10 Pound Bag Ch. 116-120

**** Chapter 116 -- St. Charles ****

By: Emmeran, 22 April 2021

Edited: Tarasandia, 28 April 2021

Published: 28 April 2021

Uneventful and tedious. That about fully describes the boat ride down. We saw settlements and the occasional minor trading post sweep past. None worth our time to stop and dally at. Next year we'd have a diplomatic mission to create relationships up and down the river. For now, we had a winter quickly approaching and we needed a lot of equipment in short order to accomplish our preparation.

The truth is, we wouldn't have had a problem this winter if it had just been our original crew. Even the first three additions of Holder, Amos, and Esther wouldn't have posed a serious problem. The moment the community started to grow, though, we had to expand and expand fast. That meant building; building meant tools; getting tools always seemed to add people. And so here we were.

Well, where I was, happened to be a riverboat. I was learning a lot even on this quick trip. My next journey would be back up to Fort Dickinson, which would teach me about their upstream work. From everything I'd heard thus far, it was basically a brutal battle with the river, the entire way. I could see that with my own eyes, in the boats we passed going the other direction. They became more frequent as we approached the towns.

The first thing I noticed was that they only cooked food at camp after a long day's work. Being a river boatman had to list near the very top of any hard labor list. Over-worked, under-paid and under-fed just started the story. Part of the problem was that it was a young man's job that you aged out of quickly. Once you passed 35 years old, you had to move on, because your body just couldn't take it anymore. That got me thinking that boats needed propulsion and needed it soon. At least the boats that I used. I'd loved the idea of sticking one of the diesel motors into a boat, but I'd obviously have to find a way to camouflage it as steam and distill my own diesel if I could find the oil. My research had shown me it was nearby. You can't just chug into St. Louis under diesel power without attracting the wrong kind of attention. So the answer had to be steam and I didn't know much about it yet. That fact would need to change quickly.

Until I got to that point, I just needed to pony up the money for a larger crew. The crew approach was the obvious first step and probably the easiest. I could offer them their own homes and year-round employment. The river was unpassable north after October, which created hardship for them, particularly if they had a family. I could have them clear roads and chop wood all winter long. We'd provide them with a house, fuel for warmth, and food to eat. Timmons agreed that I had something there. Most of these guys enjoyed this life for a while, but then burnt out and had to survive off constant short-term work.

We agreed to double the number of deck apes to twenty, among them I wanted to add a second mate and a permanent shipwright. We weren't trying to turn a profit right now. Rather we just needed to get things done, and doing the crew right would be a good start. Food was the top of the list and we'd work on other things from there. It might cut back on our load size a little, but I wanted an upgrade for these fellas and I wanted people to stand in line to work for us. However, I would have Timmons start boat shopping while we were down here. He was also charged with recruiting family types for the crew; stability was also one of my prime goals.

****

St. Charles was our first stop in civilization. We had bypassed many small posts and this was the last stop before the Mississippi and the confluence. I knew that, in some ways, St. Charles was a much more stable location than St. Louis and would experience less upheaval during the upcoming periods of national turmoil. St. Louis had been hit hard by the Panic of 1819 and St. Charles had come out of it in much better condition. We could overnight here and face the confluence and the mayhem of St. Louis tomorrow. We'd be well rested and hopefully better dressed. Days of sleeping rough don't necessarily lend to keeping oneself looking proper and gentlemanly, so off to the barber I went. Amos was now in full servant mode, with Timmons along to help keep him in line. In the end, Timmons wasn't needed, aside from the fact that he needed cleaning up, also. So Timmons and I got our faces and hair cleaned and cared for, then we had to head across town to the black section to get the same treatment for Amos. That was just a shameful waste of time.

Next came hot baths and a visit to their only tailor, where we managed to garner a decent change of clothing to wear when we hit St. Louis. I managed to guess Amos's size and get him a respectable pair of pants and clean white shirt. It simply wouldn't do, to have a slovenly servant accompany me. We found a shoe maker in the black part of town that was able to provide him with a decent pair of boots. Even so, the boy was still growing and I didn't want to go overboard.

I managed to secure a room in the main hotel. They had a bunk area set aside for servants; Amos would sleep there. I spoke a strict warning that anyone touching him for any reason would face my wrath and I'd see them at the end of a rope. Paying in pure gold seemed to solidify their resolve to provide proper care for my servant.

Timmons joined me after the boat and crew were squared away. He had the crew settled and armed watches set. The crew knew that, once we were in St. Louis, they would have a bonus paid and we'd hire outside security until we started to load valuables. I had booked a room at the hotel for Timmons as well and we took our supper together. The hotel restaurant wasn't up to Matilda's standard, but they still served a fine meal. We spent the rest of the evening in the hotel bar, which seemed to be the town's gathering place for well-heeled men. We tried to mix and mingle a little. We made a few decent contacts, which I later painstakingly noted in the journal I had dedicated for the purpose. The only journal books I had were modern paper that would not take quill and ink very well, so I was forced to use a modern pen under the cover of privacy.

Besides, I was still struggling to master the quill and ink as a writing tool. A keyboard was so much more efficient.

**** Chapter 117 -- The Confluence and St. Louis ****

By: Emmeran, 23 April 2021

Edited: Tarasandia 29 April 2021

Published: 29 April 2021

Waking up in a soft bed is a wonderful thing, even just three nights of sleeping in the dirt was enough to make any grown man grumpy. Amos was sent to bring hot water to Timmons and me, and to see to our morning needs. To awaken clean and have a fresh shave first thing in the morning was a refreshing change. I knew I owed Michelle a trip down here at some point this summer. Right now, we had to focus on moving cargo, so whatever we did in line with trips to St. Louis would have to wait.

We took breakfast in the hotel restaurant while Amos ate at a community table in the slave section. He said the cooks fed him well and he felt like he was going to burst. We were basically finished with St. Charles for this portion of the trip, but we'd both pass through here on many future journeys. We made sure to tip well and treat everyone with utmost respect. I was sure we'd leave a good impression.

Once we got underway again, the three of us quickly stripped and put our work clothes back on. Thankfully they had been laundered yesterday and hung to dry overnight. Our street clothes were carefully stowed; we wouldn't change back to them until we approached St. Louis later today. Everyone on the boat looked a little more refreshed than usual and everyone seemed a little more prepared when we hit the confluence of the two mighty rivers, where they joined together.

The problem arises because each river has its own volume, velocity, and temperature. The temperature and velocity are the key problems. Injecting a stream of colder water from the Missouri into the warmer Mississippi creates turbulence, and turbulence creates underwater snags that could rip a boat open in the blink of an eye. The surface turbulence wasn't steadily in one place. It had a habit of popping up to surprise anyone passing through. Thank you, thermal and fluid dynamics. It was easy to be tossed from one of these lightweight wooden boats and it was usually a death sentence for anyone unprepared.

All hands were ready as the current thrust us into the confluence. Every single boatman was equipped with a push pole and on the lookout for surface and submerged flotsam. Both Timmons and Patrick manned the rudder and the sail had been furled. The bank channel was full of boats being pulled upstream so we had little choice but to brave the current and hope to keep our speed.

It was a rough couple of moments with lots of activity by the boatsmen. I and the two other land-lubbers just sat down, held on, and stayed out of the way. The rough ride didn't bother Amos or me much, but Jeb was absolutely green and ready to hurl. We slid back into calm sailing just in time; Jeb managed to get his stomach under control eventually, though it was clear he could never be a shipwright. With that out of the way, Amos, Timmons, and I changed back into our street clothes and prepared to do business in the town of St. Louis.

So there we were, three decently dressed guys and one workaday bum striding up the St. Louis pier. Jeb was in desperate need of a bath and change of clothes. We started with the nearest clothier and purchased him a simple pair of street trousers and a nice clean shirt. We managed to find a barbershop which happened to offer baths as well. We installed Jeb there and went looking for the immigrant town tailor. Hopefully, I could get everyone served at the immigrant shop and I wouldn't need to bounce back and forth between town districts.

We got lucky. There was a new tailor working out of his house. He was a recent refugee from Belgium. He agreed to make suits for Timmons and, most importantly, for Amos. Amos was a problem because he was just entering his growth years. Besides the suit he needed now, I ordered two more of larger sizes. Anything Amos outgrew would be passed down to the next kid. The tailor also knew about a nearby shoemaker who was looking for business. The 1819 Panic had put a hurtin' on small shops and these guys were prime examples. In the end, I ordered a suit for myself, as well. He seemed to have a stock of fine cloth and it wouldn't hurt for me to have an additional suit.

We visited the shoemaker and I went a step further. I recruited him to Rulo. We desperately needed a good shoemaker with all those kids running around and more on the way. I gave him our order up front before I made the offer. His wife was there to hear my sales pitch; the poor guy never stood a chance. They were Italian of some sort and she decided that they were moving to Rulo. I asked him to come by the hotel later so I could explain the details to him over a gentleman's supper. This one might be fun. His wife was high-spirited, to say the least.

With all of that in order, we went to find Jeb and secure accommodations. There was one established hotel in town and it wasn't much to look at. It was the Planters House Hotel and it was little more than a converted frame house with a newly added wing. Pretty typical for the edge of civilization and it didn't at all surprise me. We were able to secure three rooms in the new wing, but they weren't much to brag about.

I started thinking seriously about buying a house here in town for our use while traveling. I knew about the future of both St. Louis and St. Charles; either way it would be a good investment. Maybe I'd do both. I knew that old town St. Charles would be around forever and that might be a good place to build a historic home. St. Louis's growth would turn industrial and anything built right now would be gone in a decade or so. I decided to discuss it with Timmons and Jeb over dinner. We'd be hosting the shoemaker and he might have some insight.

When Signor shoemaker arrived, we left to find a decent restaurant. There would be plenty of discussion to be had there.

**** Chapter 118 -- Max to the Rescue ****

By: Emmeran, 23 April 2021

Edited: Tarasandia, 30 April 2021

Published: 30 April 2021

Supper with the shoemaker turned out to be a great idea. He did have a name and it was David Schumacher. I almost burst out laughing and Schumacher just grinned, it was good to be able to see the humor in your own name. Hell I went through life being Mr. Narrater and was miserable until I was given the sage advice just to use it. Sure enough I was the one kid in the entire school that everyone knew, simply because I was the Narrator in every school play.

After introducing him to Jeb we all followed him to the "best" restaurant in town. Of course we went right back to the immigrant sector and were led to an older frame house that had already seen it's better days. It had a lean to it that made me realize that this old thing had somehow survived the New Madrid Quake of just a decade earlier. The New Madrid earthquake was later estimated to be a minimum of an 8.2, - possibly even a 10.2, and had rung church bells in Boston more than a thousand miles away.

Modern day geologists had slowly downgraded the power of the quakes but many people wrote that off as political pressure from state governments desiring more FEMA money. Regardless, it flattened what was St. Louis at the time and sent the Mississippi River into panic mode, running anywhere it could and changing course in several places.

Anyway, it was already an old house, and it was still standing; it also turned out to contain some amazing Italian cuisine. Not food but true cuisine, the sort you'd find at a very fine restaurant. It also surprised me to see that there was a number of fine gentlemen taking their supper here, no ladies, just the gentlemen. Apparently it wouldn't be proper to bring your lady to immigrant town, I guess this was what you'd call quiet racism.

The food was out of this world; they even had fresh parmesan cheese which truly got my attention. I turned to the business at hand and started to work my offer with Dirk. A good shoemaker in town would be a priceless commodity, and I truly wanted his enthusiastic buy in. By the second glass of wine he was into the idea and when I brought my need to find a bank he mentioned a man he knew from their religious group. I began to think about funding my own bank.

My belly was full and my mind was racing. I agreed to meet him again in two days' time to allow him to properly observe his sabbath, as he had bent the rules a little to meet with us tonight. With that we ended the business talk and finished our delightful meals. There was a tavern or two I wanted to check out up in town, and I was in good company to do so.

The first stop turned out to be a bit on the shady side; we could hear the dice rolling as soon as we walked into the room. I had to put my hand on Timmons to keep him away and we walked to the makeshift bar and ordered a round of beer and whiskey. I was looking for a lot of things and a good brewery was definitely one of them and gambling definitely was not.

This wasn't the place to find either brewer or distiller, both were rot-gut that I wouldn't serve to my enemy. Jeb and his workman's outfit fit in much better here and after mixing for about a half an hour he had met a local builder. We bought the man a beer and Jeb got a commitment to meet up in the morning, if the guy could make it to breakfast then he might be a valuable contact. None of us were very thirsty after our meal and we moved on to the other tavern which appeared to be a little more upscale.

There was actually a doorman at this tavern. Amos and Jeb took that as their getaway cue, and went back to the hotel, leaving Timmons and I to delve in the what was left of St. Louis high society.

The tavern was still a very nice place and they had an actual bar for us to lean on. We started with a round of their best beer and finest whiskey; the price wasn't bad and the booze was decent. I tipped heavily and inquired about the source of these fine beverages. The bartender turned out to be the owner and the brewer; which could be good news or bad.

We talked a while about me being from 'upriver' and what we had going on, then shifted focus to him. He admitted that things had been thin for him since the bank crashed in '19 but trade was starting to pick back up again. I told him what I knew about the plans slowly moving to a major Army camp in Leavenworth and let him know that he might want to consider ramping his brewing up a little. There would be a lot of thirsty men up there in about five years and a well-positioned brewer with a good brew like his might do very well if he was ready.

That brought on an entirely new conversation about hops and whatnot, and I just flowed with it. After another round went down for each of us I inquired regarding to buying a few casks of beer and maybe a cask of whiskey. He mused on that and then offered that he did have some better whiskey but it was usually reserved for the movers and shakers around town. He the proceeded to pull out a bottle and pour a measure for each of us, I kind of cut Timmons off after that. He'd had a long day and his words were starting to slur.

His fine whiskey was actually pretty good, smooth and flavorful. I would definitely purchase a cask if he would sell it. In a return gesture I pulled out one of the few pints I had brought with me and poured us each a measure.

It was truly fun to watch a distiller's face light up with each sip of Max's very fine bourbon. Just like that we had us a booze source.

**** Chapter 119 -- Banking on the Frontier ****

By: Emmeran, 24 April 2021

Edited: Tarasandia, 1 May 2021

Published: 1 May 2021

Saturday morning and I had a small touch of a hangover, nothing breakfast and coffee wouldn't fix. I planned to start with banking this morning and move on to the other shops from there. While the building still said 'Second National Bank of the United States' the actual institutional was now 'Bank of St. Louis' and it was owned by a group of state businessmen with the backing of the Bank of NY(BoNY). This was all in a time prior to the FDIC so trusting a bank meant trusting the people who ran that bank and having BoNY to guarantee deposits really helped.

The bonus was that they still had the 2^nd Bank vault which wasn't insubstantial even if this was just a wood frame building. I learned that I could deposit much of my gold and silver in 'security deposit' and when I started to discuss the size of account I intended to create the bank manager suddenly became my clerk. I had to wait about a half an hour for him to show up but I was assured that he was rushing to get here. I was provided with hot coffee and left to wait in the manager's office, they didn't have a conference room so major meetings were held down at the tavern I had visited last night. Yes the entire thing was third world and rinky-dink; welcome to the frontier.

While waiting I decided I could start my own local rinky-dink bank just to make things easier on myself. We still needed the east coast connections so the St. Louis bank had to be part of my plan in the early going, however creating my own connections at BoNY and other banks would help. I might be forced to take a trip back east, Michelle was going to take on a lot more responsibility if I was going to winter over on the East coast.

None of the current banks out here would survive to make the modern world but BoNY and Union Bank of Boston (State Street) would, and I wanted to get my main deposits there eventually. Moreover, I wanted them to back the local bank I planned on starting.