Memories and Adventures Chapter 5 - The Voyage to West Africa

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Chapter 5 of Memories and Adventures by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by a fine voice.
Chapter 5, The Voyage to West Africa. The Mayumba, Fearful Weather, An Escape, Hanno's Voyage, Atlantis, A Land of Death, Black Water Fever, Missionaries, Strange Fish, Danger of Luxury, A Foolish Swim, The Ship on Fire, England Wants More.
It had always been my intention to take a voyage as ship surgeon when I had taken my degree, as I could in this way see something of the world and at the same time earn a little of the money which I so badly needed if I were ever to start in practice for myself.
When a man is in the very early twenties, he will not be taken seriously as a practitioner, and though I looked old for my age, it was clear that I had to fill in my time in some other way. My plans were all exceedingly fluid, and I was ready to join the Army, Navy, Indian service or anything which offered an opening. I had no reason to think that I would find a billet upon a passenger ship and had nearly forgotten that I had my name down when I suddenly received a telegram telling me to come to Liverpool and to take medical charge of the African Steam Navigation Company's Mayumba, bound for the West Coast. In a week I was there, and on October 22, 1881, we started on our voyage.
The Mayumba was a trim little steamer of about 4,000 tons, a giant after my experience in the 200-ton whaler. She was built for commerce carrying mixed cargos to the coast and coming back with palm oil in pungents, palm nuts in bulk, ivory and other tropical products. What with whale oil and palm oil, there certainly seemed to be something greasy about my horoscope. There was room for 20 or 30 passengers, and it was for their behoof that I was paid some 12 pounds a month. It was well that we were seaworthy, for we put out in a violent gale, which became so bad as we emerged from the Mersey, that we were forced into hollyhead for the night.
The next day, in violent 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, for as I was standing near the office 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 could not 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 hate to be an alarmist, so I simply touched the mate'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 right, was the Tusker, and we were heading right into a rocky promontory which was concealed by the rain and fog.
I have been lucky in my captains, for Captain Gordon Wallace was one of the best, and we have kept in touch during the later years. Our passengers were mostly from Madeira, but there were some pleasant ladies bound for the coast, and some unpleasant Negro traders, whose manners and bearing were objectionable, but who were patrons of the line and must therefore be tolerated. Some of these 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. One of them, I remember, had a choice selection of a demi-monde of Liverpool to see him off. 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 seasick, so as Dr. Hyatt some work to do. However, before we reached Madeira, we ran into fine weather, and all our troubles were soon forgotten. One never realises the comfort of a dry deck until one has been ankle deep for a week. I missed the sea boots and rough and red dress of the whaler, for when one is in blue surge and gilt buttons, one does not care to take a ducking. Just as we thought, however, that we were all right, a worse gale than ever broke over us, the wind luckily behind us so that it helped us on our way. With jib, tri-sail and main stay-sail, which was as much as we could stand, we lurched and staggered, swept every now and then by the big Atlantic comas, which were phosphorescent at night, so that flames of liquid fire came coursing down the decks. Very glad we were when after a week of storm, we saw the rugged peaks of Porto Santo, an outlier of Madeira, and finally came to anchor in Funchal Bay. It was dark when we reached our moorings, and it was good to see the lights of the town and the great dark loom of the hills behind it.