Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club. Book III

by Robert P McAuley

  “What a story,” said Tom, as he set down his empty mug. “But let me tell you I have a hard time believing a steam engine could do that much damage. The people of that time must have known that these things blew up now and then. If there was a chance it would do that much damage, they’d never allow a wharf to be built near a levee.”

  Bill looked at him in a different light all of the sudden. “Never thought of that. And it seems the people from the future didn’t think of it either.” He sat forward. “It looks like I picked the right man for this mission.”

  He opened a drawer and removed the hologram that Edmund had given him and set it on the coffee table. “Here,” he said, “let me show you this. I waited to show you until after I told you what the mission was so you wouldn’t be shocked.” He started the hologram and Tom sat back and watched.

  When it ended, he was speechless. Bill refilled the coffee mugs and Tom drank half of his in one gulp, and then said, “The explosion was devastating. It looked like a tiny Hiroshima. Maybe, if all nine of her boilers went at once that could happen, but the chances of that happening are so remote.”

  “It’s remote to us, but maybe not so remote to their time. Maybe it’s just old boilers all reaching their fatigue limits at the same time. Maybe they were all the same age and all went through the same climatic changes that creates rust so if one went it was a kind of like a chain reaction.”

  Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Possible, I guess.” He looked at Bill. “So what’s the next step?”

  “Well,” Bill said, “this is the time when someone goes back and tries to stop it from happening. It didn’t really happen yet according to our history, but sometimes things change slightly and sometimes more than slightly. That’s why the guys in the future keep an eye on things with their probes.”

  “And,” Tom said, “they can’t go back and fix it because the air we breathe is too polluted for them. If they could go back, we wouldn’t even know about time travel. Right?”

  Bill nodded, “Guess so.”

  Tom smiled at that. “Kind of neat for us, huh?”

  Bill smiled back. “Yeah, what is considered ‘bad air’ by some, is considered ‘good air’ by others.”

  “Well, first thing I have to do, I guess, is to have a look at those boilers.”

  Bill stretched and with a yawn said, “Any thoughts on how? I can get you any kind of identification you might need.”

  “Tell you what,” Tom said as he stood and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to head on home and think about it. I do my best planning at my kitchen table with pad and pencil. Some of my best undercover work started right there so I might as well continue the tradition.”

  Bill nodded as he looked at the clock. “I’ll tell Matt to let you out after you change and also to get some period clothes ready for you. See you in the morning?”

  Tom put out his hand and Bill took it in his. “This is going to be great, Bill.” Tom said as they shook hands, “I know I can handle it. I’ve had some pretty tough cases in my time and I’m happy to say I’ve handled them fairly well. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Scott said, “I saw you in action today. I have full confidence in your pulling this off.”

  Matt escorted Tom back down to the club’s dressing room.

  It was eleven the next morning when Matt called Bill.

  “Mr. Madden is here, sir. Shall I bring him up?”

  Bill poured a cup of coffee as he said, “Yep! I’m decent, bring him up.”

  The door opened and Tom entered followed by Matt carrying a used suitcase.

  “’Morning, Tom,” Bill said. “Like some coffee?”

  Tom shook his head. “No thanks, I’ve had two already.” He waved a piece of paper. “And I think I have a pretty good cover story.”

  Bill motioned to an easy chair in the living room, “Tell me your plan.”

  They both sat down as Matt began laying out clothes for the club’s newest time traveler. Tom looked over at Bill and said, “I took the liberty of calling Matt this morning for some clothes I feel will be needed and my measurements. Also, I figure if you want to inspect his boat, any captain would look at you with suspicion, unless the boat was due for an inspection. So I’m going back as a prospective buyer. Not of his ship, but if I told a ship’s captain that I want to buy a boat exactly like his because it’s a beauty, he’ll show me anything I want to see.”

  Bill nodded at the logic. “Sounds right to me. Do you need any paperwork put together for it?”

  “Actually I put together a list of things I’d like to have in a boat. By copying many of the specifications of the Natchez from online, I will be looking for just what it has.”

  Bill looked at the clothes Matt had set out. “Let’s see your wardrobe,” he said.

  There were three suits of lightweight material; two were white. Three white dress shirts with black string ties. One white, straw hat, a pair of white shoes and another pair of black shoes. A set of work clothes with underwear of the period. A straight razor and a hard bar of shaving soap with a bristle brush.

  Matt held up some toothpaste and inquired, “Did you bring your toothbrush, Mr. Madden?”

  Tom took his toothbrush out of his inside breast pocket and held it up. “Just as you suggested, Matt.”

  “It looks as though you are set,” Bill said as he opened his desk drawer. He showed Tom what looked like a brown, wooden hairbrush but was in fact a communicator. “Watch closely,” Bill said as he twisted the wooden top part and it flipped open and became a small keyboard. “If you need anything, just send me a text message. I don’t have to tell you to keep it a secret so make sure you’re alone when you use it. And remember, it’s not like I can appear right next to you, I have to make the same travel arraignments that you did so it’ll take time to reach you in an emergency.”

  Tom inspected it. “Great. This is really great.” He put it back together and tucked it into his suitcase.

  Matt handed him some money and a money belt. “Four hundred and fifty dollars and fifty cents,” said Bill. “Do you think that’s enough or do you want more?”

  Tom stuffed some money into the belt and the rest into his pocket. “From all I’ve read about this time period, I’d say this is plenty.”

  “Before you change, here’s some reading material on how to get to New Orleans, from as soon as you leave the club until you get off the ship in the ‘Big Easy.’”

  Tom sat back with the papers. “I’ll take that coffee now.”

  DATELINE: MAY 26, 1883, PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN

  An hour later Tom and Bill were in front of the club’s garden. Tom noted that the air quality was worse than the last time he was here. But he thought as he shrugged his shoulders, I’m back in the 1800s! A clatter of hooves announced a cab as it turned the corner. They flagged it down and shook hands as the horse-drawn cab pulled up to the curb.

  With some last-minute advice, Bill said, “Just keep it real. Remember, you are one of them, not an observer.”

  Tom gave him a thumbs-up as he climbed into the cab. Looking up to the driver, he said, “New York WaterWays on Water Street, sir.” As he waved good-bye to Bill the jarring ride downtown began.

  Tom hung on to the leather strap attached to the frame of the door as the cabbie sped through New York City of 1883. The vibrations when the steel rimmed wheels slid and slipped on the cobble-stoned streets were not dampened by the primitive shock absorbers on the carriage and Tom clenched his teeth for fear of biting his tongue.

  Thirty minutes later he was in the WaterWays office and buying a round-trip ticket aboard the steamship City of Keansburg. A schematic of the ship was framed and mounted on the wall of the entrance. It stated proudly that she was driven by a single screw and had sail backup. He took a cabin on the top deck and boarded thirty minutes before she sailed.

  The cabin was a nice size for a coaster, as the ship was called. The City of Keansburg sailed at ten knots within eyesight of the coastlin
e from New York, around the tip of Florida, then into New Orleans. The cabins on the starboard side were almost all sold out as that was the side facing inland on the trip down. There were three meals a day and a snack bar that was open twenty-four hours. The snacks were mostly cheese, sandwiches, cakes and candy.

  They’re operating the ancestor of the cruise boat industry, thought Tom as he watched the two tugboats push them away from the downtown pier. The ship had two bands and the atmosphere was one of fun and frolic as people almost always strolled the deck and took deep breaths of the clean fresh air.

  They had newspapers delivered every day by a fast cutter running out to greet the ship each morning from the city it was passing. And, it was the newspapers that thrilled Tom more than anything. He laughed as he read: The light bulb is nothing more than a passing fad, a gimmick that will surely fade out and never be anything more than a footlight on the stage of history, stated Mr. Francis Kirkland, president of The Gas Light Corporation Of America. Another chuckle was, That man should fly, is like saying man will someday be walking on the Moon. This was said by Mr. Robert Rokiski, president of Sail Boat magazine.

  It became Tom’s ritual to smoke a cigar every evening on the side of the ship facing out to the deep ocean while all the other passengers enjoyed watching the lights from shore on the other side of the ship. On the fourth night he noticed a crewmember getting some air on deck on the seaward side. He walked over and as the man saw him, he tossed a cigar over the side and started to walk away.

  “Hello there,” said Tom as the man realized he had come to a dead end and had to turn around.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said. “Don’t tell anyone. I just wanted some fresh air.”

  Tom shook his head. “I won’t say anything. And if you want, I’ll watch out for you for a spell. Everyone wants to see the fireworks on the other side anyway. Take some time and enjoy the fresh air.”

  They both leaned on the rail on the dark side of the ship enjoying the evening.

  “From the engine room?” Tom said, noticing the grease smears on the man’s shirt and hands.

  The man said, “Yessir, and it gets dang hot down there.”

  Tom nodded and said. “I know.”

  The man looked at him with interest. “Are you an engine man, sir?”

  “Yes. Not on ships, though, on locomotive engines. I know how hot it can get, although not as hot as I imagine it is in a ship’s engine room.”

  The man smiled as he nodded. “Hot it is, sir. And the coal throws back soot. Some boats use wood. It’s cleaner handling but doesn’t burn as hot as coal.”

  “I’m going on the paddleboat Natchez in New Orleans,” said Tom. “Wonder how many engines she sports?”

  The engine man answered, “Nine.”

  “Now, that’s heat,” Tom quipped.

  “Yes,” the man answered, “especially in the heat of the South. No, I’ll take the change in seasons anytime.”

  “I feel the same way,” said Tom.

  As a couple started to come their way, the man said, “Thank you for allowing me the time to breathe, sir. Manny is the name. If you want to see the engines, just c’mon down an’ ask for me.” He trotted off and disappeared into the night.

  The eight-day trip was uneventful and as they never really were in the deep ocean, there was no bad weather to speak of. As they got closer to New Orleans the weather got progressively warmer, prompting Tom to switch to his white suit.

  They docked in the evening alongside the very same wharf where the explosion was supposed to take place in three days: June 6, 1883.

  Walking down the gangplank the time traveler could see the row of lights that went up from the wharf denoting various business and hotels. He rented a room in the Hotel Royal Omni and unpacked in the spacious room. There was a four-poster bed complete with mosquito netting that draped down on all sides. He was happy to find indoor plumbing and screened windows. Bill and Matt had given him good information. He thought about sending a text message to Bill telling him all was well but decided to wait until he had a better handle on things.

  It was close to ten when he finished hanging his clothes and went downstairs to get some dinner. He had been in New Orleans in his final year of college and was amazed to find it pretty close to what he had seen . . . or would see, he thought with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

  He walked down Bourbon Street and already it was a tourist attraction. The local police turned a blind eye to many infractions, all in the name of the tourist trade. Tom went into a small restaurant, Fish and Things, he hadn’t remembered seeing when he had visited there.

  He had crawfish smothered in beer batter, mashed potatoes, fried carrots and a side order of soft-shell crab and washed it down with a local beer followed by coffee and Key lime pie. The bill came to one dollar and six cents. Man! This is living! he thought as he paid the bill and left a nice tip.

  The time traveler left the restaurant and strolled down to the wharf. The Natchez wasn’t expected until the next morning so he sat and listened to the steamboat whistles as they reverberated along the black waters and mingled with the jazz music that drifted down from town.

  Out of the dark someone said, “Looking for the Natchez young fella?” Tom turned and saw a man dressed in a white suit and straw hat similar to his own. The man offered his hand and said, “Manny Kranshaw, sir, we met on board the City of Keansburg.”

  “Ah,” Tom said shaking his hand, “the engine man. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform. How are you?”

  Manny smiled and offered Tom a long, thin cigar. “I’m fine, sir. And I completely understand your not recognizing me out of my work clothes. I’m off tonight and I’m also looking forward to seeing the Natchez. She is a beauty. Are you familiar with her?”

  “No, but I soon hope to be,” Tom said as he took a cigar.

  Manny lit them both. Blowing out the match he said, “I feel steamboats are the best way to travel. Do you not think so, Mr. Madden? Oh, I’m sorry, I took the liberty of looking up your name on the ship’s registry. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Tom shook his head. “No, of course not, I had you at a disadvantage. Actually, that was the first steamship I’d ever been on and I enjoyed it immensely. I’m at the Royal Omni. Will you join me for breakfast and we can greet the Natchez as she docks at ten tomorrow morning?”

  “I will, Mr. Madden. I sleep aboard the Keansburg. Shall we say at nine o’clock?”

  “Nine it is, and, Manny, please call me Tom.”

  “Then nine it is, Tom. See you for breakfast.” He walked off toward the ship.

  Tom went to his room only to find it was tough going to sleep without hearing the throbbing of the steam engine of the City of Keansburg.

  At nine the small restaurant of the Omni was packed. People were talking about the Natchez arriving and many were getting ready to be there as she docked. The coming and going of ships was a big item here, thought Tom as he heard the anticipation in their voices. This is their TV, their radio, their chance to see if styles had changed and to catch up on gossip from the cities up north.

  He found a table for two and a minute later was joined by Manny, now dressed in a light blue three-piece suit and a flat, wide-brimmed hat. He’s quite a dresser, thought Tom. Glad I brought a couple of suits with me, as he looked down at his own three-piece tan suit.

  Seeing him in the daylight for the first time Tom noticed his longish dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and his dark long, stylishly droopy mustache. They shook hands and had coffee while they talked casually. The waitress brought their orders, pancakes and pork sausage for Manny and three eggs and cornbread for Tom. The coffee was seasoned with chicory, which was new to Tom, but seemed the norm to Manny. The newspaper headlines said New Orleans would never have electric lights, as the poles to carry the lines would simply sink into the porous soil.

  “The world seems obsessed with Thomas Edison’s light bulb. It gets rejected as soon as it’s mentioned,” T
om said.

  Manny wiped his mouth and answered, “Unfortunately, it seems the dim people run the world. Believe me, Tom, there is much solace in being alone in the belly of a steamer. The engine is the only thing I have to listen to and she never lies or makes false assumptions. When she’s hungry, I feed her, when she’s thirsty, I give her drink and when she’s dirty, I climb into her innards and scrub her down, inside and out.” He took a sip of coffee. “She is my mistress and I, her provider. We are one and the same, in need of one another and not anyone else.”

  Tom stared at him for a moment and then said, “Manny, you have another side to you that is not readily apparent. Were you always an engine man? Did you ever think of putting your thoughts in writing?” He took a sip of his coffee and continued. “Do you know of a Mr. Samuel Clemens? He will be on the Natchez when she pulls in.”

  Manny gave a little nod of his head. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. And yes, I did know he was going to be on the Natchez. But what has that to do with me? I’m more interested in steam engines than people.” He puffed a cigar to life and blew a smoke ring over Tom’s head.

  Tom shook his head as much to clear the smoke as to drive home a point to the engine man. “Manny, believe me, Clemens is a cut above the rest. He’s really interested in people and how they live and lead their lives. I know.”

  “How do you know?” asked Manny. “Have you ever met him?”

  “No,” said Tom as he sat back, “I must admit I never have. But I read some of his works and . . . well, he seems as though he’s a rather nice guy.”

  “Can’t tell a book by its cover,” answered Manny, as he downed his coffee, “but he does seem to know how to get his readers interested in what he has to say.” He took out a pocket watch and said, “Nine thirty-six,” and snapped it shut. “I suggest we start over as the crowd will take the best spots.”

  They paid their bill and walked down to the wharf.

  The sun was rising higher in the sky, and the temperature followed it up. The two men found a good place to sit beside a loading dock and joined the crowd looking out at the Mississippi for the Natchez.