Building a Conglomerate in Another World

March 23rd, 1881 – Late Afternoon.

The heat had become less intense, but the air remained heavy with dust and the faint scent of horses and sweat. Matthew watched as Dalton's men methodically unpacked and set up the drilling equipment.

Dalton approached Matthew, handing him a battered canteen. "Drink up," he said. "You'll need it. Setting up the rig's going to take a while."

Matthew nodded, taking a swig of the lukewarm water. As he stood there, observing, he made mental notes of the equipment being prepared. Even though he was familiar with the principles from his studies, seeing these early oil rigs being assembled firsthand was a new experience.

"Alright, boys, let's get that steam engine fired up!" Dalton shouted.

Dalton's crew first started with the heart of the operation—the portable steam engine. This bulky machine, mounted on a sturdy wooden frame with metal reinforcements, was the power source for the entire drilling operation. Fueled by coal and water, the steam engine would drive the drilling rig. One of the men fed coal into its cast iron furnace while another filled the water tank. The engine hissed and groaned as it came to life, sending a plume of black smoke into the air.

Next came the walking beam, a long wooden beam balanced on a pivot point atop a sturdy frame known as the derrick. This structure, reaching nearly twenty feet high, was built from thick timbers bolted together, designed to withstand the forces that would soon be at play. The walking beam would transfer the up-and-down motion generated by the steam engine into the drill bit below, forcing it into the earth. Dalton's men skillfully assembled the derrick piece by piece, tightening each bolt and securing every joint.

Beside the derrick, they laid out sections of drill pipe, each one about ten feet in length and made of steel. These pipes would be connected end-to-end as the drill bit bored deeper into the ground. The connections were secured with thick iron couplings, ensuring a tight fit to prevent blowouts or leaks. Two men worked diligently to grease the threads of the couplings, ensuring they would fit smoothly when joined.

"Watch your hands, boys!" Dalton barked as they lifted a heavy section of drill pipe onto a wooden rack.

The most crucial part of the setup was the cable tool drilling rig. Unlike the more modern rotary drills that Matthew knew from his previous life, this older method relied on a heavy iron bit attached to a steel cable. The bit was raised and dropped repeatedly by the walking beam, hammering through rock and soil like a giant chisel. The men positioned the drill bit—a pointed iron piece shaped like a blunt spear—under the derrick, aligning it with the hole they had begun to dig.

Nearby, two workers set up the mud pump, a hand-cranked device used to pump water mixed with bentonite clay into the drilling hole. This slurry would act as a lubricant, cooling the drill bit and flushing out the debris as it dug deeper. Dalton explained to Matthew that without the mud, the bit would quickly overheat or get stuck in the rock formations below.

"What's that over there?" Matthew asked, pointing to a large, barrel-shaped contraption that looked like it was cobbled together from scrap metal.

"That's our separator tank," Dalton replied. "Once we hit oil, the crude will be mixed with water and gas. That tank separates the oil from the rest so we can collect it."

Matthew nodded, impressed by the ingenuity despite the primitive technology. It was crude by the standards he was familiar with, but it was effective enough to get the job done.

While half the men worked on the drilling setup, the rest busied themselves erecting a makeshift camp. Canvas tents were pitched in a circle, providing some shade from the relentless sun. A few crates of supplies—food, water, and extra coal—were stacked near the campfire pit they were hastily digging.

"If we're lucky, we'll strike oil in a few days," Dalton said, joining Matthew as they watched the activity. "But it could take weeks. The ground here is tough. You ready for that?"

Matthew's eyes never left the derrick, which was now fully assembled. The walking beam had been fitted, and the steam engine was beginning to puff steadily as it built up pressure.

"I'm ready," he replied with confidence.

It was already evening, and the only light source that they have was a bonfire and an oil lamp.

Dalton approached, holding a lit oil lamp that illuminated the lines etched into his weathered face.

"The steam engine is primed, and the derrick's secured. We can start the first round of drilling tonight if you're up for it," he said, his voice a low rumble over the ambient noise.

Matthew nodded, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Let's not waste any time. The sooner we start, the sooner we hit that oil."

Dalton grinned. "That's the spirit. Alright, boys!" he hollered, turning to his crew. "We're starting the drill! Light those extra lamps and get that mud pump running!"

The crew moved quickly, lighting additional oil lamps and positioning them around the rig to illuminate the operation. The steam engine hissed louder as it roared to life, the walking beam creaking as it began its rhythmic, up-and-down motion. The heavy iron drill bit was raised and then released, slamming into the earth with a dull thud that sent small tremors through the ground.

The men took turns cranking the mud pump, which fed a thick slurry of water and clay into the borehole to cool the drill bit and carry debris to the surface. Each stroke of the pump was accompanied by the gurgle of mud and the hiss of escaping steam.

"Keep that pressure steady!" Dalton shouted, overseeing the operation. "If the mud flow stops, we'll lose the bit down there!"

Matthew stood close to the drilling rig, his eyes fixed on the derrick as the cable tool hammered into the earth. Dalton had warned him that drilling in the Permian Basin would not be easy. The layers of sediment, shale, and limestone were notorious for being tough to break through, and in 1881, they didn't have the luxury of modern rotary drills that could power through rock with relative ease.

The depth they needed to reach was daunting. Matthew knew from his past life that oil in the Permian Basin lay deep beneath the surface, often between 1,000 to 3,000 feet, depending on the specific location. Here in West Tejas, based on the geological surveys he had carefully studied, they would likely need to drill at least 1,200 feet before they could even hope to strike oil.

He knew it's going to take time as they were relying on the cable tool method. Which is a technique involving raising and dropping a heavy iron bit attached to a steel cable, and then dropping it. The crushed rock and debris were then brought to the surface using a bailer, a long cylinder with a valve that scooped out the broken material.

As the drill bit hammered into the earth, Dalton's men worked tirelessly to keep the mud pump operational.

"How's the pressure on that mud pump?" Dalton barked, wiping sweat from his brow as he checked on his men.

One of the workers, a burly man named Jennings, cranked the handle of the pump vigorously. 

"Holding steady, boss! But we'll need to refill the water tanks soon. We're losing a lot to evaporation in this heat."

Dalton nodded, turning to Matthew. "The deeper we go, the harder it's gonna be to keep that mud flowing. You still confident we're digging in the right spot?"

"I'm certain," he said.

As the night wore on, the men continued to drill, pausing only briefly to check the equipment and change shifts. The drill bit had reached a depth of 200 feet, but they still had a long way to go. The deeper they went, the more challenging the drilling became. The rock layers grew harder, and the strikes from the cable tool produced fewer chunks of debris.

Matthew watched closely as they extracted samples from the bailer. Most of it was still sand and shale, but occasionally there were traces of darker, oil-stained rock. It was a promising sign, but they were still too shallow to hit the main oil reservoir.

"We're making good time," Dalton remarked, leaning against the wooden frame of the derrick. "But if we hit a layer of hard limestone, it could slow us down for days."

Around midnight, as the men worked in near silence, there was a sudden change in the sound of the drill. The once solid thud became softer, almost hollow. Dalton's head snapped up, and he rushed over to the derrick.

"Hold on, boys!" he shouted. "I think we just hit a softer layer!"

The men paused, peering into the darkness of the borehole as the drill bit was pulled up. The bailer was brought up, and when the contents were emptied into a metal pan, a cheer erupted from the crew.

Mixed in with the usual debris was a thick, black substance. Matthew's heart skipped a beat as he rushed forward.

"Oil?" he asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

Dalton dipped his finger into the sludge and brought it to his nose. "It's crude all right," he confirmed with a grin. "But don't celebrate just yet. We're only getting traces. We need to go deeper if we want a steady flow."