Chapter 88: 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.”