September 1835

Bram Armstrong wandered the dirty side streets of King’s Port for over two hours before finally giving up and going into a tavern for a drink. As a pastor of a small congregation, Bram thought twice before entering the tavern doors but here in King’s Port, over two hours from his home in Littleton, no one needed to know that there was a “Rev.” before his name. It was hot, unseasonably so for late September. He wished he had not worn his best brown greatcoat beca...