Don’t Sail on Christmas Day
They said no good would come of it—sailing on Christmas Day was asking for trouble, but the Ellen Munn set out from King’s Cove all the same.
The schooner, under the command of the seasoned Captain Flynn, carried a crew of sailors and their families, all expecting a winter’s work repairing the vessel and gathering supplies. They were heading for Goose Bay — a settlement in southern Bonavista Bay now called Musgravetown. Little did they know fate had a far more perilous journey in store for them.
The Gathering Storm
At first, the Ellen Munn made steady progress, gliding smoothly over the calm waters of Newman’s Sound. But as the schooner approached Little Denier, the weather began to turn. Sou’westerly winds stirred, growing stronger with each passing hour. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, and the crew fought to keep the ship steady, her sails straining against the howling gusts.
The captain considered seeking refuge in Barrow Harbour, but the frigid winds refused to let them steer a clear course. To make matters worse, sharp, young ice was beginning to form. Faced with mounting danger, the captain made the call to run for the relative safety of Dark Hole before it was too late.
That night, as the winds screamed across the bay, the Ellen Munn groaned against her anchor chains.
Disaster Strikes
When the storm eased the next morning, the crew’s spirits lifted. They steered toward South East Arm, believing their troubles were behind them. There was some standing ice, but it was nothing they thought the ship couldn’t handle. Suddenly, a terrifying cry erupted from below deck.
“She’s taking water!”
The Ellen Munn had struck young ice — it was sharp and hard. Like a blade, the frozen shards had cut through her planks and the icy sea was pouring in. Captain Flynn and his men leapt into the hold, their axes flashing as they tried to stem the flow. Meanwhile, the women and children manned the pumps, their hands blistered as they battled to keep the schooner afloat.
It was no use.
Within minutes, the water rose above their waists, flooding the ship faster than they could pump it out. With no time to spare, they abandoned their attempts to save the vessel. They hoisted the lifeboats and shouted for everyone to abandon ship. The crew—23 men, women, and children—scrambled for their lives, leaving behind all supplies. With nothing but the clothes on their backs, they faced the icy expanse with no food, no shelter, and no certainty of survival.
A Fight for Survival
Even in the lifeboats, their situation was dire. Escaping the sinking Ellen Munn was proving nearly impossible. The young ice—too hard to break through but too fragile to support their weight— was a problem. Unless they could quickly distance themselves from the doomed schooner, they risked being pulled into the vortex of the sinking vessel.
The captain’s 14-year-old son was at the stern of one of the lifeboats when he saw the situation unfolding. Acting with courage beyond his years, he leapt back onto the Ellen Munn’s, now nearly submerged deck. He sprinted forward to the bowsprit and cut the downhaul, securing it to a patch of strong ice nearby.
With no time to lose, he raced back to the lifeboats, flinging the rope to the struggling men. The boy held fast to the other end of the rope allowing the boats to be hauled to safety—just moments before the Ellen Munn slipped beneath the ice.
The ship’s mast, with its blue-and-white distress flag, stood defiantly above the icy waters, a final symbol of the Ellen Munn’s struggle. Within moments, the sea swallowed it whole. From the initial discovery of the leak to the schooner’s complete disappearance, barely 15 minutes had passed.
Adrift in a sea of thin ice, the crew had no choice but to row toward land. When they finally reached shore, they faced their greatest challenge yet —they were stranded in the Newfoundland wilderness, with no food, no shelter and winter’s icy grip closing in around them.
‘Big Phil’ to the Rescue
They didn’t know it, but the crew of the Ellen Munn weren’t alone. A man, named ‘Big Phil’ Hancock was nearby.
‘Big Phil’ was overseeing the construction of a schooner that winter at the nearby dock. When he spotted the distress signal from the Ellen Munn, he immediately ordered his men to drop their tools and head to the rescue. Crossing the icy arm was treacherous—the ice was dangerously thin and barely strong enough to hold their weight. Yet, without hesitation, Big Phil led the way, his crew following close behind.
Big Phil approached the survivors, his voice calm and warm. “I am deeply saddened to see you in such a terrible situation. Your vessel is at the bottom of the sea, taking with it all your winter supplies and household belongings. Now, here you are, your family huddled together on this cold winter’s day, with no food and no shelter.”
“Come with me,” he said, his voice firm with resolve. “With God’s help, we’ll soon have you in shelter. And as long as there’s a crust of bread between Man Point and Goose Head, you and your family will not go hungry. We will share what we have, no matter how little.”
A Warm Welcome
And Big Phil was true to his word. The survivors of the Ellen Munn were taken in by the Hancock family and other locals wintering on the coast. Together, they endured the harsh winter months, sharing what little they had and they made it through to spring.
The Perfect Christmas Story?
The story of the Ellen Munn might just be the perfect Christmas tale. It embodies the true spirit of the season—compassion, generosity and kindness. In the face of unimaginable hardship, the survivors found hope not only in their own strength but in the kindness of others. ‘Big Phil’ Hancock and his crew risked their lives to help, sharing what little they had, and literally saved the lives of the stranded families.
A Time Honoured Tune
While it’s not exactly a Christmas carol, one reason the tale of the Ellen Munn endures is that it was captured in song by Captain Flynn’s young son.
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Oh, it happened to be on Christmas Day,
"Twas from King's Cove we sailed away,
As we were bound up to Goose Bay
The Ellen to repair.
When we left the wind was down,
We headed her up for Newman's Sound,
The Ellen, my boys, she did lose ground,
Fell off for Little Denier.
The wind veered to the west-sou'west
And Barrow Harbour we could not fetch.
The gale grew blustering down the retch -
'Twas near the close of day.
So to Dark Hole we ran her in,
And waited there for a half-free wind,
The twenty-seventh to begin
Our anchors for to weigh.
Next morning then our hearts were light,
We ran her up for the standing ice
Thinking that all things were right
As you may understand.
Till from below there came a roar:
"There's water up to the cabin floor."
The signals of distress did soar
For help from off the land.
The men into the hold did make,
The women to the pumps did take
In hopes that they might stop the leak
And beach her in a trice.
But water still came tumbling in -
Against the flow we could not win.
The Skipper's voice rose o'er the din:
"All hands get on the ice."
Now to our very sad mistake
We found the ice was very weak.
We had to carry and to take
The children to the ground.
Poor Tommy Rolland scratched his head:
"For God's sake, Skipper, save me bed!"
Immediately the words were said
The Ellen she went down.
Early next morning we bid adieu
To bring down Tommy Rolland's crew.
We landed them in Plate cove too
For to walk down the shore.
Repeating often he did say:
"I'll never be caught up in Goose Bay.
If I ever get out of it today
I'll trouble it no more."
Tom Holloway lives on Goose Bay shore
His father and two brothers more -
All hardy men to ply an oar -
Westward that day did wend.
A pair of boots, a barrel of flour
They salvaged working half an hour,
And leather for Joe Horney for
Susannah's boots to mend.
And now to close take this advice:
Don't ever trust the new-made ice.
'Twill hold and squeeze you like a vice,
'Twill shave your planks away,
Till finally they're cut so thin
Through your seam the seas come in,
And when a sea voyage you begin,
Don't sail on Christmas Day.
Young Jimmy Flynn wrote The Loss of the Ellen Munn, a ballad that chronicled the events of that Christmas season. The details in the song don’t square exactly with prose accounts of the the event and I’m not exactly sure where the truth lies. In any case, it ends with a resolution that’s hard to dispute — “don’t ever trust the new-made ice’ and, writes Flynn, “don’t sail on Christmas Day.”
Given how it all turned out, it’s probably good advice.
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Loss of the Ellen Munn, History of King’s Cove, P.K. Devine & J.T. Lawton
Wreck of the Ellen Munn, Mainsail Cafe
The Loss of the Ellen Munn, Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland, Gerald S. Doyle, 1940
Thoughts on a Railway to Goose Bay, Christmas Chimes, 1909
Christmas Trip…In Summer, Harold Horwood, Fisherman’s Advocate, Dec 24, 1954
More of Ships and Men, Daily News, November 2, 1956
Of Ships and Men, Daily News, November 8, 1956
