“‘I served with the Royal Navy during your War of 1812 and our initial defeat at Fort Bowyer in 1814,’ Mr. Pedimore said. From his thick British accent I could tell which side he was on.

He shoved that can of beans at me, his eyes never leaving the fire.

“‘I was the quartermaster aboard the HMS Hermes, flagship of Captain William Henry Percy. At that time a quartermaster was a navigator – a rather respectable job I might add. I was educated in Loxbury, Wales, you see. Not your average scurvied, filthy sailor.

‘We were to take Fort Bowyer on Mobile Bay in the early afternoon on the fifteenth of September. Now, that night I’d had a vision, or a waking dream, I suppose, of a Greek god wailing in pain on a beach. I understood that to be my ship, the Hermes, running aground and I warned my captain.

‘As is usual, we anchored just off the tiny fort and began our volley. During the battle that evening, after a very lucky shot, an American shell cut our cable, or anchor chain, and our good ship ran aground. Our crew survived and we were re-billited to the HMS Sophie. The Americans continued to bombard the Hermes ceaselessly until her magazine exploded. 

‘My captain was unnerved by the happenstance. Concluding that I must have had something to do with the defeat he ordered my arrest. Whilst I sat in the brig, rumor had spread about my vision. Most of the crew were uneducated and slightly cleaner than your average pirate, you understand. Late on the night of the 18th, I was accosted, boosted from my cell, accused of witchcraft and tossed overboard by a band of degenerates into a deadly cold Mobile bay a mile off the coast.

‘I have no idea how I survived. I have vague recollections of swimming and one very distinct memory of waking next to a fire surrounded by Americans. 

‘I was held as a prisoner of war until 1815 at Fort Montgomery. The Americans were actually quite good to me and I could almost forgive their illiteracy. Bumpkins, they were. Probably of Scottish ancestry, I’d imagine.

‘You can understand I was unwilling to return to sea. However, I did continue north mostly along waterways as I could. I felt drawn to keep moving north. I attempted on several occasions to drop anchor and stay put but for sundry reasons( unfriendly natives, Spaniards, drought) I kept moving.. 

‘I believe it was sometime around 1818 when I finally made it to the banks of the great Tennessee River. I found work as a ferryman and trader at John Ditto’s place. 

‘About 1820 an Irishman by the name of Thomas Fearn, fabulously articulated as the Irish can be, wooed several wealthy farmers into building Fearn Canal, from a port just south of Ditto’s to Big Spring, near a pub run by John Hunt.

‘That pull north never stopped and after a few trips to Hunt’s station, well I ended up staying. What makes a person stay somewhere they clearly don’t belong? I was far more educated than these people. Conversation was limited to chickens and dirt. The tea selection was abysmal and the beer was atrocious. Yet I stayed.

‘In the later part of the 1820’s this Irishman with the dubious title “doctor” Thomas Fearn discovered the mineral springs upon Monte Sano. He was very secretive of it, him and his brother, but I’m very keen to details and it wasn’t long before I divined his locus, as it were.

‘Dr. Fearn was convinced the mineral springs could cure all manner of human ailment but I remained unimpressed. Honestly, Fearn was bit barmy. Not altogether there, you know. Imagine, mineral water curing all manner of things. Diphtheria, warts – I mean, really?

‘Nevertheless, when I came down with a terrible cold, it was he that I sought out. I had chills and so on, fever so high I was almost delusional. I simply couldn’t function, so I really had no choice.

‘The good doctor had me take a few elixirs and bathe in the mineral spring.

‘As I lay there in that pool I felt the elixirs and so-called medicines and whatnot start to numb my body. I fell into a stupor, so to speak. My eyes were open, yet I was still aware of my surroundings. While I was sure I couldn’t move I found myself scratching or rubbing my nose. Some sort of motor reflex I suppose.

‘And it came to pass that I saw a Koasati shaman. The Koasati rambled about these hills for years. He had a bit of black hair atop his forehead, a porcupine headdress – quite a site for a man with fever and overcome with elixirs.

‘Well the shaman motioned for me to follow him into the woods. It felt as tho’ I was floating along within the sea as I moved toward the shaman. It was as tho’ my very soul moved in waves.

‘The Koasati shaman leapt from stone to stone down the mountain while I floated by and through the tree trunks. We came to a clearing where a small fire was burning. The shaman began to speak in his native Coushatta and as luck would have it I understood every word, even having heard Coushatta no more than in passing over the years. I’ve always been a quick study, you know.

‘This prehistoric priest told me about the sun god A’pulu battling a great monster. A long slithering, noxious monster that plagued the indians with disease and death. This monster had destroyed the sun god’s temple and set fire to the shaman and their families that served A’pulu.

‘I mentioned I’m an educated man, you understand. I easily recognized this as the myth of Apollo battling the serpent Python out of vengeance for his mother, Leto.

‘The shaman continued with the myth, albeit highly corrupt with native lore.

‘This A’pulu snatched up the great snake just under its head, held it high above the mountain, and with a mighty swing A’pulu slammed the beast into the ground with such force as to crack the very stone that made this mountain, killing and burying the monster in a single motion.

‘Well, you see it don’t you? This is the myth of the Oracle at Delphi!

‘The shaman even went so far as to sit me on a stone stool with three legs in front of the fire. He began moving and stirring the embers and flames of the fire in the pit to reveal a crack in the earth. From this cleft in the rock a thick steam rose, and danced as tho’ it had its own will. The shaman danced with steam, around and around the fire pit. The priest stopped, stood deathly still for a moment, then suddenly cried out to the sky and ran to my side. The steam or smoke or spirit followed the shaman and then wrapped itself around me. I remember being thrilled with such theatrics!

‘But then my whole body began to tighten, I thought my very bones would collapse upon themselves and turn into dust. I couldn’t breathe. I heard the screams and wails of women and children, tortured laments of men. Though my eyes were wide it was if my very eyeballs were awash in bright red blood and glowing veins.

‘A white dot formed in the middle of the red and grew to create something like a window. In the circular window I saw John Hunt, in a loin cloth under a birch tree in autumn with leaves the color of sulphur. Hunt’s body began to melt into the ground like wax and I reached out to pull him free, but Hunt’s hand passed through my own. From where Hunt disappeared, a rock pushed up from the dirt and began weeping cool, clear water.

‘The very next thing I recall is waking in Dr. Fearn’s cabin. I was immeasurably exhausted, yet the memory of the dream was so real my very bones shivered.

‘Fearn found me wandering naked on the southern face of the mountain a few days prior, about 4 miles from the mineral pond in which I’d been bathing. Fearn confirmed the fever had passed and he could find nothing more physically wrong with me beyond a bit of dehydration and malnourishment.

‘Even more curious, Fearn had written down a verse I had repeated over and over:

Pay up the dues you owe and trust not thems
that plant in darkness lest you lose thine house

Fallen you rise once more for distant moon

‘And apparently I’d demanded to see John Hunt repeatedly, as well.

‘Of course, a properly educated person would recognize the verse as being in iambic pentameter. This is how the Grecian priest would interpret the sayings of the Oracle. Clearly it refers to Hunts forfeiture of the land, the farmer that plants (but actually conives) by night being LeRoy Pope, the wealthy tobacco farmer that bought out John Ditto, and the resurrection of the name Huntsville. 

‘However, the reference to “distant moon” still escapes me.

‘Shortly after my recovery I took my leave of Dr. Fearn. I paid him fairly. And I never spoke to Hunt. 

‘I had far more visions after that. I became a recluse, a man of means on the mountainside. And I searched for that cleft in a rock the shaman brought me to. I was certain somehow that steam or smoke was a way to control and conjure my visions.

‘I’m not a Christian in the sense that you Americans might understand Christians. Over my years on the high seas and navigating through the arteries of Alabama, they had an effect on my spirit.

‘I’ve always tolerated the myriad of religions, philosophies, creeds available to a man. I’ve never understood a man that did not believe in a higher power. The ultimate in egotism, I say.

‘I simply thrilled to learn of an Apollonian myth from an indigenous native of antebellum Alabama. I took it to mean, clearly and properly, I’d been chosen to be a prophet of Apollo. Imagine that!

‘I spent months looking for that cleft rock the shaman had stirred up.

‘One morning, a mile shy of the quarry we’re in now, I saw a bit of steam rise from the ground in a clearing ahead of me. Moving closer to inspect it I saw no cleft but a bit of mist rising from the ground. I stayed until nightfall, barely taking my sight from the spot while I built a fire. I fell asleep until late that night I was awakened by the sound of someone moving about in the woods around me. As I sat up a band of natives appeared before me and moved toward the fire from the trees. Leading the ring of Indians was that very same shaman.

‘One of the delegates of the congregation brought forward the stone chair with 3 legs.

‘The shaman motioned for me to sit and I did – enthusiastically.

‘The shaman told me, “If you chose not to move from this seat, you will forever be the revelation of A’pulu. You can never reveal his prophecy without proper offerings, you can never kill, and you can never leave this mountain without a voice.”

‘Leave? I was glued to that seat! I wholeheartedly agreed. The congregation of natives stirred the embers of his fire, steam rose from a split in the earth, it engulfed me, and I fell into a deep sleep for what seemed days.

‘When I awoke I was wrapped in a deerskin and the three legged stool was by my side.

‘At first I was keen to let people know of my talents. I was certain people would bring me wealth beyond imagination for a vision. I was sure of it. Yet I overestimated the locals. 

‘Farmers, hunters, bums,and the like,for most part , thought me mad.

‘I became frustrated. No one sought out prophecies. Over time I was shunned and forced to live as a hermit on this mountain. The occasional stranger would seek me out, ask questions about planting, investments, and whatnot, but they never brought the fortune I’d expected. I believed they’d bring me golden offerings and magnificent wealth. Instead they brought beans. On a good day they might’ve brought a chicken.’