The Frederick and Floyd Expedition:
SUMMARYA fopish banker escaping his past and his big, dumb brother falling and breaking things. This is the untold story of a previously unknown pair of brothers whose presence for at least a part of the great Lewis and Clark Expedition is bringing some shocking revision to frontier history. Frederick and Floyd shared the ups and downs of the expedition’s trip west, but, for some reason, disappeared before the remaining members of the expedition turned for home. This new chapter in American history is the result of an accidental discovery in the vaults of the Bionic Geniuses, hosts of the Bionic Genius Roundtable…
Even more mystifying is the fact that the author of the journal, Roy’s ancestor Frederick Phlegmbottoms, does not appear on any lists of members of the Corps of Discovery. There are records of such a person, a flamboyantly gay banker, having to flee Philadelphia for undisclosed reasons, along with his large and rather thick-headed brother Floyd, an ancestor of Alan’s, about the time the expedition was being put together. It is believed the Phlegmbottoms fled the city in the company of Meriwether Lewis and joined the expedition, although why their names never appear in any expedition records may forever remain a mystery.
Some historians from the explain this by steadfastly refuting the newly-found journal as a fake. More open-minded historians, however, are enthusiastic in their acceptance of the document, and accuse the opposition of sexual historical elitism.
The debate is raging over whether or not the journal should be published next year; we thought we would share several excerpts to get feedback on this touchy question. Here are dramatic readings of some of the more interesting entries:
May 3, 1804: Started out today. I looked smashing in a purple overcoat with embroidered cuffs and yellow epaulets. My brother Floyd, seeing a bunny rabbit on shore and forgetting where he was, stepped out of the boat and into the middle of the river. Once we pulled him back aboard, he discovered that heavy rowing kept him warm but not dry. I discovered that getting close to Captain Clark accomplished both-without the rowing.
July 2, 1804: Hands and lips chapped beyond belief, hair a mess, wig lost, snatched from my very head by a mean-looking wading bird with a bill the size of Floyd’s forearm. Speaking of my brother, he saw a bunny rabbit and decided he wanted a pet. He chased rabbit three miles. I chased Floyd two miles before stumbling across some plants I recognized. They were excellent. Floated above the prairie for undetermined amount of time before being found and soundly admonished by Captain Lewis (who then took the rest of the plants for himself).
August 15, 1804: Another day, another hangnail. Floyd received several splinters while sitting in a particularly rough spot and rowing. I tweezed them out. A brother’s work is never done. Tried several times to get Captain Clark to sit in same spot. No luck.
May 7, 1805: Ran out of rations. Everyone blamed Floyd, there were threats about his winding up on the dinner menu. I rescued him by administering a bitch-slap to Captain Lewis and performing various favors. Floyd sealed the deal when he tripped and fell on several buffalo, killing them and securing supper for all.
June 1, 1805: Ate buffalo tongue again today. Would give my custom calfskin high heel boots and leather longjohns for a decent kidney pudding and bottle of claret. Floyd fell and hit his head while chasing a bunny. No damage to Floyd or the bunny; however, one broken oar and a severely bent rifle. After the incident, I found myself thinking again of Lars and St. Louis.
June 20, 1805: Whoever said adventure is romantic never spent days on end cooped up in small boats with rugged outdoorsmen who haven’t bathed in several weeks. No, wait … on second thought, it is romantic!
August 20, 1805: That Shoshone slut Sacagawea has her nose so far up Captain Clark’s behind that there’s no room for anyone else. She’s an “interpreter” like I’m a “rifleman.” But at least her hubby, who has a lot of time on his hands, is handsome in a roguish sort of way, and isn’t very picky after a few rounds of the brandy I smuggled along in my powder horn.
October 2, 1805: Reaching the Pacific Ocean has not helped. Salt air does wonders for my skin, but the constant rain and damp does nothing for my poor, unconditioned hair. Floyd unimpressed, no bunny rabbits in the ocean, he said.
February 1, 1806: Captain Lewis offered to allow some of us to go back home via a ship that appeared offshore. I decided to take him up on it. Although Floyd and I stood on the beach for several hours, Floyd slouched in his usual manner but me resplendent in an orange-fringed buckskin outfit with matching moccasins, the crew apparently never looked toward shore, for they sailed off without so much as a howdy-do.
May 1, 1806: No food again. The Captains plan to start back soon, but all are so tired that without some decent meat-and-potatoes meals, I don’t think we’ll make it. As I write it has grown quiet, and everyone is staring at Floyd and me. Captain Clark and several others are approaching, armed with clubs and knives. I hear firewood being chopped, and one of the cooks has gone outside to prepare the kettle. They say they are going out on a hunt, and wish Floyd and me to come along. I don’t see much sense in it, but agree. Perhaps I can whip up some of my famous duck a la Frederick, although those clubs won’t help nab us a duck very easily.
Bionic Genius Note: The journal of Frederick Phlegmbottoms mysteriously ends at this point. It is believed that both Phlegmbottoms may have died during the hunting expedition mentioned in the final entry, although there is no explanation about why Lewis and Clark would not have made mention of Frederick, Floyd, or their apparent deaths (see opening comments above).
