covered the rock walls like frescoes. Striding and chatting, they hardly noticed that they were now in a part of the cave where the walls were still unsullied. They blackened their own names in an appropriate place and then proceeded on. Now they came to a place where a little water, which trickled down from a wall and carried a sediment of lime with it, had in the course of endless periods of time formed a whole waterfall of lace and flourishes in shimmering, immortal rock. Tom forced his slender body behind it to illuminate the lacy overhang, for Becky’s amusement, and discovered that it was a steep one by nature[264] created stairs that led down between narrow walls. Now the explorer’s ambition came over him. Becky answered his call, they made a sign on the wall with smoke so that they could find their way around later and then happily embarked on the journey of discovery. Sometimes they took this path, sometimes that, and gradually reached the most secret depths of the cave; they then made a second sign and branched off to look for new wonders of which they could proudly report to the astonished upper world. They came to a hall-like room, from the ceiling of which hung masses of huge, shimmering stalactite formations. Amazed, they wandered through the hall on all sides and then left it, getting bolder and bolder, through one of the numerous side corridors that open here. After a short period of time, this brought her to a delightful little spring, the basin of which was covered with a wonderfully glittering crust of fantastically shaped crystals. This magic fountain was located in the middle of a new vault, the ceiling of which was supported by a number of slender, rising pillars, which had emerged from the gradual merging of large stalactite structures over the course of many centuries. Huge clumps of bats had clustered under the arch, thousands on a ball. The light disturbed the nocturnal creatures, so that hundreds of them fluttered down and shot at the lights with mad squeaks. Acquainted with the nature of these animals, Tom immediately recognized the demeanor and the danger for both of them. He took Becky’s hand and rushed with her into the first best side passage they saw; not a moment too early, because a bat flitted its wing so close to Becky’s candle that the little flame went out. Tom succeeded in guarding his own, even though they were frightened[265] Animals followed the children far and wide through the most varied of corridors, which they hurried through in blind haste, only anxious to escape the danger as quickly as possible. Shortly afterwards Tom found an underground lake, the night waters of which disappeared far into the black shadows. He longed to explore the bank all around, but beforehand the children decided to sit down for a while, to rest and to regain their strength. Now, for the first time, the horrific, deep silence of the surroundings settled like a cold, damp hand on the brave and happy pounding hearts of the children. Becky said:

“I wasn’t paying attention at all, but it feels like an eternity since we haven’t heard the others.”

“Think a little, Becky, we’re deep below them and God knows how much further north or south or east or what it is. It’s just impossible to hear anything. ”

Becky got scared.

“I want to know how long we’ve been down here, Tom. Let us rather turn back. ”

“Yes, it will be better, I think, it will be better.”

‘Do you know the way, Tom? It’s pure chaos for me. ”

“I could find him in the end,” but think about it, the bats! If they turn off the lights for both of us, it can be a bad business for us. Just have to try to find another way that doesn’t go through there. ”

“Good, but I hope we don’t get lost. That would be too dreadful! ”And the child shuddered at the thought of the very possibility.

They now turned back through a long corridor and walked through it in silence for a long, long time, staring into each side corridor to discover some familiar sign, but everything, everything was new and strange. Every time[266] when Tom checked and examined Becky anxiously watched his face for a trace of discouragement, and he regularly said in a very cheerful manner:

“Oho, that’s right. It’s not here yet, it will probably come soon! ‘But with each failure he felt less and less hope in his heart and gradually began to wander at random through the branching corridors, consoling himself in despair with the fact that in the end he would by chance find the right path Find. He was still saying: ‘That’s right!’ But gradually the fear had settled like a lead weight on his soul, the words had lost the sound of conviction and were as if they were meant to mean: ‘Everything is lost’. Becky huddled close to his side in silent horror and forcibly pressed back the tears. Finally she said:

“Oh, Tom, what’s the matter with the bats, let’s go the old way. Here it seems as if we are getting further and further. ”

Tom stopped.

“Listen!” Said he.

Deep silence, a silence so deep that the children could hear their own breaths in the silence. Tom called out loudly into the darkness. The call resounded along the lonely corridors and died away in the distance in a faint sound that sounded almost like laughter.

‘Oh, don’t do it again, Tom, don’t do it again. It’s dreadful, ”Becky pleaded.

“It’s horrible, but it’s better if I do, Becky, you might hear us in the end,” and he shouted again.

This “could” was almost even more hideous than that ghostly laugh, there was such a desperate hopelessness in it! Again the children listened with all their effort[267] but no sound could be heard. Tom turned back immediately and hurried his steps. It was only a little while before a certain restlessness and indecision in his behavior gave Becky an inkling of the terrible fact that he could not find his way back!

“Tom, oh Tom, you haven’t made any more signs to yourself!”

“Yes, Becky, I was a fool, a wretched, blind, stupid fool! I never thought of having to go back! No, I can’t find the way, it’s all criss-cross here. ”

“Tom, Tom, we are lost! We can never, never get out of this hideous cave. Oh, why did we leave the others! ”

She sank to the floor and broke out crying so convulsively that Tom was frightened that she might die or go mad. He leaned over to her and wrapped his arms around her, she hid her face on his chest, hugged him tightly and poured out her horror and remorse in wailing that faded away like mocking laughter in the distant echo. In vain Tom begged her to take courage. Now he began to reproach himself and accuse himself of having put her in such a horrible position. That worked better. She wanted to try with the best of will to hope again, and declared that she was ready to follow him wherever he led her, only he was not allowed to talk like that again, for he was no more to be reproached than she was.

So they walked there again, aimlessly, haphazardly, at good luck. The only thing they could do was move forward, keep moving. For a little while hope seemed to want to revive; not that there was any particular reason to do so; alone[268] it is just the nature of hope to revive oneself easily where its momentum has not yet been robbed by age and constant failure.

Soon after, Tom took Becky’s light and blew it out. This act of thrift was telling. No words were needed. Becky understood its meaning, and hope died again. She knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four little stumps in his pocket – and yet he was saving!

Gradually tiredness asserted its rights, but the children would not pay attention to them; they could not possibly think of sitting down and resting where time was so precious. Moving forward in any direction meant progress and could possibly result in success; To sit down was to call death and hasten its coming.

At last Becky’s delicate limbs failed any further service and she had to sit down. Tom sat down next to her and they talked about home, about their relatives, about their comfortable beds and above all about the lovely, golden daylight! Becky was crying softly and Tom worried how he could comfort her; but every word of consolation had long since been used up and almost sounded like mockery and mockery. Leaden tiredness weighed on Becky and finally closed her eyes. How happy was Tom. He sat and stared into her sad face, which gradually grew lighter and lighter under the influence of serene dreams, until a transfigured smile gradually poured over it. The peaceful features cast a ray of peace and tranquility into his own soul and his mind wandered back to days gone by, full of dreamy memories. While he was still deep in thought, Becky woke up with a brief,[269] happy laughter that soon died on her lips and gave way to a moan.

“Oh, how could I sleep! I would never, never have woken up again! But Tom, what do you have? – I never want to say it again, just don’t look at me like that! ”

“I’m glad you slept, Becky, now you’re lively again and we’ll be sure to find our way out.”

“Let’s try! Oh, I saw such a beautiful, wonderful country in a dream – I think we’ll get there! ”

“Not yet, Becky, maybe not. Brave forward, let’s keep looking! ”

They rose and walked on, hand in hand, hopelessly. They tried to guess how long they’d been wandering around the cave, it seemed like days and weeks, but it couldn’t be because their candles hadn’t gone out yet.

For a long time afterwards, how long did they not know, said Tom, they must now go quietly and listen to see whether they heard the trickling of water – they must find a spring. They did find one soon after, and it was time for Tom to rest again. Both were terribly tired, but Becky still said she could go a little further. To her surprise, Tom disagreed; she couldn’t understand why. So they sat down and Tom attached the candle to the opposite wall with some clay. Thoughts came and went, nothing was spoken for a long time. Becky finally broke the silence:

“Tom, I’m so hungry.”

Tom pulled something out of his pocket.

“Do you know that?”

Becky almost smiled. It was a piece of cake that[270] he had taken from her as a joke during the picnic, which she seemed very angry about at the time. Now it had become the last anchor of hope in times of need.

“If it were a hundred times as big,” grumbled Tom, “could use it now!”

“Oh, Tom, where would I have thought that this would be our last -”

However, she did not complete the sentence. Tom broke the piece in two and Becky ate her part with a good appetite while he narrowed down on his. They had an abundance of fresh, clear water to complete their meal. After a while, Becky suggested we move on. Tom was silent for a moment, then he said:

“Becky, can you take it if I tell you something?”

Becky turned pale but asked him to speak bravely.

“Well then, Becky, we have to stay here where we have water to drink. This little stump is our last remnant of candle. ”

Becky burst into crying and wailing. Tom did what he could to comfort her, but with little success. Last she said:

“Tom!”

“Yes, Becky?”

“They’ll miss us at home and they’ll be looking for us!”

“Of course, of course they do!”

“Maybe they are looking for us now, Tom!”

“Well, maybe – hopefully.”

“When can you have missed us, Tom?”

“Probably when they were in the boat.”

“Perhaps by then it was already dark – no one would have noticed that we were missing.”

“Well, then your mother will definitely miss you when the others come home.”

[271]

A startled look in Becky’s eyes taught Tom that he had been mistaken. Becky wasn’t supposed to come home that evening. The children became quiet and thoughtful. A moment later Tom saw from another outbreak of pain that Becky’s pain was the same as he was – namely, that half a Sunday morning might pass before Becky’s mother found out that she hadn’t been at Harpers overnight. Without a word, the children fixed their eyes on the little piece of candle and watched with fear as it melted slowly and relentlessly, saw the half-inch of wick standing alone at last, saw the faint little flame rise and fall, fall and rise, now climb the thin column of smoke, linger a moment on its tip[272] and then – the horrors of the blackest darkness prevailed.

How long afterwards Becky came to the dawning awareness that she was crying in Tom’s arms, neither of them could have said. They only knew so much that after an endless time they awoke from a slumbering numbness to the renewed, depressing feeling of their misery. Tom said it could be Sunday, maybe already Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but the misery weighed too heavily on her, all hope was gone. Tom maintained that by now they must have long been missing at home and that the search for them was already in full swing. He wanted to scream, he said, maybe you can hear him after all and follow the trail. He tried it too, but in the deep darkness the distant echoes sounded so horrible that he was soon appalled.

The hours passed and hunger came to torment the poor little lost again. Part of Tom’s half of the cake was left, so they divided the rest and ate. After that, they seemed hungrier than before. That poor bit of food only made people want more.

Suddenly Tom called:

»Sht! Don’t you hear what? ”

Both held their breath and listened. A sound came to her ear that sounded like a faint call from a great distance. Tom answered instantly, and holding Becky by the hand, he felt his way down the corridor, following the direction of the sound. Then he listened again breathlessly. The call came again, and this time a little closer, no doubt.

“It’s you!” Cheered Tom, “they are coming! Forward, Becky – all is well now! ”

The joy, the delight of the children was almost overwhelming.[273] However, they made slow progress, for the cave was rich in crevices in the ground, and these they now had to avoid twice in the dark. Immediately they stood in front of one and could not go any further. The crevice might only be three feet deep, but it could be a hundred, who could know? – In any case, there was no way of getting over it. Tom lay down and tried to reach down as far as possible – no need to feel. So they had to stay and wait for the rescuers to appear. They listened – the distant calls apparently sounded further and further. A moment or two more and they died completely. Oh, this heartbreaking despair! Tom screamed, raged, roared until he was completely hoarse, to no avail. Hopefully he talked to Becky, but an eternity of fearful waiting disappeared

The children felt their way back to the source; long, difficult hours dragged on; the lost ones fell asleep and woke up half starved and full of heartache. Tom said it must be Tuesday now.

Now a thought occurred to him. There were a couple of side passages nearby. It was better, after all, to examine them than to bear idly the weight of time. He took a line from his pocket, on which he had once let his kite fly, fastened it to a ledge, and then strode forward, unwinding the line. Becky followed him. After about twenty paces the corridor suddenly dropped steeply. Tom got down on his knees, felt down and then around the corner as far as he could comfortably reach with his hands. He was just about to feel further to the right, with the greatest effort, when at the same moment, less than twenty meters away, a human hand appeared from behind a rock[274] held a light. Tom let out a loud, echoing shout of joy and immediately the hand followed the body to which it belonged – the body of the Indian Joe. Tom was paralyzed, he couldn’t move a limb. As if relieved from a spell, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the “Spaniard” instantly turned around and gave him money as quickly as possible. He could hardly understand that Joe didn’t recognize his voice and didn’t kill him for his testimony in court. The echo must have made the voice unrecognizable, there was no other way of explaining it. The fear paralyzed every muscle in Tom’s body. He definitely made up his mind to go back to the source, when he still had strength enough, and to stay there; nothing in the world could move him to run the risk of running into Indian Joe’s hands again. So he crawled back, taking care not to let Becky notice anything he had seen. The scream earlier – he told her – he only uttered once more at random.

But hunger and misery prevailed for a long time. Another terrible time of waiting and worrying, another long sleep changed Tom’s decision. The children woke up, tormented by hunger. Tom said it should be Wednesday or Thursday, maybe even Friday or Saturday, and that the search for them had long since been given up. He suggested exploring another corridor. He was now determined to take on the Indian Joe and all other horrors. But Becky felt very weak. She had sunk into a sad apathy from which nothing could shake her. For her part, she wanted to stay where she was, she breathed weakly, wanted to die here, it wouldn’t be long now. Tom should just go and keep looking with the kite leash:[275] to talk to her. She made him promise solemnly that when the last anxious hour came, he would stay with her and hold her hand until it was all over. Tom kissed her with a choking sensation in the throat and pretended to be convinced that he would either find the seekers or a way out of the cave. Then he took his kite rope and crawled down one of the corridors on his hands and knees, tormented by hunger, tormented by the darkest premonitions of the approaching fate.