Pitus Peston and the Gods of Oman

By Everett M. Hunt

PITUS PESTON AND THE GODS OF OMAN is the fi rst book in the
PEREGRINATIONS OF PITUS PESTON adventure series.
PITUS PESTON AND THE GODS OF OMAN is about a dreamer of
cosmic adventure who turned his dreams into reality. He was born into an
unlikely time for space fl ight. When Thomas Jefferson was President the
frontier was still east of Buffalo. The only way to reach this distant land
was afoot or by horse. But there were other worlds whose time lines of
development were not like our own. On some of these worlds the present
state of Earth was in their dim past. About the time of the Mayfl ower, three
travelers, exiles from the planet Oman, a world on the opposite spiral arm
of Caleeron, their name for the Milky Way, crash land their craft atop a
butte in what later became Monument Valley. They were unable to leave
Earth and dispersed among humanity to live out their lives.
The year is now 1805, and Pitus Peston, an eighteen year old farmer's son
endowed with a linguistic genius, discovers an old wampum belt bearing
a strange image. It stirs his soul and he believes that the image on the
belt is otherworldly and he determines to uncover its secret. Through an
accumulation of clues he works his way toward solving the secret of the
gods of Oman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453545690

Everett M. Hunt

Everett Hunt, the creator of Pitus Peston and his adventures, is 62 and lives in Castile, New York with Sally, his wife of thirty-eight years. Born in Glens Falls, New York, he grew up in nearby Fort Ann, and attended Fort Ann Central School where he graduated in 1971. He entered Albany College of Pharmacy in the fall of that year, graduating in 1976 with a Bachelor of Science Degree in Pharmacy. He met Sally at pharmacy school and they married in 1976 after graduation. They have four children. Hunt's writing career began in 1990 when the 18th century space traveler and the world's first astronaut, Pitus Peston, came to life in PITUS PESTON AND THE GODS OF OMAN. Since then, he wrote four more adventures: PITUS PESTON AND THE EYES OF HARNUK, PITUS PESTON AND THE LOOSE END, PITUS PESTON AND THE VENDETTA, and now, PITUS PESTON AND THE GOLDEN AGE OF ROOLANDOO.

Book preview

Pitus Peston and

The Gods of Oman

Everett M. Hunt

Copyright © 2010 by Everett M. Hunt.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2010910985

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4535-4568-3

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4535-4567-6

ISBN:   Ebook   978-1-4535-4569-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter One: Upper Hudson Valley—1805

Chapter Two: The First Peregrination

Chapter Three: A Brush With Some Ruffians

Chapter Four: First Time At Albany City

Chapter Five: An Old Tale In Beads

Chapter Six: Gram Dutton

Chapter Seven: A New Path For Pitus

Chapter Eight: Pitus Begins Training as an Apothecary

Chapter Nine: Yarb Gatherin’

Chapter Ten: Travelers’ Itch

Chapter Eleven: The Vision

Chapter Twelve: An Old Friend and a Parting

Chapter Thirteen: The Way of Things Henceforth

Chapter Fourteen: Two Years Later

Chapter Fifteen: The Germ of the Great Peregrinations

Chapter Sixteen: Last Trip Home

Chapter Seventeen: The Mysterious Herb

Chapter Eighteen: Off To Parts Unknown

Chapter Nineteen: The First Marker

Chapter Twenty: Why Do This At All?

Chapter Twenty-One: Printing and Waiting

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Great Old One

Chapter Twenty-Three: Missed Opportunity

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Power of the Herb

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Second Chance

Chapter Twenty-Six: An Old Adversary

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Trapped into Service

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Trouble With the Sioux

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Pillar Number Two

Chapter Thirty: Trapper Jack

Chapter Thirty-One: Seer of Dreams

Chapter Thirty-Two: Ultima Thule

Chapter Thirty-Three: Calnoon

Chapter Thirty-Four: Todd Strikes

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Re-birth of Calnoon

Chapter Thirty-Six: Search for the Real Calnoon

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Enter Rohab

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Settling a Score

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The lecture of Theophilus Wycliffe at the Green Street Theatre, was adapted from parts of an article in the July 1747 issue of The UNIVERSAL MAGAZINE OF KNOWLEDGE AND PLEASURE, pp25-6. Details of the Bottle Conjurer hoax came from the same magazine for January 1749. Pitus was inserted fictionally into Manuel Lisa’s expedition on the Missouri as a practical way for him to enter the hostile northern frontier. Historical figures have been portrayed as accurately as I could, given the research in journals of Henry Brackenridge, John Bradbury, Thomas Nuttall and others.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof without consent of the author.

PROLOGUE

EARTH: LATE SPRING 1677

Rohab grabbed Kinar by his coat collar. Where is he, he shouted. I will kill that tardsoon. He has stranded us forever on this primitive rock!

Rohab went ballistic because he learned that Atoye had given the last spool of gallenium to an Indian boy. He was certain that the wire, made of a rare element, even back home on Oman, was the last hope of repairing the ship and getting off this backward planet. To Atoye, it was simply an accident. He was sure that there was some more in storage. Little Fox was a friend and a talented artist. The beadwork sash he had started would endure for centuries if he used the wire instead of the perishable sinew to hold the beads in place. Besides, none of them knew how to repair the burned out linkage conduit, just one of the things that disabled the ship and stranded them on a high butte in Spanish America. The replacement of the conduit and also the graviton injector would have been of small consequence back on their home planet, but Oman was more than one hundred thousand light years away on the opposite arm of Caleeron, the Oman name for the Milky Way Galaxy.

They made a home in this desolate place, found by accident a half-century before after being chased through the Nesook Barg worm hole by the Oman army. They were fugitives and decided to make some use of their predicament, each after his own design. Though the ship would not fly, the inter-dimensional transporter continued to work, enabling them to travel to and from any place on the globe. Atoye pursued a study of the fauna and flora of Earth and amassed a great amount of knowledge on the races of man. The study of sentience in this remote and hitherto unexplored region of space was his principal aim. It was his dearest hope to return to Oman some day and add his discoveries to the great catalogue of the galaxy, THE IZUT of HIBBER, and by so doing, add his own name to the honor roll of Hibber laureates.

Kinar was in training, at the time of his exile, to be a physician with a specialty in medicinal chemistry. Despite the tragedy of interrupting his schooling at nearly its conclusion, he discovered the fascinating materia medica of Earth and in it, an opportunity to use his knowledge to help the ailing souls here. He was content enough.

Of the three, Rohab was the one of questionable motives. He used his godlike ability to appear and disappear via the transport aperture to pilfer the great treasures of kings, emperors and sultans; like an Ali Baba who always had a back door. His work was quick to reach a satisfying conclusion even for one of his avarice and he was becoming impatient for the time of returning home with his booty. The others had enough work for centuries and it was probably because of this that neither applied themselves to the job of ship’s mechanic.

Rohab’s desire to return with his spoils grew to a mania. The outward transport, driven by the power of fissile material, had a limited length of service. With time its radioactive components decayed past the critical limit and would no longer function. In Rohab’s eyes, the arduous necessity of climbing down the face of the butte in a rope sling to go out from the ship was unbearable.

The gallenium wire incident happened five summers before. Every time Rohab remembered it he would boil over again and scald Atoye. Of late the character of the vituperations had changed for the worse. Rohab was slipping down the road to insanity and was becoming unpredictable and dangerous. The loss of the gallenium wire was the focal point of his anger. He was determined that Atoye would pay for his folly, and now it seemed that his original threat would be carried out.

With the help of Kinar, and some peyote buttons mixed with opium into some broth, Rohab was in no condition to carry out his vengeance which Kinar felt would extend to him as well. Kinar could easily have killed Rohab with his potions and have done with it, but his physician’s mantra of doing no harm with his professional knowledge prohibited this solution.

Atoye and Kinar each filled a rucksack with what would sustain them for a fortnight, figuring that within that time they should reach some Indian settlements where they were known, and while Rohab slept they escaped down the side of the butte to the desert floor.

The dangers of the desert were many; the heat of the day, the cold of the night, wild beasts both large and small, the possibility of starvation or dying of thirst, and the calamity of running into hostile Indians. All these potential hazards weighed less in Fate’s scale than the malignant will of Rohab armed with a proton gun.

The two drove hard to the eastward determined to get away to the Atlantic settlements. Just this part of the journey was expected to take a year. From New Amsterdam or Boston, passage could be found to England and to Europe where some semblance of modernity and comfort awaited them to counter the excessive solitude of their former home.

They had the good fortune of finding provisions along their way. Three weeks into their flight found them near the South Platte in what would later be Colorado.

If I am a good guesser, said Atoye, I would say that river ahead puts us in the land of the Osage. We should be safe now.

We need to get a canoe, said Kinar. Then we will make some real progress,

There might be a problem getting one without anything to trade for it, said Atoye.

We should have raided Rohab’s stash for some of his shiny baubles, said Kinar.

That is the trouble in being in a hurry, lamented Atoye. Let us not worry too much about it. We will think of something. He glanced around a moment. There’s about an hour’s sun left. Perhaps you can find some medicinal plants to trade to the shaman.

Atoye started to set up a camp. Kinar took the time to forage, just in case Atoye’s idea might bear fruit. He was back in at dusk with a sack of roots and plants.

Some luck, I see, said Atoye.

I found some things for a fever, and a couple of remedies for a diarrheic flux. Nothing very exotic, replied Kinar. We will probably have to throw in our shirts with the bargain.

Maybe you can trade off some good will from former times, said Atoye.

I found something else, said Kinar. Atoye paused in his ministrations over the small campfire he had built.

I found that I will almost certainly miss all of this, when we get to civilization, he said. There is a beauty here in these pristine mountains and valleys. Having once been in the east, I believe that some of the loveliness of nature has fled from under the foot of humanity.

Someday humanity will be out here as well, said Atoye.

A prospect that saddens me, said Kinar. When the Europeans migrate out here, what will become of the Osage, Aricara, Poncar, and all the No-do-wessies? Atoye had a good idea of what would become of them, but didn’t want to utter it. It will not be for some time yet, Atoye said. He went back to primping the fire. Kinar seemed wistful.

It sounds a little strange hearing you say you’ll miss all this, considering your first comments as we approached this planet. said Atoye. I believe you said the place had the color of decay.

It does, said Kinar. At least it does from the Oman point of view. There is so much green and blue and so little red and orange. It resembles Haldan.

I’m glad it only resembles it, said Atoye, or we would most certainly be dead.

Maybe after all this time, the Haldi and Omans are at peace, said Kinar.

Never happen, said Atoye. The enmity between us has such depth that the festering core cannot be found anymore let alone excised.

As a child I was taught the root of our mutual hatred was Haldi greed and brutish lust for empire. It was just part of their nature and they could not change in spite of themselves, said Kinar. I found out that it was not the Haldi alone that were the problem.

You know something that wasn’t taught in school, Asked Atoye?

During my researches at the Institute at Kesst, I was privy, unbeknownst to the Council, to the diplomatic papers from the post-Hibber era. The main cause of our strife with Haldan stems from Oman’s refusal to make corstet, the cause of our longevity and vigor, available to them. The body of the average Haldan wears out after about seventy years.

Just like the humans, acknowledged Atoye.

They wanted to live as long as the Jamborones or the legendary biblical patriarchs of Earth. The Council feared giving such a bellicose race the ability of living hundreds of years like us. Their reasoning was justified by the almost instant hostilities carried out upon us by the Haldan army, said Kinar.

I think the Council acted properly, said Atoye, but there was probably no lastingly good choice in the matter. If the Haldi had been supplied with the herb, they would doubtless have overrun the whole region and Omans would be their slaves by now.

The alternative is war, said Kinar. If it has not yet happened, it probably will soon. We are marooned here a galaxy away from home, but I feel that we must make peace with the idea that we will be better off living out our days in this world.

They selected sleeping spots down wind of the fire, after the Indian fashion, in order to keep the insects away.

At dawn they gathered their things and made certain that the fire was out. They moved on toward a small rise.

Do you remember where the villages are that we used to visit? asked Atoye. This area doesn’t look familiar.

I have the coordinates loaded in the computer, said Kinar. Little good that will do us now, of course. The vector came out under some low cliffs near the river.

We should be at the river by noon, said Atoye. We will see something familiar then.

I certainly hope so, said Kinar. It has been two years since I was last out here.

Five years for me, said Atoye. It will be nice to see how much Little Fox has grown.

There was a fever going through the settlements probably caused by the drought and the mosquitoes, said Kinar. I showed the sachem where to find the plants and barks to use. They followed my advice to move the village closest to the river back a half mile inland. I think that did the most good.

They moved a whole village on your say so, asked Atoye.

I cured one of the elders from dying of kidney failure.

Corstet?’ asked Atoye. I thought you were not going to use that here for fear of the consequences."

Just that once, said Kinar.

Maybe it is time to call in a favor, said Atoye. A canoe, a month’s worth of jerky, and a big roll of beaver hides to trade with would be nice.

If they remember me, said Kinar.

The Osage are fine people, as I remember them, said Atoye. They do not forget a kindness.

They reached the cliffs above the head of the river as Atoye predicted, but there was still nothing familiar in the landscape. They followed along the plateau’s edge throughout the afternoon and early evening. Finally Kinar stopped and pointed.

I remember that peak, said Kinar triumphantly. The big poplar tree stands out on its side. I used to appear down the ravine to the left of it.

How far is the village? asked Atoye.

Just a mile or so, replied Kinar.

Let’s camp here tonight, said Atoye. Tomorrow we can see about the canoe.

They made a fire caring not if it was seen. If it was, it would almost certainly be noticed by the nearby villagers. Their coming to investigate would save the chore of going to them. It was dusk and the two were sitting by the fire. Atoye was telling the story of how he came to own the old ship they came to Earth in, when he stopped short in mid-sentence. Kinar started to ask what the matter was, but Atoye motioned to be still and listen. We have a visitor, he whispered in Omanee.

Almost immediately, a young Osage man came out from behind some sage brush. He looked to be about twenty or so years old. He was breathing hard from what was certainly a straight out run from the village. He looked at Atoye with an expression of relief.

Calnoon, he croaked in his native tongue, "it is you".

Little Fox? asked Atoye?

Yes, the brave replied.

Come sit with us, said Atoye. It has been a long time and you have grown . . . .

Little Fox looked over to Kinar. Healer, he said urgently. There is a plague in our village. There are many sick and some have died.

What kind of plague, asked Kinar, almost rhetorically, trying to elicit some specifics from the young man.

You must come, Little Fox said.

Yes, of course, said Kinar. Tell me about it, said Kinar. What is the plague?

The sick ones turn red and are hot. They are weak and cannot hold food. Then big sores come out on the face and arms, and spread all over. Some die and some do not. The ones who live are marked.

Kinar looked at Atoye, Smallpox. It is something even corstet cannot conquer."

We thought the Father of Life had forsaken us, said Little Fox, "but then the elders asked Him for mercy. When you were seen on the plain yesterday, we knew the prayer was answered.

I will go to the village, Kinar said to Atoye, but you must not come.

I will not go on and leave you out here . . .

There is no other choice, said Kinar.

Little Fox, said Kinar. Go ahead to the village and tell them I will help them. I will come alone. Calnoon will go down the river without me. He has important things to do. He will need a canoe and some food. Send back two men who have not touched any sick person or any of their things. Have them bring food from a place that has not been visited by any sick ones. Bring it here by first light and I will return with them to your village. Do you understand? Kawa nodded and started back to the village in a run.

At dawn the two were rousted out of their sleep by the approach of what sounded like several men. Little Fox came forth with a cloth bag filled with corn cakes and jerked meat. Close behind him were two other men carrying a newly made light bark canoe, probably taken out of a nearby cache. Little Fox set the sack down near the remnant of the campfire while the canoe bearers proceeded down the pass to the river’s edge. Again Atoye protested against leaving Kinar’s plan to go alone to the village.

There are two reasons I want you to go on without me, said Kinar in Omanee. First, I don’t trust my luck working against the smallpox, if that is what it turns out to be. Second, I don’t trust the villagers if I fail to cure them. Atoye realized he was not going to prevail against Kinar’s conviction, and nodded his assent. He took up the sack and looked down the path toward the river. By now the two men had returned from depositing the canoe.

If Aldit wills it, we will meet again in Boston, said Atoye. I will wait there until next September. Then I will get on a ship and sail to England.

If Aldit wills, replied Kinar.

Good fortunes keep you, my friend, said Atoye. And don’t stay in one place for very long, just in case Rohab comes looking. He clasped Kinar’s hands after the Oman fashion of greeting and parting. Then Atoye took up the sack of provisions and left.

CHAPTER ONE

Upper Hudson Valley—1805

The sunrise streamed into the bedroom bathing the face of Pitus Peston. The warmth was pleasant, but the glaring light sliced into his dose and reminded him that a farmer should not be caught in bed by the first rays of day. If that was not enough, the sharp voice of his older brother Lloyd broke into the room upon the heels of the sun. It’s almost six o’clock and you’re still abed! Get your lazy carcass up and out to the barn. The livestock need to be tended to!

I’m getting up. Don’t hound a man to death, Pitus growled.

A man. Lloyd glared. You’re as much a man as Jack Adam’s fool!

Hark now, said Caroline Peston. Whatever you think of your brother, he is certainly no fool.

Ma, just because a body knows book learnin’, doesn’t make him smart. Give me one common sense man and I’ll have ten-fold better than an educated fool. I don’t need someone who knows Latin or Greek,—or damn Mohegan. President Jefferson’s already got an interpreter to talk to all them foreign princes. Them cow’s tits out in the barn pull just fine in good ol’ English! He stood at the door and smiled disdainfully at Pitus and started to leave for the barn . . .

You’re jealous, Pitus said. Lloyd heeled about at the comment as if it were a cue to boil over and scald once more. What the hell of, Lloyd retorted. Look at ya. You’re eighteen years old and grown up enough to be helping me run this farm, but you’re nothing more than a lazy lout with your nose stuck in them books Lemuel crates up from wherever the hell he is and ships to ya. And what good does it do ya? All you’re interested in is finding out if there are men livin’ on the moon or Mars, or some other damn place up there! He shouted swinging his arm in the air. He held out his hands for both Pitus and his mother to see. "These ‘dumb, ignorant hands’ keep a roof over your heads and food in your bellies. When it comes to a tug between the belly and the brain, the belly gets its wish first. You’ll find that out when you have to fill it from the work of your own hands!" With a satisfied expression, he turned and slammed the door.

Why do you bait your brother so? Caroline said mournfully.

"Ma, he is constantly picking at me about my studies. He is jealous because of my ability to pick up on things like I do. He knows I won’t have to spend my whole life as a farmer, and it sticks in his craw."

It’s been hard since Pa died, Caroline said. Pitus cast his eyes downward.

I miss him too, Ma. Lord knows it. The work around here is too much sometimes. Pa was like a pair of men, how he laid into things and got ’em done. I guess he was holding up my end as well as his.

That is likely so, but I don’t mean it that way, Pitus. What I mean is how Lloyd and Pa seemed to be like a well-matched team of horses pullin’ a big load. The steeper the road the better they seemed to handle it.

I know Lloyd was Pa’s favorite, but I never kept it against either of them.

That is not so. He loved you both—just in different ways that’s all.

How do you mean?

He and your brother were more like friends than father and son. The farm was their common life. Rufus thought of you more as a way to make a name for the family. He figured you’d become a teacher from all your studying, or maybe a minister. I tended to side more toward you as Lloyd and your father became so close so’s to even things out. Now that Ruf is gone it looks to Lloyd like he’s all alone and I’m taking your side over his all the time. That’s what sticks in his craw, not your book learnin’.

Anyone can see that’s silly, Pitus said.

It’s real to him and you know how hard it is to change his mind when he gets it set on something. You are more like your Uncle Lemuel than your father. But Lem’s content with sailing the seas. You want to go up there,— she said, pointing upwards like Lloyd. It disturbs me that you spend time looking for people from other worlds. It ain’t scriptural. Didn’t you say that the men who wrote some of them books you have were burned at the stake for writing them?

That was two hundred years ago, Ma. They don’t do that to people any more. Still, I think you would be better off bringing your eyes back down on Earth, and stop flirtin’ with heresy.

Be a farmer, like Lloyd? This isn’t the kind of life I want, Ma. I’m not suited to it.

"Farming is what we do and is all we’ve done for generations. We’re not rich country squires who send their sons to college and have slaves to do all the dirty work. We are the slaves and the overseer is the dirt and I see no way around it."

I will find a way around it, Pitus said defiantly. Before his mother could reply, Pitus slipped out through the doorway.

Say, Pite! Huzza! Huzza! The shout came from across the field. Pitus stopped and peered into the distance of the meadow. Al! What are you about out here? Been fishin’, I suppose while I was under the beat of the galley master!

No, but I was thinking about it. Allan presently arrived at the road where Pitus stood.

Allan was a tall beanpole of a fellow. His ruddy complexion and dark hair suggested a Latin ancestry, but he was of Welsh stock, just like Pitus. His thin physique might have lead one to think he was of a sickly constitution, but other than a few faded pock marks from a bout with smallpox back in ’94 when he was 7 years old, he was as hardy as the best. He had a smallish mouth, a plain sort of nose, and deep-set eyes suggesting a world within that he was intent on keeping to himself. Pitus, on the other hand, had a fair complexion, with sandy blond hair. His nose was a little large for his personal preference, but it rather complemented his wide, thin lipped mouth. His wide set eyes added to a countenance of open friendliness, a standing invitation for all to the world behind them.

I had my chores done by sunrise. Now I want some breakfast. Suppose I ’n you go over to the inlet and catch us a mess of bullheads. We could build us a fire and cook ’em right there. He glanced slyly from side to side. I tapped the bung on Pa’s applejack so’s we could have us a little liquid refreshment to cut the dust with.

No siree, said Pitus, I’ve got plans of my own. He turned to continue his walk. Allan hurried to get himself ahead of his friend.

What plans?

You remember when we were talking about having an adventure and how you wanted to go down to see your cousin Horace in Waterford?

Watervliet. He lives just outside of Watervliet.

Wherever. It’s by Albany City, isn’t it? Didn’t you say the only thing stopping you was stage fare, and your Pa said you could go if you found a way down and back on your own?

Yes, answered Allan, but you know he said that only because he knew I could never save enough money to make fare down there, let alone for a return trip. Allan eyed his friend curiously. You must have had that dream again. You get the itch for travelin’ around every time you’ve had it. Am I right?

Not this morning. It came to me yesterday while I lay abed trying to decide if I could put off getting up a spell longer.

Same as before?

Just about, replied Pitus. Except this time I heard a man yell like he was trapped and the calls came from the stone tower.

Tell me the whole thing. It is fun to hear about it, even though it sometimes gives me the shivers.

Maybe later. No time for that now.

What are we in such a hustle for? Allan puffed as he was trying to keep up with his friend’s stride.

I’m heading over to Gimbal’s. He’s got an old tobacco-boat run up on the ground behind his shop. I’m going to see if it is any good and buy it before he cuts it up for barrel staves and wagon spokes.

Buyin’ a boat, Scoffed Allan. Ever since I’ve known you I never saw you with more than a couple of coppers to your name.

You don’t always need money to get the things you want. I plan to make a deal to swap sweat for profit. By now they were striding in lockstep on toward town.

Mr. Gimbal’s building an addition on his shop.

And so what if he is, Answered Allan impatiently.

He needs shingles for the roof and we’re just the ones to make ’em for him. We make the shingles and trade them for that old boat. What d’ye think of that?

Sounds like a lot of work, said Allan skeptically. I know I don’t know beans about makin’ roof shingles and I’m willin’ to bet you don’t neither. Pitus looked at Allan impatiently. You always worry about the details, I swear, said Pitus. Don’t you see how much fun we could have with a boat? We could sail it down the River all the way to Albany, or even to New York! We could swim off it in the river or go with it a-fishing!

Details are important, Pite,’ replied Allan. They keep gettin’ in your face till you do somethin’ about em’.

Let’s just make the deal first, said Pitus. I’ll figure it out later.

The two quickened their pace to the village. When they arrived, they found the proprietor of the cooperage taking an order for some barrels. After a short exchange of conversation, he shook hands with the customer, who mounted his horse and left. Gimbal stood still with his thick hands on his stocky hips and watched the man depart, vanishing into the churning bustle of pedestrians, carts, and wagons of the busy street. The young men watched the customer ride off and then strode gingerly over next to the cooper. Sold some barrels, eh, Mr. Gimbal, Asked Allan?

Sure did. He ordered five hogsheads to be picked up next Monday, and will order as many again if he’s satisfied with the first ones . . . and he will be. They’ll really heft up when they’re filled.

What’s he putting in them, Asked Pitus?

Black salts.

That sure is messy business, Pitus quipped.

You know all about it, I suppose, Gimbal said mischievously.

It’s the farmer’s first crop, Pitus answered.

Allan nodded and entered into the conversation.

When a man takes up farming, the first thing he has to do, especially out at the frontier, is to clear the land of timber to make a house and barn and to get him some plantin’ land for some corn. The new farmer and some of his close-by neighbors set to havin’ a ‘bee’ where they clear off some acres of woods. Since this takes time, there usually isn’t a crop at all the first year.

All right then, teased Gimbal, How does the farmer get money to buy the things he needs when there’s no harvest?

Pitus spoke up. From all the trees they fell, they get the lumber for the buildings and fences, and such like, and the rest they burn up along with all the tree limbs and boughs; the slashings, as they are called. When they get all done with the burning, they take the ashes and put ’em in big kettles and boil ’em down with water. In the ashes is potash, which in the crude form is called black salts. They load this into barrels and ship it to the markets where it goes into making lye and soap, and a whole bunch of other things. The proceeds of this crop pay the first year’s feed and seed bills. So that’s the story about the black salts. One other benefit it has is to give fellows like you something to do, he added playfully.

Then it’s another blessing that keeps me from the sin of idleness, Gimbal snickered. Now, what are you two lads about?

Pite and me have a proposition to make to you.

A proposition, Repeated Gimbal? Sounds like serious business. It seemed that the boys were always coming up with propositions to swap work for cash or goods—like the time they cleaned up the shop on a winter’s day so they could have some old barrel staves to make them each a skipjack. One other time, in the summer, they unloaded two wagon loads of lumber in exchange for a some used casks which they lashed together to make a raft for their river high jinks.

What is your proposition? Gimbal asked good—naturedly. This time Pitus spoke up before Allan, because Allan blurted out the original idea of a desire to make a deal of business before Pitus was ready. Lead into these things slowly and carefully, was Pitus’ plan, and feel out the need for a deal by the other party. This could sometimes result in a better bargain.

I see you’re putting on an addition to the back of the shop, said Pitus.

Yes, I’m gonna start making coffins for Mr. Phelps, he said in a serious tone, And I need more room to do it.

The two lads looked at each other in astonishment. This Gimbal seemed to notice, and with his eyes partly squinted in an attempt to stifle a look of playfulness, he continued. . . . Though I guess, making a cask is about the same as making a cask-et. Just that one’s a little longer than the other, a litter slimmer, too. Maybe I could make the caskets in the shape of barrels . . .

Yeah, then you could roll the dead body right off the hearse and into the hole . . . save on getting a rupture from all the liftin’, Joined in Pitus. Gimbal’s taut expression burst open into a hearty laugh. After a few quips about funerary joinery and the deceased, some of which were rather coarse, Gimbal extended his hand in a waving motion.

All right now, what are you two after that I’ve got—, some used casks for the river, or a wheel or gear for some contraption you two are building, or what?

We want that old tobacco boat, out back, said Pitus.

That’s a bit more than letting you have an old barrel or two. That boat cost me a ‘half-joe’, and it’s worth at least twelve-dollars even as she sets.

Well, we thought you would take in a trade for it.

Like what?

Some shingles for your roof.

You got three squares of shingles just setting around, I suppose, said Gimbal impatiently.

No, but we could make them.

Allan chimed in, We could make ’em just like you want and as many as you want.

What do either of you know about making roof shakes? asked Gimbal.

We know what tools we need and what they have to be made from. The rest is just sweat.

They’ll have to be made right, said Gimbal.

They will, answered Pitus. I’ll have Uncle Lem inspect the goods and make sure we’re doing it right.

Lemuel back home now, Asked Gimbal? Is he really home, or just waiting for the next tide?

He’s planning to marry Joanna Van Epps this fall. I think his feet are finally planted, declared Pitus.

That’s good to know, said Gimbal. Maybe he and I can get together and do some business, finally. A joiner better than your Uncle Lemuel is something I don’t expect to see this side ’o Glory. He sat down upon a small barrel and took a cigar out of his shirt pocket. He put the end of it in his mouth while he rummaged in his pants pocket for a tin. He half turned the lid and popped it off. He took a Lucifer match out of the tin and closed the lid tightly. Never leave these out of their tin, he warned, as he struck the head if the match on the side of the barrel. A plume of smoky blazing fire belched forth and he let it clear before he brought it to the tip of his cigar. He blew out a wisp of smoke and exhaled the remainder of his breath in a sigh. We almost threw in together five years ago—then he got the notion to take off for Patagonia or some such place. No doubt this business would have been a lot bigger with Lemuel working beside me, and by now, he’d a’ been partner of half of it.

You know Uncle Lem; he gets dizzy if the floor ain’t rollin’ underneath his feet! Yes, ’spose so, laughed Gimbal. I guess I should’ve used some barrels under the shop to hold up the floor. I could’ve hired you boys to keep tiltin’ the floor back n’ forth to made him feel like he was on a deck. He laughed at his own wit and then drew up into a more sober expression. If he will oversee your work, I’ll be satisfied with it, I’m sure.

It’s a bargain, then, Asked Pitus?

Bargain, but I’ll need them by next week when the framing is done.

The settling of business terms completed, Pitus jumped up from his seat. C’mon Al, lets have a look at our new boat! The boys bolted out the back door of the shop and sprinted down to the river. The old hulk was tied to a stake in the ground and sat half in the water. The stern was submerged.

Needs some cracks stopped up, looks like, remarked Allan.

Let’s start taking it apart so we can haul it up onto the bank so it can dry out. We’ll caulk her up tomorrow and see what else needs be done.

Maybe your uncle can give her the once-over and give us some advice for makin’ her sea-worthy.

We better get to the business of making those shingles, said Pitus. Ma said I could have the use of the logs Pa cut the year before last when he was going to make a shed next to the old barn. They should be all seasoned and ready to section out. Let’s cut them up after supper, so we can start splitting next light.

The task of making the shingles involved several days of hard, long labor but the boys laid at it tirelessly, and as it progressed, Lemuel assisted in the operation. Lemuel’s help shortened the job greatly as he successively got drawn more into the process until he was doing the work to be expected of a full partner in the project. As many hands make light work, his skillful hands lent the equivalent of several pairs.

Thanks a lot, Uncle Lem, for helping us finish the shingles, Said Pitus as they were working.

Yeah, that goes for me, too, Mr. Peston, added Allan. We’re in a hurry to get to fixin’ our boat.

You’re surely welcome, mates, answered Lemuel. They continued in their work a little longer when Lemuel stopped and looked over at Pitus.

Now Pite, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a man, and ’tis time I an’ you were on more manly terms. You can be calling me Lem like my other friends and mates calls me, if you want. You too, Allan. I figure as we are workin’ together as sea-farin’ men do, we should no longer hold to formalities.

All right, Lem, said Allan with a smile that revealed his bolstered pride, shipmates.

Shipmates—Lem, said Pitus, cautiously. It was not easy to find the boldness to call his uncle by first name, even with permission. It was, however, an act, which swelled the young man with pride.

It can be Lem when we’re amongst ourselves, but probably it should stay the old way around your mother, Pite. You know how she would take to us getting too close. I know. She would be expecting to see me ship out with you for sure.

Well, as much as I would like that, my lad, my sea-farin’ days are over when Joanna and me ties the knot.

It will be nice having you around for good, unc-, I mean, Lem, said Pitus. He looked straight into Lemuel’s tough and weathered face as he said this, and in the brief look was nestled all the love and friendship he held for his uncle. His rough appearance was betrayed by a set of soft blue eyes. A close look could discover a kindly soul with only a little effort. Pitus was the only one left of the family who really understood Lemuel. Pitus’ father, Rufus, had expressed a great fondness for Lem, right up to Rufus’s death two years before, and often stood as an insulator between his wife, Caroline, and his younger brother when the niter of her steady habits came in contact with the fire of Lemuel’s waywardness. Lemuel once said that Pitus possessed that same fire for adventure and pursuit of new things that kept his own heart burning for to see the world and what was in it. For Lem, the sea held out the best promise of this. It was likely that, in a few more years, the sea would call Pitus too, and he would answer the call in the same way Lemuel himself did many years before.

Well, here’s the job done, but for the delivery. You two can carry on from here. I vow, you lads are a pair of cracker-jack shinglers!

Want to see the boat, Asked Pitus?

Let’s all go and take a break for a while. We can size up the job of fitting the ‘vessel’, said Allan.

Maybe later, answered Lemuel. I promised Lloyd I’d take up some of the slack in the chores so Pitus could get this job done without catching it from him and his Ma. I’ll help you, Lem, said Pitus.

Me too, added Allan.

Let’s look about then, my hearties, Announced Lemuel, as he rose to his feet. If we get done soon enough, maybe we can give ‘the Vessel’ a going over before dark. After supper, all three met on the road and headed for town. When the trio approached, Gimbal emerged from the rear door of the shop.

Hello, Lem! Hello, boys! Gimbal shouted. They all went down to the riverbank to see the boat.

I don’t know about it being a good boat, but there’s a lot of good oak in it, Gimbal said to Lemuel.

The vessel consisted of two dugouts connected by long planks. This particular rig had not seen service for many years.

You can make good use of the larboard side, but the starboard is pretty well shot, said Lem.

All we want is one side anyways, said Pitus. That’ll make us a fine boat!

You sure it’s big enough, Quipped Lem? You could go into the freightin’ business with a big ark like that!

We want something good and stout for when all of the boys are together. Something with room, Pitus said.

Well, that ol’ barge sure fits the bill, Gimbal laughed.

While Pitus and Allan started freeing the good side from the rest, Gimbal and Lemuel went up the bank to the shop. After the men left, Pitus said to Allan, What we really need this big tub for is when Martin gets plastered and staggers around in it, he won’t tip us over! Allan laughed, That’s certain sure!

About an hour later Gimbal returned. How are you progressing, my boys? Coming along, answered Pitus. You seem in extra good spirits. Did you and Lem come to an agreement?

Surely we did! He and I are going to be partners, at long last. What a profitable day this has become!

Where’s Uncle Lem?

"After we talked, we went over to Blosser’s for a drink. Lemuel stayed on to join in a game of cards the druggist got up with a couple of teamsters. I wouldn’t look for him for some while. By the way, I saw Josiah Stevens. He said to tell you there’s a big crate at the stage office with your name on it. He’s got it inside ’cause he knows it’s from Lem and probably full of books. Josiah said he’d open up the office so you could get it if you go over to the tavern and let him know.

Great! C’mon Al, let’s go!

Well, I sure know what you’re after, said Josiah. Allan, you’re taking an awful chance tourin’ with this one, he added. He’s liable to get you in some scheme . . ."

Thanks for the warnin’, but it comes too late.

Mr. Gimbal said I have a delivery at the office.

A delivery, Stevens laughed. More like a freight load. That box weighs as much as both of you!

Thanks, Uncle Lem. What a surprise!

"You’re welcome, but I didn’t plan it for a surprise. I kept still