Molly Ryan's Christmas Eve by W. J. Henderson. It was bitter cold
on the night before Christmas, in latitude forty degrees thirty minutes north longitude fifty
degrees west. That lies just south of the southern extremity of the Grand Banks
of Newfoundland, and a wild, melancholy, uneasy part of the Atlantic Ocean.
It is at the best of times, but on a Christmas Eve,
with the wind in the northwest, it is a home of desolation. The
wind was northwesterly on that particular Christmas Eve, and it was blowing what landsmen
would call half a gale and a sailor a brisk breeze. But the good
steamer Astoria from Liverpool for New York made no account of a wind, which
served only to increase the draft in her fire room and to enable the engineer
to squeeze half a dozen more revolutions per minute out of the propeller. She
was making a fair nineteen and a half knock per hour when the cold spray
came over the weather bow like a discharge of shot made of ice, and
slashed the face of the first officer away up on the bridge. He only
pulled his cap more tightly down over his ears, hauled the muffler higher around
his neck, squinted at the compass card, and gritted his teeth, for
he realized that the mighty machine under his feet was letting the degrees of longitude
drop astern at a pace which promised the steamship a splendid winter record. If
the captain had only laid the course to the Nord, he muttered, we'd
have broken the record. I don't see what he's a bugaluggin around here,
for as if we was in the middle of summer with ice on the banks.
Keep your eyes in the bowl, you. The last remark was addressed
to the man at the wheel. I thought I seed some when we ridzed
to the last sea, Sir, said the man. See, you couldn't
see your grandmother's ghost on such a night. Lad It's blacker an the inside
of a bubblefish. It was black, and no mistake. Little Molly Ryan,
who was among the poor steerage passengers with her father and mother, wondered
if the ship was sailing on the ocean or just on darkness. Molly ought
not to have been on deck, and if any sailor had seen her,
she would have been quickly sent below. But she was such a little body,
and she huddled up so closely under the edge of the poop that no
one discovered her. It was so gloomy and close in the steerage quarters,
and so many poor women were sick that Mollie had stolen away while her parents
were dozing. To catch a breath of fresh air. The cold wind seemed
to pierce through her, but she was fascinated by the darkness, and after
a time she climbed up and sat on the rail, looking at the ghostly
foam as it hurled itself against the iron side and swept hissing away under the
quarter. Molly was in great danger, but she did not know it.
She fancied she saw away down there in the black and white waters, a
beautiful Christmas tree, loaded with silver toys that came and went with the foam.
Molly had never had a Christmas tree, but she had heard about them,
and her fondest hope was that some day she might see one. She
leaned far out, looking down into the waters, and of course she could
not know how close the bark merry Ellis was, But the merry Ellis was
altogether too close. She was flying swiftly along before the wind thundering down into
the yawning hollows that flung her boughs aloft again with terrible force, and her
course was diagonally across the bows of the steamer. Now, the skipper of
the Merry Ellis was a rough, mean man, and he was trying to
save oil, so his side lights were not burning, but those of the
steamer were, and the watch on the Bark's deck ought to have seen them,
but for some reason they did not. So every moment the two ships
kept drawing closer and closer together. Just as a steward happened to catch sight
of Molly and called to her to get down, there was a sudden outbreak
of shouts forward. The first officer immediately called a swift order to the man
at the wheel, then sprang to the engine room telegraph and signaled the engineer
to stop. A few seconds later there was a jar, a noise of
rending wood, and the Estoria struck the Merry Ellis a glancing blow on her
port quarter, carrying away a part of her bullocks. At the same instant,
Molly Ryan fell off the Estoria's rail into the sea. Man overboard screamed
the steward, who had reached the spot, just a moment too late to
catch her. But it takes a long time to stop a steamer going nearly
twenty knots an hour, and by the time the first boat was lowered,
the estoria was far beyond the spot where Molly went over Forately, for Molly,
when she came to the surface, half strangled, her little hands struck
something hard which floated. With the strength of despair, she climbed upon it.
It was the part of the Mary Ellen's bulwarks that had been knocked off
in the collision. Still more fortunately for Molly, the captain of the barque,
rushing on deck and hearing the cry man overboard, thought that those words
came from some one on his own vessel, and ordered one of his boats
lowered away. Groping in the blackness amid the tumbling waters, the crew of
this boat found Molly and took her aboard the bark. What exclaimed the captain,
only a kid, Take her forward, some of you and see her
looked after, And having made sure that the bark was not seriously injured,
he returned to his cabin to sleep well. Handsome sat a long lean seaman
with a pointed beard, who looked for all the world like a Connecticut farmer.
What ye goin to do with yer wreckage? Now? Yo got her
thaw her out, said Hansome, as he was called, carrying Molly into
the galley. The sailors fell into a general discussion as to how Molly should
be treated, for the poor little thing was quite unconscious and her clothes were
freezing on her. However, after a while she was undressed properly and gently
thawed out and put to bed. The sailor called Hansom, mixed a warm
drink and poured it between her teeth. She gave a little gasp, opened
her eyes and gazed around. Oh, she muttered, there isn't any Christmas
tree after all, and with that she fainted away again. The sailors looked
at one another in solemn silence, till finally one said, in a deep
bass voice, Well, if she ain't a huntin for trees on the southerly
end of the Grand Banks, well that's what she's a lookin for. That's
what she's a gun for to get, said Handsome, slapping one huge fist
into the other, and then he and the other seamen sat down under the
foxhel lamp and conversed earnestly in low tones. After several minutes of talk,
they all arose, and Farmer Joe said, handsome, you are considerable part.
Win your part, but there's no time to lose. We must get
to work right away. While these rough sailors were at work, little Molly
passed from a state of unconsciousness to one of sleep. The big seamen took
turns in watching over her. It was not a pretty bedroom that Molly had
that night. It was dark and dingy and full of weird noises of groaning
timbers. A swinging lantern threw changeful shadows into all the corners and showed some
very rude bunks in which several sailors off watch were trying to snatch a brief
rest. Just behind those bunks against the stout sides of the bark, the
seas burst in booming shocks and ever and anon. There was a noise of
falling water overhead, up and away the boughs would soar and then plunge down
again with the sickening rush into the turmoil of foam. But of course the
sailors thought nothing of all these things. The foxhel was their home, and
they were long ago hardened to its sights and sounds. In spite of everything,
Molly slept quite soundly, wrapped in a rough blanket with a pea jacket
spread over her shoulders, while Handsome and the other sailors were at work with
a boat hook, some small pieces of wood, oakum, and green paint.
Whatever it was that they were making, it was strange enough to look
at, but their hearts were in their work, and they conversed earnestly in
low tones. At last it was finished and set up in a bucket close
against the bulkhead, where the lantern shed its fitful light full upon it.
Very good, too, said Handsome, gazing at it. But it won't
do unless it's got something mount Wit and those sailormen went rummaging in their chests,
and as they had been voyagers in all parts of the globe, they
brought forthsome curious toys to put upon the wondrous Christmas tree which they had made.
Handsome contributed three large shells from the Indian Ocean, a dried mermaid and
a small Hindu god, which answered very well for a dolly. Another produced
a south African dagger, Chinese puzzle, and three brass nose rings from a
South Pacific island. Farmer Joe brought out a stuffed marmoset, an Indian amulet,
and a tin type likeness of himself. A fourth sailor fished out of
his chest a beautiful India silk handkerchief and a string of coral Handsome gravely hung
them on the Christmas tree. When all was done, he stepped back and
studied the effect. Very good too, he said, yes, said Farmer
Joe, I guess you couldn't it get any sitch tree as that to helm.
At six o'clock on Christmas more morning, Molly awoke. It was still
dark and the lantern's light was but dim. The sailors were huddled back in
the corner, farthest from their wonderful Christmas tree, which was set up where
the child's eyes were most likely to fall on it as soon as she sat
up in her bunk. So when Molly awoke, she did sit up and
stare straight in front of her with sleepy eyes, trying to collect her thoughts
and make out where she was. Gradually she became conscious of the tree.
Her eyes opened wider, and wider. She almost ceased to breathe for a
few moments. Then suddenly she clapped her hands together and with a little scream
of delight, cried joyously, why it's a Christmas tree. The sailors nudged
one another, and Handsome could not restrain a chuckle. Molly heard and looked
around at them. A puzzled expression came over her face, and she studied
her surroundings for a minute. Isn't that a Christmas tree? She asked,
That's what it is, cried English. And we also is Santa Clauses,
Oh, exclaimed Molly. What funny Santa Claus is? I always thought there
was only one well aboard this ear bark, There is several, and oh,
cried Molly, clapping her hands and jumping out of the bunk. What
a lot of funny things I've got for my Christmas? I never got much
before, but I think I'd rather have my father and mother please. And
then she looked as if she were about to cry. Don't go for to
cry, said Hansome. I'll sing you a song. You are a nice
Santa Claus, cried Molly, brightening up. And all the rest of you,
Santa clauses jine in with the chorus, said Hansome, standing up and
taking a hitch at his trousers, And then he sang, how the cookies
at the binnacle, the captain's in the galley, and the may teas at
the fore top, with Sally in our alley, and the steward's on the
bob's day, and a fishin' hard for soul. The winds up and down
the masts. O, roll boys, roll, roll boys, roll boys,
never mind the weather, no matter how the wind blows, we'll all
get there together. Oh, the captain couldn't steer a ship because he was
Alascar. The cook he had to show the way from France to Madagascar.
The ship she couldn't carry sail because she had no riggin The crew they had
to live on clams twas very deep fer diggin'. Roll boys, roll boys.
Never mind the weather, no matter how the wind blows, We'll all
get there together. The cook says, let the anchors go. The crew
says, we ain't got em. The captain yells, then pack your trunks.
We'll all go to the bottom. The steward, O the lead sir,
twas three feet deep. No more so. Every mother's son of us
got up an walked ashore. Roll boys, roll boys, never mind the
weather, no matter how the wind blows, we'll all get there together.
The land was full of cannibals, which made it interestin'. We told them
not to eat us fur we was such bad digestin. The King comes down
to see us, and he sports a paper collar, and he says,
if we'll clear out o that, he'll give us half a dollar. Roll
boys, roll boys, never mind the weather, no matter how the wind
blows, we'll all get there together. So we fells an inja rubber tree.
An makes a big canoe about the shape and pattern of a number twenty
shoe. The cook he draws a sextant, and the captain draws his pistill.
One shoots the sun, and one the king, and off we goes
for Bristol. Roll boys, roll boys, never mind the weather, no
matter how the wind blows, we'll all get there together. And now we're
safe ashore again. We're goin for to stay. There's grub to eat,
and grog for all, and wages good to pay. I'll cross my legs
upon a stool and never be a sailor. I'd rather be a butcher,
or a baker, or a tailor. Roll boys, roll boys, never
mind the weather, no matter how the wind blows, We'll all get there
together. At the end of the song, all the seamen stood up,
joined hands, and danced around, roaring out what Handsome called the correous in
such tremendous voices that the captain, who had come on deck, ran to
the foxhel hatch to see what was going on. He dropped down among his
men so suddenly that they all paused in silence, expecting an outbreak of anger.
But the captain slowly realized the meaning of the scene upon which he had
intruded, and said, all right, lads, amuse her and take good
care of her, and when we get to New York, I'll make it
my business to find her father. He was as good as his word,
and in due time Molly was placed in the arms of her parents, who
had been mourning her as dead. It was a joyous reunion, you may
be sure. But all the rest of her life Molly remembered her strange Christmas
Eve at sea, and her wonderful Christmas tree, And of Molly Ryan's Christmas
Eve by W. J. Henderson