Had a great time today at the Adair family reunion. Learned a lot of historical family information about my ancestors who had fought in the Revolution, the Civil War, and the pre-immigration eras in Ireland and Scotland.

Heard a very interesting recounting of a tale about a pre-Revolutionary Frontier’s Fort one of my ancestors fought at that Indians and white men dressed as Indians tried to ambush to start an uprising. Unfortunately for the attackers the Fort was hosting a fully armed militia garrison that one of my ancestors was serving in. So the attempted ambush turned into a trap for them.

Learned some about the name variations (Adare/Adair) and their exact ancient meanings, and the various counties in Ireland where the family had arisen.

I did not know this until today but I had already invented an Alexander Adair as a Scots-Irish for the main character, who is based upon my great-grandfather John Augustus Adair. However there really was an Alexander Adair. Though at that period of time he might have been Alexander Adare. Also my family immigrated in through the port of Charles Towne (Charleston) and I had long suspected that but today I heard it definitely verified.

A lot of this material will make superb background for my pre-Revolutionary era Frontier’s novel, the Regulator.

The event described above, about the attempted uprising and the Fort attack will make a great scene in the novel. I already have a superb scene where the main character discovers a burned out and partially ruined old Spanish fort (an expedition of Spaniards who had come north from Florida into the Upstate of South Carolina, built a very small frontier’s church, but had been driven off and killed by Indians – the only thing that had survived was the church because the Indians had been spooked by it) and has to camp and hole up there one night in order to avoid attack by a gang of criminals he is tracking.

So these kinds of Real World historical events are fuel for the bonfire.

They also made my wife sing at the Reunion. They always make my wife sing.


Earlier today a friend and I were having a discussion on Facebook about an archeological site in Mexico. He brought up the Aztec Schools of War and Worship and then made a little linguistic play between the terms Warship and Worship. I simply could not let those lines go by, I had to find a way to make use of them. So I went for a walk with my Great Dane in the woods and ruminated on the terms Warship and Worship. The more I thought on it the more I saw the obvious connections. Upon returning home I found this poem had germinated in my sub-conscious.



The Warship named Worship that sails through the world
Her keel made of scriptures, her mast made of Words
Her bow sleek and slimming, by salt bitten deep
Her rudder all workman, her sides high and steep
She churches the oceans, she runs in the storm
She anchors at havens, her sails are adorned
With wonders and marvels that God wove in there
She glides through the waters, she cuts through the air
Preachers and Priest-men and Monks has she hauled
Cargos of Sinners and Martyrs et al,
Yet blood paints her deck rails, sweat stains her bow
Her heretics aft, she drifts when allowed
This Warship named Worship that sails through the world
She lists to her port side, her flags are all furled

This Warship named Worship a frigate she seems
When honor is High-Held and Virtues esteemed
The crows-nest is scouting and looking for God
The glasses are scanning for heavens to trod
The stars chart the night-seas, the Son shoots the day
The compass is true-north the sextant will say
When she’s finely running, goodly and sharp
Her lines are all pretty, there’s nary a mark
But scow does she labor when she’s gone astray
Her canvass all tearing, her life-boats away
Her knots are all twisted, her ties are all frail
Her guns are all rusted, she lumbers and smells
Her mid-seams are swelling, her starboard is vexed
She drinks in the bilge-scum, and drowns in the hex

This Warship named Worship was made for the War
Gainst evil and ill things, to even the score
When Wrong and Malignant and Vice take to sail
To patrol all the coastlines and blockade up Hell
Her Mission is active, her orders are sealed
She runs still at eight bells, her dog-watch at wheel
Supplying the stranded, the marooned, and the wrecked
A watch for horizons, all hands are on deck
She’s tight in her timbers, she’s tried in the storm
Repentance at ready, she’s full of reform
This Warship named Worship, when she’s sailing true
The oceans are endless, the skies are all blue
If only this ship-shape could last for all time
She’d never lose sailors, none would resign

Yet this Warship named Worship is old in the lists
She’s scheduled for dry-dock, no new men enlist
I’ve watched her from landfall to see how she fares
Are her sailors all sea-blind, or just unaware?
You can’t take to sea boys if your ship isn’t fit
You can’t take the beating, you can’t take the hit
The oceans are filled with the pirates of war
How can you meet them, so torn and so worn?
You need now a refit, to trim all your marks
God as your Captain, to Him you should hark
The shipwrights should labor, the workmen should work
Your Saints and your draftsmen should straighten your quirks
Your Women and Children should all be aboard
Everyone serving, Good Crew of the Lord
For if you want Worship to sail round the Earth
She’ll have to be remade, and given new birth (berth).