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I hope it distracts and relaxes your overactive brain squirrels. You're about to hear all about the 1881. West African Voyage of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Chances are that you recognize that name as the famous author of Sherlock Holmes stories. Well, this episode has nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes or solving mysteries. Rather, you're about to learn a little about the man who created.
Sherlock Holmes. If you read his Wikipedia page, you will learn that before Sir Arthur Conan Doyle became a famous author, he went to medical school. and became a medical doctor. He was also a cricket player, a boxer. He was married several times and had several children. What you won't read on the Wikipedia page is that in 1881, he hopped on a ship and he went to West Africa. And that is the focus.
of this episode. I didn't do any investigative journalism to get this scoop. I just read a book that he wrote in which he shared the story. of his voyage. I found it to be an enjoyable glimpse into his life, his thinking, into parts of West Africa, and into a lot of things that were happening during that moment in history. Many curious moments happened on his voyage. One example.
includes an interesting coincidence that happens near the very end of his trip, similar to the coal fire that you heard about in the bonus episodes. of Titanic 360, his ship also had a similar coal fire. I won't spoil the fate of his ship, but of course. You already know, he arrives home safely and goes on to become the world-famous author of Sherlock Holmes. I hope you enjoy this episode.
The 1881 West African Voyage of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle It had always been my intention to take a voyage as a ship's surgeon. When I had finished my medical degree, it was a way that I could see something of the world, and at that time, maybe earn a little bit of money, which... I rarely need it badly if I was ever going to start up in medical practice for myself. When a man is in his very early twenties, he will not be taken seriously.
as a medical practitioner. And though I looked old for my age, it was clear that I had to fill in my time in some other way to do something for a little bit. so I could be a little bit older and be taken a bit more seriously. This voyage wasn't my only idea. My plans were all exceedingly fluid. I was ready to join the Army, I'd join the Navy, Indian Service, or really anything which offered an opening. I had no reason to think.
that I would be able to find a position as a medical officer on a passenger ship. But then an opportunity arose. I received a telegram. telling me to come to Liverpool and to take medical charge of the African steam navigation company ship called the Mayumba, which was bound. for the west coast of Africa. In a week I was there, and on October 22nd, 1881, we started on a voyage.
The Mayamba was a trim little steamer of about 4,000 tons. She was mostly built for commerce, carrying mixed cargos to the coast. and then bring back things like palm oil, palm nuts, ivory, and other tropical products. What with whale oil? In palm oil, there certainly seemed to be something greasy about my horoscope, you might say. There was room for twenty or thirty passengers on the ship.
and I was paid about 12 pounds a month. It was well that this little steamer seemed to be quite seaworthy, because when we started, there was a violent gale. It became so bad that we were forced into holy head for the night. On the next day, in vile and thick weather, with a strong sea running, We made our way down the Irish Sea. I shall always believe that I may have saved the ship from disaster. Let me explain.
As I was standing near the officer of the watch, I suddenly caught sight of a lighthouse standing out in a rift in the fog. It was on the port side. and I couldn't imagine how any lighthouse could be on the port side of a ship, which was, as I knew, well down on the Irish coast. I hated to be an alarmist. So I very lightly touched the maid's sleeve, pointed to the dim outline of the lighthouse, and said, Is that all right?
He fairly jumped as his eye lit upon it, and he gave a yell to the men at the wheel and rang a violent signal to the engine room. The Lighthouse if I remember correctly, was the Tusker lighthouse. And sure enough, we were heading right into a rocky area which was concealed by the rain and fog. So, I guess I'm pretty happy that I tugged on that mate's sleeve. Now, you may be wondering if Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
had proper focus during the day, and got adequate sleep at night. Okay, maybe I'm just projecting. Because these are challenges that I've had, and you may also. You can overcome these challenges with mental wealth, which means having a healthy lifestyle along with some helpful boosts. How? Well. You can give yourself a 24-hour mental performance boost by using the Magic Mind Focus Shot and the Magic Mind Sleep Shot.
I've been using both. And sure enough, I'm currently having great focus and sleep. You can get your bundle of the Magic Mind Focus Shot and the Magic Mind Sleep Shot. at 45% off by going to magicmind.com slash com h j a n or just click the link that I put for you in the episode notes. Alright, back to the episode. Our captain was Gordon Wallace. He was one of the best, and we've even kept touch during the later years. Our passengers were mostly from Madeira.
And this included some pleasant ladies bound for the coast and some unpleasant slave traders whose manners and bearing were quite objectionable. The slave traders were patrons of the line and must therefore be tolerated. Some of the palm oil chiefs and traders have incomes of many thousands a year. But as they have no cultivated tastes, they can only spend their money on drink, debauchery,
and senseless extravagance. The storms followed us all the way down the channel and across the bay, which is normal, I suppose, at such a time of year. Everyone was, of course, seasick, so, as the ship's doctor, I had some work to do. Luckily, before we reached Madeira... We ran into smooth weather and all our troubles were soon forgotten. One never realizes the comfort of a dry deck until one has been.
on a whaling ship. I had recently been on a whaling voyage, and my mind was constantly comparing the differences of these two voyages. I actually did miss the sea boots and rough-and-ready dress of the whaler. When one is in blue serge and guild buttons, one just gets an attitude and... doesn't take any guff. The turn of weather on my current voyage quickly ended my thoughts of my whaler voyage. We were in our worst gale yet.
the wind luckily being behind us so that it ended up helping us get on our way. With jib, trisail, and mainstaysail, we lurched and staggered. for several days in the angry sea. After a week of storm, we were quite glad when we saw the rugged peaks of Porto Sancto Madeira. We dropped anchor in Funkle Bay. It was dark when we reached our moorings, and it was good to see the lights of the town and the dark silhouette of the hills behind it.
A lunar rainbow spanned the whole scene, a rare phenomenon which I've never seen before or since. Tenerife was our next stopping place, Santa Cruz being the port of call. In those days, Santa Cruz did a great trade in cochineal, which was derived from an insect cultivated on cacti. When these insects were dried, they furnished a dye used in fabrics and other materials. A small package of these insects averaged 350 pounds at that time. But now I suppose that...
The creation of all these other dyes, which I think some are synthetic, have killed that trade. A day later, we were at Las Palmas, capital of Grand Canary. Leaving Las Palmas, we were in the delightful region of the northeast trade winds. This is the most glorious part of the ocean, seldom rough. yet always lively, with foam-capped seas and a clear sky. Day by day, however, it grew hotter, and we lost the trade winds.
When we sighted the Isle de Luz off the Sierra Leone coast, I began to realize what the tropics really meant. When you feel your napkin at meals to be an... intolerable thing, meaning that your napkin creates a damp sweat mark on your trousers. Well, then that's when you know you. are in the tropics. On November 9th, we reached Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone, our first port of call on the African main.
It was a lovely spot, but also a bit of a place of death due to malaria and blackwater fever. It was here that our ladies left us. And indeed, It was sad to see them go, because female lives are even shorter than male lives on the coast. It was a truly dreadful place in the early 1880s. The despair which reigned in the hearts of the white people made them take liberties with alcohol which they would not have dared to take in a healthier place. A year's residence here.
seemed to be about the limit of human endurance. I remember meeting one healthy-looking resident who told me that he had been there for three years. When I congratulated him, he shook his head and said, I'm a doomed man. I have advanced Bright's disease. One truly wondered. whether the colonies were really worth the price we had to pay. From Sierra Leone we steamed to Monrovia, which is the capital of the Republic of Liberia.
a nation founded mainly by escaped slaves. So far as I could see, it was orderly enough, though all small communities which take themselves seriously, have a comic aspect. At the time of the Franco-German War, Liberia only had one single boat in its navy. This single boat stopped a British mail ship in order to send word to Europe that it did not intend to interfere in the war.
I doubt that anyone was expecting Liberia and their single Navy vessel to have any type of contribution to the war, but I do think it was nice of them. to let Europe know. We continued through many ports. Grand Bassam, Cape Palmas, Accra, Cape Coast Castle, They all form the same picture in my mind. A vision of burning sunshine. A long swell breaking into a white line of surf.
a margin of golden sand, and then the low green bush with an occasional palm tree rising above it. This same view repeated. for thousands of miles, it seemed. One particular incident does stand out in my mind, related to all these ports. At some small village, the name of which i have forgotten there came off a tall young welshman in a state of furious excitement his slaves had mutinied
and he was in fear of his life. There, they are waiting for me, he cried, and pointed to a group on the distant beach. We offered to take him on. But he couldn't leave his property. All we could do was to promise to send a gunboat up from the Cape Coast castle. I have often wondered how such people like him... got on after the German menace compelled us to withdraw all our navy gunboats. Anyway, this coast we're traveling on is...
dotted at night with native fires, some of them of great extent arising no doubt from the burning of grasses. I've been reading Hano's account. of his journey down the coast. Hanno the Navigator was an explorer of the 5th century BC, best known for his naval exploration of the western coast of Africa. It is interesting that he talks also of the fires which he saw at night. He also speaks of gorillas, so it is probable.
that he got as far as Gabun or south of the line. He also saw a great volcanic activity, and the remains of it is still visible at Fernando Poe. which is almost all volcanic. In Hanno's time, however, the hills were actually spouting fire, and the country was a sea of flame, so that he dare not set foot on shore. Our ships have some rough and ready ways as they jog down the coast. In other words, what I'm really saying is that the ships I'm traveling with
really lack organization and communication. Once, we moved on while a hundred native visitors were still on board some of our ships. It was funny to see them dive off and make for their canoes. One of them even had a tall hat, an umbrella, and a large colored picture of Jesus Christ. He had bought these at the trading booths which the men rig up in the ships. But these impediments did not prevent him from swimming to his boat.
At another minor port, since we were pressed for time, we simply threw our consignment of barrel products overboard. This would be like... Delivering a newspaper to someone by throwing it in their yard or near their yard. We knew that sooner or later, those barrels... would wash up on the beach, though how the real owner could make good his claim to them wasn't clear to me. And I'm sure that some of the local natives
grabbed those floating barrels occasionally for their own benefit. Dealing with the challenges of offloading cargo and the dangers of getting too close to land. is a delicate balance. Some years ago, I knew of a captain who took the oil casks on board by means of a long rope and a donkey engine. This was really an ingenious way of avoiding the surf. However, they had to stop using this method because the local natives
preferred the traditional method, which included a customary greeting of the small surfboats. I guess modern ingenuity. can sometimes lose to tradition and ceremony. On November 18, the demons of the climate got a hold on me when we reached Lagos. Some germ or mosquito or whatever had infected me, and I was down with a very sharp fever.
The ship just kept rolling in a greasy swell of a huge lagoon. I remember staggering to my bunk, and then all was just blotted out. As I was a doctor... there was no one to look after me and i lay for several days fighting it out with death i don't remember much except a nightmarish fog from which I emerged as weak as a child. I guess it speaks well for my constitution that I came out the victor. It must have been a close call.
and i had scarcely sat up before i heard that another victim who got it at the same time had died a week later i found i was full of energy once more, as we traveled up the Bonnie River. This was not a pleasant spot. It was basically a brown-smelling stream. surrounded by mango swamps. The natives here were quite dangerous and violent, offering up human sacrifices to sharks and crocodiles.
The captain had heard the screams of the victims and even seen them dragged down to the water's edge. On another occasion, he had seen the protruding skull of a man who had been buried. in an ant heap. These victims were likely missionaries who were trying to convert the local natives. We moved on to Fernando Poe. And, later to Victoria, a lovely little settlement with the huge peak of the Cameroons rising behind it. I went ashore at Victoria, and I...
Can't forget my thrill when what I thought was a good-sized bluebird flying past me was actually a butterfly. Time. for a quick break. If you love history, then I know the ideal podcast for you. It's called For the Love of History. This perfectly named podcast is filled with world history, women's history, and weird history. Get ready for some bite-sized episodes that may be silly. or serious. Topics include the history of the toothbrush, tattoos, cave nurses, ghost ships, warrior queens,
and turkey gods. What? You don't know anything about turkey gods? Then you need to listen to the podcast for the love of history. Search for it now on your podcast player, or use the link in the episode notes. To hear over 90 more episodes of Calm History, but without any breaks. Like this one. Just become a Silk Plus member by using the link in the episode notes. It's free for a limited time. Alright.
Back to the episode. We steamed for about 60 miles up the old Caliber River. Getting a canoe, I ascended the river. for several additional miles to a place called Creek Town. I noted that dark and terrible mangrove swamps lay on either side with gloomy shades. It was indeed a foul place. Once, I was standing in the water, and I looked up into a tree right above me.
I saw a giant, evil-looking snake. It was worm-colored, about three feet long. I shot it out of a reflexive action and saw him drift downstream. This wouldn't be the only animal I shot on this voyage, but I learned later in life to not kill animals because it just didn't seem right to me anymore. To my joy, we were soon back in British waters after several days. I had a curious experience one morning. A large, ribbon-shaped fish about.
three or four feet long, came up and swam on the surface near the ship. Having my gun handy, I shot it. Yeah, I hadn't had my change of heart yet about. shooting animals. But anyway, I don't think five seconds could have elapsed before another larger and thicker fish, perhaps a big catfish. darted up from the depths. This larger fish seized the wounded fish by the middle and dragged it down. I saw something similar in the mixed tank.
of an aquarium once. A fish stunned itself by swimming against the glass front and then was instantly seized and devoured. by another fish in the tank. Nature can just seem so savage and cruel at times. Yet, it is just the way of nature. Neither good. nor evil. A strange fish to which I was introduced at caliber was the electrical torpedo fish. It seems to be a custom.
to play tricks on people who have never seen one before. It is handed to you in an earthenware saucer, a quiet little drab creature only about. five inches long. And then you are asked to tickle its back. And that's when you learn exactly how high you can jump. I felt a little angry at first when I got the shock, but then I soon delighted watching others go through the same initiation.
I guess I see why the rite of passage endures. There was much solitude on the ship, plenty of time for me to ruminate about my future. I decided... I needed to get more focused on my future in medicine. And of course, at this point, I didn't realize my future would turn to literature at some point. But I felt that I shouldn't be going on wanderings like this one anymore. But rather, I needed to get settled and focused.
On the same day of this fruitful meditation, I also swore off alcohol for the rest of the voyage. I drank quite freely at this period of my life. But my reasoning told me that the unbounded cocktails of West Africa were a danger. And so, with an effort, I just cut them out. There is a certain subtle pleasure in abstinence, and it is only socially that it is difficult. I did a mad thing at Cape Coast Castle.
For in a spirit either of bravado or pure folly, I decided to swim around the ship. Or at least... swim along the length of it back and forth. I suppose it was in the consideration that black folk go freely into the water, which really induced me to do it. For some reason, white folk don't share the same recreation. As I was drawing myself on deck, I saw the triangular back fin of a shark rise to the surface.
Several times in my life, I've done utterly reckless things with so little motive that I've found it difficult to explain them to myself afterwards. Yeah, this was one of them. The most intelligent and well-read man whom I met on the coast was a black man, the American console. at Monrovia. He came on with us as a passenger. My starved literary side was eager for a good talk and it was wonderful to sit on deck.
discussing Bancroft and Motley. I would then suddenly realize that I was talking to one who had possibly been a slave himself and was certainly the son of slaves. Conversations with this black gentleman did me good. He kept my brain active and challenged with deep thoughts. We had, of course, books above the ship, but they were neither numerous nor good. Our voyage home, oil gathering,
from port to port on the same but reversed route was mostly uneventful until the very last stride. Just as we were past Madeira, the ship took fire. Whether it was the combustion of coal dust has never been determined, but certainly the fire broke out in the bunkers. As there was only a wooden partition between these bunkers and a cargo of oil, we were in deadly danger. For the first day, we took it rather lightly.
It was just a smolder. And for a second and third day, we were content to just seal the gratings as far as possible. We also sprayed it down with a hose and shifted the coal away from the oil. On the fourth morning, however, things took a sudden turn for the worse. Here is what I wrote in my journal on that day. January 9 I was awakened early in the morning by the purser, Tom King.
He was poking his head in at my door and informing me that the ship was in a blaze. All hands had been called and we were working down below. I got my clothes on, but when I came on deck, nothing was to be seen of it, save thick volumes of smoke from the bunker ventilators and a lurid glow down below. I offered to go down below, but it seemed that they had enough workers already. I was then asked to call the passengers. I woke up, each one in turn.
And they all faced the situation very bravely and coolly. One, in particular, a Swiss man. He sat up in his bunk when I told him the ship is on fire. But he simply rubbed his eyes and said to me, I've often been on ships that were on fire. All day we fought the flames, and the iron side of the ship was red-hot at one point. Boats were prepared and provisioned. At the worst, we could row.
or sail them to Lisbon. However, we were getting the better of it, and by evening those ominous pillars of smoke were down to mere wisps. So ends the thread of fire and an ugly business. End of my journal entry On January 14 We arrived back in Liverpool, and West Africa was but another vivid memory in my mind. An old friend and cricket companion is Governor. at Accra, and he's asked me to come back and see how some things have changed. I wish I could, but I promised myself.
It's time to get focused on my future. This is the end of the episode. If you want to hear over 90 more episodes of com history, including many that are over an hour, but without any ads, promos, or breaks. Then just become a Silk Plus member by using the link. in the episode notes. It's free for a limited time.