“Voyage of the Motor Vessel Sparrow” series inspired by Bob Carney.
written by Boomer Jack Boardman
Previously: Episode 41—Aftermath
In fact, they hadn’t checked ALL of the boat…
“What a ride, Jack!” Jay exclaimed, draining his mug of organically & shade grown, fair trade, Danger Bay roast coffee, “This was a great idea!”
“Yep,” Boomer replied, “Ya just can’t appreciate Nature’s fury from inside the boat—Right Daisy?”
The Sparrow weathered the storm very well indeed. After the crew thoroughly inspected the boat and found all was in good order, it appeared the storm had done no serious damage. Molly gave instructions to all hands to resume course for Blackfish Bay.
For the next two weeks, the trip was largely uneventful.
The Christmas season was already upon them as the Sparrow approached Blackfish Bay. Calling ahead, they procured a fine Christmas tree (and other decorations) for the main cabin at a small village on the bay. While there, they stocked up on supplies for the next leg of the voyage.
Millie Gamboge, the mayor’s wife and self-appointed head of the Danger Bay Ladies Club, placed herself in charge of the decorating for the Holidays. She did a fine job—and an equally fine job of irritating the crew in general. Perhaps it was her dictatorial methods—she broached no discussion, it would be done her way—period! We’ll get back to her later.
Meanwhile, Jay, Boomer, Mac & Bob were enjoying a little hot buttered rum when they heard a knock on the cabin door. Mac was closest so he opened the door revealing Hiram Silverthorn.
“I had to escape the main cabin,” Hiram said as he quickly entered the cabin, looking over his shoulder, “Millie Gamboge was passing out assignments.”
“You may have sanctuary here,” laughed Boomer, with a knowing look, “Where’s Kiwi?”
“She got caught by Millie,” smiled Hiram, “She also saw me leave, so I may be in a bit of…trouble when I return to our cabin.”
“Hiram,” Mac rumbled, “grab yourself a ‘Danger Bay Holiday Commemorative Mug’ and help yourself to some hot buttered rum!”
“Just the tonic I need,” said Hiram as he poured himself a mug of the fine restorative concoction.
“Hiram,” Mac began, a slight hesitation in his baritone voice, and then asked, “May I ask a personal question?”
“Sure Mac,” Hiram, after a sip of the restorative concoction, “ask away.”
“Ummm, what tribe are you?” he asked, with some trepidation, “I’m just a little curious.”
“I am,” Hiram began, “of the tribe that is by the 51 treaties signed with the Americans, officially known as Chippewa. Most of us prefer the name Ojibwe, both names come from the Algonquin word ‘otchipwa’ (to pucker) and refers to the puckered seam of our moccasins, so stitched to prevent moisture leaking in. We call ourselves ‘Anishinabe’ (meaning ‘original men’), as do the Ottawa and Pottawatomie. The Ojibwe, Ottawa and Pottawatomie were once a single tribe.”
“Is ‘Silverthorn’ a common Ojibwe name?” asked Bob.
“It’s English,” Hiram laughed, “as is ‘Hiram.’ Traditionally, we didn’t use surnames. My Indian name is Ahanu, meaning He Laughs, because as a child I laughed often.”
“You still do.” cracked Bob.
“My son Hiram is Achachak, or Spirit,” Hiram continued, smiling, “Samuel is Abooksigun, or Wildcat, and my wife’s name Kiwi is short for Kiwidinok, or Woman of the Wind.”
“Speaking of Kiwi,” Mac rumbled with a huge smile, “I think I know how to save you some grief, Hiram.” And he opened his flip-phone like radio, punched in a couple of numbers, directing the call to the main cabin speakers:
“May I have your attention, Kiwidinok Silverthorn report to Cabin B-1 immediately— Kiwidinok Silverthorn report to Cabin B-1 immediately, thank you.”
Moments later, Kiwi knocked at the cabin door. Mac opened the door and thrust a mug of hot buttered rum into a very surprised Kiwi’s hand.
“Thank you,” She said, recovering from the surprise quickly, “You may have just prevented a case of justifiable homicide aboard the Sparrow!”
“The intended victim!”
All content ©2007 New Codgers (Jack Boardman & Jay Merton) All Rights Reserved