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Molly Ryan's Christmas Eve by W.
J. Henderson. It was bitter cold

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on the night before Christmas, in
latitude forty degrees thirty minutes north longitude fifty

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degrees west. That lies just south
of the southern extremity of the Grand Banks

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of Newfoundland, and a wild,
melancholy, uneasy part of the Atlantic Ocean.

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It is at the best of times, but on a Christmas Eve,

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with the wind in the northwest,
it is a home of desolation. The

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wind was northwesterly on that particular Christmas
Eve, and it was blowing what landsmen

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would call half a gale and a
sailor a brisk breeze. But the good

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steamer Astoria from Liverpool for New York
made no account of a wind, which

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served only to increase the draft in
her fire room and to enable the engineer

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to squeeze half a dozen more revolutions
per minute out of the propeller. She

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was making a fair nineteen and a
half knock per hour when the cold spray

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came over the weather bow like a
discharge of shot made of ice, and

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slashed the face of the first officer
away up on the bridge. He only

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pulled his cap more tightly down over
his ears, hauled the muffler higher around

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his neck, squinted at the compass
card, and gritted his teeth, for

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he realized that the mighty machine under
his feet was letting the degrees of longitude

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drop astern at a pace which promised
the steamship a splendid winter record. If

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the captain had only laid the course
to the Nord, he muttered, we'd

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have broken the record. I don't
see what he's a bugaluggin around here,

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for as if we was in the
middle of summer with ice on the banks.

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Keep your eyes in the bowl,
you. The last remark was addressed

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to the man at the wheel.
I thought I seed some when we ridzed

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to the last sea, Sir,
said the man. See, you couldn't

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see your grandmother's ghost on such a
night. Lad It's blacker an the inside

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of a bubblefish. It was black, and no mistake. Little Molly Ryan,

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who was among the poor steerage passengers
with her father and mother, wondered

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if the ship was sailing on the
ocean or just on darkness. Molly ought

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not to have been on deck,
and if any sailor had seen her,

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she would have been quickly sent below. But she was such a little body,

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and she huddled up so closely under
the edge of the poop that no

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one discovered her. It was so
gloomy and close in the steerage quarters,

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and so many poor women were sick
that Mollie had stolen away while her parents

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were dozing. To catch a breath
of fresh air. The cold wind seemed

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to pierce through her, but she
was fascinated by the darkness, and after

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a time she climbed up and sat
on the rail, looking at the ghostly

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foam as it hurled itself against the
iron side and swept hissing away under the

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quarter. Molly was in great danger, but she did not know it.

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She fancied she saw away down there
in the black and white waters, a

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beautiful Christmas tree, loaded with silver
toys that came and went with the foam.

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Molly had never had a Christmas tree, but she had heard about them,

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and her fondest hope was that some
day she might see one. She

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leaned far out, looking down into
the waters, and of course she could

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not know how close the bark merry
Ellis was, But the merry Ellis was

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altogether too close. She was flying
swiftly along before the wind thundering down into

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the yawning hollows that flung her boughs
aloft again with terrible force, and her

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course was diagonally across the bows of
the steamer. Now, the skipper of

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the Merry Ellis was a rough,
mean man, and he was trying to

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save oil, so his side lights
were not burning, but those of the

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steamer were, and the watch on
the Bark's deck ought to have seen them,

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but for some reason they did not. So every moment the two ships

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kept drawing closer and closer together.
Just as a steward happened to catch sight

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of Molly and called to her to
get down, there was a sudden outbreak

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of shouts forward. The first officer
immediately called a swift order to the man

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at the wheel, then sprang to
the engine room telegraph and signaled the engineer

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to stop. A few seconds later
there was a jar, a noise of

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rending wood, and the Estoria struck
the Merry Ellis a glancing blow on her

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port quarter, carrying away a part
of her bullocks. At the same instant,

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Molly Ryan fell off the Estoria's rail
into the sea. Man overboard screamed

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the steward, who had reached the
spot, just a moment too late to

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catch her. But it takes a
long time to stop a steamer going nearly

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twenty knots an hour, and by
the time the first boat was lowered,

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the estoria was far beyond the spot
where Molly went over Forately, for Molly,

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when she came to the surface,
half strangled, her little hands struck

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something hard which floated. With the
strength of despair, she climbed upon it.

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It was the part of the Mary
Ellen's bulwarks that had been knocked off

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in the collision. Still more fortunately
for Molly, the captain of the barque,

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rushing on deck and hearing the cry
man overboard, thought that those words

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came from some one on his own
vessel, and ordered one of his boats

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lowered away. Groping in the blackness
amid the tumbling waters, the crew of

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this boat found Molly and took her
aboard the bark. What exclaimed the captain,

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only a kid, Take her forward, some of you and see her

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looked after, And having made sure
that the bark was not seriously injured,

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he returned to his cabin to sleep
well. Handsome sat a long lean seaman

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with a pointed beard, who looked
for all the world like a Connecticut farmer.

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What ye goin to do with yer
wreckage? Now? Yo got her

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thaw her out, said Hansome,
as he was called, carrying Molly into

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the galley. The sailors fell into
a general discussion as to how Molly should

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be treated, for the poor little
thing was quite unconscious and her clothes were

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freezing on her. However, after
a while she was undressed properly and gently

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thawed out and put to bed.
The sailor called Hansom, mixed a warm

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drink and poured it between her teeth. She gave a little gasp, opened

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her eyes and gazed around. Oh, she muttered, there isn't any Christmas

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tree after all, and with that
she fainted away again. The sailors looked

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at one another in solemn silence,
till finally one said, in a deep

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bass voice, Well, if she
ain't a huntin for trees on the southerly

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end of the Grand Banks, well
that's what she's a lookin for. That's

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what she's a gun for to get, said Handsome, slapping one huge fist

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into the other, and then he
and the other seamen sat down under the

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foxhel lamp and conversed earnestly in low
tones. After several minutes of talk,

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they all arose, and Farmer Joe
said, handsome, you are considerable part.

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Win your part, but there's no
time to lose. We must get

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to work right away. While these
rough sailors were at work, little Molly

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passed from a state of unconsciousness to
one of sleep. The big seamen took

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turns in watching over her. It
was not a pretty bedroom that Molly had

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that night. It was dark and
dingy and full of weird noises of groaning

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timbers. A swinging lantern threw changeful
shadows into all the corners and showed some

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very rude bunks in which several sailors
off watch were trying to snatch a brief

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rest. Just behind those bunks against
the stout sides of the bark, the

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seas burst in booming shocks and ever
and anon. There was a noise of

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falling water overhead, up and away
the boughs would soar and then plunge down

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again with the sickening rush into the
turmoil of foam. But of course the

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sailors thought nothing of all these things. The foxhel was their home, and

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they were long ago hardened to its
sights and sounds. In spite of everything,

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Molly slept quite soundly, wrapped in
a rough blanket with a pea jacket

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spread over her shoulders, while Handsome
and the other sailors were at work with

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a boat hook, some small pieces
of wood, oakum, and green paint.

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Whatever it was that they were making, it was strange enough to look

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at, but their hearts were in
their work, and they conversed earnestly in

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low tones. At last it was
finished and set up in a bucket close

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against the bulkhead, where the lantern
shed its fitful light full upon it.

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Very good, too, said Handsome, gazing at it. But it won't

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do unless it's got something mount Wit
and those sailormen went rummaging in their chests,

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and as they had been voyagers in
all parts of the globe, they

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brought forthsome curious toys to put upon
the wondrous Christmas tree which they had made.

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Handsome contributed three large shells from the
Indian Ocean, a dried mermaid and

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a small Hindu god, which answered
very well for a dolly. Another produced

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a south African dagger, Chinese puzzle, and three brass nose rings from a

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South Pacific island. Farmer Joe brought
out a stuffed marmoset, an Indian amulet,

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and a tin type likeness of himself. A fourth sailor fished out of

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his chest a beautiful India silk handkerchief
and a string of coral Handsome gravely hung

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them on the Christmas tree. When
all was done, he stepped back and

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studied the effect. Very good too, he said, yes, said Farmer

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Joe, I guess you couldn't it
get any sitch tree as that to helm.

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At six o'clock on Christmas more morning, Molly awoke. It was still

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dark and the lantern's light was but
dim. The sailors were huddled back in

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the corner, farthest from their wonderful
Christmas tree, which was set up where

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the child's eyes were most likely to
fall on it as soon as she sat

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up in her bunk. So when
Molly awoke, she did sit up and

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stare straight in front of her with
sleepy eyes, trying to collect her thoughts

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and make out where she was.
Gradually she became conscious of the tree.

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Her eyes opened wider, and wider. She almost ceased to breathe for a

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few moments. Then suddenly she clapped
her hands together and with a little scream

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of delight, cried joyously, why
it's a Christmas tree. The sailors nudged

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one another, and Handsome could not
restrain a chuckle. Molly heard and looked

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around at them. A puzzled expression
came over her face, and she studied

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her surroundings for a minute. Isn't
that a Christmas tree? She asked,

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That's what it is, cried English. And we also is Santa Clauses,

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Oh, exclaimed Molly. What funny
Santa Claus is? I always thought there

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was only one well aboard this ear
bark, There is several, and oh,

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cried Molly, clapping her hands and
jumping out of the bunk. What

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a lot of funny things I've got
for my Christmas? I never got much

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before, but I think I'd rather
have my father and mother please. And

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then she looked as if she were
about to cry. Don't go for to

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cry, said Hansome. I'll sing
you a song. You are a nice

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Santa Claus, cried Molly, brightening
up. And all the rest of you,

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Santa clauses jine in with the chorus, said Hansome, standing up and

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taking a hitch at his trousers,
And then he sang, how the cookies

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at the binnacle, the captain's in
the galley, and the may teas at

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the fore top, with Sally in
our alley, and the steward's on the

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bob's day, and a fishin' hard
for soul. The winds up and down

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the masts. O, roll boys, roll, roll boys, roll boys,

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never mind the weather, no matter
how the wind blows, we'll all

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get there together. Oh, the
captain couldn't steer a ship because he was

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Alascar. The cook he had to
show the way from France to Madagascar.

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The ship she couldn't carry sail because
she had no riggin The crew they had

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to live on clams twas very deep
fer diggin'. Roll boys, roll boys.

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Never mind the weather, no matter
how the wind blows, We'll all

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get there together. The cook says, let the anchors go. The crew

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says, we ain't got em.
The captain yells, then pack your trunks.

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We'll all go to the bottom.
The steward, O the lead sir,

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twas three feet deep. No more
so. Every mother's son of us

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got up an walked ashore. Roll
boys, roll boys, never mind the

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weather, no matter how the wind
blows, we'll all get there together.

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The land was full of cannibals,
which made it interestin'. We told them

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not to eat us fur we was
such bad digestin. The King comes down

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to see us, and he sports
a paper collar, and he says,

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if we'll clear out o that,
he'll give us half a dollar. Roll

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boys, roll boys, never mind
the weather, no matter how the wind

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blows, we'll all get there together. So we fells an inja rubber tree.

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An makes a big canoe about the
shape and pattern of a number twenty

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shoe. The cook he draws a
sextant, and the captain draws his pistill.

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One shoots the sun, and one
the king, and off we goes

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for Bristol. Roll boys, roll
boys, never mind the weather, no

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matter how the wind blows, we'll
all get there together. And now we're

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safe ashore again. We're goin for
to stay. There's grub to eat,

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and grog for all, and wages
good to pay. I'll cross my legs

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upon a stool and never be a
sailor. I'd rather be a butcher,

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or a baker, or a tailor. Roll boys, roll boys, never

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mind the weather, no matter how
the wind blows, We'll all get there

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together. At the end of the
song, all the seamen stood up,

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joined hands, and danced around,
roaring out what Handsome called the correous in

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such tremendous voices that the captain,
who had come on deck, ran to

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the foxhel hatch to see what was
going on. He dropped down among his

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men so suddenly that they all paused
in silence, expecting an outbreak of anger.

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But the captain slowly realized the meaning
of the scene upon which he had

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intruded, and said, all right, lads, amuse her and take good

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care of her, and when we
get to New York, I'll make it

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my business to find her father.
He was as good as his word,

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and in due time Molly was placed
in the arms of her parents, who

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had been mourning her as dead.
It was a joyous reunion, you may

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be sure. But all the rest
of her life Molly remembered her strange Christmas

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Eve at sea, and her wonderful
Christmas tree, And of Molly Ryan's Christmas

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Eve by W. J. Henderson