Automobiles quickly became yet another one of Doyle’s pet hobbies when they began to increase in speed and power, and in 1911 he was celebrated for his participation in an international car race wherein he and his wife piloted one of the cars to lead the British team in victory against the Germans (led by a Prussian crown prince, no less). But his enthusiasm was not without a healthy dose of caution – dearly gained from experience: one year after buying his first motorcar he narrowly escaped death.
It was a brisk winter morning in 1904, and Doyle was steering his 12-hp Wolseley tonneau through the gates of his Surrey residence for a day of joy riding with his brother Innes. The car was clumsily handled as it passed through the gates and onto the road when it smote the gatepost, causing the vehicle to charge up a steep grade and fall backwards on top of its driver. Innes was thrown clear and survived, but Arthur was caught beneath the machine, only saved by the steering column which propped it up… momentarily: a few seconds later it was bent under the weight, and the car settled on top of Doyle, pinning his face to the earth. Dazed and horrified, Doyle was rescued by a crowd of onlookers who pulled it off just in time.
“The secret of safe brakes had not yet been discovered,” he said of the event, “and my pair used to break as if they were glass. More than once I have known what it is to steer a car when it is flying backwards under no control down a winding hill.” It is only natural that this terribly brush with death frequently revisited his imagination, finally manifesting in the following cataclysmic episode.
SUMMARY
The story is narrated in the first person by an unnamed protagonist who recounts the fateful night when he lost control of his vehicle, and comes to us by way of a "writing medium" (one who goes into trances while writing, and takes down dictation from spirit messages), as Doyle explains in the opening line. Set in the early 20th century, the story captures the thrill and danger of early automobiles while weaving in elements of mystery and the supernatural. It was first published in The Strand Magazine in 1913 and remains a haunting tale of fate and the afterlife.
The narrator begins by describing how he was returning home late at night in his new and powerful motorcar, which had just been delivered that very evening. Excited to test its capabilities, he allows his chauffeur, Perkins, to drive at first. However, as they approach a steep and winding hill, the narrator, eager to take control, insists on driving himself despite Perkins’ reservations. With a sense of exhilaration, he takes the wheel, feeling confident in his ability to handle the car’s speed and power.
As they descend the dangerous slope, the gears fail, and when he tries to slow down, the narrator realizes too late that the brakes are not functioning properly. The car gathers momentum, and he struggles to control it, narrowly avoiding obstacles as it hurtles down the road. Perkins remains calm but visibly tense, urging his master to slow down. The narrator, despite his best efforts, finds himself powerless against the machine’s increasing speed. The situation becomes dire when they approach a sharp turn that requires immediate braking, but the car does not respond, sealing their fate.
The inevitable crash occurs as the car overturns and throws the narrator from his seat. Everything goes black for a moment before he finds himself standing, seemingly unharmed, and observing the wreckage. Confused by his apparent survival, he sees Perkins nearby, who appears shaken but alive. However, a new presence soon makes itself known—a familiar figure whom the narrator recognizes as Stanley, an old friend he had not seen in years. The unexpected nature of Stanley’s appearance strikes the narrator as odd, but he is too disoriented to question it immediately.
Stanley’s demeanor is calm and reassuring, and he gently guides the narrator away from the wreckage. As they walk together, the narrator slowly begins to realize the truth—Stanley had died years ago:
And then suddenly a wave of amazement passed over me. Stanley! Stanley! Why, Stanley had surely died of enteric at Bloemfontein in the Boer War!
"Stanley!" I cried, and the words seemed to choke my throat — "Stanley, you are dead."
He looked at me with the same old gentle, wistful smile.
"So are you," he answered.
The story’s final twist delivers a chilling moment of realization as the narrator grasps the full weight of his fate. The comforting presence of his deceased friend helps ease him into the acceptance of his new, ghostly existence.
ANALYSIS
A fine little piece of Halloween-ish fun – complete with the classic, campfire-story ending words – “How it Happened” is not great literature, but it never fails to generate a grisly chill in my spine when the spirit peels away from its mangled body, unaware of the critical transition which has taken place, and stumbles dumbly around its former domain. The impression that remains is a poignant sense of how quickly life can be exterminated, how sudden that extermination can be, and how hopelessly we avoid and deny the inevitability and permanence of that final destination. Even those of us who accept the fact of death without fear or delusion will likely be caught off guard and astonished when we are faced with it. Doyle’s hapless adventurer is now cut adrift from his physical life without a chance to correct his mistakes, contact his friends, or set his affairs aright. It is over, finished, and done, and his only recourse is to speak through a “writing medium,” although how effective this effort at communication has been is open to question.
Ultimately, the star of the story is the title’s subject: “It.” “It” happens to us all. “It” happens all the time. “It” is commonplace and frequent, yet we avoid “It” and deny “It” until the day comes when “It” swallows us without courtesy or mercy. This simply happens to be the story of how “It” happened to one poor mortal, just as it is a story of how “It” nearly happened to Doyle himself, one bitter winter’s day in 1904, before “It” came back to call – and successfully collected “Its” fare – in the hallway of his manor house on a steamy July morning in the year 1930.
As a non-driver, I love these early car anxiety stories -- so interesting to see what was worrying people as this new technology took hold. EF Benson has at least one, and mentions car fear a few times in passing. I can't get over the part where Perkins volunteers to lay down his life by steering while the protag jumps out; and then the protag urges Perkins to jump while he steers; and then they agree to both stay. So English! That first sentence struck me as the work of an editor who pointed out that as the narrative ends with the protag no longer living, an explanation is needed for how the story came to be told. I though…
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