More! More! Tell us more of this damn megalomaniac, his maligned and much suffering man-servant and the mission they must accomplish!
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More! More! Tell us more of this damn megalomaniac, his maligned and much suffering man-servant and the mission they must accomplish!
More background, a telegram from the Lima steam co during the building of this extravagent machine.
21 November, 1853, letter from Lima Locomotive works:
Mr Huggleston: We have completed your latest request for modification the Forest Ram. However, while the Design Staff agrees that a spiral stairway to the roof platform would be aesthetically pleasing, the Engineering Staff advises that an ordinary ladder would perform the same function and add considerably less unnecessary weight, nor would it remove from service valuable space in the tender. As the journey you propose is long and arduous, I would advise the latter.
i feel like I am part psychic octopus!!!
How does this bloke make it out on his own and why in gods name would you claim him as a rellie??
Poor old stoker shouldve left him for dead!
digger...
MORE I SAY....
8 January 1856: Awoke this morning to a great Commotion, the blanket that serves as a door was thrust aside, and standing in the doorway, a Bear as tall as a man, standing upon two legs! Then the bear did thrust back his head, and behold, it is no bear but Stoker who has returned! Wearing the skin of a bear from head to foot, and pulling a sledge laden with venison that should last us many months.
Stoker's account of the last part of our Journey has been most enlightening. As I was in no fit state to record it properly (my journal entries of late show an appalling lack of mentation) I shall recount it here:
In late September we passed the Milk River and made way toward the Rockey Mountains. With the open prairie behind us, progress became slow as we fought up and down ever more difficult slopes, but enjoyed magnificent views from each new peak. I apparently was bound to the platform, or in inclement weather, upon the floor of the cabin, so unpredictable were my actions in those days. Stoker, insolent as ever, said I had the Crazy Eye but it has gone now and he felt I could be left alone so that he might hunt.
During our passage through the Indian territory, we received some kindnesses from the Black Foot Tribe, but none wished to accompany us. Stoker's view is that such a choice was wise even though they are Savages, for it is not they who freeze upon a mountain side in the bitter winter, miles from home.
And yet! We are close to the Continental Divide, after which all waters flow into the Pacific. Stoker tells me we have strayed from the true course of the 49th Parallel, necessitated by the passage through these majestic peaks. I can comprehend that necessity, gazing upon the countenance of these mountains which offer little in the way of comfort.
In early November we arrived at this mountain and could go no further as our way was impeded by deep snow, and even the Steam Waggon's power could not overcome it. As wood is plentiful, Stoker built us this cabin and did also fill the tender of the Steam Waggon, that the wood may be seasoned when once again we may make steam westward.
And so, when the snow melts away and our water is once again liquid, we shall resume our Journey to the Pacific. But I fear that will not be for many months.
YAY STOKER!!!!
seriously this is top notch story!!
If I didnt know better LANDY110 I'd think you were writing this to order!!...
if so... KEEP GOING!
(BUT i STILL WOULDNT TRUST THIS HUGGLESTON BLOKE!)
21 May 1856:
Once again we can make our way West, towards the Pacific and Destiny! Although the Steam Waggon is in a state of disrepair, having rusted in the deep snow, Stoker has gotten it in running order after many days of tinkering, and using animal fat for lubrication, as we brought along insufficient quantities of lubricating oil. But steam now leaks from every joint, and ominous Noises can be heard in its operation. Far from the luxurious carriage it was when we left, my poor Waggon now rattles like a Bucket full of Bolts. But still we make way across the mountains.
Today, a Great Descent, down down down the mountainside, the brakes smoking, supplies and wood falling from their compartments, Stoker madly reversing the engine in a vain effort for precious traction, churning up an impenetrable cloud of soil, and snow, and fallen Pine needles which obscures the view to the front. It is only the trees which we cannot see that slow us, the mighty prow of the Steam Waggon rendering them to Splinters as we descend farther, and faster, and father yet, thrilling me with the speed, and Danger. I blow the whistle and hear its mighty voice echo through the canyon Huggleston Canyon! until we lie exhausted at the bottom of a gorge, facing yet another mountain to climb, but not until we retrieve our supplies from the path behind us.
During our rest in the Gorge, Stoker damn him admits to me two new truths: One, he knows not where we are, beyond the knowledge that we sit at the bottom of a gorge in the mountains, which is plain for all to see. And two, that he has unbeknownst to me been Poisoning my food with an Indian remedy against Madness, and that we have now run out of this remedy. Who is he to judge me mad or to experiment with remedies from the Black Foot, which he said would either kill me or stop the madness. Either way, Stoker said, I would no longer be mad oh damn the man.
Stoker has shed his suit of Bear skin as the weather is fair, and no longer resembles the wild vision that has haunted me in these months of inactivity. Although neither of us has had a Shave since when was it when when late September as the blasted man will let me near no sharp objacts for why I cannot see
There is a River here, but it is shallow enough to ford, and we have gotten from it some fine Fish for the evening meal.
My good sir, I can assure you that such sculduggery is beyond my nature as a gentleman, damn damn damn you for making such liabelous accusation as to assert that I might falsify such important documents. I assure you sir that I am in no way implicet in this matter.Quote:
Originally Posted by digger
Stoker, Stoker Stoker OI OI OI!
Goooooooo Stoker!
Watch ya back brother or this pompous git will do you in!
more more more pretty please
MMMM, don't be at all alarmed by my bear suit.. whilst you sit here looking over LANDY110 canyon.... here drink this nice warm broth with NO black foot medicine in it.... and here lets put your jacket on sir, this white one with the 6' wrap around strap on sleeves...Quote:
Originally Posted by Landy110
Damn Damn damn the man!
waiting for more, ..........more I tell you!
digger:D
22 May 1856: And up and up and up the mountain we go, making slow progress but the river behind grows ever smaller as we struggle up the slope toward the heavens higher and higher we go, no more than 100 yards today and many more to go until we reach the summit no damn you Stoker I said the summit passes are for the weak we can make the summit I tell you
23 May 1856: Once again I find myself trussed to the platform. Stoker's soul will writhe in Hell for this indignity. Even now he ignores the lofty summit of this mountain for the easy way of the pass. But already I can see the next peak ahead blow the whistle for me Stoker
4 July 1857: Mountains ever mountains shall we ever see level ground again? But Lo! before us lies a great Lake [Ross Lake] stretching far to the south and less to the north. Stoker presents to me an Interesting Fact, that the local Indians do refer to our course as the Medicine Line as United States Soldiers will not cross it medicine medicine the Line is my Medicine why does Stoker converse with the savages behind my back and not allow me the Right which is mine of negotiating our passage through this country he knows not [illegible]to Hell with the man I say!
Today we encountered some United States Cavalry, who did inform us that we are now in the Oregon Country, and that we are but eighty miles from the Pacific Ocean! What wondrous news, that we may fulfill our Destiny at last! And not to spend another winter in the mountains with Stoker poisoning me binding me and mocking constantly mocking he will pay pay pay damn the man to the deepest pits of Hell
The Cavalry were kind enough to escort us to their Fort, where a blacksmith was able to effect the many repairs needed to the Steam Waggon after many hard miles. The cracks in the Boiler are now repaired, steam lines are mended, and some real Oil for lubrication applied. And what food these soldiers enjoy! Fresh greens, bread, and potatoes, all things we have been denied these years in the wilderness I myself ate seven potatoes at one sitting, and more for breakfast the next day, potatoes potatoes how I have missed them but Stoker's head looks like a potato now that I see it I cannot dissemble myself from this illusion potato head, potato head! Stoker has a potato head! with melted butter
5 July 1857: Bound to my cot in the soldier's Fort. Damn the man.