The Prince John

Every other Saturday The Prince John steamed into the passage to pick up transport and deliver goods - she was the lifeline for anything too big to be trucked in since the hairpin turn at East Ferry had been the demise of a good number of 18 wheelers. She came by way of Halifax, Yarmouth, and Digby and always arrived promptly at eleven am.

She was primarily a cargo vessel although if the captain was in the right mood and space allowed, you could often buy or barter your passage, provided you didn't mind the lack of accommodations or amenities. She was a working boat, rusty in some places and sadly in need of repainting, manned by gruff, retired sailors and young men on the run. She ain't much to look at, Sparrow remarked, but she's reliable as rain and a welcome sight for these old eyes. There was usually a crowd gathered at the old breakwater on these alternate Saturdays, curious to see what might emerge from the cargo hold - it might be lumber or machinery or a boat engine - but the two things I remember most clearly were Bill Melanson's new mower and the pump organ for the church, both were cause for celebration and great excitement.

The mower meant work for the island kids too young to fish or work in the factory - Bill would pay a quarter for a day's work in the hay fields and at the end would cart us all home atop the hay wagon - tanned and tired with change in our pockets, we would sing all the way, plotting how to spend the precious silver coins come the end of the week.

The organ was a dream come true for the church and the choir and especially the congregation, all of whom were weary of the a capella bickering, not to mention the lack of harmony in Sunday services.

All in all, The Prince John, faded and world weary as she might have been, made her journey every other week and did her job faithfully and on time. She outlived more than one captain and crew, braved storms in the summer and ice in the winter, survived season after season on will power, determination and an enviable work ethic. She was, as Sparrow liked to say, One of us.