A daughter at sea
A CHILD
UNDER SAIL
By Elizabeth Linklater.
First published in 1938 by Jonathan
Cape, paperback edition published
in 1977. Currently out of printThe daughter of a master
mariner, Elizabeth Linklater
joined her mother and father
on board his ships for voyages
of up to a year, all through
her childhood. After marrying
a master mariner herself,
Elizabeth and their two
children moved from Penarth
to Aberdeen and then fi nally to Orkney. Her children grew up with her
stories of her life at sea which her son eventually persuaded her to write
down. Granddaughter Susan Hunt remembers, ‘My school friends all
found her fascinating and used to gather around her on her enormous
double bed to listen to her tales.’ In his foreword to the book, Elizabeth’s
son, the author and traveller Eric Linklater, describes his mother’s
childhood and adolescence as ‘so far-travelled and so oddly confi ned’.
It was during the Norval’s voyage from Liverpool to Calcutta in 1875
that the most marvellous incident of my seagoing life occurred. We
had rounded the Cape of Good Hope and were running down our
easting, logging 12 knots in a steady wind. The sun was shining and
with a fair wind, everyone was in a good humour. Only my mother
and I had any cause to complain, for neither of us
ever really became really good sailors. In a head wind
we were helpless, and even in a fair one, with the ship
heeled well over and rushing through the water, we
were glad to lie as quietly as possible and not look
too long at the huge waves rolling past or tumbling
on to the main deck. On this particular day we were
lying on long chairs set on the lee side of the poop,
well wrapped up in rugs. It was noon, and Father
and the mate were on the poop with their sextants
raised to take the sun when the man at the wheel
shouted, ‘Man overboard!’
Instantly came the order from the captain, ‘Back
the mainyard!’ Sextants were hurriedly put away and
all hands rushed to work. Way was checked, a boat
lowered, and volunteers called for. The second mate
and four men were chosen, and they set out to search
for the helpless atom afl oat in such awful loneliness.
A sailor was sent aloft to look for the lost man and
keep the boat in sight. But he could not pick up the
man and very soon lost sight of the boat, for the
waves were running high and she had disappeared
from view in the troughs of the sea.
Not till the boat was away did the captain waste
time fi nding out who was missing. All hands were
mustered aft and the roll was
called. No one was missing.
Consternation ruled.
Who had seen the man
in the water? No one but
the man at the wheel. Had
he made a mistake and
only imagined having seen
someone? He was positive in
his statement, and then said that the man he had seen was baldheaded.
That settled the matter again, for there was no baldheaded man on
board except the cook, and he was in his usual place – the galley.
Minutes seemed hours. The man aloft had completely lost sight
of the boat. The captain climbed the rigging with binoculars, but
was no more successful, and a feeling of despair came over all.
Were our own boat and crew to pay toll for this wraith of a man?
Someone suggested it was Neptune playing a prank on us.
About fi ve hours after the launching of the boat and when hope
was fast dying, she hove in sight again, and six men were counted
in her. No landsman can realise the excitement of this discovery.
What joy that our own boat’s crew was safe, and what wild surmise
as to who could be the man picked out of the huge trackless ocean!
All crowded to the lee rail to see the stranger
hoisted on board. He was too exhausted to climb
as the others did. When he reached the deck he fell
on his knees, put his hands together in an attitude of
prayer and devoutly exclaimed, ‘Thank God!’ He was
put to bed, brandy and hot blankets and everything
one could devise for his comfort were forthcoming,
and the weary soul slept for many hours.
His name was Frank Lopez. He was a native of the
Canary Islands, and had been an A.B. on board the
ship West Riding. He had been stowing a jib at 3am
that day, and had fallen overboard in oilskins and sea
boots. An expert swimmer, he soon got rid of these,
and reached a lifebuoy that had been fl ung to him.
In the darkness and with a strong wind blowing,
it was unlikely that any effort could have been made
to pick him up. While he lay still on the lifebuoy, fi sh
nibbled his feet and he greatly feared a shark. After
daybreak, the scorching sun, helped by the saltwater,
took all the skin off his forehead, chest and shoulders.
He longed to lose his reason. He must have slept or
fallen into semi-consciousness, for suddenly he was
startled to see the Norval quite close. He threw away
his lifebuoy and swam towards her, shouting with all
his remaining strength.Elizabeth Linklater (1868-
1957) first went to sea at the
age of four. Her father, James
Young, was a master mariner
and Elizabeth’s first passage
was across the Atlantic with
a cargo of chalk from Grays
in Essex to Boston,
Massachusetts. From
that time until she was
21, voyages of a year or more
alternated with years at home
when she attended school.
She too married a master
mariner, the Orcadian
Robert Linklater, but did
not sail with him.THERE WAS THE CONSTANT
FEAR OF NOT RUNNING
FAST ENOUGH TO ESCAPE
THE HEAVY SEAS
A BOOK AT BUNKTIME