Through the Eyes of Frank Tumbolt: Lunch Time Novels

By Gordon Davis

America, in the late 1700s and 1800s, welcomed immigrants from all walks of life who were seeking freedom from tyranny, religious oppression, and the lack of opportunity, while others came for the sheer lust of adventure. Early America was a rough-and-tumble land full of speculators and men and women seeking a place to settle and raise their families. The idea of manifest destiny was new to some, but the concept allowed for opportunists to push west over the Appalachian Mountains into and beyond the virgin lands of the newly purchased Louisiana territory. One such family was the Tumbolts who had a young boy with the restlessness of the wild geeseFrank Tumbolt. His desire to be more than a farmer gave him a renowned sense of wanderlust that would make him a bigger than life heroic figure in dime-store novels sold all over the Eastern United States.

Travel with Frank, and see young America through his eyes as he participates in some of the most epic events in American history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984520173

Gordon Davis

Gordon Davis was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in 1978, and served in the US Army for 30-years. During his career, he served in various command and staff positions collimating his career as a Military Intelligence Officer for the US Armys Surface Deployment and Distribution Command. He retired in 2008 as a Colonel. Colonel Davis received a Bachelor of Science Degree in Industrial Management from the University of South Alabama, a Master of Arts in Land Warfare from the American Military College, and a Master of Arts in Strategic Studies from the Armys War College. He is also a graduate of the US Armys Command and General Staff College and of the Army War College. He is a War Time Veteran having served in Operation Enduring Freedom. Since 2008 he has been doing field research and prepublication writing. He is also the author of Twelve Wooden Soldiers.

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Copyright © 2018 by Gordon Davis.

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 book of fiction, referencing factional events in history. There is no claim that my character was a part of these events or had any part in the establishment of these events as has been written into history. This is purely a book written to entertain the reader.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/05/2018

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Old Man

Chapter 2 The Legend Begins

Chapter 3 Frank Goes to War

Chapter 4 The Battle of New Orleans

Chapter 5 Working on the Mississippi

Chapter 6 Thinking about Going West

Chapter 7 Maybe the Fur Trade

Chapter 8 Love Lost

Chapter 9 Out of the Mountains

Chapter 10 Confrontation

Chapter 11 The Stories Get Bigger

Chapter 12 Snow

Chapter 13 On to Texas

Chapter 14 Homeward Bound

Editing

Xlibris, Nancy Davis, Sheliah Schodlbauer, Lady Lester

Dedicated

To my family

Lunch Time Novels

Lunch Time Novels are short, concise, and easy to comprehend novels written, so the reader can start and complete the novels in two-to-three sittings. The length of the novels does not compromise the plot or lessen the characters’ contributions to the story-line. The novels are filled with enough intrigue, twist and turns to keep the reader riveted and wanting to read more.

1

The Old Man

The light streamed through a small narrow window positioned close to the ceiling. The beams formed a long rectangular rainbow of colors that covered a large portion of the floor. In the middle of the light, on an old church bench, sat a white-haired man. His hair was long, but it was neatly trimmed. The hair transcended into a long but neatly trimmed beard. His face was gaunt, weathered, and wrinkled beyond normal for his age. His hands appeared the same. At a glance, one would think that the man had spent most of his life farming. His eyes were a gentle blue and glazed, as if a tear would drop at any moment. His overall appearance was calming, inviting, and even noble. There was apparently nothing to fear from this old man. Even his callused hands personified someone who spent a lifetime at hard labor. His body was lean and hard with more than a hint of toughness about it. His name was Tumbolt—Frank Tumbolt.

Frank lived a life of adversity, rough and hard. He had been through more in his life than most men could have lived in four lifetimes. Through it all, Frank had been a gatherer—a gatherer in his mind, in every detail, in each arduous tale and even the minor anecdotal adventures. He had outlived all his friends and relatives. He was now more than eighty years old and was now in his twilight years, but his mind was as keen as ever. Frank’s voice had a rough yet soothing tone with a rhythmic flow; it was as smooth as the water flowing down a pebbled brook. For those whom Frank befriended over the years, just his spoken name, in any conversation, was enough to excite them all.

Frank never wanted acclaim or fame, nor had he wanted any riches. He was not well known as a young man. In fact, he had been obscure. As a young man, he was shy and kept mostly to himself. His interests were in reading and adventure—and oh, how he loved his books. By the age of three, he was able to recognize many words and could virtually carry on literate conversations with adults. His imagination was seemingly endless.

Frank’s intellectual ability was recognized at an early age. It was said by of some of his closest childhood friends that there was never a conversation or a reading that Frank forgot. It often amazed acquaintances that once a story was read within earshot of Frank, he could repeat the story verbatim, weeks later, and without missing a word. What made this more astonishing was that Frank was considered a slow learner, a poor reader, and his enunciation needed improvement. He used colloquialism, dialect, and slang at times, thereby creating interesting twangs and twists in many of his stories. It was not until he was a young man that his speaking skills met what was considered to be average. This may have been what caused him to keep mainly to himself as a young man.

It was not easy for a young boy to be ridiculed because his speech and vocabulary were not average. It was downright disheartening at times. However, Frank soldiered on and never let it appear that his hurt feelings affected him, at least most of the time. He would just brush off any innuendoes or implicative insults, turn, and walk away without showing emotion. Life, for Frank, seemed so unfair at times. As a result, because he did not fit in, he learned how to entertain himself.

Frank did have one outstanding skill greater than even his memory. Not only did Frank have an uncanny sense of recall, but his intuitive storytelling skills gave him the ability to elaborate and talk about a subject with undeniable candor and depth. This gave Frank a leg up when it came to telling any story.

Frank’s comprehension skills added great warmth and believability to every story he repeated. Even with his slurred speech, Frank was able to draw people in. On the playground at school, it was not unusual for Frank to begin talking to one student and have another student, who was barely edging the conversation, stop to listen. As many students as could crowd around Frank would be listening attentively to him as he told the story with such heart, they could literally see it coming to life. Many of his stories were comical and filled with vivid characters of all descriptions. Some were nearly unbelievable. Frank really had seen a lot and lived a lot since his family arrived in America. It was due to his extensive travel and experiences at a young age that such realistic vermin, ruthless scallywags, and sometimes brave and heroic heroes, as well as just plain honest men, came to life in his stories.

The Tumbolt family never had an easy life, and Frank was proof of that. The Tumbolts emigrated from Eastern Europe. Despite Frank’s knowledge of the family ancestry, he could never pin down exactly where his family was from in Europe, and it did not really matter. At the time his family came to America, one immigrant from Europe looked pretty much like another in New York. Nevertheless, ethnicity soon became a big problem as one ethnic group after another decided to protect what each was calling their turf. Gangs formed and blood poured in the streets. This was not a place for the Tumbolts, so south they went.

First, they went to South Carolina, where they struggled trying to raise tobacco, which they soon abandoned. Then it was on to Georgia as migrant peach pickers. There just were not enough peaches to be picked that could support a family, and this idea was abandoned too. For Papa Tumbolt, it was a relief to leave Georgia. Picking peaches never did sit right with Papa; in fact, he didn’t like picking anything. For the measly amount of pay, Papa would say, you couldn’t buy spit. And spit was pretty cheap where I came from. Next, he dragged the family to Alabama, where the Tumbolts eventually found their niche.

The Tumbolts did not come to America looking for handouts. On the contrary, they came to America with more than a considerable amount of cash, but cash doesn’t last long when you’re venturing out into a new and unfamiliar land. To boot, the Tumbolts were naive visitors to a new, tough, and rollicking land. In this fairly new country, there appeared to be someone on every street corner trying his best to dupe newcomers out of their cash.

The grab for the Tumbolts’ money began as the sails were unfurled and they departed from the European port. Once on board, the ship was well under sail. The first mate announced to all European passengers that the fee for crossing the Atlantic just went up, and any passenger who didn’t pay would be put off at the nearest landfall. Unfortunately, the first mate just disappeared sometime during the crossing and never collected the additional fees.

Then came the hustlers on the streets in New York, who were experts at pilfering and absconding with the money of any unsuspecting immigrant. Mr. Tumbolt was able to avoid most of the street urchins and thugs, but he was soon beaten down by constant attacks, and some of his money was lost.

The land deal in South Carolina, made by some smooth-talking scallywags, took a huge chunk of their savings. A sharp-eyed old banker sold Mr. Tumbolt some worthless bottomland. The land was so much bottom that it was under water most of the year. No matter how hard Mr. Tumbolt worked, it was literally impossible to grow tobacco in a swamp. The land would have been more suited for growing rice if the water levels ever got below a foot. However, somehow, Mr. Tumbolt’s fortunes were looking up, for he was able to pawn off the land on other newcomers by telling them the land harbored a fortune in gold, which was buried there by pirates. He was so convincing that even the banker came back and made an offer. Nearly breaking even, he was somewhat pleased with himself, for he was catching on to how the survival game in America was played. To avoid retribution from the new landowner, Mr. Tumbolt decided it was time to move on and to move on quickly.

Bewildered and amazed by other disheartened immigrants at their turbulent beginnings in America, Mr. Tumbolt never lost his spirit, and the hunt for that perfect place to hang his hat continued.

Georgia peach picking was just one of those excursions, sort of like a tangent. At first, it appealed to Mr. Tumbolt’s sense of adventure, but it wasn’t long before Mr. Tumbolt was wise