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Before the world knew him as the creator of Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle embarked on a harrowing, ice-crusted adventure that would shape his grit and narrative voice—Life on a Greenland Whaler is the vivid, firsthand account of that early voyage. As a young medical student, Doyle volunteered as ship's doctor aboard an Arctic whaling vessel bound for the treacherous waters off Greenland. What unfolds is a thrilling memoir of brutal cold, raw survival, the hunt for whales amid towering icebergs, and the camaraderie—and chaos—of life among rugged sailors. Written with the sharp eye of a born storyteller, Doyle captures the awe and terror of the frozen frontier, immersing readers in the brutal yet strangely beautiful world of 19th-century whaling. This rare glimpse into Doyle's real-life exploits is a maritime adventure as gripping as any Holmesian mystery.
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Life on a Greenland Whaler
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Table of Contents
Cover
On the quarter deck. (Dr. C. Doyle)
IT has been my good fortune to have an experience of a life which is already extinct, for although whale-ships, both English and American, still go to Davis' Strait, the Greenland fishing—that is, the fishing in the waters between Greenland and Spitzbergen—has been attended with such ill-fortune during the last ten years that it has now been abandoned. The Hope and the Eclipse, both of Peterhead, were the last two vessels which clung to an industry which was once so flourishing that it could support a fleet of a hundred sail; and it was in the Hope, under the command of the well-known whaler, John Gray, that I paid a seven months' visit to the Arctic Seas in the year 1880. I went in the capacity of surgeon, but as I was only twenty years of age when I started, and as my knowledge of medicine was that of an average third year's student, I have often thought that it was as well that there was no very serious call upon my services.
It came about in this way. One raw afternoon—in Edinburgh, whilst I was sitting reading hard for one of those examinations which blight the life of a medical student, there entered to me a fellow-student, with whom I had some slight acquaintance. The monstrous question which he asked drove all thought of my studies out of my head.
"Would you care," said he, "to start next week for a whaling cruise? You'll be surgeon, two pounds ten a month, and three shillings a ton oil money.
"How do you know I'll get the berth?" was my natural question.
"Because I have it myself. I find at this last moment that I can't go, and I want to get a man to take my place."
"How about an Arctic kit?"
"You can have mine."
Captain John Gray.
In an instant the thing was settled, and within a few minutes the current of my life had been deflected into a new channel.