Building a Conglomerate in Another World

A day later, in the morning.

Matthew stood by the derrick, watching as Dalton’s men moved quickly, preparing for the next phase. The initial cheer of finding oil had been replaced by a determined urgency. They had hit the reservoir, but now the real work began: extracting the crude and turning this discovery into profit.

Dalton barked orders, his voice carrying over the camp. "Alright, boys! We’ve struck it, but we’re far from done! We need to set up the extraction pumps and the storage tanks! Move like your lives depend on it—because they just might!"

The first task was to stabilize the borehole to prevent a collapse as they began extracting oil. Dalton’s crew quickly got to work, reinforcing the walls of the well with steel casing pipes. Each section was carefully lowered into the hole.

The pipes would line the borehole, ensuring that the walls wouldn’t cave in under pressure or allow groundwater to seep in and contaminate the crude.

"Careful with those joints!" Dalton shouted. "If we don’t seal them properly, we’ll end up with leaks!"

Matthew watched closely. The steel casings were secured with thick iron couplings, and a layer of cement was pumped around the outside to seal the casing in place. This would prevent any blowouts or gas leaks as they increased the pressure during extraction.

The next step was to install the pump jack—the heart of their operation.

The pump jack, also known as a "nodding donkey," would use a counterweight system driven by the steam engine to create a continuous up-and-down motion. This would force the oil up through the casing pipe and into a collection tank.

"Jennings, get that steam engine fired up!" Dalton called out, wiping sweat from his brow. "We need steady pressure to get this oil flowing."

Jennings and a few other men began shoveling coal into the furnace of the steam engine. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky as the engine roared to life, the pistons chugging rhythmically. The men connected the engine to the pump jack with a series of belts and gears, ensuring that the movement would be smooth and consistent.

As the pump jack began its slow, rhythmic motion, the first drops of crude oil started to rise to the surface. The dark liquid flowed through a network of steel pipes, leading to a series of large wooden barrels rigged together to act as makeshift separator tanks.

Matthew had insisted on setting up a rudimentary oil-water separator to ensure they collected only pure crude. The crude oil coming out of the ground was mixed with water, gas, and sediment. To separate the usable oil from the waste, they needed to let the mixture settle. The tanks were designed with an inlet at the top and a series of valves at the bottom. As the heavier water and sediment settled, the oil would rise to the top, where it could be siphoned off.

"Keep an eye on the pressure gauges!" Matthew instructed one of the younger workers. "If the pressure spikes, shut it down immediately. We can’t risk a blowout."

Dalton’s men were now working in shifts, rotating between operating the pump, monitoring the steam engine, and maintaining the mud pump system. As they drilled deeper into the reservoir, the pressure was bound to increase, and they needed to keep the mud density just right to prevent the well from blowing out.

"Check the mud viscosity!" Dalton yelled to one of his foremen. "If it’s too thin, we’ll have a blowout on our hands. Adjust the mix if you have to."

The foreman quickly adjusted the mud mix, increasing the ratio of bentonite clay to water to ensure the slurry was thick enough to counteract the pressure from below. Matthew watched as the mud pump churned, sending the thick mixture down the borehole to stabilize the walls and keep the drill bit cool.

As the oil continued to flow, Matthew realized they would need additional storage quickly. The makeshift barrels they had set up were filling faster than anticipated. They had a limited number of barrels on hand, and it wouldn’t be long before they would need to find more.

"Dalton," Matthew said, turning to his partner, "we need to send a wagon into town to get more barrels. If we can’t store it, we’ll have to cap the well, and we can’t afford to stop production now."

Dalton nodded. "Agreed. I’ll send a couple of men into town. We’ll need more coal for the steam engine too. We’re burning through it faster than I expected."

Matthew quickly jotted down a list of supplies on a scrap of paper, handing it to one of the men.

"Make it quick," he instructed. "And don’t let anyone in town know what we’ve hit here. I don’t want them pestering us for a permit yet."

By mid-afternoon, the first barrel was filled with pure crude oil. It was a sight that Matthew would never forget. As he watched the dark liquid flow into the barrel, he felt a sense of accomplishment wash over him. This was what he had dreamed of when he set out on this venture—a tangible result, proof that his knowledge from his previous world could yield incredible rewards in this one.

The men cheered as they sealed the first barrel, the smell of crude oil heavy in the air. Dalton, wiping his hands on a rag, turned to Matthew with a grin.

"Well, Hesh, you can expect that you are going to be rich soon," Dalton said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Matthew chuckled. "Good, once we have filled up enough barrels you can work on that permit for the continuous production. As for me, I will have to go to the town and use a telephone there and contact Mr. Fitzwilliam. Tell him that I struck oil."

"Well, my crew will get you there," Dalton offered and then shouted, "Jennings! Get the wagon ready and take Mr. Hesh into town."

"Yes sir!" Jennings shouted back.

"Thank you, Dalton. I will be on my way now."

Matthew climbed into the wagon, the rough wooden seat creaking under his weight. Jennings snapped the reins, and the horses trotted forward, pulling them away from the bustling camp.

An hour later, they arrived at the small town. Matthew wasted no time, heading straight for the telegraph office. The clerk, a middle-aged man with spectacles perched on his nose, looked up as Matthew entered, the tiny bell above the door jingling.

"I need to send a telegram to Sylvania," Matthew said, pulling out a slip of paper with Fitzwilliam’s contact information. "Make it urgent." @@novelbin@@

The clerk nodded and quickly began tapping out the message as Matthew dictated:

[STRUCK OIL IN WEST TEJAS STOP FLOW IS STEADY STOP I WON THE BET STOP SEE THE RESULT FOR YOURSELF STOP MATTHEW HESH.]

As the clerk finished sending the telegram, Matthew leaned against the counter.

"How much for it?"

"It will be 3 florin," the clerk answered.

Matthew paid the clerk, sliding the three florin bills across the counter with a nod of gratitude. Now, it was a matter of waiting for Fitzwilliam’s response.