10 Pound Bag Ch. 086-090

**** Chapter Eighty-Six -- First Profit ****

Pete and his men left to trade their furs, while I schmoozed Leavenworth some more until Lt. Douglas, the Quartermaster, showed up. I had planned to gift him some bourbon, but wasn't going to waste it on him now; I did, however, accept a glass of his proffered scotch. This guy was definitely living it up. I also garnered a dinner invite, which I politely declined, explaining that I was not in proper health just yet.

Lt. Douglas was the prototypical example of a quartermaster. He was non-descript and lacked any professional appearance or bearing. He looked like what he was, a corrupt banker.

He got straight to business, making Colonel Leavenworth grimace at the poor decorum displayed by one of his officers. Added to that, Douglas turned out to be a self-important jerk with an over-inflated value of himself. Give us two minutes alone and I could fix that for him.

"Henry tells me you want to trade some gold. We pay a standard fixed rate with US Dollar coin." God, this guy was a dick.

Leavenworth scowled and I simply stood up to leave.

"Mr. Narrator, please sit back down. I truly believe we can reach an agreement to your liking. The Lieutenant may have spoken a bit rudely and rashly. I apologize to you, sir." Henry wasn't happy at all and Douglas looked surprised.

I paused for dramatic effect and then pulled one gold and one silver nugget out of my pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Henry.

"These were a prize from the Derna campaign during the Barbary War. Well earned, I might add." Then I slowly sat down.

The nuggets had their attention. Pure ore will do that to a greedy person and I had the feeling these two were experts at creative accounting.

"I'm asking $60 in US coin per ounce." Simple and to the point.

Douglas was outraged, "The US Government has set the price of gold at $20. What you ask is unmanageable!"

"Control yourself, Lieutenant!" Leavenworth warned him, "Have you never heard of haggling?"
Turning back to me, Henry said, "I'm afraid Douglas gets carried away sometimes. However, sir, he is correct in that $60 would be completely unmanageable. Perhaps something in the range of $30 would be acceptable. We also have to consider the coinage we have on hand sir."

"Colonel, I do understand the constraints that you face and I also understand the abilities of a good Purser, such as Douglas. Perhaps $45 would be within your abilities?"

Leavenworth considered that for a strategic minute and came with the expected $40 offer at which point I simply stuck out my hand. "Colonel, sir, I do believe we have a deal. I can exchange ten ounces of each immediately and return with an additional seventy ounces of each at the end of the summer. Each ounce nugget is the same high grade ore on my word as a Marine and a gentleman."

We shook and the deal was done, I had just doubled my money and converted it to spendable cash. Leavenworth and his lackey would make out well on the deal. Douglas left to get my currency and I had a bit of time to curry favor with Leavenworth.

I pulled the unopened bottle of bourbon out of my bag.

"Henry, I'd like you to have this. It is a fine aged Bourbon made by a friend of mine back home. I think you will find it to be without peer." Well, now, this was an expensive bribe and I was about to go a bit deeper. This man would be a power in the area for the next decade and a good relationship was vital.

We had a glass of his new bottle as was polite. His demeanor regarding the gift changed as soon as the mellow magic rolled across his tongue. He actually looked at the bottle in surprise. I knew that it was probably the very best bourbon he had ever tasted; it was quality stuff.

"Henry, I do have another small problem you might be able to provide me some guidance. I am looking to obtain or hire a river boat to hasten my return home."

He pondered for a moment and then shuffled through some papers on his desk. "Ah, here!" he exclaimed, as he held a hand-written report up.

"It seems we recently seized a river boat for failure to pay fees and fines. Sir, I think we maybe able to assist you. It seems we have need to dispose of this asset to recover the fines."

He made it too easy, "Colonel, I would be happy to offer half an ounce of gold for the boat if you are willing to sell it."

"Mr. Narrater, sir, you have a deal."

So I passed him a gold nugget and threw on the sweetener.

"Colonel, please hold any excess funds from my payment for me. Perhaps you could use a little of it to assist me in locating some trustworthy men with families who may be looking for a home now that they've be mustered out."

"Sir, it would be my pleasure," was his immediate reply.

He hollered for his aide and, within minutes, a list of recently separated solders was being assembled for me.

Douglas finally showed up with a bag of coins and I handed over the rest of the nuggets to Henry. "Thank you, Colonel. I had heard much about you and was not disappointed upon our meeting."

Now that would have earned me a duel challenge at many of the international diplomatic events I had attended overseas, but Henry just beamed, oblivious to the insult.

I took the bag from Douglas and didn't bother to count the coins, which infuriated him even more. I made my leave and stopped by the aide's desk on the way out. He had a list of five men ready for me. I handed him a five dollar coin and asked him to send the men to my camp late this afternoon, while giving him brief directions.

I headed down to the docks to check out my new vessel. I'd be on my way home soon.

**** Chapter Eighty-Seven -- The good ship Lollipop ****

The river docks were primitive, to say the least. They were basically split logs lashed together and held in place by a few wooden pylons. There were four docks in total, and they did the job. There were several boats tied up and it was obvious which one was mine. The rest were in the process of on-loading or off-loading cargo. My boat was tied up at the far dock and it just had a couple of guys sitting on it, fishing. I simply shook my head and climbed aboard. I knew better than to be surprised.

Of course, they spoke Creole. I recognized it because it still existed in the modern world. It was just a dying language. I didn't understand a lick of Creole. I showed them my document from Leavenworth and it had Henry's wax seal on it. They seemed to get the point and started jabbering at me immediately. There were four of them and it was a bit overwhelming. I put my hands up and asked loudly, "English?"

Well, they all looked at each other and finally the older guy held up his finger and thumb about an inch apart and resignedly admitted, "English." I gave him a thumbs up. It was obvious what had happened here: the previous owner had disappeared after the Army seized his boat and these four crewmen were left behind. Time for some labor negotiations.

I patted the roof of the cargo house and pointed at my chest, "Mine."

They all nodded. Well, that was established.

I pointed at them and then at the boat and asked, "Work?"

Well that was the wrong word so we started play charades. I pantomimed rowing and poling and pointed to them and the boat. They all nodded and the older guy said "Crew?"

"Yes," I replied, while nodding my head vigorously.

He rubbed his stomach and said "Food."

Well, that made sense; they hadn't really eaten since they got here. I handed the leader two quarters, pointed up towards camp town and said, "Food." Off the four went and I lit up a cigarette while I waited for their return. I took a short tour around my boat. It appeared in decent condition to my untrained eye. Frankly, I didn't know crap about any of this so I decided to go look for help.

I visited every boat at every dock and got the same answer every time, "He's at the Captains House." So up the bluff I went back into Camp Town to find the 'Captains House.' From a distance, every building in Camp Town was basically the same - usually a crude log cabin set off a muddy foot path. City planning wasn't any part of the reality in camp towns. Outside of the roads leading directly to the fort gate, mayhem seemed to be the design.

I eventually stumbled across a non-descript cabin with a crudely painted sign attached, announcing that this was the 'Cap'n Hous.' I decided to invite myself in for a beverage.

As expected, dark and dreary. I stood off to the side of the entrance and allowed my eyes to adjust for a couple of minutes until I could see clearly. There was a crude bar with a couple of planks resting on barrels up next to the hearth and two tables with benches in the rest of the room. Only one table had any occupants.

I walked to the bar and ordered beer and lunch, it cost me a startling two cents. The proprietor wasn't the conversational sort, so I collected my cup of dubious beer and suspicious stew and joined the group at the table. I then intentionally ignored them and focused on my stew.

One taste was all it took before I pushed the bowl away with a grimace and spat the mouthful out on the floor. I grabbed the beer to wash the taste away and that shit wasn't much better. Foul, foul offerings.

The table erupted in laughter.

"We was wondering how long that would take, some feller's will eat enough that they actually start puking!" More laughter. Well, fuck me.

I looked around; they were all drinking coffee. Okay, that actually was funny.

Another of the guys added, "We think that's the same stew he started last summer. He just leaves it on there and sells it to anyone foolish enough to buy it. He does make good coffee, though."

"Well fuck me running," I said, and they erupted in laughter again. I pulled my bottle of bourbon and my cup out of my bag and cleansed my palate with the smooth flavor. Unsurprisingly, that got their attention. Coffee was dumped and cups were held out; they were presumptuous fucks. I gave each cup a healthy dollop of bourbon, warned them to sip, and sat back to watch the reactions.

As you would expect, it was like a woman with her first taste of quality chocolate during the worst 'period' of her life. Eyes lit up and cups went up for another sip.

"Where can I get me some of this?" was the first question. It was followed by a chorus of supporting opinions.

"Gentlemen, this beverage, unfortunately, is not for sale. If it were, it would cost you almost $10 per measure and only be available at the highest fashion restaurants in the cities back east.

"This beverage is handmade and barrel aged twenty-three years. The gentleman who makes this does occasionally sell some of his seventeen year aged whiskey, but the price is still beyond belief. It is highly prized by the fat cats of business.

"I happened to have served with his son during the war and the man felt he owed me a favor. This bottle was one of his 'Thank you' gifts.

"As you can see, my supply is now dwindling. However, if I can ask a small favor of you, I will share another small taste."

Agreement all around and I gave each of us another small measure and stowed the bottle back in my shoulder bag. Odd, how fellas would grant open favors for something so simple, but I supposed women had known that for eons. I was just catching on.

I told them, in detail, my situation with the boat and asked for guidance and assistance. They parried back with a few direct questions and then began to discuss it amongst themselves.

I lit a cigarette and waited. This ought to be interesting.

**** Chapter Eighty-Eight -- A few good men ****

I'd gotten an extremely good deal on the boat. That was the envy-laden consensus, far better than any of them would have. It was also the consensus that I needed a captain, because, as a Marine, I was even worse than a farmer when it came to things that float. Apparently, some of them had been naval sailors at some point. Truthfully, I had to agree with them. Jarheads were as known for bad seamanship as they were for their ferocity in battle. Hell, it was even enshrined in their emblem the 'Eagle, Globe and (tangled) Anchor.'

However, I was in luck, they said. The original captain and owner was still here in town. Right now, he was down on his luck and doing labor to feed his family. It was felt that I could hire this good man for a song and he would definitely do me right. The only catch was: the man's wife was Creole and that caused a problem with a lot of people, Henry Leavenworth in particular.

I asked them to send him by my camp this afternoon and gave up a dollar to pay him for his time. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was a lot more than he would make doing labor for a day.

With that bit done and out of the way, we talked of my plans to set up a trading post and inn down the river in Rulo. I was met with promises of visits, once they saw a working pier in place. I promised to fly a flag when we were open for business.

I made my farewells and took leave, making my way back down to the boat to update the crew before retrieving my horse to head to camp. I had some job interviews to do.

**** ****

Interviewing potential new hires is definitely not one of my favorite things in life. Evaluating an individual and deciding their and your future, in a short bit of time, is stressful and difficult. The hardest part came when the person really needed that opportunity, but they figured out you were going to tell them, "No." The hope would drain from their eyes and the enthusiasm from their voice. It was always saddening to watch. I ended up telling two people, 'No,' that afternoon. Mainly because I had stopped in Camp Town and hired a black couple to do some 'work' for me that day. Their work was to sit around and make white folks uncomfortable. This had been an afterthought and I had to double back into town to find them; finding a couple was pure luck. The four bits I offered drew them in, like moths to a flame. They looked youngish but they were definitely underfed and it was hard to guess their ages all that well.

Afternoons in late May tend to get hot in Nebraska and I was dearly hoping something cool was available to drink. Ice cold beer wasn't going to happen but a cool tea wouldn't hurt. The ladies didn't disappoint, and after a quick update on the incoming visitors, they began to arrange the camp to accommodate. My plan was to meet with all of the workers, initially as a group, to describe what I proposed. Then I would interview each separately in the teepee. My black team was tasked with sitting around the campfire and enjoying the food and drink offered. They were instructed to make friendly talk with anyone who came around. I specifically said, "Don't act like a scared nigger who's full of fear. Act like a person."

Yep, I was making this up on the fly. But if they pulled off their part, I promised them a nice bonus payment at the end of the day. Just act like equals to everyone in the camp and be sure to call them by their name, just their name. They looked dubious, but they followed along after I upped their upfront payment to a full dollar.

That's me, manipulative and rude. No sense in hiding myself from myself.

**** ****

As the afternoon crested, my applicants began to show up. They all knew each other to varying degrees and had met up on the way, so they showed up in a group of two and then three, talking amongst themselves as they came in. I introduced myself and invited them to sit, so I could have a word with the group before I spoke with each of them individually.

We had three logs set up around our fire and dead in the middle of each log sat either a member of my black team or Pete. I watched their reactions and noticed where they sat; I'd never had to include racism in my candidate evaluations before.

Mary was our server and she was under strict instructions to serve Petalesharo and the Black team first. The black man was instructed to demand coffee and not to be polite about it. He wasn't sure about that, but Mary smiled sweetly and said, "Please," to him. He melted and agreed to do it.

I let Mary start serving tea and then went into my sales pitch when the black guy stood up and said "No, woman! I said coffee." And he emptied his cup on the ground. He then looked at me for a moment and when I smiled, he sat back down. Mary got him some coffee. I watched the looks on the other guys' faces and then continued my spiel like nothing had happened.

I was offering a lot for any family man recently mustered out and stuck on the wrong side of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers. The army would return them home, but that might be six months away and they had to wait for the slow mule train to show up first. I offered a home on the frontier and guaranteed food for at least the first winter. They had to work, but they also got a full share of the reward and they got land. They all wanted in.

It was time to start the interviews.

**** Chapter Eighty-Nine -- Population Explosion begins ****

Mary brought the candidates in to me, one at a time. Mouse sat outside to watch, listen, and then report to me between each candidate. My first candidate was the fella I'd seen have the best attitude; he had actually tried to strike up a conversation with Pete.

He told me about his military career and his family. It was a pretty normal story that hadn't really changed over time. Nothing was easy, they didn't pay anywhere near enough, and when they decided to cut the budget, you were unceremoniously dumped. I'd watched it happen in the modern day. He was a supply guy and when I asked about Douglas, he got suddenly reserved and polite. I knew what that meant. I told him briefly of my plans to build a trading post and that got him intrigued and excited. I instructed him to pack his family and bring them here in the morning because we would be leaving the morning after. I counted out five dollars and instructed him to speak to no one except his wife, particularly not the men outside.

Mouse came in after he left and mentioned the two men complaining about the niggers and redskin getting special treatment. I told her that they were to be last. She left to send in the next candidate.

The next two went the same way as the first - good men who were suddenly cast out and needed a fresh start. Both were just troopers, but each had some childhood skills. One had worked as a cooper's apprentice for a while and the other a carpenter's apprentice. They each had a wife and children and they both received the same hiring bonus and instructions.

Now I had to deal with the rejections.

Each one was brought in and sat down. Second chances were available in my world. Both blew it in record time, with one mentioning being here to fight the filthy, heathen scum, and the other casually insulting 'uppity niggers.'

Both were paid to go away - fifty cents or four bits. Don't speak to anyone about this and I will contact you in two days' time to let you know my decision.

Thankfully, they both left quietly and bought my ploy. I sat back to relax before the captain showed up.

No such luck. My black duo was ushered in, so I rose to thank them for a job well done. It wasn't going to be that easy.

"Sir, can we be interviewed also?" came the request from the, thus far quiet, black woman.

So, yes, I am a racist idiot. I didn't even think of tapping that market. I belittled myself thoroughly while I stammered out apologies and then called for Mouse to help me.

They were looking confused and I asked them to please sit. Mouse showed up and I explained what I had done and asked her to interview the woman for me. I gave her instructions in a clear voice so that they could hear every word.

Mouse led the woman away. I sat down and formally introduced myself. His name turned out to be Isaiah and he had worked as a laborer for the army, building the fort. He had been freed by a will decree from a Connecticut tobacco farm and took the Army work to make money. He met Sarah along the way and they took up together, Sarah was with child now and they had nothing. They were sharing an old tent with two other families.